11 comments/ 142444 views/ 9 favorites Thankful Abandon By: Angelick77 John rubbed his eyes, the words of the book in his lap blearing a little. He looked up at the clock. It was nine o'clock p.m. and his wife lay peacefully beneath her crisp white sheets, her curly chestnut hair spread out on the pillow like a halo around her face. It looked like she was sleeping, but it had been almost a year since the car crash last Christmas that left her little better than a breathing corpse. The doctors were hopeful at first, saying there was every chance for her to awaken at any given moment. But as the weeks stretched into months, John's hopes slowly faded until he could hardly bear to look at her face, searching for a twitch, or a tremble, or a flicker of a sign of consciousness. Even if she awoke, the doctors said there was no way of telling how the brain damage was going to affect her. John stood up, ran his hand through his ash blond hair and walked to the hospital room door. The nurses were going on their rounds and had left the station empty. They all knew him by now and would often let him stay past visiting hours, leaving him alone with his wife so that they could spend their time together in private. He closed the door and went back to sit by the bed, holding her hand. They had been married for only a few years when the accident happened. Amanda was divorced and brought two children with her when she moved in with John. Her first husband was over twenty years her senior. She was nineteen when they married and became pregnant within the first month. After she had the twins, the sex became practically non-existent. Amanda said her husband had told her that he felt wrong about "befouling" the mother of his children. She would often joke, saying that by having a girl and a boy in one shot, she was killing two birds with one stone, because Lord knows she wasn't getting any opportunities to have more. When she met John, he was five years younger than she. Later on, Amanda admitted that she felt a little guilty about seeing a younger man. But right from the start, it all just seemed right. It was an odd coincidence, but he and Amanda had irises of the exact same shade of light, caramel brown, so that whenever he looked at her, it was as if he were looking into his own eyes. They had a similar sense of humor, loved to hike, could talk for hours about philosophy and politics, sometimes arguing when their opinions differed, but always able to reconcile in the end. And the sex was fantastic. After years of suppressing her sexuality, John was exactly what she needed. He unlocked her inhibitions and allowed her to explore things she never would have thought of doing before. Their first couple of months together, they could hardly tear themselves from the bedroom. She became vibrant with her newfound sexual freedom. ***** It was by accident that John discovered the only way he knew to reach his wife through her perpetual slumber. He could no longer have those all night conversations with her, he could no longer see her laughing as she made breakfast, or hold her as she cried when they watched those romantic films she loved so much. But one day, performing the most routine of tasks, he thought he heard her sigh. He was changing her clothes, switching her plain, white, cotton panties for a fresh pair, and as he tugged them down over her hips, reaching under her to raise her buttocks, a small, drawn-out breath seemed to escape from her. At first, John thought she was awake, and he looked up excitedly, but her eyes were still closed and her face was unresponsive. Tentatively, he ran his hand over her hips, down over her thighs. It was unmistakable this time: she sucked in her breath and slowly let it go. He paused for just a moment and looked up to make sure the room door was closed. He brushed his hand over the shadow of hair between her thighs, and again, Amanda's sigh set his heart pounding. John stood there quietly. "What now?" he thought. He had a vague sensation that what he wanted to do was probably wrong, but the possibility of reconnecting with his wife, of reaching her through the constant darkness and silence that separated them now, quieted any protests he may have had in his head. ***** He moved Amanda's sheets and draped her legs over either side of the bed. Her softly furred pussy lay open before him. The folds were a dusty rose color and slightly parted. John rested his hand over the mound and began to softly stroke the outside of her slit with his thumb, up and down. Amanda sighed again. The lips of her pussy moistened, and John increased the pressure of his thumb, sliding between the folds to find her clit. It was swollen, and he could feel his cock hardening in response to her obvious arousal. Walking around to the bottom of the bed, he pulled her body down so that her ass rested on the edge of the bed. He dragged the chair around and sat so that her sex was level with his face. John continued to lightly run his thumb over her clit, circling it