3 comments/ 21054 views/ 3 favorites After All By: Simon J. I’ve been moping around for a few days, wondering at how much things have changed, when the phone rings. If I didn’t recognize the number, I’d have let it ring, as I have so often lately. “Good evening, slave,” His voice! “Forgotten something, have we?” Oh Jesus. He couldn’t mean it. “Master, I . . .” “D’you think that something has somehow changed between us because of this?” My heart lifted and floating, the serenity he gives me in his chains. “I’m sorry, Master.” “I know what you thought. But you’re still my slave unless you beg me to release you. Do you want me to?” “Oh no, Master. I’m yours. Your slave . . . do what you want to with me, please.” The old answer comes almost by rote. It’s been a long time, but my training is still there. “Naturally some things will change. For example, tonight you will deliver yourself to my house, instead of me coming to yours.” “Of course, Master.” I hear the directions he gives me, I write them down. All the while my pussy is getting hotter. It feels as though a hot steel ball has been placed between my thighs, and my body bends at the knees. I sink to the floor by the telephone, gratefully. He expects me promptly. I scurry upstairs on my knees—I figure it can’t hurt to practice. I like feeling as though he commands me, even when I’m away from him. I take off the grey wool skirt I wore to work. My panties are black silk french-cuts, but that won’t do for Master. I skin them off and toss them to the floor as I rummage around in the special drawer. The wet-look thong he bought me is there. I close my eyes and finger it, holding it close to my face. It’s the smell of the leather that decides me. It’s been so long since it was on my ass that it’s lost that “living” feeling well-used leather gets. It smells cold and lonely—just the way I’ve been feeling. But I’m warming up. I deliberate about stockings—Master hasn’t given me new instructions, so I am probably allowed a choice. I decide against it. I want to feel his hands against my skin. The thought of lying helplessly across his lap, bound and ready for punishment, crosses my mind. Oh goodness—I can’t go thinking about that now! Besides, I’m still not allowed to masturbate without his order, much less to cum. Not that that restriction’s figured much over the past few days. Out of my blouse and into a slippery oiled leather bra. My nipples go hard as they meet the cool of the hide. The inside was left rough, like suede, to help keep my nipples hard and me excited. I actually find myself panting as I do up the clasp—it’s a front clasp to allow Master access. Now what to wear over it all? Does it matter? I suppose not, really. After all I’m not going to be allowed into his house clothed, am I? I choose a practical black velvet dress, belting it at the waist with a red ribbon. Master’s present. A tiny bit of lipstick—Master doesn’t approve of makeup, says lips should be lip-coloured, but I like just enough to brighten them. If he notices, he’ll punish me. Mentally I add probably. I wonder if things have changed that much. Now for the bit I hate. Master always instructed me to do this last, kneeling and bent across the hassock in front of the big mirror angled above my fireplace, in which I have so often seen myself spanked, whipped, or begging for mercy from Him. From my demeaning position, I can watch as my hand reaches back to lift my skirt. I insert the fingers of my other hand beneath my underwear (such as it is) and massage the oil into my anus. It was Master’s gift to me, an evil mixture which involves chili seeds. My ass burns. Drops run down and tingle my pussy, but from long habit and experience I don’t try to rub them away. Lubricated, I look into the mirror, one finger still in my burning ass. I’m thrilled by the dirty sight of a nearly fully-clad, apparently independent businesswoman resting across her hassock on her belly, her bare ass stuck into the air. Frigging my backside with my finger, I bring the other hand containing the butt plug around. It’s as though I’m trying to sneak it up on myself. But I know it’s coming. This one is the big one; the one that Master, for a joke, labelled “medium”. It’s fully three inches in diameter, and incredibly uncomfortable. But Master will check—assuming everything’s still the same. And if it’s not in, I will be beaten. And Master knows how to beat His slave. It’s the exact way I want, need, to be beaten. It takes a lot longer than it used to, but it goes in. Forcing the last inch of the plug into myself I rise from my knees. I stumble a bit—it’s been a long time since I had this in, and I’m finding it takes some getting used to. At the door I open my shoe closet. Grunting and puffing from effort I bend over and lean deep inside to find my dusty fuck-me heels. I don’t know how much Master will appreciate these now, but he used to like them. Out to the car, locking the garage door behind me; I open the door and pause, then go back into the house: can’t start the car without keys! I’m distracted. My pussy’s absolutely soaked; surely not the best situation for a woman driving to an unfamiliar part of town. On the way to Master’s house I earn several angry honks from fellow motorists when I make turns without signalling. I get lost for a few minutes, but manage to arrive in time. The house is a white-and-green two-story, set slightly farther from its neighbours than other houses on the block. The front yard slopes steeply to the street, and I have to hike up the driveway to the right of the house, tottering on my preposterous heels. At the top is a concrete staircase leading to the steps of a wide wooden porch. The porch light is on. None of the lights in the house are. I walk up the unfamiliar wooden steps to the front door. The inner door swings open behind the screen as I arrive. Master. Aloud: “Master.” My heart rises in my throat. This is the moment I have imagined for all those weeks. I feel tears in my eyes. The figure inside the darkened house moves with a different confidence now from the familiar stride I used to think of as leonine. The confidence is still there, though; the unabashed certainty that the world will bend to Him. I