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The Queen

By: Exakta66



I am so ashamed. I am just so ashamed of myself, you have no idea. I have been so bad I should be punished by one or two of you fine looking women. Really, I have been a bad boy. I have let you people down big time. Oh yes, I really did it this time. Here I am on an adult web site and what do I write? Childish nonsense about lost tribes of wild women, going back to the Garden Of Eden, girls tied to fences. Utter nonsense. Here you people are out there, expecting some hot adult entertainment and what do I give you? Childish nonsense. Well, it is about time I straighten up and fly right. Deliver the goods. No more childish behavior. It is about time I start acting like an adulterer, I mean an adult. Well, you know what I mean. So without further ado, I bring to you...oh you'll see.

By the way, did I mention we are going to Fantasy Land? Giddy up Fantasy Horse, because we are going to ride into town with both guns blazing. Oh yea...

To tell you my latest story we do have to go back in time a bit. I know, I'm sorry. We have to go all the way back to the late eighties. If you recall, I was engaged to a nice girl named Kim. Kim and I seemed to get along real well. After a while we fell deeply in love. So, after a couple of years of dating we did the inevitable. We got married.

Our wedding was really a very happy event for all involved. I even showed up on time. Heck, there was open bar at the reception so I certainly wasn't going to miss it. Looking back, it was good that Kim's parents paid for the wedding. If my folks paid, the reception would have been in my mother's basement and it would have been strictly BYOB.

I settled into the routine of married life pretty easily. I was doing well in the company I was now partnered in with Rich. The projects we were doing kept me working long hours sometimes so I did not have a lot of time for socializing. It was nice to know my next piece of ass would be waiting at home when I got there, hopefully with a warm home-cooked meal. I have to admit those early times in my married life were quite blissful. The sex was good, her cooking was good and I enjoyed her company very much. Still, I was starting to think there was something I was missing. It didn't take long for Kim to notice. Women always seem to pick up on these things.

"You looking at that girl?" She asked one day as a hot looking babe passed by.

"Come on now Baby, all guys look." I said meekly, "It's just window shopping. All men window shop."

"Well, I don't like it." She told me rather pointedly.

"Hey, there is a difference between window shopping and entering the store." I explained.

She didn't speak to me for a while after that. In a way I enjoyed the peace and quiet, but I really did enjoy my wife. I just kept thinking there was something I was missing.

One day at work things were a little slow. I was sitting at my desk just pondering the meaning of life and other assorted minutia. As I was sitting there, Carl walked in.

"How are you today, Alan?" Carl asked, "You look deep in thought."

"Oh, just pondering the meaning of life and other assorted minutia." I answered calmly.

"Say what?" He asked perplexed.

"Carl." I started, "How is your time machine doing?"

I was starting to think that maybe a long adventure would do me good.

"Oh wonderful sir." Carl started excitedly, "In fact, I've made some great improvements."

"Oh, like what?" I inquired.

"Well, for one thing you can go as far as you want forward or backwards in time." He answered.

"That's nice." I thought for a moment but nothing interesting jumped into my mind.

"And also, I've added a great new feature." Carl added.

"Oh, what?" I asked.

"Not only can you do time travel," Carl started somewhat proudly, "But you can travel to another dimension."

Another dimension. Hmmm...Now my curiosity was piqued. This was something special. I could go to Flatland. I could explore a parallel universe. I could get a first hand look at quantum theory and Heisenberg's uncertainty principle. I could truly understand the underlying principles that govern all time and space. I could grasp the universe in my hand and possibly understand the meaning of life. I pondered the wondrous possibilities and the potential repercussions on all mankind.

"Do you think I can go to Sex Fantasy Land?" I asked.

"Say what?" Carl asked somewhat perplexed.

"Do you think I can go to Sex Fantasy Land?" I repeated confidently. I knew where I wanted to go.

"Oh, ah, I don't know. We can try." He said with a bit of hesitation.

That was what I wanted to hear. 

Carl led me into the electronics lab and sat me down. Once again Carl went over to his complex machine. He started flipping switches and fiddling with knobs. The lights overhead dimmed momentarily as the big machine came to life. The machine hummed loudly as needles moved and panel lights flickered.

"Ah, I have to ask again." I started, "How do I get back?"

"Same way, just snap your fingers on your right hand three times in a row." He answered.

"OK, I'm ready. Shall we do it?" I asked boldly.

Carl pushed some buttons and twirled some knobs. Colored lights flickered on and off as the machine hummed louder. He punched some numbers into his keyboard. Once again the room started to spin out of control. I felt funny. My head started to spin and I felt lightheaded. I shook, I started to sweat. My mind started to race at a fast pace. I was out of control and there was no stopping it now.