the way that he remembered she liked it. She sighed again, and he hooked his thumbs on either side of her pussy lips and spread them apart so that he could look at her glistening folds. He had always loved looking at her pussy when she was aroused, telling her to be quiet when she would protest in embarrassment, and he loved looking at it now. He leaned forward and flicked his tongue over the little erect bud peeking out at him. The muscles of her thighs twitched. He stuck his tongue out a little more and gave her a long, slow lick from the bottom of her pussy all the way to the top, pausing to swirl around her clit with the tip of his tongue. He could hear her breathing getting faster. Burying his face in between her thighs, he began to flutter his tongue against her and then sucking at the pink flesh. He slid his fingertips up under his chin, probing the slippery folds, and pressed a finger, then two into her warm, wet cunt. When John looked up, her face was still a blank and her body was lax and unmoving. But her chest was rising and falling, her breaths coming faster than usual, though she didn't made a sound. He watched as he finger fucked her, pressing up and into her, finding that one spot that he knew she loved. John wished that she could respond the way she had before, writhing and moaning beneath him, arching her hips up to meet his hand every time her thrust his fingers deeper inside her, begging for him to lick her, to fuck her just before… and here it was now, her stomach tightened and John felt a deluge of hot cum shooting from her, wetting his hand and wrist, and dripping down onto the bed sheets. He furiously pumped his arm, stabbing into her pussy until the last of the warm, clear fluid squirted from her. But he knew it still wasn't over. Latching his mouth onto her pussy again, John furiously circled his tongue over her clit, lapping up the cum that lingered on her lips, his fingers still buried deep inside her, no longer pumping in and out, but applying a rhythmic pressure that caused the bud he was licking to swell in time to his fingers. He could feel the trembling inside her, and he increased the pressure of his fingers and the flickering of his tongue. Finally, when he felt the first hard spasm of her orgasm, he drew his fingers out and quickly plunged them in again, fucking her in time to the waves that rippled through her pussy until they slowly, quietly ebbed away. ***** Six months after his discovery, John looked at her now. His cock was straining at his pants just thinking about the taste of her pussy, but he didn't dare pull it out. In all this time, he never once fucked Amanda for fear of a nurse or a doctor unexpectedly walking in on them. He could easily pull her hospital gown down and say that he had moved his wife to readjust her sheets or pillows, but it would be much more difficult to explain why he was shoving his dick back in his pants. He sighed and squeezed her hand with the tiniest hope in the back of his mind that she might squeeze back. Nothing. There was a click at the door and the late night nurse walked in. She was scribbling something onto a clipboard. When she looked up and saw John, she smiled. "Mr. Lawson! I didn't expect you to be here this late tonight. Shouldn't you be home getting ready for Thanksgiving tomorrow?" "Hey, Jess." John moved the novel he had been reading over the bulge in his pants, silently willing his erection to fade. "I was just going to get ready to leave actually. How're things going?" She shrugged and stuck the pen she had been writing with into her bun of blonde hair. "All right. Same old, same old, I guess. You know how it is." Satisfied that his arousal had ebbed enough to escape notice, John stood up to pull on his jacket. He noticed that the nipples of Jess's ample bosom were poking through the top of her scrubs, creating hard little dents in the cloth. "So did you just start your shift?" "Yeah, I got in a few minutes ago. It's pretty chilly out there. Make sure you bundle up." "Yes, Nurse Jess." John rolled his eyes and they chuckled together, comfortable in each other's presence. John had stayed late into the night at the hospital long enough to have built a rapport with the young nurse. At times, he had a feeling she suspected what he was doing with Amanda. There was one time when he thought he heard the door click while his face was buried between his wife's thighs, but when he looked up, it was still closed. Afterwards, when he left, she nodded at him, but couldn't seem to meet his eyes. John glanced down at his watch. "Well, I better get going. I promised the kids that I would be back home to do some Thanksgiving shopping, and you know how I hate to disappoint. It was good bumping into you though." "Same here." Jess pulled the pen from her hair and walked around Amanda's bed to the clicking and beeping machinery that surrounded her. "Get home safe. Say hi to Maddy and Chris for me." ***** Maddy and Chris were Amanda's children. When John came into their lives, they