certainly will. Opening the screen door He takes me firmly in his arms and kisses me. The burn in my ass and my pussy fan into flame at the touch, the taste of his lips. “Welcome back, pussy,” he says “you’ll be punished for wearing that lipstick.” How the hell did he notice? He steps inside. I move to follow Him into the darkened house, but stop for a moment. Should I ask? “Master?” Too uncertain I think. Master prefers boldness. “Yes, pussy?” “May your slave turn on a light?” “If you need it.” Laconically, as though he couldn’t care less. But was that a catch in his voice? My fumbling fingers find the switch, illuminating the front hall. I am overawed by the sumptuous, yet sparse, home He lives in. The hallway is old dark oak. A few feet from where I’m standing two doors give off right and left. Beyond the doors the entrance hall opens up all the way to the second storey. A massive, broad staircase spans the floor, narrowing as it ascends to the overlooking balcony. Master is climbing the centre of the broad treads. I am suddenly seized with absurd panic—what if he falls? Of course, Master is the epitome of safe and sane. With me under him, he has to be. Reaching the top of the staircase He turns to face me, leaning nonchalantly on the balcony rail. His face is mostly unchanged since the last time I saw him; but what did I expect Him to look like? He looks like Master. “Like it?” “Oh yes, Master.” “Good. I’m glad. Now strip and kneel; do it quickly.” I am devastated that he hasn’t noticed the red ribbon, but I chide myself. Why should I expect him to? “Master, will You undress Your slut?” He looks skyward, considering, as though he could find meaning in the spartan chandelier that dangles unlit above him, refracting points of light from the hall. “Very well. It’ll cost you, though. And come up the stairs on your knees.” I crawl up the carpeted wooden risers. When I reach the top I feel Master’s hand in my hair, urging me to stand up. There at the top of the steps Master strips me. I feel like a huge candle burning, on flame for him. He sniffs at my brassiere—I know he loves the leather. His fingers trace my body, down over my cleavage and lower until they grasp the red ribbon wrapped about His slut’s body. “Is this for me?” “All of me; for You, Master.” I manage to gasp. A gentle tug, and the ribbon lies on the floor. Equally gently my dress is pulled over my head. As He folds it lovingly over the balcony rail, Master reaches between my legs. Without thinking I grasp his hand to guide it to my pussy lips. The expression on his face clouds over. “Disappointing, slave,” He says softly “Apparently you’ve forgotten your manners almost completely since we were last together.” “Sorry Master,” I say, secretly relishing my mistake and what I know it will bring “please punish me.” “How should I punish such a disobedient little slut girl?” “Please beat me, Master.” There, I’ve said it. I’ve admitted my need (just in case he couldn’t tell). But he just stands there, toying with my pussy and driving me wild. My hands he holds firmly behind my back. Suddenly the thought crosses my mind, making my pussy seemingly freeze solid. What if he doesn’t want to? But a second later he tugs off my thong, then my bra. I step out of my shoes, which he places carefully by the railing. He forces me to my knees. From somewhere he produces a short piece of rope. He circles this about my neck, then around my torso to form a harness with a large loop knotted at the small of my back. Grasping the loop he orders: “Forward. Down to the door.” The door at the end of the short hall on this side of the stairway is a plain white wooden one. I wonder what’s behind it. Master pulls out an old fashioned key, which he fits into the oversized lock plate beneath the doorknob. It seems stiff, and he works it back and forth a couple of times before it snicks open. Behind is the dungeon. I know he must have built this, or had it built, within the past few weeks, as he has said that he had no facilities at his house, before now. The smell of sawn wood, glue, and new vinyl is heavy in the air, and the chains draped over various racks and rails are all new-bright. Master walks me eleven measured paces into the centre of the floor. He releases my harness and I put my nose to the ground. The floor is of patterned wooden tiles, and in the tightly-fitted join between the two under my nose I can see grains of sawdust. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” “Oh, yes Master!” “I had it built for you.” The implications cascade over me. I flame, I freeze. I am unsure of what to say, of what he means. “But we’ll talk about that later. For now, I think you need some old fashioned torture.” Does He understand the glee in His voice, or the heat between my thighs at that suggestion? He takes something from the rack. From my position near the floor I can see only the dull shine of leather and the glint of chromed metal. Master turns and slowly walks eight paces back to me. Each footfall seems to race through my body. “Kneel up” Master seems to lose his balance for a moment as his hand brushes my shoulder. Then the blindfold settles over my eyes. Does he know how I appreciate his gift to me? The gift of submission, the gift of sharing his dark world with me? I can smell his scent, oddly bittersweet, wafting from his red shirt. I don’t think red looks good on him, but I’m the slave. He’s the Master. My nipples are clamped with an unfamiliar type of clamp. Four sharp points press into my flesh, and little weights make them tug. Master ties a short belt around each of my tits, then cinches them tight. Pain, familiar yet somehow different, fills me where I kneel in harness. My mind rushes back: “Darling, listen; All relationships are about power and control.” This was what he told me. I am what he made me. In the end, what he made me beg to become. And to be here tonight, after I thought we might never come together again, is so utterly overwhelming I can’t help but let out a little sob of happiness behind the blindfold. He stops, concerned. “Do you need to safety, girl?” “No Master,” my voice is choked with happiness, as well as a little pain—my tits are starting to ache badly “I’m