I woke up on a busy street in what seemed to be some sort of small city. I looked down and noticed the street was paved in black velvet. A group of women walked by. They were wearing only plaid skirts and spiked heels. One of them pinched me on the butt and smiled as she walked by.

"Hi Sugar, welcome to Sex Fantasy Land." She said sweetly as she passed.

I was amazed at the sights as I stood there on the corner. A young girl with long blonde hair flowing in the breeze passed by me riding naked on a white unicorn. She smiled at me as she picked a flower from her hair and tossed it my way. I caught it and held it in my hand.

I started walking slowly up the street. Everywhere couples, mostly women, were making out on plush love seats that were situated along the street like benches in other cities. Soft moans could be heard as women walked down the street naked hand in hand. Occasionally they would stop to touch each other or comb each other's hair.

I walked further on and passed an all-night furniture store. As I looked in the window I could see couples trying out new beds. A couple of doors down I passed an edible clothing store where I saw couples sampling the latest flavors as they ate their way to nakedness.

A couple of doors up was an all-night bar. I walked inside. In the corner was a young girl sitting there naked petting a cat. She looked up at me and smiled.

"Want to pet my kitty?" She asked coyly.

She held up the cat as she spoke. As she removed the cat from her lap, I noticed she had a vibrator between her legs.

"I hope the buzzing isn't disturbing to you." She added, "Kitty likes it. She finds it very soothing."

"Um, no it's fine." I said.

"Will you do me a favor?" She asked.

"Um, what?" I responded hesitantly.

"Will you change the battery for me? I'm not sure how." She asked sweetly.

With that she put down the cat. She bent over and reached inside a small box, her butt sticking up in the air with the vibrator still sticking out of her pussy.

"Here." She said as she handed me the batteries with one hand and pulled the vibrator out with the other.

I took the vibrator and changed the battery as she sat there petting her cat and giggling. When I was done, I handed her back the vibrator.

"Thank you kind sir." She started, "What is your name?"

"Alan." I said.

"I am going to name this vibrator Alan. It is my favorite one. It is with me all the time." She told me smiling and giggling.

I walked on and found a seat at the bar. A young red haired barmaid wearing only a cowboy hat and boots came up to me behind the bar.

"You're new in town. What can I get you?" She asked sweetly.

"A pint of Guinness please." I stated, trying hard not to stare at her perfect breasts.

A moment later a blonde haired girl with what can only be described as absolutely humungous breasts came over and sat next to me.

"The gentleman's drink is on me." She told the barmaid, "And anything else he wants."

"Thank you." I said.

I looked up at a large screen TV on the wall. There were naked women playing volleyball on the screen.

"I'm in town for the Women's Naked Volleyball Playoffs. I'm a member of the Swedish team in the large breasted division." She said, "How about you?"

"I'm in town to see the Queen of Sex Fantasy Land." I said, trying not to stare at her breasts too much.

"She'll never see you." She stated.

I sipped my Guinness and made small talk trying to actually look at her face once in a while. Suddenly a pack of women burst through the door. They had perfect olive skin and green eyes. They wore only bright feathers in their hair.

"Quick! Hide between my legs." The big breasted blonde exclaimed.

She grabbed me by the head and pushed me between her legs under her skirt. She held the skirt over me as she squeezed her thighs together almost suffocating me. A few minutes later she spoke again.

"You can come up now, they are gone." She sighed.

I stood up and then seated myself again on the fur covered bar stool.

"Who were they?" I asked.

"Oh, just a tribe of wild women. They go around to bars looking for men to capture and take back deep in the jungle." She explained.

"Hmmm...Sounds, um, dangerous." I stammered.

"Oh yes, most men are never seen again." She explained.

I took another swig of Guinness and looked up at the TV screen. Large breasts were bouncing up and down as the naked girls hit the ball back and forth over the net. I stared at the screen intently, my eyes captivated by the motion of those mammaries as the girls jumped in the air to get the ball. Suddenly, the huge breasted blonde began to cry.

"What's the matter, you don't like me?" She sobbed.

"No, why?" I said, somewhat perplexed.

"You've been here almost ten minutes and you haven't even touched my boobs." She said as she lifted up her shirt revealing the largest set of knockers I have ever seen, "What's the matter, aren't they big enough for you?"

She started shaking her boobs in my face. She grabbed me by the back of the head and stuck my face between her huge set of tits and rubbed them all over my face.

"There. Next time buy your own drink." She said as she got up and walked away.