were fourteen years old. Maddy was a frizzy-haired redhead with arms and legs that constantly seemed to be getting tangled up and in her way. She was taller than the other children in her class and painfully self-conscious about how she towered over her friends. Chris was sullen and introverted. He barely spoke, always seemed to need a haircut and would often duck his head to hide behind his long dark bangs. They resented his presence at first, as John suspected they would, thinking he was there to take their mother from them. But he wanted to prove them wrong. He wanted them to know that he respected them and accepted them as important people in both Amanda's and his own life. After a year of dating, and he went to her children first to ask for their permission to marry their mother. Maddy delighted in helping him pick out the engagement ring, and Chris, young as he was, stood in as John's best man. After the accident, they became even closer, supporting each other through the doctors and hospitals. Maddy especially found solace in John's company, reminiscing about her mother when she was younger, and hiding her face in his shoulder when she couldn't speak past the tears. ***** When John got home from the hospital, it was almost ten o'clock. He could hear the TV in the living room and Maddy's voice chatting on the phone. "I think my step dad's home. Hey, is that you John?" "Yep." The kids had never called him "Dad" and John had never insisted on it. He felt that if that was going to happen, it ought to come naturally. Besides, having them call him by name created a sense of comfortable informality that he rather enjoyed. "If you still want to get to the supermarket, you better finish up on the phone soon." He walked into the kitchen, took off his jacket and hung it over a chair. While he poured himself a glass of apple juice, Maddy walked in and gave him a quick hug. Over the fours years John had known her, she had gradually filled out and was no longer the lanky teenager she used to be. Her grey shorts revealed legs that were supple and smooth, while her pink tank top covered a set of perky round breasts. "Hey, you're home kind of late." She was tying her curly red hair up into a ponytail. Her raised arms stretched the tank top tight across her chest, catching under the swell of her breasts and lifting them. "How's mom doing?" John's eyes flickered down for a fraction of a second and then refocused on her green eyes. God, his mind was going down roads he wished it wouldn't. "She's doing well. I was reading to her for a while and kind of lost track of time. So, how was school?" "It was okay." Maddy shrugged. "The teachers never have us do any real work the day before vacation. I pretty much spent the whole day arguing with Brad." Brad was Maddy's boyfriend. They had met at the community college that she and her brother were attending, and as far as John knew, he seemed to be a pretty decent guy who treated Maddy well. Lately though, it seemed that the two teenagers were arguing a lot. Occasionally he would hear her in her room, shouting on the phone. "What were you arguing about?" She shrugged again. "Stuff. I don't really want to talk about it. Oh, but that reminds me. Chris called. He said he's staying over at Stacy's house tonight." "His girlfriend? Is Mrs. Richards okay with that?" "Yeah, actually I talked to her mom for a little bit and she says that they usually have Thanksgiving dinner in the afternoon, so he's going to stay to eat there, and then afterwards they're going to come back over here to eat with us. She said she was going to pack up some dessert for them, so we don't have to worry about making anything." "Well, that's nice of her." John smiled. "All right then, so I guess it's just going to be me and you until tomorrow night, kiddo." "Um, actually, I was wondering if my friend Rose could come and visit tomorrow." "Doesn't she have plans with her family?" "No, well, you know how she's Chinese, so her family doesn't really celebrate the holidays like we do. Her parents took the time off from work to go visit her grandmother in Taiwan for the week instead." "They just left her alone?" "Well, she IS eighteen." Maddy sighed. "I don't know, you can ask her about it. I just don't want her to spend the holiday alone. So, can she some over tomorrow?" John gulped down his juice and waved his hand at her. "All right, all right, it's fine. Well, now that we have two extra people who are going to be coming over for dinner, we better get a move on and buy some food to feed them." Maddy smiled and hugged him, her soft, young body pressing into his. "Okay, let me call Rose to let her know and it'll take me two seconds to change so we can go." ***** John's eyes snapped open. He looked around the bedroom and breathed in deeply. The dream he was having had left him with a uncomfortable erection and he reached down to adjust his boxer shorts. There were naked bodies, anonymous arms, legs, breasts, buttocks… all rubbing and stroking and tangling