just so happy. I thought you might not want me. . .” “Shhhhhh,” He’s kneeling beside me, holding my face in his hand “You know I love you. And why would that change? I sent you away from Me because I needed time to readjust.” I’m actually sniffling now: “I know, but I didn’t know if. . .” “Be silent.” He’s not angry “You’re mine until I tell you that I release you. Have you forgotten that?” “No!” How to tell him of the gnawing uncertainty, the listlessness, the meaninglessness of my feelings since he’d sent me away? But does it matter? Master answers me. “The mewlings of slave girls are pleasing to Me. But remember: I accepted your submission, and if you leave here it will only be because I have released you. Even if you ask for release, I am free not to grant it.” I know—and we both know that if I asked to be set free, he would do it. But I can’t think why I would. He has been busy during this short exchange. He has put on me something that feels like a pair of high sandals, or perhaps boots without heels or toes. When I spread my legs farther apart to allow him to cuff and bind my hands, steel rattles. They aren’t ankle cuffs; I’ve never felt anything like them. Once my hands are bound behind me, Master applies the finishing touch—pulling the rope harness harshly from my body, he lifts my hair and places His collar about my neck. This collar is a new one—a little round bell is attached to the steel ring at the front of my throat. It jingles when I move my head. He replaces the cruel ropes with a tight leather harness that places pressure against my cunt and ass, while the strap he tightens between my legs denies access to either. He rocks the butt plug in my ass with a thumb, then tugs my pussy lips rudely out to either side of the strap. “Lie on your back.” Obediently, carefully, I lower myself as I have been taught. If I lose my balance and fall, he can’t help me. And I do. While turning my leg so that I can sit on my plugged ass, I have a sudden cramp and fall sideways. I think to myself This is going to hurt—and Master won’t be pleased. But he catches me. In the whirling free-fall I feel him grab me. It’s clumsy, and my full weight winds up in his arms. How did he know? How is it that he was there to catch me? He says nothing as he lowers me to the floor, on my back. Then: “Legs up, straight.” Nothing about my clumsiness. I bend at the waist, wincing as my stomach muscles take a strain they haven’t felt in a long time. Soon my ankles are linked to a spreader bar and pulled over my head. A piece of foam on the floor cushions my head and shoulders. Then I hear a rhythmic clinking noise. Slowly but surely I am lifted completely from the ground. I am dizzy, my mind and pussy seem to overload, my tits swing in an unaccustomed way, the little weights on my nipple clamps roll crazily up my body and fall, tugging on each nipple painfully. “Like it?” He asks. He knows, of course, that anything that leaves me helpless and at His mercy is fine with me, but this is a long-time fantasy. My blood pounds in my ears. “Answer, slut!” “Yes, Master, I love it, Master.” “Good. Now as for your punishment: I have a new toy. I’m going to break it in on your slut ass. But first you’re going to explain how grateful you are to have a Master who gives you the correction you need.” “Oh yes Master, I. . .” I don’t get the rest of it out. I felt him approaching, but I hadn’t heard his zipper drop. As I open my mouth to speak he grasps my head and shoves his cock into my throat. I’m terrified for a moment, worried I won’t be able to breathe. But of course his cock is still the same I’ve known and serviced for years, and he taught me to deep-throat him long ago. In fact, it seems as though it’s easier, somehow, suspended and helpless. His free hand holds my bound ones, and I know that if I can’t take it anymore I only need to squeeze three times in a steady rhythm. He comes quickly—as excited, perhaps, as I am to be here. His come floods up my throat and trickles back out between my lips as I gulp and swallow. Some of it trickles stickily down my face into my hair. I feel a little humiliated at wasting even a drop of his gift. He stands before me, holding my bound hands, while I lick him thoroughly clean. By the end of it, his cock is hard again, and I hope he’ll fuck me. Instead, he zips up and turns away. I hear a swish, and the first blow lands across my belly. The flogger is suede. If you’ve ever been whipped with a piece of suede you know the abrasive feeling as the rough side strips your flesh raw. I cry out, but Master ignores it. He knows I like to yell. The weight of the blow sets me spinning, and he begins to lay into me, always avoiding my face by keeping the blows above my inverted tits. Every so often he pauses to make certain I’m alright, touching me and calming me even as my tears start to fall. It hurts so much, and it feels so good to be here. After thirty strokes or so, Master runs his fingers up and down my sensitized body. “Had enough, slave?” “Not unless You will it, Master.” My dangling tits are screaming for release from the cruel clamps, the strap in my pussy seems to be cutting me in two. And I glory in it. Master releases the clamps, and I scream. Then carefully placing his arm across my chin he whips each of my already-painful tits fifteen times. Then he lowers himself so that his lips are by my ear. “Will you come if I whip your cunt, slut?” His hard, dirty words send shivers all through me. “Not without your permission, Master.” “Ah, that’s right. You don’t come without my permission, do you, pussy?” “N-no, Master.” But now I realize oh God—he knows. Knows that I’ve spent the past few weeks pining for Him, masturbating to orgasm, heedless of my submission to Him. He knows that I need to be punished for that. And I know that I have to ask for it. Gulping, my pulse loud and slow in my ears I say: “Master, Your slave needs to be punished for coming without permission.” “What a truthful little slut.” He says, sounding mildly amused “Will thirty across your pussy be enough, pussy?” He gently pushes me so that I swing back and forth helplessly. “If Master wishes it.” Master removes the strap between my legs. Drops of the hot red