I sat there for a moment somewhat confused over what just happened. I finished my drink and thanked the naked barmaid. She smiled at me as I got up out of my furry barstool and headed for the door. On the way out the girl with the cat looked up at me and smiled. A soft buzzing could clearly be heard.

"Thanks again for changing the batteries for me." She said coyly.

"Oh no problem. My pleasure, really." I added, "Say, do you know which way to the Queen of Sex Fantasy Land?"

"Around the corner, up the hill. The big chocolate castle." She told me, "But, she'll never see you."

I thanked her and made my way out the door. It was a perfect spring-like day outside with the sun shining brightly. I walked to the corner and turned onto the avenue. I saw a group of prostitutes standing around apparently waiting for customers. Three hookers approached me, a blonde, a brunette and a red head. All were young and quite beautiful.

"Do you want to go out?" One of them asked.

I thought about it for a moment then realized I probably could not afford it.

"Oh, I really don't have any cash." I explained.

The girls giggled like schoolgirls.

"What is so funny?" I asked perplexed.

"You must be new in town." The blonde stated, "This is Sex Fantasy Land. We pay you silly."

I thought for a moment. Down boy, I said to my pecker. Hold on a minute, Junior.

"Well, how much for a blow job?" I inquired.

"I would give you a hundred dollars to let me blow you." The blonde answered.

"Suppose I want all three of you?" I just had to ask.

"Well, in that case...that would be, um, three times a hundred..." The blonde started.

"Three hundred." The brunette added, "We would have to give you three hundred to let us blow you."

I thought about it for about four nanoseconds.

"OK, lets go." I said rather excitedly.

I followed the three hot looking women up the street to a small but cozy looking hotel. We walked into the lobby. A young woman in a French maid outfit was dusting the furniture. The desk clerk was a hot looking young brunette wearing a black body stocking. Suddenly it occurred to me that I probably could not afford a room.

"I don't know if I have enough to cover this." I said sheepishly.

"Oh don't worry silly, we got it." The red head said as the girls all giggled.

"I only have the honeymoon suite left." The desk clerk said, "I hope that is not a problem."

"It shouldn't be." I added. The girls just laughed.

I followed the girls as they led me up the stairs. There were young couples fornicating on the steps as we walked up. We soon got to the room and I opened the door with the card key. I stepped inside and was amazed at the beauty of the room.

"Isn't this nice?" The brunette commented.

The red head went over to the stereo and put on an Al Green CD. The music was soothing as we took turns undressing each other. Soon we were all over each other with hands and mouths. The girls practically fought each other to get their luscious lips around my now throbbing cock. The brunette seemed to win out as she took my member and sucked it down like a pro. Of course, she was a pro. The head of my dick touched the back of her throat as her ruby red lips went all the way down to my balls. The other girls joined in sucking my nuts and kissing the inside of my thighs. The three of them working me over caused me to come so long and hard I thought I was going to die of excessive pleasure. When it was over I helped the girls gather their clothes and we got dressed. We made our way back downstairs to the lobby. As we exited the building, the desk clerk spoke.

"Thanks. Cum again." She smiled as she reached down and fingered her pussy through the body stocking.

"Oh no, thank you." I said, "By the way, how far to the Queen of Sex Fantasy Land?"

"Just up the road in the chocolate castle." The hot looking clerk said as she stuck yet another finger in her wet pussy, "But she'll never see you."

I said my good-byes to the lovely young ladies and started up the road. A big yellow school bus was parked at the curb. A group of high school cheerleaders was waiting at the curb to get on. It was obvious they were going on a trip somewhere, perhaps to an out-of-town high school game. As I walked towards the young women, an exceptionally beautiful girl started walking towards me. She looked so good in her cheerleader outfit, pom-poms in hand. Suddenly she spoke.

"Excuse me mister, can you please help me?" She asked very sweetly. She stared up at me with big dark eyes.

"Um, I don't know. What can I do? I'm not from around here." I said cautiously. I had no idea what she could possibly want from me.

"I have a problem." She started, "You see, I'm still a virgin."

"Oh, how can I help?" I asked cautiously.

"Please, I need you to take me now!" She shouted, hiking up her skirt.

She reached forward and undid my belt. She then undid my jeans unleashing my cock, which was now quite hard. She pulled down her panties as the other girls stripped to the waist. She then got down on all fours with her skirt hiked up and reached back and started to finger her young mound. You could see the moisture forming on her young virgin lips as the sun shone on her glistening pussy.

"Take me. Take me. I need your cock, please!" She cried.

I got down behind her on my knees. The soft padded velvet walkway was easy on the knees and seemed to be made for this sort of activity. I slowly entered her from behind before thrusting my entire length into her wanting love canal. The other cheerleaders picked up their pom-poms and started chanting.