with each other. He had a feeling he was in there somewhere as well, but couldn't figure out where his body began and where it ended amidst the tangled limbs. He rolled out of bed to lie face down on the floor. Silently, he counted off one hundred push-ups, flipped over and counted off another hundred sit-ups. Rolling back over, he repeated it again, push-ups followed by sit-ups. His erection still hadn't flagged. He went into the little bathroom that adjoined the bedroom. He soaked a hand towel under the faucet, wrung it out and wiped it over his face. John hadn't had sex since Amanda's accident. It didn't feel right, not when she was still alive and while there was still the hope that his wife might one day wake up. But the longer he held off, the more vivid the dreams seemed to become. Tonight was particularly realistic, and as he reached down into his shorts to relieve himself the way he had gotten used to in the last several months, he heard the bedroom door open. Pulling his hand back, he poked his head out of the bathroom and saw Maddy edging in past the door. "John?" "I'm in the bathroom. What're you doing up? Are you all right?" "I couldn't sleep." She was standing at the far side of the room in a sleep shirt that left her long, slender legs bare. "I heard you moving around and thought maybe we could talk?" She looked upset, and John immediately came out the bathroom and walked to her. "Of course we can talk. What's wrong honey?" "I'm just so tired of fighting with Brad all the time." Now that he was closer, he could see tears sliding down her cheeks. Taking her hand, he pulled her over to sit on the edge of the bed with him and hugged her. "Do you want to tell me about it?" She shook her head. Her face was against his neck, and her hands rested around his waist on the small of his back. "I do. But it's kind of weird… I mean, you're like my dad, but you're not, but I don't know who to ask and… I don't know. It's just… It's weird." "Okay." John rested his hand on the nape of her neck, under the mass of red curls that fell around her shoulders. He gave her a light squeeze. "You tell me whatever you want to tell me. And if you want to just sit and be quiet, we can sit and be quiet." He felt her head nod against his cheek. His hand continued to massage her neck, while his other hand pulled hers from around his waist so that he could hold it. She sniffled and seemed to be content with leaving her face hidden in his shoulder. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence. John liked knowing that she felt she could come to him when she was upset, but at the same time, the longer they sat, the more conscious he became of his condition. He realized that he had been so concerned about Maddy, he'd forgotten about the erection he had woken up with… one that still hadn't gone away. The change between them was subtle. John wasn't sure exactly how or when it happened, but when her hand left his and started inching up his leg, he didn't say a word. She lifted her hand and rested it on his flat stomach, his muscles tightening in response. Again, he stayed quiet. When her hand slid down to rest on the bulge that pushed against his shorts, John let his breath loose, realizing he had been holding it. She tugged at the cloth until his cock bobbed its head through the opening in the front of his boxers. She wrapped her fingers around it, her fingertips barely touching around the circumference of his shaft. "It's… bigger than I thought it would be," he heard her whisper. He didn't say anything, just watched her hand as it softly slid up to the tip of his member and back down again, squeezing to test its hardness. They sat there, John quietly allowing her to explore while Maddy stroked him and massaged the velvety rod that speared from his lap, occasionally giving a little tug and then letting go so that it bounced back and hit his stomach, just below his belly button. She lifted her head from his shoulder and leaned in to face his cock more fully. His hand was still resting behind her head, so that when she shifted forward, without thinking, he increased the pressure on the back of her neck. Moving with him, Maddy lowered her lips, parted them and took his cock into the warm depths of her mouth. John groaned and leaned back on the bed. He hadn't had this in so long, and the soft suction of her lips enveloping his member was painfully sweet. He watched her head bobbing up and down, her hand stroking where her mouth couldn't reach, and he knew she must have done this before. Maddy shifted and stretched out on the bed to adjust her angle, and in doing so, her sleep shirt pulled up. He could see now that she wasn't wearing any underwear, and her pale white bottom almost glowed in the darkness of the room. Reaching down, he put his hand on her thigh and pulled at her, letting her know that he wanted her to shift her body. Her mouth never left his cock, her tongue swirling around the head before plunging her head back down, but she moved so that her legs