oil are seeping from my ass and up my back. He wiggles the butt plug, making painful pleasure stir deep in my middle. I know my role: “Please punish Your slut, Master.” It’s painful. The suede tails seem to scrape across my clit and lips, burning my thighs worse than the hot oils which still irritate my anus. After ten, I’m screaming. After twenty I feel as though I might be bleeding, and behind the blindfold my tears are coming freely. And hanging upside down I realize I want, need, to come. “Master?” The flogging stops at twenty-two. “Yes, slut.” He sounds gentle, almost resigned. Although He knows I revel in this; gentle is the last thing I wanted him to be, ever. “Please make your slave come?” It’s a request, but comes out wobbly. I think I may be starting to pass out. “Eight more.” “Yes, please, Master, but afterward?” The force of the blows seems to increase. Master beats my cunt so hard it feels like it’s coming off, becoming a separate part of me. Then suddenly it’s over. I feel myself lowered quickly to the ground. Blood flows into my toes and my tied hands as my shoulders meet the floor. His hands touch my face for a moment; then Master’s cock is in my mouth again, as he burrows his head between my stretched, welted legs and licks my pussy. After All This is my first erotic story, and I hope everyone enjoys it. I know it won't be perfect, and I am writing more, when the chance arises. Thank you so much for giving me your time! I hope it's worth it! ------------------------------------ The first "smack" startled me more than I could have ever imagined it would. It started a slow bubble of emotions within me I had never felt. His first pop brought stinging tears to my eyes. They were tears of shame, and of joy. They were tears of pride in my Master. We had always had our own roles in the bedroom. I was always on bottom, and he was always clearly in control. Every now and then we would break out the handcuffs or a little rough play though it never went any farther than that. Little did he know of my strong desire to serve him. I always found myself wanting something... more. I wanted to be his, to serve and to be guided. To please him in ways I couldn't in our normal terms. My desire to be loved and cherished above all else in his eyes was surpassed only by his feelings against the arrangement. I wanted our roles in the bedroom to reflect into our everyday lives. He found the idea of being on unequal grounds quite disconcerting, as he saw it a different light than I did. However I had decided it was time for me to once more confront him on the issue. The second "smack" of the belt set my bottom ablaze as well as my pussy. The shame, the pain, the thrill; It's what I had wanted so desperately for so long. The well of emotion within me was beginning to spill over, yet I held back as best I could. He and I discussed the issue over a nice lunch at one of our favorite restaurants. First he was taken aback, appalled, even. I did everything I could to explain to him my deeply seeded necessity for the change in our relationship. My eyes were giving away my urgency. With a voice as calm an autumn breeze, I tried once more to talk him into some kind of agreement. He slightly raised his hand to me, cutting me off before I could get so much as a few words out to end my bargaining. I knew this discussion was over. I sat back in defeat with a small huff, twisting the ends of my auburn hair to distract me from the tears pushing against my eyes. My heart hit the floor. The third "smack" brought a new onslaught of tears to my eyes, finally tipping the delicate balance sending streams of mixed emotion past the boundaries of my eyelids. I could feel my eyelashes sticking together with tears. My ass was becoming an inferno, and tears were now beginning to spill between my legs. I set my jaw, readying myself for the next blow. He called me up later that day. His voice was tight and low as if he were expertly holding back from something. I could hear the steel in him, and it sent a thrill down my spine. Without any extra banter, he notified me that I was to be waiting on his doorstep at exactly 8:00pm. I was told to wear his favorite skirt, my newest pair of heels and any kind of plain, tight fitting top, and nothing under the simple ensemble. He paused after his instruction, and I could feel his indecision. The line was abruptly dropped. I could feel my heart as it all but pounded its way out of my chest. My excitement was already beginning to build; though more than likely he was trying to make up for our awkward lunch. Regardless of his reasoning, it was still an incredibly attractive proposition. With a shaky breath I set about readying myself. The fourth "smack" brought more shame and regret than I thought I could ever possibly feel, yet there was a tiny pin prick of pure happiness within me. I was buried in confusing emotions: shame, happiness, trepidation, relief, desire. So many emotions I didn't know I would feel. I sobbed quietly, hoping all had been reconciled. I laid out my wardrobe on my bed. His favorite skirt, a feminine but not overly-frilly loose fitting short black skirt alongside a very well fitting dark grey v neck to showcase my round B cup breast, and my newest knee high patent lace-up boots; An average outfit for me, simple, edgy, and flattering. I hopped into the shower like an eager school girl readying for my first high school dance. The hot water made goose bumps rise on my flesh, turning it a light pink shade. Butterflies boiled within my stomach as I shaved and washed, and conditioned my hair for added silkiness. I rinsed off and stepped out of the bedroom, steam curling off my skin like personified tendrils of my lust. The clock on my bedside table displayed 7:38 in red. I licked my lips, the color sending a subconscious shiver through me. I pulled the skirt over my curvy hips, my hair striking my shoulders like tiny whips every time I turned my head, spraying tiny droplets of water onto my bed. I wrapped a towel around my hair and stepped into my boots, lacing them up as fast as I could. I pulled the towel off my head, rand my fingers through my hair a few time to separate some of the larger curls and finally pulled