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Skinning the Cat

By: carvohi



Prologue, sort of.

Hi! I have a story, but first I need to clear, or maybe cloud up the air. There's a guy who's been doing a TV show, and who will soon be replacing David Letterman on late night. His name is Steven Colbert, and he invented a word he called 'truthiness'. By truthiness he meant things that sort of sounded true, but in reality were all nonsense. The story below has an element of 'truthiness' to it. It was an idea outlined by a very close female acquaintance; she thought I could do something with it and I always do what I'm told when it comes to women. 

I wrote it. She read it. She approved.

I hope you enjoy it, but be forewarned if you read anything that smacks at all of being political, sexist, or homophobic, or anything like that at all please don't tear your ass over it, it's just a story. 

One modest admonition: there's a short 'short version' for me. If you're in a hurry please go someplace else.

*****

[Saturday morning in the 'here and now'.]

Theresa Westcott sat down beside her mom, Elizabeth. It was a little after 6:00 a.m. on a Saturday in June not so long ago. Theresa, her sisters, her brothers, her mom, dad and a whole passel of grandparents would be headed out for St. Paul's United Methodist in a few hours. Theresa was twenty-two, fresh out of college, and she'd finally landed her 'man'; yeah, this was her big day.

Mom was just pouring herself a fresh cup of coffee when Theresa asked, "Mom; you mind if I have a cup too?"

Mom looked askance at her oldest child, "You sure? In a few hours you'll be walking down the aisle. You'll be a nervous wreck as it is."

"Come on mom, just a little. I want to talk."

Elizabeth poured her daughter a half cup. Intent on cutting the effects of the caffeine she filled the rest with milk. She handed it across the kitchen table, "I thought we already had 'that talk' when you started high school?"

Theresa smiled wistfully, "No not 'that talk'. I had something else in mind."

Elizabeth sat down. She glanced at the clock over the refrigerator, "OK, I guess we've a few minutes."

Theresa reached over and squeezed her mom's hand, "First mom thanks again for letting me use your wedding dress, and I'm glad Marty and I are doing this on you and dad's anniversary."

Elizabeth smiled, "It means a lot to us."

"Mom," Theresa went on, "I know I've heard it before, but could you kind of tell me about you and dad. You know how it all started, how it happened, how you guys managed to get together, and mom, I'm an adult now, don't pull any punches. OK?"

Elizabeth rubbed the top of her little girl's hand. She remembered not so long ago holding this now fully grown person in her arms. She'd been so tiny, just six pounds four ounces, "No, sorry honey. That's stuff's special, just between me and your dad. You go back upstairs. Maybe someday you'll want to tell me things."

Theresa looked at her mom, "Mom."

"No sugar. You go back and lie down. This is your big day."

Theresa got up and sullenly trudged her way back upstairs. 

Elizabeth got up and freshened her coffee. She listened out. Once she was sure Theresa had gone back to bed she sat back down. 'Well, well', she thought, 'the little girl wants to know what happened'. She remembered how they'd told the kids the short version, the PG version, but the long version, no that was just for her and their dad. She reflected, 'Gee, it'd been more than twenty-years now. Twenty-two years; it was like yesterday...

[And so it was]

Elizabeth went back...

I'd just turned twenty-four. Professionally I was working at Gaithersburg Junior High School. I'd just gotten tenure and was feeling pretty proud of myself. There were no middle schools in those days; everything was junior high, that's seventh through ninth. 

I was certified to teach Spanish, French, and Italian, but since I was still pretty new I got stuck with eighth grade French. Eight graders in those days were just a step away from Australopithecines so I knew I'd have my hands full.

I'd been a 'wallflower' all my life. Never dated in high school, missed my junior and senior proms. In college no sorority wanted me. I wasn't pretty. I wasn't a legacy, and my family didn't have any money. I was smart though, and ended up in a dorm with all of what I'd suppose they'd call today the nerdiest girls. They were no coed dorms back then. 

Well anyone could figure by the time I started my third year teaching there wasn't going to be any 'Prince Charming'; no hero coming around the bend to rescue me. Heck, I was ugly, I dressed poorly, I had no money, I had a whole slew of unflattering names under my belt, never had a boyfriend, and by then I figured I'd wind up an old maid.

If Theresa only knew. I sure wasn't much to look at; stringy brown hair, bottle cap glasses, and a totally unremarkable face. If someone were to call me plain I would have considered it a compliment. Thank God I never had acne, but my complexion was something akin to dishwater. Everyone knows dishwater; that's the stuff people drain away after they're done with the dishes. 

Was I sexy? If sexy meant being neither tall nor short, not fat or thin, and a bra size that was too much for a B-cup, but not enough for a C. I was sexy. Actually I was the most eminently forgettable woman anyone ever saw. I mean no one ever remembered my name. 

Then it happened. We started school. Like I said it was my third year teaching, and then 'he' showed up. 

His name was Dillon Westcott. He was almost exactly six feet tall. He had the shaggiest light brown hair, and the biggest brown eyes I'd ever seen. He had 'it'! He was Mr. Charisma. When he walked in that first day it was like the parting of the waters. Jesus he had to be the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. 

We all found out pretty quickly how old he was; he was twenty-seven, and he was just getting over a horrific divorce. Every unmarried woman in the building started to fantasize about how they'd get his attention and mend his broken heart. 

I admit it I lost a lot of sleep those first few professional days dreaming about him. Of course I knew I was just dreaming, but God what a dreamboat! It was my bad luck there were too many unmarried pretty girls in the school. I knew I didn't stand a chance. 

What could I say? There he was, the penultimate example of manliness. Those first couple days I pretended not to notice him. It didn't matter; he sure didn't notice me. How could he; him being surrounded by all those beautiful women. 

I don't know for sure, but I had this feeling this would be my last shot. I'd had a few chances before, but I'd always chickened out. Darn it I wanted to be a wife. I wanted to be a mother. I wanted a family. I wanted happiness. I needed to at least try!  

Call it an old maid's fantasy, call it intuition, call it premonition, but Dillon somehow looked like the right one. It would take a miracle, but I had to see. Then the first of what I think were several fortuitous incidences occurred.

The school had about five hundred kids who were all distributed on three floors. The principal put the seventh graders on the top floor, the eighth graders on the second floor, and the ninth graders were on the ground floor. Each floor had its grade, and each grade it's supervisor. Mr. Wonderful, being the new man on the block, was assigned the dreaded eighth grades.

His office was at the end of the hall. My room was three doors down on the right. I knew I couldn't change the way I looked and I sure couldn't afford any new clothes so there was no way I could compete with the babes who corralled him every morning. I had to think of something, something that would be different.

Well I wasn't stupid; I knew there was one thing a man could never ignore, and that was a helpless female. And there I was, the ugly duckling forced to teach French to a bunch of rowdy eighth grade boys. I already said eighth graders were the classic knuckle draggers, but when it came to a hated subject nothing was worse than a foreign language, and no foreign language was more objectionable than French. In French no word sounds the way it looks. Then in terms of discipline I was weak anyway, and my reputation as a weakling preceded me. Oh did it precede me.

Whereas most of the teachers could expect about a two week honeymoon before the clowns started in, I figured I'd be lucky to get two days. There's an unwritten rule in the public schools; 'competent teachers' handled their own discipline problems; only the weak, lame, and lazy sent kids to the office.

I was in and out of luck! In Maryland to get rid of a tenured teacher the administration had to prove absolute stupidity or catch someone in the actual act of a felony murder. I was neither stupid nor felonious, but I knew I'd need help. The key was to get the help and get Mr. Perfect to pay attention to me, but to do it in a way that he wouldn't hate me or think I was a complete fool. Talk about the 'impossible dream'.

I was going to be an annoyance no matter what; I just had to do it in some special way where I could gain 'points', points I might be able to use to get 'Mr. Right'. Wasn't I dreaming? 

Now I knew men then and today hate tedious women; they like a compliant cooperative girl. I knew when I started to send my discipline problems to Mr. Westcott I had to be prepared to be castigated and humiliated. I had to accept the trauma of professional degradation, I also had to avoid getting defensive, but I also knew I had to find a way to break through to his masculinity. 

Men today don't like 'bitchy women, and back then they absolutely didn't like bitches, but also back then the men, the real men I mean, had an aura of graciousness that wouldn't allow them beat a woman to death. And so I started to send my first miscreants to Mr. Westcott.

My first 'bad boys were sent and came back suitably humbled. Mr. Westcott stopped by occasionally, he'd smile, he'd ask after this or that child, he'd inquire about my well-being."

I can remember Mr. Westcott now. I can hear his voice like it was yesterday, "Everything all right Miss Caldwell?"

I'd reply, "Oh yes sir, and thank you for helping me with Connor."

Then he'd say, "Let me know if you need anything else," 

And I'd reply, "Oh yes sir, and thank you again." Of course the deal was to put the butter on the bread; keep him pleased. When he stopped to see me I was all smiles. If he glanced my way in the hall I always smiled. Sometimes I'd give him a surreptitious little finger wave and mouth a thank you. Men always ate that shit up.

Oh course it came to the day when I'd sent a few too many of the little monsters to his office. I got called on the carpet. 

I walked into the outer office and said to the secretary, 'I think Mr. Westcott asked to see me.'

The secretary was an older lady. She smiled condescendingly and answered, 'Yes, I'll tell him you're here.'

Naturally I remained standing; the more obsequious the better. After a few pregnant moments, probably to ice me down I got the nod to go in. I went in and stood in front of his desk. There was a student's chair at my side.

Mr. Westcott nodded toward the chair, "Have a seat Miss Caldwell."

I sat with my back straight, on the front edge of the seat just like I was at a job interview.

I remember how he steepled his hands. He looked down at his copies of all my referrals, "Miss Caldwell you've been sending quite a few of your youngsters to the office."

His statement that they were my youngsters was his message to me they were mine, my problem, and not his to discipline. I looked down and away for a second, then I looked up. I gave him my best innocent little girl look. I'd also unbuttoned the top two buttons of my blouse just before I went in. I knew I didn't have much ammunition, but I'd use what I had. In a soft insecure voice I replied, "Yes sir, I guess I have."

I watched him. My response had just the right effect. He felt like a real man, a demi-god. I was his devoted adherent. I believed if I'd done it right I thought I'd get a minimal reprimand and perhaps a lot of empathy.

I was right. He put his hands on his desk. He slid the referrals to the side. He smiled, "You really do need to show a firmer hand."