were beside his head and pointing towards the headboard. When he pushed at her top leg, she bent her knee and draped it over his chest so that he could see the smooth, bald lips of her pussy that had just the slightest touch of red down framing the top. Thankful Abandon Ch. 02 He crawled on his hands and knees towards her. She was lying on her back with her legs spread open, the glistening sex inviting him to taste its musky depths. He lowered his head to catch the folds in his mouth, sucking them before spearing his tongue within to find her swollen clit. He circled it slowly, caught it with his lips and lapped at it again. She moaned, lifting her hips to his mouth. The sting of the riding crop against his backside refocused his attention to the woman standing behind him as the chain attached to his collar jerked his head back. "That's enough!" Mistress Jasmine wrapped the chain around her fist so that he was forced to retreat from his wife who was bound by her wrists and attached to the legs of their four poster bed by lengths of thick, black rope. He looked up at the Asian woman standing over him. Her stiletto heels sank into the thick carpeting of the bedroom and the muscles of her nylon-clad thighs flexed as she walked around him. When she crouched to tip his chin up with the handle of her crop, he could hear the leather of her corset creak. "Before you can fully learn to pleasure a woman, you must understand what it means to be one." Her lips curled into a sinister smile and her exotic eyes narrowed. "You have to know what it means to be penetrated, to be violated. Only then can you approach a woman with the empathy that you need to truly be able to give her what she desires." He heard his wife moan. She knew exactly what Mistress Jasmine meant to do, and the idea of it never ceased to excite her. Nothing was more arousing to her than having her husband made into another woman's bitch. Even now, just seeing him on his hands and knees before a leather-clad woman, her fist holding him in tight control by the metal chain attached to his studded collar... her hips twisted upwards and her arms pulled at the rope that bound her wrists together above her head. Mistress Jasmine turned to look at the woman sprawled on the floor. She reached out with her crop and lightly tapped her wet, pouting slit with the leather tongue. "Patience, Kitty. Your Mistress must train her stud so that he will service you properly. And you like watching your Mistress train her bitch, don't you." She nodded, watching the dominatrix use the handle of her crop to push her long, black hair over her shoulder as she stood up to lead her husband by his leash back between her thighs. "Do not touch her." She unraveled the chain from her fist and attached it to one of the wooden columns at the foot of the bed. She took another chain that hung from the other column and latched that to his collar. "Do not even look at her. You will keep your eyes down and your hands to yourself or I will flay the skin from your back." He heard the leather of her corset creak again as she leaned in close to his ear. The scent of jasmine enveloped him and a wisp of her silken hair fell over his shoulder. She hissed. "Do you understand me?" "Yes, Mistress." He remained on his hand and knees between his wife's legs, not daring to move a muscle. They could feel the heat of each others' bodies, only inches away but unable to touch. His turgid cock hovered between his legs, a bead of fluid collecting at the tip. She could feel the warmth of his breath waft over the hair of her mound and she quelled the urge to raise herself to his mouth. He heard the muffled steps of Mistress Jasmine as she walked away from him. There was a rustling behind him and then the wet sound of something being squeezed from a tube. In a moment, the Mistress' hand appeared in front of his face holding a black dildo, gleaming with lube. "Are you ready for this?" Her voice whispered into his ear. "Every night, your wife has to lie back and take this from you. And now, it's your turn." His wife watched the slender Asian woman attach the dildo to the harness strapped around her hips, snapping the base into place. She tightened the straps at her waist and thighs, and gave the black phallus a tug to test its fit. "Put your cock against her pussy." He crawled forward and began to press his cock into his wife, pushing into the parting folds when his collar jerked him back again. The Mistress had hooked her fingers through it, cutting off his air and his wife whimpered at the frustration of feeling him pressed just outside her slit, the head of his shaft barely brushing the entrance of her sex. "I said against her pussy, not in it you fucking moron!" Her palm came down on his ass, leaving the stinging red imprints of her fingers on his white skin. The muscles of his buttocks tightened, but he held rigidly still, obeying his Mistress' command to remain unsheathed, though his cock trembled with the desire to plunge into his wife. She positioned