the shirt over my head. Looking into the full sized mirror I thanked my past self for the boots. Standing at a measly 4 feet and 10 inches I needed as much height as I could get. I turned to admire my curves for a moment before heading out, the clock glaring a dangerous 7:49pm. I wouldn't make it by 8. Pulling into his driveway the digital clock on my dash read two minutes after eight in a garish green. He stood in the doorway, framing it with his presence. His shoulders were squared off, and his eyes were steely and well controlled. "You're late." He spoke softly, but not kindly. His eyes wandered over me for a moment, taking his time. I shifted uneasily and replied softly. "I know. I'm sor-" He cut me off with a wave of his hand. With the same hand he directed me into the living room. I looked around; the light soft and dim as if the bulbs had been in their sockets for too long. I turned to look at him as he stepped through the threshold. He didn't acknowledge me in any way as he closed the door and locked it behind him. He had never acted in his manner before. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as he finally turned, looking at me with intense eyes. His supple lips parted as he took a short, silent breath. "I told you to be here at exactly eight, and you were not. It seems I must teach you the importance of being punctual, if you want this to work in your favor. You have much to learn, little one." I kept my eyes glued to the ground, taking in his words. His voice was soft, yet sharp. I could feel my face heating up with embarrassment. My heart raced franticly, because I knew what He was up to. "Bend over and hold your ankles. Yes, like that. Do not move, do not speak." His voice was the sharp edge that cut through my haze of realization. There I stood, my legs separate, bent over, embarrassed, excited, and a little scared. My curls hung loosely around my face, damp and cool, thought they did nothing to put out the fiery redness on my face. I felt his hand slide up the back of my thigh, and to the hem of my skirt. He flipped it up and over my back, my ass now fully uncovered and visible to his scrutiny. I heard him shift behind me, then the metallic scrape of a belt buckle, and lastly the soft swish of leather against denim. In an instant, my pale bottom was on fire. The fifth "smack" was the loudest. The room resonated with the sound, the silence only an amplifier to the last chord. My face was soaked with tears, and my hair was now damp with sweat. My ass was the scorching remnant of a first song beat out of a new instrument, and my pussy was aching to be played next. A smooth, cool hand wandered down to my waiting, and very wet lips. I squirmed impatiently against His exploring fingers. "Have you learned anything, my dear little one?" He asked tenderly. I only nodded my head with a slight sniffle. "Hmmm?" he cooed into my ear, his fingers still teasing my lips. "Yes..." His fingers slid to my swollen clit and stopped. "Yes.... 'Yes' what, little one?" I knew what he was asking, and I quivered. My heart stopped momentarily before starting up again in double time. "Yes, sir" I groaned and wiggled slightly. His fingers drew slippery, maddening slow circles around my tender little bud. My shoulders were aching from holding my position, and my pussy quaked with every round of his expert fingers. I bit down on my lip, my orgasm building at a startling pace. From within, a tingle began, and spread outward until my toes curled, and I bit into my lip almost painfully. I trembled like carnal prehistoric lands ready to erupt. "Cum for me, little one." He coaxed, His voice full of silky playfulness, sending me over the edge of a cliff I would never get back up. I threw my head back, and He wrapped a strong arm around my waist as my knees buckled under me. Colors burst behind my eyelids, and full bodied bliss clothed me in warmth and profound indulgence. I writhed and moaned, wave after wave crashing into me as His fingers continued to play softly on my clit, each subsiding just a little more than the last. As the last few shocks of my orgasm passed, He pulled me into His arms and kissed my forehead softly. He ran a hand through my curls and hugged me close to Him possessively. "I love you, little one." He murmured as my eyes closed. "I love you too, Master." After All Ch. 01 (Note to the reader: This is the first chapter of the third part of a three part erotic novella I've tentatively titled "Making Love to Horrible People." The first part is titled "Fear and Lusting." The second is "Yard Sale." Each part consists of about 4 or 5 chapters. I hope you enjoy it. Any feedback is more than welcome.) * The buzzer gave a nasally shriek and Dan turned his head sharply to look at his bedroom door. The room also served as his office, with a small desk near the windows in one corner, a tall bookcase and a queen-sized bed next to it along the wall that faced the door. The only other furnishing was a small tall dresser that stood against the wall near the door and an old upholstered chair. The room was not neat. Magazines and books were strewn about every surface. A computer hummed steadily on the battered desk top, but it was camouflaged in loose papers and sticky notes. He blinked at the door and started to turn back to his work before he heard the loud complaint again. He opened the door and walked into the dining room and past the mini-kitchen and over to the front door. He pressed down on the buzzer call button. "Yes?" "Hi! It's me," came a young female voice he didn't recognize. He waited, trying to sort through the list of possible visitors in his mind. "I'm the one who answered your ad for a cleaning service?" Dan pressed the button back down. "Yes, of course, come on up. Third floor. 