"Alan, Alan he's the man. If he can't do it, no one can!"

I increased the speed of my thrusts as this young virgin began to moan with pleasure. The girls once again began to chant. Their naked young breasts bounced as they did their cheers.

"Alan, Alan he's the one. Come on Daddy, make her cum!"

My pumping again increased in speed as I could feel this young thing's vaginal muscles grip my rock hard shaft. The cheerleaders again started to chant.

"Come on Daddy start to ream. Make that young thing start to scream!"

This young former virgin started to scream as I took her on all fours in front of the other cheerleaders. When it was over I withdrew my cock from her dripping pussy and stood up. The other girls applauded as their friend sat quietly on the sidewalk. In a few minutes she got up and thanked me.

The other girls all insisted I at least finger them before letting me go on my way. I obliged, since they insisted so much.

"How far to the chocolate castle?" I asked the cheerleading captain who was beginning to regain her breath, "I need to see the Queen of Sex Fantasy Land."

"Just up the hill. But she will never see you." Was the response.

I left the cheerleaders as they begged me to stay and fuck them all silly. I would have liked to but I had a mission. I continued up the hill as a naked girl passed me on a bicycle. I couldn't tell for sure, but I believe it did not have a seat. Further on, another naked girl passed me carrying a snake. She gave me a sly glance.

I made my way to the top of the hill and finally the chocolate castle was in sight. It was the most amazing sight I have ever seen. It was surrounded by a huge moat with rose petals floating in it. As I approached, I saw young nymphs bathing in the waters. They were taking turns washing each other's hair and bodies in the crystal clear water. Giant candles reaching towards the sky provided light to the area at night. The road leading up to the castle was paved in gold leaf. There were giant marble statues of young women on the grounds surrounding the castle. The grounds were immaculate, with a wide variety of flowers in assorted colors. The scent of the flowers filled my nostrils as I approached the guard station. 

I finally arrived at the guard station just before the intricately carved bridge that led to the entrance to the chocolate castle. A young female guard in a leather bra and panty set came out to greet me. She had a paddle strapped to her side and a set of furry handcuffs on her leather belt.

"Halt. Don't go any further." She instructed, "What brings you here?"

"I need to see the Queen of Sex Fantasy Land." I stated.

"What is your mission?" She asked in a serious tone.

"I need to see the Queen of Sex Fantasy Land. I am in search of the ultimate sexual experience." I stated confidently.

The guard laughed as I said this. Her red curls dangled seductively over her shoulders.

"What makes you think the Queen would see you?" She asked, laughter in her voice.

"I am a sex fantasy writer." I stated proudly.

The guard just looked at me and laughed out loud. Her ample breasts shook as she laughed.

"Everyone around here says they are a sex fantasy writer." She started, "Can you prove it?"

She was smiling with a sort of 'Go ahead, I dare you' kind of look. I thought to myself, how could I prove that I am a sex fantasy writer? This was not as easy as I had hoped.

Just then a thought entered my mind. I rummaged through the pockets of my jeans and pulled out a tattered piece of paper.


The Queen



"Here." I said as I handed her the paper, "Read this. I can prove I am a sex fantasy writer."

She took the paper from my hand and studied it. After a minute she spoke.

"This is a grocery list." She said perplexed.

"Oh, sorry. Wrong paper." I explained sheepishly.

I rummaged through my pants and found another tattered piece of paper. It was a copy of 'Lost Tribe'. I handed it to the guard.

The guard studied the paper intently. After a few minutes she spoke.

"Hmmm...I guess you really are a sex fantasy writer." She said, seemingly impressed, "Well, follow me."

She handed me back the paper and I put it in my pocket. She then took me by the hand and led me across the bridge. We came to an entrance to the castle, which bore a striking resemblance to a certain part of the female anatomy. We walked through hand in hand into the giant chocolate castle.

As we got inside I was amazed to see the same girl that was in the bar petting her kitty. Again I could hear a quiet buzzing sound as we walked by. She looked up at me with a sly grin and spoke.

"I see you made it." She said smiling, "The Queen has been expecting you."

The guard led me by the hand through the vast hall covered with candy decorations depicting various sex acts. There were giant candy statues of young women in numerous poses. They all looked good enough to eat, literally. After a while we finally arrived in the Queen's chamber. She was sitting on a golden throne shaped like a vagina. She was wearing red spiked heels and matching crotchless panties. She was easily the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Her naked breasts were perfectly rounded and full with nipples that pointed delicately upwards. Her thighs looked like they could crush a man's head at will. Her perfect hour glass figure and full hips took my breath away. Her big dark eyes sparkled in the light of the flickering candles that surrounded her throne. On either side of her were young servant girls wearing nothing but brightly colored flowers in their hair. The guard led me by the hand right up to the Queen.