herself between his legs behind him, her hands on his hips as the silicone head that bobbed between her legs prodded the back of his balls. Gripping the base, she guided it up to the dark valley that separated the pale globes of his bottom and slowly pressed inwards until she hit the hidden dark, pink star. She pushed and he felt his asshole stretch open to accept her tool. His hips moved forward with the pressure of hers and he felt his wife's cunt begin to splay open around the head of his cock, when the sudden grip on his hips pulled him back while spearing him more securely onto the dildo. "You do not get to fuck her until I give you permission." She pinched his thigh just under the curve of a buttock, and thrust into him viciously so that her cock was fully buried and his asshole was stretched wide around the thick silicone shaft. "Is that understood, you little bitch?" He was in agony. He cock ached for the embrace of his wife's cunt. It lay open and waiting right there in front of him, so close that the moisture that leaked from the tip of his dick rubbed and mixed with the wetness that coated her pussy lips. He stared down at her breasts, her nipples puckered to pinpoints of arousal. He could feel the fullness in his ass and the weight of his Mistress' cock inside him. He was her bitch and he reveled in the denial of his pleasure in lieu of her own. She pulled her hips back and slowly slid them forward again, the head of her cock pressing into his prostate as she filled his tight hole. She stabbed into him, keeping a firm hold on his waist to prevent him from fulfilling his longing to bury himself into his wife. He groaned, his face flushed. Looking down at the woman beneath him, he saw that her eyes weren't on him at all, but focused behind him. She watched as the leather-clad woman thrust against her husband, the white, flat surface of her stomach below the corset advancing and retreating every time she plunged against him. Her almond eyes were half-closed and the black curtain of her hair fell about her shoulders, the ends of the strands resting on the upper curve of her constricted breasts. With every other hunch of her hips, she would give him a flat-palmed smack on his reddening ass, propelling his hips forward so that his cock pressed against the opening of his wife's sex before it pulled back again to tease and rub against her outer lips. "Please Mistress Jasmine!" She was rocking her hips so that the head of her husband's cock slid up and down her slit, brushing just over her clit before retreating to hover outside her wet hole. She tried to shift her body down, to get closer to his straining member, but the ropes held her fast. Mistress Jasmine looked at her. "Do you want his cock?" "Yes Mistress, please!" "Say it!" "I want his cock! I want him to fuck me, please!" The dominatrix drew her hips back. "Fuck her, you little bitch!" She struck his buttocks with the full force of her hand, pressing down and forcing her dick into him so that he fell forward and his cock drove into his wife's hungry cunt. He buried his face against her neck, his shouts muffled as his plunged against her. With each forward thrust, the lips of his wife's pussy eagerly swallowed his shaft into a slick, hot vise of sensation, and with every retreat he was impaled on his Mistress' tool, his ass yielding to her invasion.. She began punching her hips into his, sending him deeper into his wife's cunt. He knew that it wasn't him fucking his wife. He was Mistress Jasmine's toy; he was the only thing that separated her from his wife, and it was his Mistress' cock that was fucking her through him. He slowed his own movements, allowing the Asian woman's momentum to swing his body against his wife and grind his groin against her sex. His asshole engulfed the dildo, causing a sliver of tingling sensation to run through his balls and up the underside of his cock. The blood rushed to his member, adding to the thickness so that his wife gasped and clutched at her ropes, and when he felt the sporadic spasms of her vaginal muscles, signaling the imminent arrival of her orgasm, his head began to swim. He grunted when he felt Mistress Jasmine quicken her pace and reached up to grab his wife's swaying breasts, holding on as he pinched at the hard, pink nubs. Her legs came up to wrap around him and what had started as a whimpering at the back of her throat soon crescendoed into a full throated wail. His wife's body bowed with the force of her release and the convulsions of her pussy around his cock sucked him deeper and deeper in, until it seemed that she was reaching right into his balls to seize and rip his orgasm from him. His buttocks rippled with the force of the Mistress' thrusts and his asshole clenched as shivers danced over him. It was just as his wife's shouts began to ebb that his began, the punishing shock of Mistress Jasmine's palm striking his ass sending him over the edge. His hands dropped to his wife's waist and he howled as he held her tight against him, rigidly shuddering as he shot jets of white, hot cum into her womb. They lay in a heap, husband and wife, breathing in the scent of the other's sweat with their eyes closed in contentment. Mistress Jasmine stood up and silently left the room. ***** Rose stepped off the bus. She was wearing jeans under her black pea coat and had washed the make-up from her face so that she looked once more like a college student returning from a late night studying. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, and her almond-shaped eyes were hidden behind thick, dark-rimmed glasses. She hefted her duffel bag over her shoulder and looked around. The street was empty, the darkness broken only by the intermittent pools of light cast by the street lamps. Row after row of plain-faced buildings looked back at her, the empty windows like staring eyes. She walked to the one with the dark green awning and pressed the doorbell, pulling the door open at the sound of the buzzer. The silent ride up the elevator ended when the doors slid open. She saw a group of four women at the end of the carpeted hallway. They were standing around a naked, hooded man and were taking turning paddling him as he crawled around, frenzied. It looked like he was trying to press his lips to all of their bare feet at once, but failing miserably as the blows rained down on his bright, red bottom. "So, has Mistress Jasmine struck again?" Rose turned around and smiled at the short, buxom woman standing in the doorway behind her. "I guess you could say that. They were a nice couple." "I wouldn't have let you go on an outcall if I didn't think so too. Now, then." The woman pulled a pair of silver-rimmed spectacles from the tangled, grey hair she had pinned up on top of her head. "Put your things away and let's get you paid so you can go home." Rose walked to her locker in the room adjacent to the office, taking out her backpack and replacing it with the duffel bag where she had her equipment neatly folded. She locked up and returned to where the grey-haired woman was counting out stacks of bills. Looking up at Rose over the top of her glasses, she waved a small roll of twenties. "Make sure it's all there." Rose took the roll and counted out the money. She nodded. Three hundred dollars was certainly going to help with tuition, not to mention Christmas gifts this year. "Looks good. Thanks." She slung her backpack over her shoulder and gave the woman a wave before walking into the hallway, nearly tripping over the naked slave who had crawled down the corridor, his dick sticking out from under his belly like a little, red sausage as the abusive women hurled insults at him and spat on his tiny member. One of them turned to her, smirking. "He's paying eight hundred bucks for us to kick his sorry ass up and down the hallway." Rose laughed and looked down at the fat, little man cowering on the floor. "Get the fuck out of my way, pig!" She kicked him, grinding the tread of her sneaker into his ass, and then turned to press the button. He tried to kiss her foot and she slapped him away. "Thank you, my Asian Goddess!" he called after her, the shouting of the ladies fading as the doors closed behind her and the elevator returned her to the silent lobby. ***** She was Chinese, and that meant that she was supposed to be a doctor or a lawyer. Maybe even a concert pianist or violinist would have been all right, but a dancer? Her father had shaken his head and declared dishonor on the family when Rose announced her decision. Dancers jumped around half-naked, shamefully revealing their bodies. Dancers did drugs to stay thin. Dancers had no future. "Don't expect me to support you," her father had said. "If you do this, you're doing it on your own." Despite her mother's protests, he insisted that Rose be out of the house by the end of the year and to "take your disgrace with you." She found a job as a waitress to make some money and enrolled for classes at the community college where tuition was cheaper. She saved what she could, and one day, while looking for apartments, she stumbled across the ad in the paper. ***DUNGEON LOOKING FOR DOMINATRIX*** WILL TRAIN! FLEXIBLE HOURS! Since school hadn't started yet, she was able to go in for an interview that same day. Four months later, Mistress Jasmine was a regular favorite at Madame Severa's House of Domination. It was a virtually unheard of rise to underground stardom, but because she was an Asian in a largely Caucasian town, her lean dancer's body combined with her exotic features and her natural glee in dealing out punishment and humiliation gave her an undeniable edge. Rose kept her alter-ego a closely guarded secret. She told her parents she worked the night shift at a local warehouse. She kept her gear hidden in her locker at Mistress Severa's, and she maintained an innocent public persona, hiding behind her glasses like a modern day Clark Kent to prevent recognition. The only person who knew was Maddy, her best friend. The two girls kept nothing from each