32." He buzzed her in. Dan looked at the living room and dining room from where he stood and remembered he had spoken to the girl on the phone a couple of days ago about the ad he had placed on-line for someone to come and clean for a couple of hours on Thursdays and Sundays. Several people had already offered to take the job, but had never showed, so he had forgotten about her. He was delighted she had come, though. He couldn't stand living in his own filth but summoning the energy to clean it would have meant trying to live a normal life again. He wasn't ready for that. He needed help. A knock at the door brought him out of his brooding and he undid the lock and opened it. A bright young face smiled at him. "Hi! I'm Jessica," she said with a wide friendly smile. Dan took her in with his eyes and almost felt self-conscious about his old, thin and stretched "Tea. Earl Grey. Hot." black t-shirt and dirty gray sweat pants. Her beauty pounded at his eyes and he resented it. She was maybe 20 with slightly wavy blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her figure filled out her tight jeans and light sweater in a way that might make someone feel nostalgic about high school, even if you were the kid who got beat up. He wasn't, but when he looked at her he heard the lunch bell. He shook her proffered hand and smiled slowly as he looked at her face. Her eyes were dangerous. They were dark blue; wine-dark, like the sea about to swallow a ship in a sudden squall. "Dan," he simply said. "Please, come in." Jessica stepped in and surveyed the apartment out of the corners of her eyes. It didn't look that bad. It certainly needed someone to straighten it and polish the surfaces and dust the shelves, but far better than she had imagined when she answered the ad. She had expected to see old food left out and filthy smelling stains and a kitchen in need of an exorcism. Well, the kitchen came close to that, but everything else wasn't too bad. "...Just need you for a couple hours on Thursdays and Sundays to help straighten the place," Dan was saying. He has tall and well built, if a little run down and ragged. His handsome face sported a couple days growth and his thinning brown hair was a little too long, as if it hadn't been cut in a few months. His eyes were dark brown and still held some kind of youthful light that made Jessica relax. She had worried he might be a creep, but the only disturbing thing about him was a kind of sadness around the edges of his eyes; a weariness and depression that sagged on his high cheekbones and bore down on his full lips. She wanted to see his smile, so she kept laughing a little and beaming at him as he showed her his place. "What's in there?" she asked, pointing at the bedroom door. "Oh, that's just my bedroom and office, but I won't need you in there." "You sure?" She teased playfully with a big smile and giggle. "I'm just joking!" Dan finally smiled and breathed out a laugh. It felt strange on his face. Jessica saw his lips part and arch and knew she had been right. When he smiled, he was beautiful. Now, she felt confident she could take the job without any worries. His apartment was just a ten-minute ride on the subway from her school and the hours he wanted her there, six to eight, fit perfectly with her schedule. Dan offered her twenty dollars an hour for the four hours a week, but said he'd make it an even hundred if she showed up for the full length of both shifts. Jessica agreed and said she would see him on Thursday. Dan showed her out and then retreated back to the bedroom. A little later on, he abandoned his writing and tried to masturbate to thoughts of the young and sexy college student, but the dark specter of a woman from his past rose up into his brain and chased her away. He mixed a drink, sank down in his chair and smoked and thought and listened to the distant sound of the train. He tried again, as he had on several other nights, to project his thoughts onto it so they could be carried away. The buzzer shrieked and this time Dan was ready for it. He had shaved and even put on pants. He still had on a t-shirt -- he didn't want to let on he was getting dressed for her or anything. Letting her in, he smelled the soft hint of lilacs as she brushed past him. He had to concentrate to keep from swooning. Lilacs were the most feminine scent imaginable and he fought the impulse to bury his head in her neck and breath deeply. She turned and looked at him expectantly. She had on tight jeans and a tight white lacey top. Her blonde hair fell a little below her shoulders in gentle waves. Dan fought the impulse to work up any excuse to touch her tanned skin as it radiated before him. "So, where should I start?" she asked. "Ah, well, there's cleaning supplies below the sink in the kitchen. That's probably the best place to start anyway. If you don't get to the other rooms today... trust me, I'll understand." Jessica went to the sink and Dan went back to his office door. Before he opened it, she asked, "So, I know you're a writer from your ad, but what do you write?" Dan turned and looked at her and saw her body, as it was bent over and leaning on the sink and searching the cabinet below. Her ass filled out her jeans, looking far more full and tight than any white girl's ass had a right to look. He bet there were some black genes in her ancestry. His cock started to thicken and in order to hide it, he moved himself behind the half wall that separated the kitchen from the dining room. "Well, uh... technical manuals, mostly... how-to stuff," he lied. It was only slightly a lie, since he certainly had written some technical documents in his past, but it wasn't what he was doing now. "Oh, yeah? Like putting together cabinets and things?" she asked with her head under the sink and her arm shaking the little wooden door as an example. "Yeah... something like that." "Cool," she said nonchalantly as she straightened and began arranging things on the counter in preparation for cleaning. Dan gave a last long look at her form as she leaned over the kitchen counter. "I left your money on the dining room table... I don't wish to be disturbed." Jessica looked back as he disappeared into the bedroom. She saw the bills on the table, but was disappointed he wasn't going to stay and talk. She was certain he was writing more than just how-to guides, or else he would have droned on and on about them as she cleaned. Even that would have been welcome. Cleaning was not at all something she took any pleasure in, but she knew she could do it without even thinking. Still, it was boring and she usually put on music or the TV while she did it in her dorm