This was it; time to move to stage two. I blinked several times. That brought water to my eyes. I knew they looked wet; I could see in his expression he saw the moisture. Men hate to see women cry. I looked as wide eyed as I dared. I touched myself on my chest exactly where the second button was undone. I couldn't have behaved more self-consciously, more self-effacingly. I softly murmured, "I'll do better Mr. Westcott. I promise. I will."

I got his warm smile. He stood up and extended his arm in an outstretched manner that indicated I should stand, the conference was over. I passed! He told me, "I'm glad we had this talk. I get the feeling you'll be working harder. I know eighth graders are a challenge, and teaching a foreign language to a bunch of feisty adolescents isn't the easiest job, but I know you can handle it. I believe in your Miss Caldwell." 

God he had a thin waist and such broad shoulders. And those brown eyes were just adorable! Oh I wanted to run my fingers through that thick tangle of brown hair. 

I wasn't done, not quite yet. He'd sent me the signal to stand and lead him out the door. Not me though, I wasn't leaving. I waited until he was on my side of the desk. I got up. We were close. Almost touching. I was wearing perfume, a soft but I knew disquieting fragrance. His right hand gently, oh so gently touched my left shoulder. I hesitated. I hesitated just long enough to allow him to fully touch me. I looked up at him, and I gave him my best deer in the headlights look. He smiled again; his hand didn't leave my arm.

As I left his office I felt I had accomplished a lot more than getting a little help in the classroom. I know I'd stroked his ego. I know he was feeling superior, he was feeling like the sage, the mentor, the benevolent God. Also I knew he saw me as more than just an annoyance. I prayed, I believed I had become more than just another teacher, another employee. I believed I had become a person, a real person, someone he might think about later. Plant a seed, water it, and watch it grow.

Of course the office referrals didn't stop. A week later I was back in his office for my second conference. This time he was more serious, more demanding, "Miss Caldwell it seems like you're not doing any better. We're not seeing the progress we'd hoped for."

I blinked several times. I had to get the waterworks moving, "I'm trying Mr. Westcott. Really I am. I've kept some of the boys after school. I've called their homes. I even made them do punishment assignments..."

He interrupted. I expected he would. Even then in those days writing things like sentences had been identified as corporal punishment. Also I'd kept a boy longer than thirty minutes. One boy had missed his bus. I was in trouble.

He gave me a stern look, "We can't assign punishment assignments. You should know that. You can't keep them for longer than thirty minutes. Miss Caldwell you've got to try harder, and you've got to stay within the rules."

He'd been stern, harsh even. My eyes started to water, "I'm sorry." It was chancy, but I thought I had him.

He backed off, "Maybe I'll call the homes on a few of the real hard heads, but you need to come down harder in class."

I squeezed my hands together. I used the back of my right hand to brush aside a tiny, and imaginary, tear, "I'll try sir."

He was young. He was a man. He instinctively needed to play the hero. I could see those protective instincts start to emerge, he melted, "Maybe I could stop in once or twice. I could make an informal observation; nothing official, just a 'look in' to see how you're doing." 

I nodded my head. I smiled. I even sniffed, "Oh yes, that would be good. Maybe you could offer a few pointers?" I watched as he opened his notebook to check his schedule. He smiled at his book. Then he looked at me, "Yes I'll put you down for a time. I won't tell you when. It will be a surprise."

I smiled at him like he'd just fixed my car on a snowy night in a dangerous neighborhood, "I'll make an extra copy of all my lesson plans a week ahead so when you come in you'll..."

He held up his hand, "You don't need to do that."

I didn't say anything. I just smiled. He and I both knew I'd have copies of all my plans for him. I could see his look of self-satisfaction. I was now more than just a person; I'd become a project!"

This time when he got up to show me out I got up too, but I waited until he was right in front of me. I looked up at him. He was the father, I the child, "Thank you so much Mr. Westcott."

This time he put his hand lightly on my shoulder. He let it rest there; it felt warm and strong. I'd never really liked being touched like this before, but things were different now. This time I'd had three buttons undone. I knew he was checking me out. I wasn't just a project; for all my weaknesses I was becoming a 'sexual person'!"

Two days later he was in my room. I'd set aside a special seat for him in the back. When he came in all the kids got quiet. They knew why he was there. I did too, but I knew other things also. 

All week I'd made extra neat and extra thorough lessons. I'd spent some extra money I couldn't afford on clothes. I'd bought new blouses, dark pleated miniskirts, dark pantyhose, and I'd bought some heeled shoes to show off my calves and my ass. I know I wasn't much, but I did have a good ass and good legs. I'd changed my hairstyle. My hair was long enough to put in a ponytail. I had a long neck, and with my black glasses I hoped to look like the prim and proper teacher I hoped he'd like. 

I used all the weapons I had, and I could tell right away I'd succeeded. He spent more time watching my legs, my swaying pony tail, and my breasts undulate beneath my blouse than he did my teaching. Oh yes I had his attention. I knew he noticed me, not just as a teacher, but as a woman too! More important I knew this observation would require what I wanted more than anything-an after school conference!

That afternoon, right after school I got the news, and it was better than I ever expected. Mr. Westcott wanted to meet with me the next day, after school, and he'd noted he'd come to my room!" 

Some people might have said I was being manipulative; I didn't see it that way. I remember when I was little and my dad tried to make a little extra money by selling encyclopedias? What did he always say? He said he wasn't manipulating anyone when he talked to them, he was only adding value. That's all I was doing. I was adding value. The only difference was I wasn't selling books; I was selling a person, I was selling me!"

I thought about the other teachers. Were they a little envious? Maybe I was skating on thin ice, but so what, it wasn't like some off campus rendezvous. Besides all the office harassment stuff was still light years away. This wasn't some tryst. This was a professional meeting. And last, it was still too early. Nobody, that is none of the other women, the pretty ones had a clue about me, and even if they did they would've laughed. Remember I was the ugly one. I was under the radar!

I got all ready for our conference. I set up two chairs that would be situated on the corner of my desk. That way we both could put any materials we needed on it. Our knees would almost touch. I got a clipboard and some extra paper so I could take notes. I bought a pretty new light blue blouse that almost exactly matched the shade of my eyes. The blouse had a peter pan collar, but I made sure the top two buttons were undone. I wore my 'virgin pin'. Virginity still meant a lot back then. I even used some eye shadow and lip gloss. I had my hair in my pony tail. I was ready. The way I was situated I knew he'd get a good look at my best features. I even wore a bra made of extra thin material. The room was cool in the afternoon; maybe my nipples would show through.


Skinning the Cat



When he came in I stood up. He walked over and took his seat. I was his pupil. He was my teacher. I wrote down every suggestion. I smiled at every positive comment. I tried to look apologetic at every criticism. All the while I carefully twisted this way and that. I was posing, and I think he knew it. I think he felt flattered. He sat and talked about my lesson for nearly twenty minutes while I crossed and uncrossed my legs, and then my second miracle happened."

He changed the subject. He told me where he went to college and a little about the education programs there, and what his qualifications were."

Then I told him where I went to school. I found out he had a friend who went where I went. Gosh we spent nearly ten minutes just talking about college. He even mentioned his former wife! He mentioned he was divorced! I didn't push that though, but I did sort of nonchalantly, unconsciously touch the third button of my blouse. I sat stiffly with my knees close together and pushed the hem of my skirt down.

The last thing he said was that he'd be back in a few days to see if I'd followed up on any of his suggestions. I was in heaven! A second observation meant there would be a second after school conference!"

Another new thing started to happen after the conference. I had a specific time I was to eat lunch. I always ate in the teachers' room in the cafeteria. Mr. Westcott could choose the time and place he could eat. Up until then I never saw him. Then a couple days after our afternoon meeting he appeared in the teacher's room at my scheduled time. I saw him. He saw me. I smiled, stood up, and pulled out a chair. He was obligated to accept. Suddenly it looked like I had a school time lunch date! And I did.

I wasn't stupid I had to plan what we'd talk about. Of course I knew the one thing all men liked to talk about-themselves.

Every day we met in the lunchroom. I packed my own lunch. Every night I made something I thought he'd like. I baked brownies. I baked a cherry pie, a bunch of sugar cookies. I even made up some homemade cupcakes! 

At first we talked about school; others joined in, but gradually the others got bored when we shifted to what he liked. We talked about NASCAR and football and, ugh, fishing! I tried to find out as much as I could about those things. I checked out books. I asked around. While we talked I tried to act excited. Every chance I got I'd touch his hand or his arm. He liked it. I could tell.

Well the lunchtime thing kept on all through October. I still had discipline problems, and he still made regular visits, and we still had after-school conferences, but the conferences slowly changed. The days got shorter and the weather turned cooler. Even then the schools were energy conscious so they turned the heat way back after school closed. My classroom was too cool so we shifted our meetings to a little tavern that was only a couple blocks away. It was a quiet little place called the Red Hen. 

I'll say this; it was slow going, but then one night we had a major paradigm shift. We were walking out to our cars. He drove a Pontiac, and I drove a very old late model Ford Falcon. My car wouldn't start, and I didn't have Triple A. It didn't matter. He called a station and they agreed to come out, but it would be a while. It was cold so we sat in his car. It was big, and it had a bench seat. I wasn't really all that uncomfortable, but I pretended to shiver. The next thing I knew I was right beside him. He had his arm around me. We sat and pretended to talk. He wanted to kiss me. I knew he did. I wanted him to kiss me, but it was a different time; he had to make the first move. He didn't so I laid my head on his shoulder and we talked about all the places I'd like to see. He talked about all the places he'd been. I was appropriately impressed.

Then it happened. He leaned down and he kissed me. He kissed me right on my left cheek. I knew then. I knew right then and there I was gaining yardage.

The tow truck came, and they fixed my car. The battery wasn't connected properly. I drove home that night knowing it was just a question of days before he'd ask me out, and he did.

He asked me to go to the movies with him. We saw a Julie Christie movie. She was young then. Later she played Brad Pitt's mother in 'The Trojan War'. I don't remember the movie, but I remember getting a pack of Raisinettes. He got a bag of popcorn. Nothing happened that night; in fact nothing happened until it was near Thanksgiving. We'd been out four times; then things turned dark."

"I said Dark."

Dillon, I was calling him Dillon when we weren't at school. He told me he wanted to take me to DC. He wanted to take me to a nice restaurant, get a really good meal, and then go hear the symphony. I of course agreed. Then he went dark. He said he wanted to buy me something to wear. I thought he meant maybe a necklace or a scarf, but he wanted to buy me a dress! Any normal woman would have been offended, 'Whoa, as in you don't like my clothes?' Not me, I was in too deep. 