"A visitor here to see you, Your Majesty." The guard spoke.

"What makes you think I have time for this visitor?" The Queen said. She had the most sensuous, seductive voice of any woman one could imagine.

"He is a sex fantasy writer, Your Majesty." Said the guard.

"A sex fantasy writer? Ha, everyone around here says they are a sex fantasy writer." Started the Queen, "Can you prove it?"

"Oh, yes Your Majesty." I said enthusiastically, "Yes, I certainly can."

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a tattered sheet of paper. I handed it to the Queen. She studied it for a moment then spoke.

"A dozen eggs. A gallon of milk. Three onions. A pound of butter. How is this sex fantasy?" She asked, somewhat perplexed.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Wrong paper." I said somewhat apologetically.

It took the grocery list back and reached into my pocket again and produced the copy of 'Lost Tribe'. I handed it to the Queen. She studied it intently for several minutes and then spoke.

"Very impressive. I see you really are a sex fantasy writer." She said handing me back the paper, "What can I do for you?"

"I am here in search of the ultimate sexual experience." I stated with confidence.

"What makes you think I can give you the ultimate sexual experience?" The Queen stated.

I was dumbfounded for a moment. Surely the Queen of Sex Fantasy Land could give me the ultimate sexual experience. That seemed like a no-brainer to me.

"Why, you are the Queen of Sex Fantasy Land." I started hesitantly, "The almighty ruler of all that is sexual. The keeper of every sexual thought..."

"Tell me. Are you married?" The Queen asked, staring at me intently with those big dark eyes.

"Why, yes." I answered.

"And do you love your wife?" She asked.

"Why, yes. Of course I loved my wife." I really did love my wife, "I love her very much."

"Then I cannot give you the ultimate sexual experience." The Queen stated calmly.

"Why is that?" I had to ask.

"Because the ultimate sexual experience can only happen between two people who love each other." The Queen stated frankly, "Go home to your wife young man."

I stood there bewildered. The Queen had confirmed what I guess I really knew all along. I stood there like a fool. I came all this way to hear what I really knew all along.

"So that's it?" I had to ask.

"That's it." The Queen answered.

"What, no whips no chains no whip cream?" I was a bit disappointed.

"No whips no chains no whip cream." She stated, "Unless that's what you and your wife are into, of course."

I stood there for a moment taking this all in. The gorgeous red haired guard looked at me and smiled.

"Anything else?" The Queen asked.

"No, I guess that's it." I answered meekly.

"Keep up the sex fantasy writing. The world can always use sex fantasy writers." She said.

"Yes thanks." I started, "Um, it was nice meeting you."

"Nice meeting you too." She responded, "The guard will show you the way out."

"No that's alright." I said, "I can find my way out myself. I had enough here."

With that I turned and gave the guard a kiss on those luscious lips of hers. Wasn't going to let that go by. Then I stood there and snapped the fingers on my right hand three times in a row.

I woke up back at work in a chair. Carl was standing beside me with a curious look on his face.

"How did it go?" He asked.

"Oh, pretty good actually." I answered, "Hey Carl, do you know where I can buy flowers around here?"

"No, not really." He said hesitantly, "Why?"

"I need to get home to my wife." I answered, "I'm in search of the ultimate sexual experience."

Carl just stood there looking rather perplexed. I just went back to my work.

07-13-09



The Queen



The Queen's title was not just an honorific. She had absolute power, and her business expertise had done good things for the country, making many men of power extremely wealthy and buying her absolute support. And this support worked to her advantage, because legend dictated that the Queen's taste for power was as egregious as her beauty. As the all-powerful monarch, her body was considered the physical ideal and all women in the kingdom strove to be more like her. The only thing more discussed than her beauty was her dark sexual tastes. It was said that falling under the lustful eye of the Queen was the equivalent of a fish finding itself in the claws of a hawk. Struggle as it might, once the talons were in the flesh the outcome was never in doubt and all that could ever be purchased was time.

I come from a middle class family and had achieved some success in life, including a career built from a solid education. That was before, anyway. I had become afflicted with a condition that caused all of my hair to fall out, and in my country this is taken as a sign of falling out of favor with God as the result of a serious sin, and I had become a pariah. I now moved from county to county, begging for subsistence, and this is how I came to be in the market, in the shadow of the Queen's castle.