room. That thought made her walk into the living room and turn on the set he had planted on a small cabinet in the corner. It wasn't one of those new plasma TV screens, just some old box from years ago. She loved the hum it made as it flicked on. It took her a couple of minutes to figure out the controls, but she finally managed to find E and left it on while she cleaned. Gossip was a guilty pleasure of hers. Although the kitchen was small, it was pretty dirty and took her most of an hour to clean. Another half hour she spent on the bathroom, which wasn't too bad. It didn't seem like he took that many showers. The rest of the time she straightened the living and dining rooms and tried to organize the papers and books and photos into piles he could go through and see what he wanted discarded and saved. The photos interested Jessica and she sat on the couch and looked through them. The majority of them showed a brown haired, brown eyed woman closer to Dan's age than herself. He was in most of the pictures with her, smiling his broad smile next to her face. She was perhaps the most beautiful woman Jessica had ever seen outside of the airbrushed models in magazines. Her face was soft and hard at the same time and her eyes dark and sultry. Her figure was something any woman would be envious of and the way she looked at Dan... Jessica's heart froze as she began to process what she was holding. She looked up at a picture on the wall she hadn't really noticed before. It was a photo of this woman's face pressed near to his in a loving embrace, close to a kiss. She gently put the pictures back in a pile and delicately straightened their edges, realizing she had been handling the pieces of a broken heart. She almost wanted to cry. What had gone wrong? It was none of her business, she knew. She blinked a few times and looked about the room. The cable box said it was 3 minutes past eight. She wanted to draw him out and ask him, but felt it was something way beyond her ability to inspect and help with at this point. She collected the bills and stood at his bedroom door. "I straightened some things in the living and dining rooms," she addressed the door. "I put them in piles for you to go through. Whatever you don't want you can just put in a heap next to the door and I'll put it in the dumpster next time." "K," she heard through the door. "I'll see you on Sunday," she said as her fingertip lightly touched the door. "Thank you, Jessica," he responded from beyond the door. She turned and quietly left the apartment. A couple of weeks passed and Jessica found the job to be very easy. It seemed like Dan hardly spent any time out of his room, so there just wasn't that much to clean. She also enjoyed where and how he lived. She liked the short walk to his place from the subway stop. It was a mix of small street level shops and well cared for urban sprawl. The people on the street were largely young and professional looking. It was the kind of neighborhood she imagined herself in once she graduated. Dan's building had that kind of 1920's look of brick outside and hardwood inside and noir glamour that excited some unnamed part of her every time she saw it. His apartment fit in perfectly with the building's mystique. During the seventies, the owners had renovated all the rooms and painted all the hardwood surfaces with that god-awful thick white coating that was the style back then. His apartment, however, had been restored to the original look, with finished hardwood moldings and runners. A ceiling fan spun lazily in the living room and the wide front windows had Venetian blinds, making it seem like some charming office from an old Bogart movie. The hardwood floors were in great shape and hardly creaked. She hadn't seen any more pictures of the woman after she had arranged the piles for him to go through. In fact, she couldn't find them anywhere. There was only the picture left on the wall. The woman seemed so happy, her eyes closed and her smiling face was reaching up to his lips as he bent over her shoulder, his wide mouth seeking her kiss. The look of passion and sincere love in their expressions was overwhelming and Jessica couldn't help but stare at it repeatedly. It was, to her, a piece of art. One Thursday night, Jessica was getting ready to leave and heard the apartment door open. She was surprised and could only turn and stare from where she was gathering her coat in the living room. She had never thought to lock his door. A woman walked in and closed the door behind her. "Hello?" Jessica asked. The woman turned to face her and didn't seem surprised to see her there at all. She smiled thinly and said, "Hi." Jessica could only stare at what she thought was the most beautiful face she had ever seen. Her long straight brown hair was tied in a tight ponytail and her high cheekbones and delicate yet defined jaw were accentuated by a light application of rouge. Her wide dark eyes were sultry and mysterious under the dark mascara and long eyelashes. She seemed tall, but Jessica noticed she was wearing heels and a long black leather coat. For a brief second, she wondered if Dan had a date tonight and she immediately wanted to excuse herself, except suddenly she recognized the woman. She was the one from the photos and the picture on the wall. "I'm Jen," she said in a soft and seemingly friendly voice. She took a couple of steps toward Jessica and extended a hand with long feminine fingers that displayed beautifully shaped and red-glossed fingernails. "Jessica. Nice to meet you!" She said. She really was very happy to see this woman that had, until now, seemed only a shadowy part of Dan's past. "Dan hired me to do some cleaning for him-" "I know," Jen said as her eyes sized up the young woman in front of her. "I'm glad. This place needed it," she said with a pretty laugh. Jessica had to force herself to stop staring at her and continue gathering her things. She wanted to stay and find out everything that had happened, but the sheer allure of Jen was too much. Jessica felt frumpy and short next to her and there was no way she would let Dan see her like that. "Well, I should get going. Dan is in his room. It was very nice to meet you!" "You too," Jen said as