I got the package and I opened it. Inside was a pretty 'empire style dress, kind of low cut and a mini. There was a pair of matching high heels, a pair of black panties and that was all. I figured he'd either forgotten about things like a bra and pantyhose or he assumed I had that stuff.

What happened next was really scary. He got to my door. I lived in an apartment building. He rang and I opened the door. He seemed surprised but didn't say anything. We went to a great restaurant called the Embers. It's gone now, and got a table on the side. As soon as we sat down he said to me, 'Did I send you a bra and those hose?'

I told him, "No I just..."

He sat back and in a real firm, almost threatening voice he said, "Well take them off."

I said, "What?"

He said, "Take them off."

I was surprised. He was scaring me. It didn't matter. I had to do it. I got up to go to the bathroom to take the things off, but he grabbed my arm and said, "No take them off right here." Years later Hollywood made a movie where something like this happened.

That really scared me. I said, "Here? At the table?"

He said, "Yes."

I said, "I can't do that."

Then he looked around, found our waiter and signaled for him to come over.

I asked him, "What are you doing?"

He said, "If you aren't going to listen, then the date's over."

I was plum terrified! I never expected anything like that. I mean he'd always been so thoughtful. I realized this was some kind of test; a test I knew I needed to pass. By then I was head over heels in love. I'd been maneuvering for two months, but I knew I was the one in the corner. So I told him. I said, "OK. I'll do it."

By then the waiter had arrived. Dillon looked at him and said, "Can you bring us a doggy bag?"

The waiter said now or after you eat?"

Dillon said, "No now please."

The waiter looked confused, but nodded his head and left to get a bag. Dillon looked at me and said, "Well?"

The dress had three quarter length sleeves, and the bra was hooked in the back so it was really hard getting it undone and then pulling it down first through one sleeve and then the other. My breasts started slipping around inside the dress top. I was a little afraid one might fall out. I know I was creating quite a little scene. Dillon seemed unperturbed. In fact he was enjoying it. People at some of the tables were watching but trying not to show it. I got the bra out; it was a white one with lace. Then I had to first pull my panties down, and then, right there in the restaurant I had to pull down the pantyhose. It was unnerving. I had to twist and turn to get the hose down. I was really upset, but excited a little too. For a few seconds my bare butt was on the chair, and it was cold. I got my panties back up as fast as I could. Thankfully they were a 'tap' cut, more like knickers actually. 

Then what happened nearly led me to leave. Dillon told me to neatly fold the pantyhose and the bra and set them on my unfolded napkin. The waiter came over with the bag. Dillon told me to put the bra and pantyhose in the bag and take it across the restaurant and throw it in a small trash container that was by the hostesses stand. I had to get up and walk all the way across the restaurant and throw away my clothes. I had to do it right there in front of everybody. Without the pantyhose my legs felt the draft of the cool restaurant air, and my boobs kept undulating back and forth as I walked. I felt sort of naked and exposed. It was terribly embarrassing. I knew I was blushing. A lot of people were watching. Honestly, it was humiliating.

After that Dillon was a perfect gentleman. We ordered dinner. I got chicken livers. He got a steak. We ate. He left a large gratuity, and then we took the shuttle bus to the concert hall. We had good seats. He was incredibly polite, but I felt really almost naked all night. Without the nylons and the bra I felt terribly self-conscious; I felt like people were watching me all night. I knew they weren't; it just seemed like it. I think that's what he wanted to happen.

After the concert we took the shuttle back to where he'd parked his car. I expected he'd take me home. Maybe I'd get a good night kiss, but no it didn't happen that way. As he helped me in his car he said, "I'm taking you back to my place."

A normal person would have declined, but this hadn't been a normal date, and I hadn't been behaving normally. He had me; I realized it was going to be all or nothing at all, total victory or utter annihilation. I taught French. This was my fantasy. I was Vercingetorix and he was Caesar. I was 'Roland' about to face the Moorish hordes! I was Saint Joan! I was Napoleon back from Elba! I nodded my head and murmured, "I'd like that," 

I shivered as he pulled out of the lot. Maybe I'd go down in flames; but I wouldn't turn tail. Maybe, just maybe this was my Marne, my miracle! Oh God let this be my night!

He smiled, got in and started his car, and then he took me to his home. He took me to his apartment. He knew too; because of what happened at the restaurant he had me. 

We took an elevator up several floors. He helped me out, unlocked his apartment and helped me inside. Then he walked me into his living room. It was really big and well furnished. He stood in front of me. He wrapped his arms me, pulled me close and kissed me. His lips were hot. I felt his thing press against me. I'd never had that experience before; his thing was really big. 

He kept kissing me. Then he slowly unzipped the back of my dress. It started to fall away. He used his hands to let it slide down my arms. He kept kissing my hair and ears, and then my face. He lowered his mouth and used his lips and tongue to caress my neck. I'd say it was more like a nuzzle than a kiss. None of that had never been done to me before and I had all these incredible shivers go up and down my back and all around my shoulders and my face. I couldn't say why, but I felt really brave!

Then no sooner than he'd started; he stopped. He stepped away and looked at me. All I had on were my shoes and the panties. My panties felt like they were wet so I looked down and it looked like I'd peed myself, but I knew it wasn't pee. I'd masturbated a few times, and I knew what it was. He did too.

He just stood there and stared at me. It was like I was some piece of sculpture. I was blushing; my face and the top of my chest turned bright red. He saw it and smiled.

I don't know how I really felt. This was the most exciting moment of my life. Here I was almost completely naked standing in front of a man I'd only known a few weeks. He had me. He could've done anything he wanted. I was helpless. I couldn't have stopped him if he took out a knife and started to cut me up like some man had done to that woman they called the 'Black Dahlia' years before. 

I had no idea what would happen next, but it was like I was outside my own body. I was afraid, but excited too. I wanted him to make love to me, but I had no idea, other than what I'd read in books and magazines, just what making love meant. It was Friday night. Nobody knew where I was. He could keep me there all weekend if he wanted to.

That's what he did.

While I stood there in his living room with nothing on but the panties and shoes Dillon disappeared into a back room, but he wasn't gone long. He came back dressed only in a Tee shirt and a pair of boxers. He held a long scarf in his hand; a long black silk scarf.

He looked me in the eye and said, "Hold up your hands," It was kind of a 'matter of fact' type of statement, kind of like, 'what time is it', what's the weather like', how about me beating you within an inch of your life.'

I held out my hands. 

He took them in his. He turned them over looking at my palms and then my wrists. He said, "I'm going to tie your hands together. It'll be tight but not so tight as to hurt you. Then I'm...well then we'll...you'll see."

I shivered. I don't know if it was fear or excitement. I asked him, "You won't hurt me will you?"

He smiled. It was a cat-like smile; he was the cat, I was the mouse. He spoke in an almost whispered tone, "Yes I'll be hurting you."

No explanation, no calm reassurance, just a simple 'yes I'm going to hurt you. I kept my hands out.

He walked over and looped one end of the scarf around my left wrist. He proceeded to tie it off. The tie was tight but it didn't hurt. I knew it was too tight for me to pull free from, but it wasn't so tight that it cut off circulation or anything. Next he took the scarf and, leaving maybe a three inch separation he tied my left wrist up. Now my hands were held together at one end of the scarf by the wrists while he held the other end. There was maybe three feet of scarf between my captured hands and the end he was holding. He pulled me up close toward him. He leaned down, and wrapped his arms around me again. This time when his hands went around me my hands were pulled in close to my stomach. He stepped into me, he nuzzled my neck and smelled behind my right ear. Then he took his hand and undid the tight scrunchy that held my ponytail in place. My hair cascaded down around my shoulders. He whispered, "You smell nice."

After what seemed like an eternity but was really only a few seconds he stepped back. Using the scarf he pulled me forward. Hands tightly bound, my arms pulled forward. He turned and slowly led me toward what I presumed was a bedroom. It was.

We got to the bedroom where I saw a king-sized bed; the covers had been pulled down. It had a large wooden headboard, and what looked like a big 'O' ring was held in place by a bolt that seemed to dangle from the top of the center. He whispered, "Climb on the bed."

I climbed on.

He quickly twisted my feet so that I fell on my back. In a second he was at the top of the bed. He took the scarf, looped it through the 'O' ring and tied it off. Then he stepped back. I was left lying on my back with my hands held above my head by the scarf. He climbed on beside me.

I turned my head toward him and whispered, "You know I love you. Promise you won't hurt me."

He smiled softly, "I know you do. Now be quiet."

For the next I don't know how long he used his hands to rub over my entire body; feel my breasts, my face, around my neck, and my stomach. He started to fondle me. He took his fingers and tickled the top of my abdomen. He leaned down and kissed my navel. It felt so creepy and exhilarating all at the same time. He kept kissing my breasts, especially my nipples. They got hard and stuck out; it was like they were reaching for his mouth and his tongue. My body felt warm, feverish even. Everything felt all hot and dry; that was everything except between my legs. I knew my crotch was wet; I felt uncomfortable, but good uncomfortable. I admit I've played with myself; I've masturbated. It felt like it did when I rubbed myself down there, but so far he hadn't touched me yet. My panties were even still on!

He must have been reading my mind because he knelt back and slowly started to pull my panties down. Once he got them to the lower part of my thighs he said, "My, my; what have we here? You're a hot little thing aren't you?"

I squirmed. I pleaded, "No please. I'm still a virgin."

Dillon placed the palm of his right hand on the flat of my stomach just above my Mons, "Not for long," he said.

I really started to squirm then. I tried to kick out with my legs. I tried to twist and turn. The dryness was gone; I was wet with sweat all over. I could've yelled, but if I did he might've stopped and I really didn't want him to stop.

He commanded, "Lie still and it won't hurt so much."

I glared at him. I didn't want this to happen, not this way. I had a fantasy. I'd be in a big bed, in a long white negligee. The man beside me would whisper sweet things. He'd caress my cheeks. He'd tell me how much he loved me. He'd be my husband! I cried out. Well it wasn't exactly a cry out, more a whispered cry out, "Please if you love me you won't..."

He reached up and covered my mouth with his left hand, "But I don't love you. I admit I'm fond of you, quite fond of you in fact, but love? What would make you think I loved you? Because I took you to the movies a few times? Because I bought you a dinner? Because I helped you prepare a few lessons? Come now Elizabeth you know who you are. You know what you look like. You're just a plain little girl; just a very plain Jane. Who could love you? I mean really?"