other. Maddy knew about Mistress Jasmine, and Rose was the only person who knew about the affair Maddy had begun with her step father, Mr. Lawson. Rose blushed, thinking about what happened on Thanksgiving. Maddy had told her about the wrist restraints and floggers she found in his bedroom and wanted Rose to show her how to use them. She hoped that by learning about something he was clearly interested in, she might please and surprise her step father. What happened afterwards was a surprise to them all. Rose could still remember the way it felt when his massive cock speared into her, splitting her tight, little pussy while she lay helpless, her wrists attached to the headboard of his bed. Rose thrilled to the idea of being overpowered by an authority figure. She had seen enough groveling men to know the taste of power, and while she loved it, she also wanted to know what it would feel like to have that control stripped and taken from her. She shook her head, ignoring the tingle between her thighs. This was not the time. She was moving into a new apartment this week, a full month before the deadline her father had set, letting him know that she didn't need his approval or support to accomplish her goals. It hurt her that he didn't seem to care either way. He hadn't even asked her to at least stay through Christmas, but now that she had made her stand, she couldn't back down. She didn't want to spend the holidays alone, but worrying about that wasn't going to pay for rent and tuition, and with no one to help her, there was just too much to do. ***** Rose turned when she heard her name. It was Keiichi, one of the professors in the English department who was teaching her class while the regular teacher was on vacation. Keiichi was half Japanese and ten years older than most of the students in the classes he taught, but sometimes acted like he was barely in his twenties. He saw no reason to be formal, insisting that the students call him by his first name, and often joking that, "Mr. Williams is my father's name." Rose side stepped the other students and made her way towards him. He was sitting, rifling through stacks of papers. When she finally stood by the desk, he held an essay she had written a week ago. "Hi, Rose." He smiled, revealing straight white teeth with a crooked one on the side that made him look younger than he was. "Listen, I read your essay a few nights ago, and I was just curious about why you decided to choose this particular novel." Rose shrugged. "The assignment was to write about a strong, female character. I thought Venus in Furs would be appropriate." He nodded. "Yes, and I like what you wrote, but have you read the book by his wife, The Confessions of Wanda von Sacher-Masoch?" "No, I haven't heard of that one." "You really should." Keiichi stood up from the desk. He was surprisingly tall and Rose guessed that his height must be from his father's side. "Venus is a fictionalized story of Sacher-Masoch's fantasies, but Confessions is by his wife, his real life wife, about what it is to live them." She tilted her head, surprised that she had never noticed the color of his eyes. They were a pale, golden brown and it was startling to see them combined with the subtle tilt of his lids. "I, uh... I'll look into it. Though, money's a little tight right now and..." He picked up a pen from the desk and bent down to write on her paper. "You know what? Don't worry about buying it. I have a copy of it at home. You should base your next assignment on it. Your regular teacher loves this stuff." He held the paper out to her. "Here's my address. Why don't you stop by and we can discuss it?" She tucked the essay into one of her books. "Um, thanks." "I finish teaching my last class today at five, so I should be home by six." "All right. I'm done at the studio right around then. I can stop by afterwards." "Great." He smiled again. "I'll see you then." ***** Rose knocked at the door. She heard a clatter and then the sound of cursing. The door swung open and Keiichi was wiping his shirt with a kitchen towel. "I'm sorry." She looked down at the light, brown stain on his white t-shirt and back up at him. "You said after six or so, right?" "No, don't apologize, you're right. I was just making coffee." He swiped again at his shirt and grinned sheepishly. "It's been a rough day." He stepped back from the door and waved her in. "Please," he said. "No point in you standing out there while I clean myself up." Rose was still wearing her black leotard from the dance studio. The heat she had generated from the physically intensive class insulated her from the cold. She wore a red skirt over her grey tights and fur-lined boots kept her feet warm, but her coat and scarf were draped over her arm, leaving her shoulders bare, save for her backpack. She never wore a bra because of how small she was, so when the chill of the November wind stiffened her nipples, it wasn't difficult for Keiichi to notice the hard, round dents protruding from the elastic material of her top.