I wasn't surprised when the Royal Guard arrested me in the market because begging, especially by a social outcast, is discouraged, but I expected to be simply removed from the city walls. Instead, I found myself blindfolded and gagged, my hands tied behind my back, naked and kneeling on a rug in an unknown room. Before leaving me the Captain of the Guard admonished me to keep quiet as I waited, and last sound I had heard was the thud of a heavy door as he departed.

Some time passed before that door opened again, and I strained to hear who was coming into the room. The new visitor didn't speak, but I heard the soft padding of bare feet crossing the floor and then begin to circle me. The odor of an expensive perfume drifted to my nose, and combined with the quiet footsteps I was certain it was a woman now looking at me. 

"Miss...", I began, but was rewarded with a violent slap to my face and a single command -- "Silence!" It was a voice used to being in charge and there was no question it expected to be obeyed. With my face stinging I fell silent and waited to see what would happen next.

After a few more minutes of circling I was rewarded with her first comment since entering the room. 

"So, the rumors of a hairless man were true. How intriguing." A soft hand touched my thighs, my exposed ass, my chest, and a sigh escaped her mouth. I felt invaded but decided to remain quiet. After a few more minutes of exploration, I felt her kneel behind me. She too was naked, and as she pressed against my back, one arm came around my throat and her free hand grasped my penis. Her lips leaned close to my ear and she began.

"I am your Queen, and you are my slave. My bitch." She punctuated the last statement with a squeeze of my penis and a bite on my ear, and I believed what she said – this was the Queen, and I was in a lot more trouble than I had originally thought.

Her lips moved to my other ear, and the arm around my throat tightened. 

"These are the rules. No talking unless first spoken to. You've already broken that rule, but I'll give you some latitude because you didn't know about them yet. You don't want to start breaking the rules, slave." There was something particularly disconcerting about that last statement. I didn't want to know exactly what happened when the rules were broken, but I had an idea I was going to. 

She continued. "When you respond to a question, always end in Mistress. Yes, Mistress. No, Mistress. No exceptions." I could tell that she was enjoying the description of the rules, the control. She bit my ear and again moved to the other side. 

"No eye contact. You aren't even worthy to be in my presence and will keep your gaze locked on the floor. Finally, and this is the most important rule, you are here for my pleasure, not yours. You will do exactly as I say, and I will use you. This brings us to outcomes, and at the end of the night, there are three that are possible." She paused again, clearly savoring whatever the three outcomes were. I didn't think I'd have long to wait to hear about them.

She sighed again and restarted. "To pleasure the Queen is the ultimate privilege, and no part of your life would ever seem complete again. Moreover, no mere mortal can be left alive to discuss the delights of the Queen's body." 

I didn't like where this was going, but she continued. "If you fail to follow the rules, or you fail to pleasure me, then I will take my pleasure a different way. I will have you tortured to death, and I will pleasure myself while you suffer." 

Another pause. She seemed to be thinking about that choice, and enjoying it a little too much for my comfort. She let out a small pleasured moan and continued. "I have some delicious ideas for that, and understand that although it's not my most preferred option, it is an option I would enjoy." I didn't doubt it at all. 

"If you do follow the rules and I do take my pleasure from you, then I will have you put to death as quickly and painlessly as possible. Occasionally...rarely...I have chosen to use a slave again and have kept them alive for another day. One truly rare specimen pleasured me for seven. But this doesn't happen very often, and from the look of you, I doubt it will apply here." 

My mind was now racing, as death appeared to be fast approaching at the end of the evening and I needed to find a way to buy time to find a way to escape. With another squeeze on my throat and my penis, she pulled the gag from my mouth and ended with a question. "Do you understand the rules, slave?" Her arm relaxed and it was clear that I was free to talk.

"Yes", I croaked and then quickly caught myself and amended "Yes, Mistress." But it was already too late. She pushed me forward so that I toppled face first into the carpet, rolled over, and immediately felt her straddle my face. 

"That's your first rule violation", she crowed, "Two more and I'll be ending the night by watching you suffer. And now, of course, you must be punished. Take a deep breath." And without any further warning, she came down on my face. Her ass and vagina covered my mouth and nose and I had no way to breath. After a short while I began struggling for air, and then felt her ease up off of my face. 

"Another breath" she said, before coming down again. I had time only for a quick breath before she was back in place. Again, the seconds ticked by while my air dwindled and I was once again struggling when she eased up again. I needed no warning and took a breath. As it happened, no warning was forthcoming, and she was back in place quickly. Apparently two warnings were all the instruction I was going to get. The cycle continued for what seemed like an eternity and each time I struggled for breath sooner. And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over.