He broke my heart. I broke down. I started to cry. 

He took his hand and fingers. He held my mouth between his index finger and his thumb, "Just because I don't love you doesn't mean I don't care. I do like you. You're very sweet. I may not love you, but I fully intend to make love to you...now stop crying and just shut up." 

And just like that I stopped crying.

He crawled up beside me on the bed, got close to my ear, and murmured, "I want you to pretend; pretend you've been spirited away to a distant land. You are being held captive by a powerful prince who intends to keep you his prisoner. He's going to make you his slave. You'll be forced to do his bidding for the rest of your days. You'll clean his clothes, scrub his back, prepare his meals, have his children, and you'll grow old, you'll get grey hair, you'll grow tired and wrinkled, and you'll never see the light of freedom again. Yes, this prince fully intends to keep you locked away in a remote castle tower for a long time, until..."

I wondered what the 'until' was supposed to mean. I closed my eyes and tried to pretend. I tried to pretend everything he said. All night long he made love to me. I'll never forget it.

All night I think he did everything he said he would; he made mad passionate love to me. I never felt that way ever before or since. 

I can't describe it. He lay beside me, kissing me, whispering to me, telling me how beautiful I was. I know it was a lie but I didn't care. The things he said had always been part of my childhood fantasies, a part of my teenage dreams. Dillon was like a drug; he was my dream person, my prince charming, so what if it wasn't real. 

He breathed his hot breath on my neck and against my hair, he kissed along the nape of my neck. Chills went up and down my spine. He took his hand and at first softly but slowly with more strength began to massage my stomach just above my Mons. He found my clitoris with his fingertips. I knew he found it because I'd touched before when I masturbated, but his fingers were different, they were, if anyone could believe it, harder but softer too. He pressed down on my vaginal hump. With the palm of his hand on my Mons he caressed my clitoris with his thumb. He drove me half wild. 

He titillated my labia. I knew I had a G-spot. He found it just inside my moist walls. In and out he went with his fingers. Up and down he pressed first the top then the bottom of my vagina. It was embarrassing; more embarrassing than the restaurant. I felt like I was peeing. How could he control my body so easily?




Skinning the Cat



He was relentless. I couldn't lie still. I twisted. I squirmed. It felt like my insides were on fire. Everything was so sensitive. I had my first non-self-imposed orgasm. I'd never had such an overwhelming feeling. My whole body shook. I cried. I moaned. I begged him to stop. Of course he didn't. It got so bad it stopped feeling good; it only hurt. Then he stopped.

I started to really cry then. I cried and cried. I wailed.

He leaned forward and quietly but powerfully ordered, "Stop." He wasn't being mean, just forceful.

I couldn't. I told him, "I can't. I have to go to the bathroom," and I did I really did.

He sat up and untied the scarf from the headboard, but instead of freeing my hands he took the scarf and wrapped it around my neck so that my hands were just below my chin. "Come on, he commanded, and he put his hands on my shoulders and gently pushed me to his bathroom. He kept rubbing and massaging my shoulders while we walked. His thumbs curled up and down the nape of my neck causing me to have more chills. He made me sit on the toiled where I peed and pooped. 

He took a washcloth, dampened it with warm soapy water and made me get on my elbows and knees on the bathroom floor. Then he took the cloth and washed away the pee and poop residue. He was thorough. Then while I was still on the floor he started to kiss the rim of my behind. It was the strangest experience I'd ever felt in my life. It didn't feel at all sexual, but it was certainly a most pleasurable sensation. 

He helped me up so that I was on my knees. He took his left hand and grabbed my vaginal fleece. Then he reached up, grabbed a hunk of my hair, turned my head so I faced him, and said, "I'm going to have to give you a thorough haircut and shave."

That terrified me because he was looking at my face and holding my hair. I started to try to reach back for his hand, but he stopped me, "No you goose; I mean down here," and he reached back down and pulled on the hair between my legs.

I got scared again. I sniveled, "That's there to block germs and..."

He chuckled, "That's ridiculous, just an old wives tale. Before I take you home I'm going to fix it so there won't be a single wisp of hair down there. You be as bald as a baby."

Tears rolled down my cheeks but I only whimpered, I didn't cry.

He said, "Now get up. It's time you were a woman."

He helped me to my feet and led me back to the bed. He forced me back on my back and tied my hands off at the top of the bed again. He grinned and asked, "Now do I have to tie your legs apart, or are you going to be a good little girl?"

I sniffed, "I guess. I'll be good."

"I asked for a good little girl," he said.

I thought,'Jeez I'm a twenty-four year old woman,' but I murmured back, "I'll be a good little girl."

He blessed me with the most dazzling smile and lay back down beside me, "You said you were a virgin. Were you telling the truth?"

I only nodded.

He whispered, "We'll find out soon enough."

He crawled down and got his face between my legs. For the next several minutes he sucked and kissed on my Mons and my labia. He kissed the circular opening of my rectum, and he even stuck his tongue up inside it. That felt strange! He nibbled on my clit till I thought it was going to break off. I got so agitated!

At last he leaned back, "This may hurt," he whispered.

He climbed up between my legs. I'd seen his organ quite a few times over the past few hours; it looked enormous, it was big and pink! He leaned on top of me. I felt his thing touch my abdomen. It was hot! Slowly I felt him as he used his hand to maneuver his organ up to my crotch. It was pressing up against my vagina. Then slowly he started to push. God it felt so huge! I didn't think he would be able to get it inside me, but slowly he managed to push in. It hurt terribly, but it was a hard kind of pain to explain. It felt like an almost searing pain, but it felt good too. I couldn't explain then, and I've never been able to explain the feeling since. 

He kept pushing. It kept hurting, but I felt him slowly squeeze inside me. I was afraid the walls of my vagina were going to tear apart. Though I felt tears sliding down my cheeks I didn't cry. I bit down on my lip as hard as I could with my teeth. 

Finally I did cry. It hurt so; it was awful. It really hurt. I cried. I begged, "Stop, oh please stop, not any more, please." I said I wanted him to stop, but I really didn't.

He didn't stop. Finally I guess he couldn't hold back. He leaned up and lurched forward with a powerful thrust. God! God he went all the way up inside me! He went all the way! He hit the end of me. I cried out, "Oh no! Oh God! Stop, oh please, no more!"

Of course he didn't stop, but he never went that far in again. He went in deep, really deep. I felt like my whole body was filled up. He drove in and out. It was hard and it still hurt, but it felt good too. It felt unbelievably good. Actually, I couldn't say when, but the pain kind of slowed and all I felt was his hot hard powerfulness inside me. 

At last it was just too much to bear. I felt my whole body start to quiver and shake. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before! In all my twenty-four years I'd never had anything like this happen to me. I knew then I'd had an orgasm, a real woman's orgasm. After nearly a quarter of a century I'd finally become a woman. 

He'd told me to pretend I was a captive princess. I knew then and there I was exactly that. I was his captive. I belonged to him and I reveled in it!

But it wasn't finished! I was lying there so nervous and sensitive I felt like I was out of my mind, but he was still pushing in and out. He was still thrusting like he was all crazy. Then in my own crazed and overmuch sensitive world I realized he wasn't finished. 

I was so excited, so tense, so sensitive, and so sore, and he still wasn't done! And then! And then he slammed up in to me with a terrible power. He smashed all the way up to my end again, and I felt the most unbelievable sensation. I felt him get even bigger than before, and suddenly I felt all this fiery hot fluid rush up inside me. I knew what it was; he was ejaculating inside me. He was pouring his semen way up inside my body. I was all on fire all over again. I felt the same rush of energy, that same powerful all-consuming, overwhelming, all encircling rush of energy all over again. My whole body quivered and shook like it had just seconds before. I had another orgasm!

And then it was over. He rolled off me and looked over. He didn't say anything. He smiled. At last he took his hand and caressed my cheek, "You're beautiful," he said, "you're truly beautiful."

For a few brief seconds I actually believed him. I believed I really was beautiful. I know I felt beautiful; I felt sore and tired, and sticky, and wet, but beautiful too.

He climbed out of the bed, went to the bathroom and came back with another hot wet wash cloth and to my surprise another scarf. He took the cloth and wiped my stomach, my crotch, and my ass with it. Then he leaned down and tied my feet together. After that he reached up, untied the scarf from the head board, pulled my hands down so that they were between my knees and tied it to the scarf that held my feet. He rolled me over on my side so that I was lying in a fetal position. He got in beside me; he stomach to my back. He pulled up the heavy comforter that had been at the bottom of the bed. He covered us up, he spooned up against my back, wrapped his right arm over and around my shoulder so that it rested just at my chin. He whispered in my ear, "Good night beautiful." The sound of his voice was like a whole symphony.

I couldn't very easily move, and when I tried I couldn't move very much, but I didn't feel at all uncomfortable. I was curled up like a baby, and I felt safe, and secure, and yes I felt really loved, well a little bit anyway. And that's all I remembered for quite a while.

The next thing I noticed I felt something pushing between my legs. I wriggled around and figured out what it was; it was Dillon's thing pushing against me. I couldn't move my hands, and my feet were tied together so there wasn't a whole lot I could do but lie there.

I felt his breath on my neck. Yuk! Morning mouth, then I heard him whisper, "Wake up sleepy head"

That surely caused me to squirm. I had to pee again, I whispered back, "I need to go again."

To my surprise he got up, walked around the bed, picked me up like I was a baby, carried me into the bathroom and sat me on the toilet. He stood there with his hands on his hips, "Go ahead."

I was so embarrassed. Naked, hands and feet tied, hair a mess, I knew I had to look frightful, "Can you at least turn your back?"

He grinned and kind of chuckled as he got down on his knees right in front of me, "No."

I know I blushed, "Please," I said, "This is very embarrassing."

He smiled and said, "I want to watch."

I couldn't hold it any longer. We both sat there while I let a long powerful stream of pee flow into the toilet. When I was finished I watched as he untied my hands and feet. Once I was free I stretched.

Dillon reached around and turned on the shower. It was one of those bathtub showers with sliding doors. It was quite large. I watched as he adjusted the water. He turned around, helped me stand up and said, "I hope it's not too hot."

He helped me in the shower; it was hot but not scaldingly so. He followed me in carrying two bottles of soap.

"Stand still," he said, and for the next few minutes he washed my hair and my body from head to foot. He washed my hair twice. Every few seconds he stopped and kissed me. I liked that. 