she made her way to the bedroom. Jessica had to pause by the front door and watch her. Jen stopped in front of his door and seemed to take a breath before removing her long coat and draping it over a nearby chair. Jessica's breath caught in her throat as she realized Jen was wearing a tight French-maid's costume. Jen knocked on the door and must have heard Dan's voice, because she started to enter. As she did, she turned and smiled back at Jessica and whispered goodbye as she disappeared. After a few seconds, Jessica realized her mouth had been open and she closed it and tried to calm the rapid beating of her heart. She considered sneaking over and listening to them, but couldn't convince herself to be so brazen. She slowly closed the door and then walked to the subway, fantasies and questions filling and teasing her. The next Sunday night, Jessica showed up at the small brick-face apartment building and Dan buzzed her in. Over the past few days, she found her thoughts had returned repeatedly to what had happened that night and what was going on between them. The apartment seemed the same, but Jessica was determined to enter his bedroom and find any kind of clue. Everything was so simple to clean, Jessica finished a half hour early and was idly arranging glassware in the kitchen when Dan exited his room and went to the bathroom. Excited, she stepped in and looked around. It was cluttered with dirty clothes and papers and books and a few empty bottles of scotch near the desk. The stale stench of cigarettes hung in the air. Something about the smell actually excited her a bit. She imagined him bent over his keyboard, chain-smoking and writing and missing his wife. Maybe she had just been a girlfriend, she didn't know, but Jessica doubted a man his age -- late thirties or early forties, she guessed -- would have held onto that many pictures of a simple failed romance. Without thinking she quickly crossed to the desk and looked at what was on his screen. She read what was written there and felt her breath catch in her throat. It looked like the hottest how-to manual she had ever read, that was for certain. She read a passage about a woman tied to a bed and being used by 4 strangers while her husband watched. Jessica looked away and gulped. Her eyes rested on a small, framed picture of Jen standing on a beach in her bathing suit with her back to the camera. She was looking down at the waves rushing past her ankles while in the distance, above the vast ocean, an ominous bank of purple clouds gathered. "Jessica." She jumped and turned around. "Oh, I'm sorry. I was just so curious. I finished cleaning and didn't think you'd mind..." Dan had walked over to her, his eyes never leaving her face. He reached down and flicked off the monitor. "Sorry," she breathed and placed the picture back down on the desk. Dan glanced at the picture and then turned to stand in front of her, very close to her. He inspected her face. She looked down and held her hands behind her back, unsure what to do. "You weren't invited in here, Jessica," he said evenly. "It's my fault. I should have explained that better when you started." "But really, I... I just was so curious about the woman who was here the other night... Jen." Dan stared at her for a few seconds and Jessica lifted her head and looked at him. He seemed almost vulnerable. "Is she... your wife?" "She was," Dan whispered and blinked. "I'm sorry, I guess it's none of my business," she said as she started to move past him. He let her go and she moved to the door, but hesitated and turned back. He was still standing there, staring out the window. "It's nice you can still... see her sometimes." It sounded lame, but it was the only thing she could think of to try to draw him out. Dan turned slowly and regarded her with a new interest. "Yes," he said slowly. "She and I still have... some common interests." Jessica felt her heart rate increase again and she couldn't resist asking, "Is that what you write about?" Dan smiled and looked down as he walked over to her. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, I mean -- " she started to say, thinking he was embarrassed by what she had found. Dan seized her arms just beneath the shoulders and she froze and looked at him with fright. "Shhh," he said. "I'm not ashamed of anything, Jessica. But you're prying and you should know that this is my office and my bedroom and it is not open to invasion anytime you're simply 'curious.' Is that understood?" Jessica nodded. "Good. Now, I'll forgive you this time, but the next time you wish to enter, you must knock and ask, ok? If I catch you in here without my permission, it will mean the end of your employment with me. All right?" Jessica nodded again. Dan's hands released her and cupped her face gently. "I value the work you do here and I would hate for you to have to leave, but you need to respect my wishes." He held her face in front of him for a few seconds and Jessica felt her body tilting toward him. She wasn't sure if she actually was, but in her mind, his large hands cupping her jaw were guiding her lips up to meet his. He released her and she tried to remain steady as he walked away. "Now, go on. I'll see you on Thursday." For some strange reason, she felt like she needed to pick up her clothes, but remembered she was wearing them. She left the apartment feeling slightly dizzy. That night her boyfriend Tim made love to her in his dorm room. He was tall and thin and had tight skin over small, hard muscles. His chiseled face was smooth and his piercing blue eyes stared intently at her as he fucked her. The short blond hair on his head was thick and well groomed. He had perfect white teeth and a disarming smile. All her friends said they were the hottest couple they knew. His large and handsome dick slid in and out of her with grace and wonderful pacing. Sometimes he thrust slowly and his hands pinched and caressed her, and sometimes he went fast and hard. Tim was the loveliest fuck she had ever had. She loved him and hoped for a future with him after they graduated. The entire time Tim was making love to her, all Jessica could think of was Dan's tight grasp on her arms and his eyes slicing through her soul.