"I'm going to remove your blindfold and untie your hands, slave. Remember the rules. If I make any noise in alarm, the guards will be in the room in seconds." She rolled me onto my stomach, untied my hands and removed my blindfold. I made a mental note to keep my eyes down when I was no longer facing the carpet. 

"Draw me a bath and then kneel by the tub" she commanded and then walked off. I started to stand, but her leg flashed out of nowhere and pushed me over. 

"Crawl. Slaves don't walk, they crawl." I kept my eyes down, crawled to bathroom and started the water. I was careful to ensure the water temperature wasn't too hot or too cold. There had been no rule, but I wasn't taking any chances. When I had what I thought was the right water level and the right temperature, I knelt back by the tub and lowered my head.

After a few minutes I heard her pad into the room. She placed one hand on the top of my head and eased herself into the tub. "Well done slave." she said, "Now wash me, starting with my feet. Do not wash anything unless I first direct you to. Do you understand, slave?" 

"Yes, Mistress" I replied, before grabbing the soap and starting on her feet. As I carefully washed each part of her body she directed me to the next, until I had washed every inch of her body. 

At last she stood up. "Dry me off slave" she commanded. I grabbed a nearby towel and patted her dry, beginning with her feet. When I reached her waist she took the towel from me. 

"You stink like a peasant" she indicated. "Get in the shower and wash carefully. I don't want any remnant of that stink on you. When you're done, resume kneeling here." And with that, she left the room.

I jumped in the shower, intent on following her command to the letter. I scrubbed every inch of my body twice, rinsed off carefully and then went back to kneeling by the tub. She returned in a few moments, and I could feel her bend down and then I could hear her sniff. 

I was expecting more praise for having followed the rules, but instead found my head being brought down into the floor quickly. "Ass up" she commanded. I pushed my ass up into the air, and felt her ease her ass down onto the back of my head until she was sitting on it, facing my rear. 

"I still smell peasant on you. I thought I had been clear, but apparently you aren't that bright. This is your second violation, and it is starting to look like we'll get to three in record time – I may have to resign myself to taking my pleasure in my second favorite way." With that I could feel her rubbing herself against the back of my head and neck. "Hold still for your punishment, slave." And with that she began slapping my ass with her hands. The pain quickly built until I could feel nothing but the blows on my ass, but throughout it I could feel her rubbing intensify and thought I heard small moans of pleasure escape her lips. By the time she finished, my ass had lost all of its feeling.

"Kneel in the shower" she commanded. After turning on the water she climbed in behind me. 

"Apparently, I'll have to do it myself" she said, to no one in particular and then began scrubbing me. When she finished she turned off the water and stepped back out of the tub. 

"Kneel on the carpet" she commanded, standing before it. I clambered out of the tub and resumed kneeling. 

"Kiss my feet and thank me for my mercy" she commanded. I kissed them both and then resumed kneeling. 

"I just had another delicious torture idea" she restarted, clearly enjoying it. 

She then produced a dog collar which she fastened around my neck, attached a short leash, and commanded "Heel, bitch", before turning and walking out of the room. I followed her as best I could on all fours back into the bedroom. She did a few turns in the room, and I struggled to ensure I heeled properly. It was clear that I didn't want a third rule violation. 

When she was done walking she let the leash go slack and commanded "Kneel." I went back into the kneeling position and she crawled onto the bed and laid on her stomach, the leash in one hand. 

"Massage" she stated flatly, "Start with my feet. There's a bottle of massage oil next to the bed."

I grabbed the massage oil, moved onto the bed and began massaging her feet. As with the bath, as I finished massaging an area she would call out another, and she also gave direction as to what was pleasurable with each stop. Periodically she would pull on the leash, throwing me off balance. Each time she'd let out a small laugh and a moan – she was enjoying being in charge. The massage must have lasted a half hour before she finally rolled over onto her back. I could tell she was looking at me and thinking, and I was hoping I had met expectations.

"Massage my breasts" she finally demanded. "One at a time and start with light pressure. I'll tell you when to move back and forth and I'll tell you when to increase pressure." I did as told and it wasn't very long before I could see her hips moving and I could tell that she was getting worked up, which I hoped to be a good sign. 

"On your back", she finally demanded. She straddled me, lowered herself, and began grinding against my penis. 

"Keep stroking my breasts." I did as I was told as she continued to build. When she stopped I was afraid I had done something wrong, but she didn't seem angry. 

She slid down and noted, as if to herself "My penis needs to be harder" before putting it in her mouth and sucking on it. I quickly grew hard, and when she was satisfied she moved back up and used one hand to place it at the opening to her vagina. 