I was surprised that there was a little pinkishness to the water at first. He muttered, "You really were a virgin." He added, "That's nice."

Even in those days twenty-four year old virgins were a rarity, but I felt good that I was. I'd given him my cherry, and it made me feel happy, happy it was him who got it. 

He finished me and helped me out. He pointed to the medicine cabinet, "There're some toothbrushes, paste, and mouthwash in there. Go ahead and brush up. Grab a towel and dry off, then you can go in the kitchen and fix us some coffee. I'll be just a minute," he closed the shower door and proceeded to shower off.

I did as I was told. It was tough brushing out all the knots in my hair, but everything else went smoothly. I was just pouring us each a cup of coffee when he came in the kitchen. He walked over, made me put the cups down, and started kissing me again. I didn't object. He rubbed his hands all over me; God it felt good. How'd he do it? I loved him like crazy.

We both sat down at this small kitchen table. He kept one hand on my left thigh while he talked, "I'm keeping you here today," he reached up between my legs and rubbed my bush, "that's coming off today. I'll be going out a little later. I bought some manacles to keep you in restraint while I'm gone."

I didn't like that idea. I told him, "You don't have to do that."

He kept smoothing his hand over the insides of my thighs, "I know. I'm only going to do it because I want to." 

I had to ask, "What you're someone who gets off on keeping a woman locked up?"

He was completely unperturbed by what I'd said, and his reply revealed just that, he said, "Oh yeah, and I'm going to especially like doing it to you."

"What is it something about me," I asked?

He smirked, "Yes and yes. First you're woman, and second I know I'm going to especially like doing it to you."

"Why," I asked.

His next smile was dazzling; it literally blew me away, but not half as much as what he said, "You excite me. You look sexy when you're helpless. You know I like to fish; you're what I'd call a 'keeper', and I fully intend to keep you. You're going to be at my beck and call every day from now on."

"What if I don't want to be...at your beck and call all the time," I asked. Then I added, "You sound like I'm to be your slave or something, and I don't want that. I don't want anything like that."

It was like I was talking to a wall. He replied by getting up and going to his pants. He got out his wallet and pulled out a wad of bills. He put them on the table and said, "If you don't want to stay then I don't want you to. I'll be in the living room. There's a phone on the wall. Call a cab. Your dress is a little mussed but it's on a chair in the bedroom. Just get dressed, take a cab and go home. I'll see you Monday at work, and it will be like last night never happened. No anger. No remorse. No regrets," He got up and left the kitchen.

I was dumbfounded! First he called me a keeper! Then he told me to leave! No wait; he said I could leave. I didn't want to leave. Damn, he made me a woman! Double damn I wasn't on the pill or anything. I wondered if he was sterile.

I walked back in. He was seated on the sofa looking over some magazine. "Dillon," I said.

He looked up, "Yes?"

"I...uh...well...last night..."

He looked very casual, "What about last night?"

"I mean are you...uh...like...are you sterile?"

He looked back down at the magazine; it was a Sports Illustrated, "No, as far as I know I'm fit as a fiddle in that way."

I sat down beside him. My fanny was on the edge of the seat, "I'm not taking anything. I mean I'm not on the pill."

He turned the page in the magazine, "Gee you know if they really wanted to sell this magazine they could put out a calendar or something. I mean with models and all." 

I touched his hand, "Did you hear me?"

He looked over, "Yeah you said you weren't on the pill."

"Well I could get pregnant. I could've gotten pregnant from what happened last night."

He put the magazine down, "That could happen."

I asked, "Well if it did? I mean about getting pregnant?"

He crossed his arms, "Then you'd probably have a baby."

I kept holding his hand, "You'd be the father."

He looked off toward the far corner of the room, "That's right. I would."

"Dillon talk to me!"

He took my hand and put it on the sofa cushion so I wouldn't be touching him, "Look Elizabeth if you want to have a baby that's fine with me, but if you think I'm using a rubber just to have sex you're out of your mind. I like it free, and natural and open. I don't use rubbers."

"But Dillon if I got pregnant what would you do? You wouldn't abandon me would you?"

He got up, "This really isn't my choice is it. I told you; either stay or go. If you go that's fine. I'll be good with that, but if you stay it's on my terms," he paused and added, "I told you I'd probably be keeping you."

This was too much. I put my hands to my face. I started to cry. Actually I was only pretending to.

Dillon took my hands away and said, "Why don't you go back in the bedroom and lie down."

I asked, "What about you? I mean..."

He interrupted me, "I've got a couple things to get out of the bathroom. Just go in and lie down a while."

I got up and ran back to the bedroom. I climbed in under the sheets and comforter, curled up in a ball, put my hands over my face and tried to cry. I wanted to cry and be loud enough so he would hear me, but I couldn't seem to manage it. I went back to sleep.

The next thing I remember Dillon was beside me with his hand on my shoulder, "Hey wake up; it's after lunch."

I rolled my eyes, "I'm not hungry."

"Neither am I," he said, "I need to cut your hair."

I sat up on my elbow, "You mean you want to cut the hair around my...vagina."

He pulled the covers down, "Lie down on your back. Put your hands up behind your head. If you don't fight me I won't tie you up."

I did what he said. He reached down and lifted a big basin of water. He already knew what I'd do. He said, "Lift your butt cheeks."

I lifted my butt. He slid a towel underneath. Then he said, "I've never done this before so lie still. I wouldn't want to accidentally cut you."

I answered, "I'll be still."

I saw he had a pair of barber's scissors in his hand. I lay quite still. He started smoothing my hair with his hand. Every second or so he let a finger slide up along my crease. He touched over my clitoris. I felt his fingers brush just inside my labia. He said, "OK, I'm going to start."

I murmured, "Please be careful."

He started to trim away at my hair. I felt each cut. It didn't hurt, but I felt it each time as some of my hair fell away. He was very gentle. I watched as he took a few strands at a time and clipped them off. After a few minutes all that was left was some stubble.

He said, "OK, lift your butt again."

I did, and he pulled the towel away. He slid a second towel under me. "Now I'm going to shave you."

I watched as he got out what was clearly a brand new safety razor. He wet me where my hair had been. Now it was just whiskers. He wet it and then he squirted lather on it. He rubbed the lather in. I watched as he got ready to shave me. He warned me, "This might sting a little. Let me know if it does and I'll try and be more careful."

I nodded and said, "OK," my voice sounded like a squeak. He almost laughed.

Slowly he went to work. He'd spread my skin with one hand and then carefully started to shave away my remaining hair. Between every swipe he stopped and rinsed the razor. A couple times he stopped and kissed the naked places. That made me feel kind of silly. He got shave cream on his face.

I got a little scared when he came close to where my vagina and clitoris was, but he was really slow and gentle. He didn't hurt me one time. After a very few minutes he said, "OK, now I want you to roll over, kneel on your knees and elbows so I can get everything in the back." 

I did as I was told, and he finished me off. I knelt there with my behind up in the air. I felt his fingers and thumbs as he pulled my cheeks apart and shaved. I wouldn't say it was exactly a turn on, but I could feel myself getting wetter. The more I thought about what he was doing and the more he touched and smoothed over my behind and the bottom of my crease the more I liked it. I think he deliberately spent more time than he needed touching and fooling with my poop hole. He kissed it a couple times too. It tickled, and I don't know, I guess I sort of felt pampered. I got goose bumps. 

Once I was I guess high and dry he gave me a little smack on my fanny, "Go in the bathroom so we can rinse you off."

I got up and immediately felt the difference. It was kind of chilly down below. With hair, even just curly pubic hair there must have been some protection. Now that I had none I felt more naked. I went to the bathroom with Dillon following right behind. He held open the shower door and helped me in. He turned on the water and using soap and the warm water he rinsed me off. Once he was done he helped me out and wrapped me in another fresh towel. Wrapped up like I was he held me, brushed back the hair around my face and said, "Let's have a look."

I opened the towel and we both looked at my reflection in the door mirror. I certainly looked hairless. I hadn't looked this way since I was a little girl. I thought about what he made me say the night before. 

He held me in his arms, he kissed my cheek and whispered, "Now that is a beautiful sight. Let's go back to bed."

We went back to bed. He cleared off the towel, whisked away the residual hair, and pointed to the bed. I climbed on. He climbed on with me.

I have no idea how long things lasted. He ate me. He screwed me. He rolled me over and kissed and licked all over my rectum. Then he rolled me over and did it all over again. I remember I started the morning as sore as I ever remembered. By late afternoon my vagina and my ass were so sore I could hardly move. I don't remember how many times I had an orgasm I only know I was utterly exhausted and absolutely in love. 

By 6:00 that evening I wasn't afraid of getting pregnant I wanted to get pregnant. I wanted to have this man's child. I told him, "Dillon I hope I get pregnant. I want more than anything to have your child.




Skinning the Cat



He smiled and said, "We'll see." 

We lay there side by side till maybe 7:00 or so when he rolled over and asked, "You hungry?"

I told him I was.

He said, "I'm going to step out and buy something. I'll be gone a little while. While I'm gone I want you to be bound up."

I said, "OK." By then I didn't care what he wanted to do to me.

He went back in the back and came out with a small heap of chains, "This will only take a minute," He sorted out what he brought and snapped manacles on my wrists and ankles. The chain connecting my wrists was about six inches long, the one between my ankles was a little longer. He got dressed, gave me a kiss, and said he'd be right back.

As soon as he left I got out of bed and went to the bathroom and to see what I looked like all chained up. I twisted and turned, looking this way and that way. I looked at my vagina and my fanny where he'd cut away all my hair. I touched it and got all trembly. 

The chains were silver, probably stainless steel. I shook my hands just to hear them rattle. They were light and more an annoyance than anything. They clinked and clanked every time I moved. I thought it kind of was like I was his captive. I imagined, 'I'm a slave girl waiting for her master,' that made me giggle. I was being silly. I waited in the bedroom a while, got bored, went in the living room, turned on the TV, and watched some stupid game show.

Dillon got back a little after 9:00. He came in asked, "How's my girl?"

I smiled, held up my hands and rattled the chains, "Snug as a bug."

He chortled a little, "I was a little longer. I stopped and got you a little something to wear. Come here."

I hobbled over. He reached in his pocket pulled out a key and unlocked my wrists and ankles. He handed me a box, "Here put this on while I set the table."

Back in the bedroom I opened the box and found a pearl colored set of tailored pajamas. I slipped the top and bottoms on. The top was short sleeved, and the bottom panties came down to just about mid-thigh. The pajamas fit comfortably. I thought even I could look pretty in something like this. I buttoned them up and went to the kitchen where I saw he had everything laid out.

As I sat down before a plate of flounder, red potatoes, and asparagus Dillon leaned across the table, he pulled my head forward and gave me a kiss, "My you look pretty," he said. 

I think I believed him. I know I wanted to.

We ate, watched some TV, and around 11:00 we went back to bed. The lovemaking this time was slow and gentle. I had another climax. So did he, but after the one we were both pretty tired. He made me lie with my back to his chest. We cuddled and spooned until we went to sleep. 

Later on I recalled that night was the last time I ever saw the chains or the long black scarf. I wondered what with the chains and stuff if I'd passed another test.

Morning came early. Dillon awakened me with a kiss. He said, "On your knees and elbows. This morning we're doing something different."

I did as I was told. I was getting good at that, but that morning I was half afraid he wanted to do my rear end. I didn't want to do that. I was wrong. 

He climbed up behind me and, and after some pretty prolonged kissing and licking that got me really wet he slowly slid his thing inside me. It still hurt a little, but I didn't mind because I knew what was going to happen. I knew what this was called. I was a little afraid he might push in too far and hurt me, but even though he got really far, farther even than when he was on top of me, it didn't hurt. I know one thing, the way the head of his thing rubbed back and forth on the top of my vagina sure affected me. I couldn't say exactly what was happening, but it sure was exciting. He had his climax. He must have spewed another gallon of his stuff in me. I loved it! I loved the feeling.

By the time we finished the doggie sex it was close to 11:00 A.M. Dillon got off the bed and said, "Sorry girl, but it's time to take you home."

He got dressed. I put on the dress he'd bought that I'd worn Friday night. As I put it back on I thought how Friday night and dinner had happened almost like a lifetime ago. He walked me to his car, drove me home, walked me to my apartment door, kissed me, and said, "Go grade your papers, and plan your lessons for next week," then it seemed almost like an afterthought he reached in his pocket and pulled out a small red scarf, "You're to wear this around your neck every day. I don't care whatever else you wear you're to wear this. Think of it as your collar; a sign that you belong to me. You understand?"

I held the scarf in my hand. I looked up at him and nodded.

He kissed me first on my lips and then on my forehead. I kissed him right back. As he turned to go he said, "Remember you're still a princess held in a castle tower, and you're mine."

I smiled and mouthed, "I love you."

He smiled back and said, "I know," then he left.

We were all back in school bright and early Monday morning. I wore a simple skirt and blouse set; green skirt, white blouse, and red scarf. The rest of the week was pretty routine. I only sent three boys to the office; a record low for me. I rinsed the scarf every night. By Thursday some of the kids commented on my outfits; the scarf was attracting attention. I had almost no contact with Dillon all week; he'd changed his lunchtime to meet other changes in scheduling. I was preparing to leave Friday afternoon when I noticed an envelope in my mailbox. I opened it and found a note and a key inside. The key was for Dillon's apartment, and the note said to be there when he got home that night. As I left school I noticed his car was still on the lot. I drove straight to his place.

When I got there I opened the place up and went in. On his kitchen table I found another note atop a box. I opened the note and read what Dillon left for me; he instructed me to shave again and put on the contents of the box. I opened the box and found a pretty blue negligee, no handcuffs or chains. I assumed he meant I should shave my vagina so that's what I did, and took a quick shower afterwards. I put on the negligee, went in the living room and waited. I didn't have to wait long.

Dillon got in around 6:00 p.m. He saw me and came immediately to where I was on the sofa. He asked, "Did you clean up?"

I smiled and shook my head yes.

He smiled back and said, "Let me clean up. I'll be back in a minute."

He was back shortly and announced he had something new for me to do. I told him I was ready, and he pointed me toward an easy chair, "Sit on the floor by the chair."

I went over and sat on the floor. He followed and asked, "Do you know what fellatio is?"

I didn't so I told him no.

He told me, "Fellatio is the proper term used to describe a blow job."

I asked him, "You want me to...suck on your thing?"

He laughed, "I want you to make love to my penis." Then he dropped his pants and shorts, sat down on the chair and pointed to his organ, "Start slow. Kiss it first. Then lick it. Caress it with your mouth. Keep your hands on the carpet. The only thing that should touch me is your mouth. Now get started."

I sat back and said, "That's dirty. I don't want to do it."

He didn't smile or bat an eye, "I kissed your vagina last week. I sucked on your labia and nibbled on your clitoris. I even kissed you on the rectum. Was any of that dirty?"

He was right. He'd done all that. I'd even liked it. 

I shook my head from side to side, I put my hands on the carpet and looked between his legs. His thing was soft and was hanging down; it didn't look anything like what I'd seen the previous week. Just the same I leaned forward and touched it with the tip of my tongue. "Oh," I said as it moved. I touched it again with my mouth. It was like it had a life of its own. I watched it grow and grow. All I had to do was press my lips against it and it got bigger. In no time it was incredibly big, hard, and sticking way up in the air.

Dillon told me, "Put the head of my penis in your mouth and suck on it."

I really didn't want to, but I remembered all the things he'd done so I went ahead. It didn't get much bigger, but it kept pulsating, and it got a lot warmer. I'm not going to say I enjoyed it very much, but I loved him, I knew I did, and I thought if this pleased him it was a sure sight better than being tied up in scarves but just like that I got another big surprise.

I never thought Dillon could ejaculate so fast, but then I didn't know the effect my lips and mouth might have on him. Every now and then I glanced up at him; he had his eyes closed like he was totally enjoying himself. I thought if he was happy then I was happy too. But then!

Out of nowhere his thing started pulsating like crazy and he was ejaculating semen right in my mouth. I was so surprised I flinched and turned away. His sperm started squirting all over the place. It got in my hair, on my face, and all over the new negligee he'd just bought me. Worse, it spoofed out all over the carpet!

Dillon grabbed me by the hair and forced my mouth back down on his thing. I got the last of it right down my throat. God the stuff tasted terrible, and it smelled like Comet cleanser. It was awful!

But then as fast as it happened it was over. Dillon was sitting back in the chair smiling at me. He took his fingers and started sopping his sperm up off my face. He'd collect a little dab and then put his finger in my mouth. I felt embarrassed and sort of degraded at first, but then I got used to it. I kept telling myself he'd done the same thing for me just a week ago.

Then he got up and said, "Come on let's get you cleaned up. He took my hand and walked me to the bathroom where he got a washcloth and wiped my face clean.

He kept smiling at me. He whispered, "Didn't taste very good did it. I'm sorry I ate some asparagus today. If I'd had some pineapple it would have been different. I made a mistake. I'll make it up to you." When he finished wiping off my face he took his hand and scuffed my hair, "You're a good girl you know that. There's something else on the bedroom bureau for you. Go get it and bring it here."

I went back to the bedroom and checked the bureau. There was a gift box from one of the better jewelry shops in DC. I carried it back to the bathroom. 

He took it and held for a second, then he handed it back, "Open it up."

I opened it and inside there was a necklace. It was a mix of some red stones, and what I hoped was small diamonds. He said to give it to him. So I did. He opened the clasp, reached around my neck and fastened it on. My first thought was how quickly he did it. I usually had a terrible time with those tiny clasps, but I thought about the importance of the necklace. Not like the dress or the nightie; this was a real gift! 

He helped me up, I'd been kneeling on the floor, and together we looked at it in the mirror.

He put his hands on my shoulders, kissed my neck and whispered, "Next week being Thanksgiving we have a short week. You're to wear this every day instead of the scarf. This is your next week's reminder as to who you belong to," he turned me back around, embraced me, kissed me again, then turned me around again, swatted me on my fanny and said, "Go get in bed," and I did.

He followed me in and climbed in bed beside me, "I'll be a few minutes before I'll be ready to perform again, let's talk. Tell me about yourself, who you are, your childhood, who your parents are."

So I told him how I grew up in a small town just west of Cumberland in western Maryland. I'd gone to public schools. He knew where I went to college so I skipped that part. I told him about my younger brother and sister, my parents. How my dad was a school teacher, and my mom was an RN. I mentioned my grandparents, both sets, and I admitted that before him I'd never had a boyfriend or even gone on any real dates. I think he was surprised at the last part. Then I asked him to tell me his story.

I was surprised how easily he opened up to me; it made me feel like we really had something. He'd grown up in a small town in northern California. He'd played some high school football, but he'd never been very good. He managed to get into most of the games as a linebacker. He'd intercepted a couple passes and caused a few fumbles. His best friend was one of the wide receivers and a real star. He always liked school, and he'd enjoyed college. He'd never joined a fraternity because he had to work, but he had fraternity friends so he got to quite a few of the parties. He said that's where he met his wife. He'd already told me he was divorced. 

When I asked him about his first wife, if he wanted to tell me what happened I said I'd be glad to listen.

I was pleasantly surprised when he said he'd tell me. He told me his story.

He said, "I guess I could share a little of it now. Actually there isn't much to tell. I was in college and I met this girl at a party, her name was Sherry Van Norman. She was an education major concentrating on special education. I was an education major too; my target was mathematics. She was very pretty; short blond hair, about 5'4", blue eyes like yours," he poked my nose at that.

"Well," he said, "I fell in love almost right away. I thought she'd fallen in love with me too, at least that was my impression. We dated pretty exclusively from the fall of our senior year until graduation, and in June we got married. It was the classic June wedding; snow white gown, long train, all the families, dozens of friends, seven bride's maids, flower girl, open bar at the reception, you name it.

We both got jobs in the same school district but not at the same school. I was at a high school while she was assigned to elementary. We rented an apartment and settled in to live the dream. The plan was we'd both work for several years, save some money, buy a house, start a family, she'd quit work while the kids were little but start back when they were all school age. It sounded like a great plan to me, but Sherry got a change of heart.

By change of heart I mean she changed course on who she wanted the 'happily ever after' to be with. I didn't know it, but we'd moved to a community not far from where one of her old boyfriends lived. I guess you'd say the rest was a cliche.

I was working hard all day and coaching after school. I was the JV football coach, and in the spring I ended up with the track and field. It felt good to get outside and run and workout with a bunch of healthy kids.

I didn't see the signs until it was way too late. Normally Sherry would get home around 4:00 and start dinner. I'd get home a little after 5:00. We'd eat and talk about our days. But somewhere around the late fall of our second year of marriage she started finding excuses to get home late. At first it was just once in a while, but by January it had grown to twice, even three times a week. 

It seemed like she was always tired. I thought she might be sick, and she was irritable, she never wanted to talk anymore, and when it came to making love she started acting real cool. Often as not we didn't make love, and when we did do anything it was like she wanted to hurry up and get it over with. I was growing increasingly concerned. 

Then at last it hit me. She must be having an affair. Like all these kinds of things I found out quite by accident. She said she had a late day bunch of conferences. She said the whole faculty at her school had to be there. I believed her. It was winter, and since I figured she'd be late anyway I'd stay and watch one of our school's basketball games. I never especially liked basketball, but there were a couple kids on the team I wanted to support.

There I was sitting in the bleachers when a teacher colleague from my school showed up with his wife. I wondered what his wife was doing at the game since she worked at the same school as Sherry. 

I went down to where they were and asked if her school's conferences were already finished. When I brought it up I could tell she didn't know what I was talking about. Then I told her what Sherry had told me. She said they seldom if ever had after-school sessions like that. That's when I told her Sherry had been staying late almost every week for late conferences and such. My friend's wife told me that wasn't true.

I didn't know what to think, but I knew I couldn't stay and watch any more of the game. I grabbed my coat, left and went home. However I didn't just go home. I got in my car and started driving around. We lived in a small town. All the motels were out on the Interstate I found her car parked behind the Holiday Inn. I guess that sort of said it all. 

I pulled in near her car and decided to wait. I didn't have to wait long. She came out through one of the side entrances, but she didn't come out alone. She came out with a man. 

Now you be reminded Elizabeth I'm not someone who takes things lying down, and I'm not a big schemer. No I wasn't looking for any pictures or trash like that. I just got out of my car and stepped in front of the two of them.

To say the least Sherry was stunned. She tried to lie, 'Oh Dillon this is Tom. Our meetings were over and we stopped here to go over some paperwork. We've been in the restaurant comparing notes.' I tried to stay calm. I told her I'd been talking to a colleague of hers who told me there hadn't been any meetings, and that all the meetings you'd been telling me about were bogus.

That's when the guy with her stepped forward. He held up his hands and said something like, 'See here this isn't.'

I didn't say anything. I wanted to haul off and cork him. I didn't. I just walked away. 

I got in my car and drove back to our apartment. I was just about finished packing when she got home. She started crying and begging me to listen while she explained what had happened. 

OK, I agreed. I sat down and listened. It was like I thought. He was an old boyfriend and they'd been catching up; that's why she was late. She said she hadn't told me about him because she was afraid I wouldn't understand. I told her she was wrong; I did understand, and that I hoped she and her 'old boyfriend' would be happy. I never bothered trying to get her to see how she hadn't explained all her other latenesses, and I didn't get into the other problems. I was too upset. I knew too much. 

I finished packing, found a seedy motel and moved away. I took a couple days off after that, found a lawyer, and worked out the divorce. Since we hadn't been married long and we both worked and made almost the same money the separation went pretty smooth. Then things got more complicated.

Sherry said she was sorry and didn't want a divorce. It was a classic, but sad situation. The old boyfriend was the arch-typical high school boy upscale girls like Sherry liked to date. Yeah, he'd been one of the high school troublemakers, a junkie and a dealer who ended up dropping out. Sherry would have been a great meal ticket for him, but she was just interested in the excitement of the illicit sex and the thrill of recapturing some of her high school years. She'd liked playing with her old boyfriend, and stupidly figured I'd never find out. But I had found out. I also found out he was more than willing to marry her, but he wasn't someone she wanted to stay with. 

We were forced to go to several counseling session, but I was adamant. I made it perfectly clear I needed someone I knew I could trust, and there wasn't anything Sherry could ever say or do that would win that trust back.

Oh she cried quite a bit. Her parents tried to talk me into forgiving her, but I think they were more upset about all the money they'd pissed away on her wedding. I got a visit from her brother and some of his friends who wanted to scare me back to her, but that didn't work. My parents were broken hearted. They had three sons. I was the first to get married, and they thought they'd found the daughter they'd never been given. 




Skinning the Cat



So we got divorced. She dropped the old boyfriend and tried to get me take her back. I just wasn't going there. It got pretty bad; her calling and begging all the time so I found another job in Maryland, submitted my resignation and left California. Now I'm here and she's on the other side of the country. Only my parents and brothers no where I live now, and I plan to keep it that way." 

Dillon told me all this and then he looked me squarely in the eye and said, "Elizabeth Sherry broke my heart. I never intend to fall into that trap again, but I will be good to you in my way. I won't betray you. I've had that experience and I could never do that to anyone, but I want you to know I don't love you. I'll never love another woman again as long as I live."

I saw the pain in his eyes, but when he said he didn't love me I didn't completely believe him. I wasn't sure. I thought at that moment he probably didn't love me, but he most certainly was someone who needed the emotional attachment a loving caring woman could provide. 

I knew I was a loser, but I'd read a lot of fiction novels. We all have our silly dreams. I had mine. I can't recall how many stories I'd read where the long suffering boy finds the right girl, she soothes the pain, plies a balm to the scars, and restores the unhappy man to love and happiness. I knew right then and there Dillon Westcott needed me, and I was going to be there for him. He might not love me at the moment, but one day he would. I'd be there for him.

Well Dillon had finished his story; he looked around at the clock and said, "How about dinner. Let's go get some pizza." And pizza it was.

Later that night we found ourselves back in his bed. This time there weren't any scarves or handcuffs, just some very intimate and warm lovemaking. He did however remind me that from then on I should keep my vagina clear of hair. He said one day he might let me grow some of it back, but that he'd decide when. I kissed him and said, "Yes your majesty."

The next day, Saturday, we went shopping. He said he wanted to buy me some clothes. I'm a woman so naturally I agreed. He startled me though, and I began to wonder just what he was up to. We went to several places, and he insisted we buy several very short skirts, thin blouses, a bunch of camisoles and low cut bras. He demanded I let him buy me three pairs of high heeled shoes, and several sets of panty hose that would match the dark colors of the skirts. When we had everything in bags and in the trunk of his car he told me that starting the Monday after Thanksgiving these were the things he expected me to wear. I was a little shocked because I knew the things he got me were too provocative for a public school. I didn't say anything though because I didn't believe him. Brother was I wrong.

We ate in at his apartment Saturday night, and like the week before he took me home early Sunday. Saturday night I tell you was something wonderful; we did our first sixty-nine. He was an animal; he just wouldn't let me go. He was careful though. He didn't ejaculate in my mouth or on my face. He pulled away, calmed down, and then climbed on. I was a mess. He kept going and going. I was physically like a limp dishrag before he finally released his stuff in me, and like all the other times it went way up inside. 

I was getting worried. I sincerely loved him. I believed he would come to love me too, but it seemed like he was trying to put so much in me that I would get pregnant. I even asked him if I should buy some birth control material. He told me no, not to bother. He scared me when he said that, but he was always scaring me. I kind of thought maybe getting pregnant was what we both needed. I know that really sounds stupid.

We saw very little of each other during the short Thanksgiving week. The seventh grade administrator had gotten sick so the ninth and eighth grade administrators had to divide their time with the seventh grade. Dillon was upstairs as much as he was down. Then Wednesday came and Dillon told me he had to go home for the holiday. That left alone me so I went to be with my family. Oh well...

Not having gotten back to my apartment until very late that Sunday after Thanksgiving and reluctant to call Dillon for fear of interrupting his family time I hadn't heard from him since the Wednesday before. I was surprised to see he'd left a message on my answering machine. It was Dillon! He was so pleasant, he hoped I'd had a good time with my people, he said he'd enjoyed his time away; the last thing he did was to remind me about all my new clothes and what I was supposed to do.

I looked everything over again. It wasn't that anything was obscene or vulgar; it was more that everything was just a little on the wrong side of appropriate for a public school, especially for a middle school full of rambunctious testosterone filled adolescents. The skirts and dresss were too short, way too short. The blouses were too thin, and they were all just this side of translucent with buttons that went down the front but were way too far apart. The bras were cut too low, the heels were too high, and the earrings too large and long, the bracelets had too much of the bangle, and the makeup he'd bought me, especially the lipstick, was far too bold. However, I talked myself into wearing the stuff. Dillon liked it, and I wanted to please him.

I was noticed the first day, and by Wednesday of the first week I was greeted by hushed comments and suspicious side-looks. By Thursday of the next week the surreptitious comments were out in the open; the other teachers, secretaries, and staff had grown openly hostile. That Thursday I saw parents in Dillon's office, and the parents had been looking at me. On Friday the proverbial shit finally hit the fan.

Friday, just before my last period I received a memo from our school's principal; she wanted to see me before I left at the end of the day. I knew what it was about. Dillon's insistence on what I wear had gotten me trouble.

I waited outside the principal's office fully expecting a level one reprimand. I knew after this afternoon Dillon and I had to talk. The door was opened and I was ushered into our principal's office.

Our principal was an older woman named Miss Gwendolyn Ashburton; she was seventy if she was a day. Miss Ashburton was 'old school', a holdover from a by-gone era. Why had I been so stupid? Then I got the humiliation of my life; seated catty-cornered from Miss Ashburton was my Mr. Westcott and he didn't look happy.

Miss Ashburton looked at me none too fondly and pointed to a chair in front of her desk, "Have a seat please Miss Caldwell."

Self-consciously pushing my way too short hem down as far as I could I sat down. I felt naked. I'd forgotten to button the top buttons to my blouse. Dillon had called each evening to remind me to remain 'free and uninhibited', and I had done as I'd been told.

Miss Ashburton's expression wasn't exactly a scowl, but it was certainly a look of disapproval, "Miss Caldwell we've a problem."

I played the innocent, "We do?"

"You know we don't have a dress code here, at least not precisely, but your attire these last few days has created something of a furor."

"Ma'am", I submitted shyly.

Then she scowled, "Look at yourself Elizabeth. Your blouse exposes your décolletage. Your skirt is sinfully short. Your jewelry jangles and bangles more than the twelve year old girls you teach."

I glanced at Dillon but saw no support there. In fact he looked more upset than Miss Ashburton. Under the circumstances I delivered the most innocent look I dared, "I'm sorry. I mean I apologize for my attire. I'll make the necessary adjustments immediately."

Miss Ashburton evinced the tiniest glimmer of a smile. She peered slightly side-wise to Dillon, "You care to comment Mr. Westcott?"

Dillon obliterated me, "Thank you Miss Ashburton. I'm sorry it came to this. As I told you I did try twice this week to persuade Miss Caldwell to modify her attire. I told her what she was wearing was a little avant-garde for our tastes, but I imagine, coming from a man, my suggestions were too soft or shall I say too vague. I'm glad you laid it out for her. Honestly I've been surprised. Miss Caldwell's attire had been mature and modest up until Thanksgiving. It's only been this last week. I'm confident now, thanks to your guidance," he nodded toward Miss Ashburton in the most insincere manner I could imagine, "that things will be better."

Miss Ashburton looked down at me as though I were one of the eighth graders I taught, "I hope so Mr. Westcott. I'll be checking."

Dillon smiled at Miss Ashburton, then at me, "Oh I'm confident we'll have Miss Caldwell back to the norm in no time. I know she'll cooperate; she's been a dedicated teacher up till now. I don't think we'll have this kind of problem anymore."

Miss Ashburton looked at me again, "Can we count on you Elizabeth?"

My face was bright red. I almost lost control. I realized I'd been set up, and then embarrassed and humiliated in the worst way imaginable. I know my chest must have been berry red when I nodded, eyes brimming with tears, I said, "Oh Miss Ashburton, Mr. Westcott I can assure you I'll change. I promise. I'll change."

Miss Ashburton stood, walked around her desk. She graced me with the kind of smile only my own mother could bestow, then she said, "That's wonderful dear. We'll keep this out of your record, and there'll be no punitive action taken."

I smiled back, "Thank you Miss Ashburton. I smiled at Mr. Westcott, "And thank you too Mr. Westcott."

He grinned, "It's all a part of the job."

I picked up my pocket book and my briefcase, and hurried out of the office. Once out of the outer office and in the hallway I started to run for my car. Tears billowed down my cheeks. 'How could he! How could he!' I drove home, got in and ran for the bed. No sooner had my head hit the pillow, already crying, than my phone rang. I picked it up. It was Dillon.

Dillon asked, "Where are you? Why aren't you at my apartment?"

I yelled, "How could you do that to me?" 

I heard him laugh; then he replied, "Get over here right away."

I yelled back into the receiver, "I'm not coming!"

He was still laughing, "Oh yes you are. You've got twenty minutes," and he hung up.

I wasn't twenty minutes. I got there in fifteen. I was so furious. I ran up the steps to his apartment, took my key, opened it and went right in. 

He was waiting for me on the sofa, and he was full of grins. He said, "Come here and sit down."

I was all out of breath from all the stairs. I went over. I hadn't even changed clothes. I said, "That was cruel. I might have even lost my job."

He kept grinning, "Yes it was cruel, but you have tenure, your job is secure...but!"

I said, "But what?"

He was still smiling; it was a positively shit eating smile too, "You do have to be punished."

"What," I said.

"You need to be punished."

I scoffed, "Oh come on."

He said, "You know what you need?"

I was still really angry, "No what?"

"You need a good spanking."

I sat back, "A what?"

He leaned forward and took my right wrist and started to pull me forward, "You need to be spanked. Yes a good thrashing will do you nicely."

This was too much, way too much! I liked him. I even loved him, but not that...he yanked me over his knees, pulled my skirt up, and before I knew what hit me he had my pantyhose and panties down around my knees. He said, "This is going to hurt me than it's going to hurt you."

I tried to squirm and get away. No luck!

I felt the first crack of his left hand on my right cheek. I yelped. I yelped more from surprise than from the pain. My holler was immediately followed a second smack on my left cheek. 

"That hurt!" I cried out, "Stop it. That hurt!"

He wasn't listening. Smack after smack, left cheek, then right cheek, then the left cheek again. 

I tried to bite his leg. I thought that might make him stop. He ignored my feeble chomp and smacked me twice more on each cheek. By then I was in full cry mode.

I really started blubbering, "Oh stop. Please...please stop. You're hurting me." I burst into a full-fledged crying cycle. He stopped.

The next thing I felt was were his lips as he started kissing my ass. He was kissing my cheeks precisely where he'd just been smacking them. They felt so raw and hot; the kisses barely registered.

He curled me around so I was sideways, my ass on its side, but my face in his chest, He started stroking my hair and began kissing me on the face. He kissed my forehead, and my nose, and my cheeks, stopping only at my mouth when he murmured, "I could really get used to you."

He scooped me up and carried me into the bedroom where he made me get on my knees and elbows. "I'm going to make love to your now, but I can't have you on your back. Not while your ass is so bright red." He chuckled, "My goodness that is a cherry red ass." 

I felt him as he slowly penetrated me. I had no idea I was so wet. It felt so good. It was tight, snug, but it didn't hurt. He slithered in. God he felt wonderful. I always got immersed in good thoughts and emotions when he was inside me. 

I lost track of everything. With my face pressed against the bed I kissed the bedspread and used my hands to grab and squeeze its soft textured material. He leaned forward. His breath was hot against my back, neck, and hair. I smelled his cologne; his spicy cologne. God I loved the way he smelled. I loved the way he made me feel! Then I felt his semen flood my insides; oh it was so hot, so strong, so real. 

I was still crying, but not from the spanking.

Dillon rolled off me. He rolled me over so I was facing him, "I know I played a mean trick. I'm sorry, but I had to see."

I pressed against him, "See what?" 

"Not now, he said, "just let me hold you, let's cuddle," he kissed my hair.

I pressed as close to him as I could. I kept thinking this had been some kind of test; like a loyalty test. I didn't care. I'd never quite felt this way before, so loved, so warm, so...so totally happy. We both drifted off to sleep.

For once I woke up first. I had to pee. I slipped into the bathroom to handle my oblations, and also check on the damage. Yes my ass did hurt. I could see why. I didn't think there'd be any bruising, but it sure was a bright cherry red. My ass was redder than a fire truck!

Just as I was looking over my damaged rear-end Dillon appeared at the door. He saw me. He saw my behind, "I'm sorry," he said, "I guess I overdid it," he reached toward the door of his linen closet, "let me get something for it." He found a bottle of aloe and took my hand.

He said, "Let me make it up to you." He led me back to the bedroom, pulled down the bedspread and lifted me on the bed face and stomach down. He whispered, "I promise I'll be gentle." 

Gentle? Gentle wasn't a good enough word for the way he treated me. Gosh I felt so good; I mean I felt special, it was like I was some puppy or some cherished kitten. I stretched and curled and twisted in what I had to call a kind of lethargic luxury. I was warm all over. He didn't just rub my behind; he used the aloe to rub and massage me all over. He rubbed my back. He caressed my legs, my upper thighs, my calves with his hands. He rolled me over. He kissed my tummy and my navel, and my breasts. He soothed aloe all around my breasts. Then he nibbled and gently sucked on my aureole. Each nipple got its own special kiss.

Before I knew it I was fully on my back with his head up at my neck. He was inside me again. I couldn't stand it; it was unbearable. I pushed him away and kissed myself down to his stomach, then to his thing. God it was so big, and pink, and so hard! I wasn't sure, but I think he was circumcised. I only know I thought it, he, was beautiful. I kissed his thing again. I had him in my mouth. I wasn't sure what to do so I kind of sucked, kind of kissed on it. I didn't feel degraded. I didn't feel embarrassed. I felt happy. I felt pleased. His big thing was beautiful to me. I pressed it back and forth against my eyes and nibbled on it with my teeth. I thought, 'If he wanted to squirt his semen in my face it would be OK by me.'

He made me stop. He pulled me back up, and the next thing I knew he was back inside me. 

I had my arms around his head and my legs wrapped around his waist while he kept pushing up in me. We were making love; it was indescribable. He did it again, he shot up in me! I felt like crying, but didn't I was so happy. 

We lay there together, him on top, me underneath. He was so strong; it was magical. The next thing I knew it was Saturday morning, and I heard him fixing breakfast.

I slipped on one of his white shirts and crept in the kitchen. The eggs were almost finished. The bacon smelled scrumptious. He turned and saw me. He said, "I think you should move in."

[It's June again. Theresa was still asleep.]

I looked at the kitchen clock. Jeez I'd been daydreaming. It was nearly 8:00; Dillon and the kids would be up soon. Well I don't know; guess I've got time for another cup before I start. This is Theresa's big day, not mine. 

With more cream and sugar in my coffee I sat back down. 

[Let's go back. More day dreams.]

Yeah we got me moved in that weekend. The next few weeks before Christmas were some of the best days of my life. It didn't take the other teachers or students very long to figure out Dillon and I were an item. I mean lunch together every day, coming and going each morning and evening in the same car, sitting beside each other at the school-wide faculty meetings. No one said anything, and I think Miss Ashburton even approved; she always smiled at me anyway. 

I was worried though. This was my third year in the system, but it was Dillon's first. He'd just transferred to Maryland from California. He didn't have the job security I had, and I didn't want him to get in trouble. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was worrying about a problem that didn't exist. We never missed any time. We never argued. Dillon had problems with a few of the teachers; a couple men felt they were pretty self-important and Dillon was constantly smoothing ruffled feathers. There were a few teachers, mostly men but one woman, the other teachers referred to as 'the bounty hunters'. These were teachers who were constantly on the prowl; looking for a problem, a misbehaved child, a miscreant teacher, a custodian who missed a trash can. I guess all schools and all businesses have them. With people like that always around, little schoolyard romances like ours hardly made the news. 

We did have a problem with one teacher. I remember him. It happened after the Christmas break. He was an unhappy old fart; a short statured balding fellow with an overlarge stomach. I guess he thought since Dillon and I were 'fooling around' that he could 'tap' some of me too. 

I can't even remember his name, but he started to 'come on' to me. I was surprised. Remember this was me, the classic 'wallflower'; the old maid who a few weeks before never dreamed she'd be talking to let alone sleeping and living with the school 'dreamboat'. 

Well Mr. almost bald big tummy guy started trying to 'chat me up'. He even touched me a time or two on my arm. He brushed the back of his hand against one of my boobs. 

Once he gave me what I found out later was called a 'power squeeze'. He came up behind me while I was seated in the lunchroom. He put his hands on my shoulders and squeezed me. Several other teachers saw it. I squiggled out of it, but not before my Dillon saw it. 

Dillon came over. He was all business. He stepped up to Mr. bald-headed fat stomach and said, "I'll be in to observe this Thursday."

Bald-head big stomach said, "What you don't like it when someone gets too close to Caldwell here? What she your private stock?"