She placed on hand on my throat, threateningly, and commanded "Don't push. Keep working on my breasts." She slowly eased herself onto my penis as I continued with her breasts. 

As she continued to build she demanded "Put them in your mouth", and I quickly did as I was told. She built to orgasm quickly from there and waited only a second before starting grinding again. I resumed with my mouth on her breasts as she came a second time.

Spent from her two orgasms she eased down onto me and whispered "You may go". I didn't need a second offer and began pumping my penis in search of orgasm. 

While I pumped she put one finger in my mouth, one hand around my throat and began biting and licking my neck while repeating variations of "You belong to me." 

When I came she moaned, bit my ear again, and then rolled over onto her back. "Clean me up, and then yourself" she commanded. I found a cloth and carefully cleaned us both before kneeling again by the bed. She laughed at that, not having reminded me that time.

"On your back on the bed" she purred. I climbed up, and she reinserted the gag and then went to work tying my hands and feet to the head and foot board. 

When she was done fastening me, she climbed back on top and again put her lips next to my ear. "Hmmm" she moaned "What next?" I could feel her begin to grind herself against me again, in anticipation of what she was about to say next. In the pursuit of orgasm, I had forgotten about the outcomes, and realized I was probably out of time. 

She licked my ear "Your hairless body is unique and feels so soft. I think I will use you again tomorrow." Relief. I had another day to escape. 

"Be sure to watch the sun rise in the morning, slave" she said, as she settled in for the night "It's most likely going to be your last one." And with that, she drifted off to sleep. I did in fact lie awake and watch the sunrise, and wondered if I would live to see another.



The Queen



He awoke to the feel of persistent but light slaps on his face, as the daylight blinded his slowly opening eyes. Before he had a chance to recall where he was or who was awakening him, he was jerked forward by the neck, stumbling onto his feet. Without thought, he began following the blurry shapes in front of him that seemed to be pulling him forward.

Once the cool breeze hit his bare skin and he realized he was naked, it all came flooding back to him. He blinked his eyes twice and gradually opened them all the way to find his suspicions confirmed. He was being led somewhere on a collar and chain. The last he could remember was being surrounded by strange, aggressive-looking characters after his failed attempt at raiding a passing caravan.

"Keep up!" said the man in front of him, leading him by the chain. "The Queen will not be happy to be kept waiting."

Queen? A rush of fear swept over him. Why was he not simply killed for what he'd done? Perhaps she wanted information from him. Perhaps she wanted to send a message. No one had been killed in the raid, and the caravan only contained food - nothing of tremendous value, really. Yes, she must just want information, an apology, and to give him a few lashings for his behavior. Surely she is a reasonable queen, he told himself, or else she would not have spared his life. He would beg her forgiveness and earn his freedom, he decided.

Rounding the corner, he was led into a massive room with a crowd of several people at the other end. Undoubtedly, this was the throne room of the palace, with its towering pillars, ornate banners, and a floor so polished you could see your reflection in it. The people there wore colorful robes and dresses, aside from the burly, dark skinned guards carrying long sharp spears, who were dressed only in loincloths. His cheeks turned a light shade of pink and his penis shriveled as he was led through the middle of the crowd while eyes fixated on him.

The top of the throne became visible as the last of the crowd was parted. It was an elegant white marble design with two horns drawing together to direct attention to the one seated on its shimmering beauty. He nearly stood back in astonishment as his guide moved aside to reveal the wondrous creature seated before him. Her skin was a smooth, light caramel color. Her hair fell over her shoulders in long, wavy black locks. Along her waist she wore a skirt that teasingly drew further and further up on the sides, showing off her shapely hips. A slender horizontal garment covered her breasts. She had the majesty of a goddess, the inviting face of an angel, and the entrancing curves of a woman.

On approaching the Queen, he felt the searing stare of the entire audience, as voices fell silent. He was an interruption, and a most unusual one, he could tell. With barely a movement or word, she scanned him with her eyes, thanked the guard, and took the chain leash in her hand. Instinctively, he started bending down to kneel, but before his knee could touch the floor, he was pulled towards her. Closer and closer, up the steps to the throne, until finally he was leaning over her, his head at her shoulder.

"Down," she commanded authoritatively, placing her hand on his back and pushing him over her lap. Once he was bent over, her hand flew rapidly down his back and glided over the surface of his bare bottom. Lightly she brushed her fingers across his cheeks, down between his legs, and over his balls. She nodded to a nearby servant who promptly brought a large bowl filled with water, a bottle of ointment, and a blade.

"Continue," she said to the surrounding advisers and audience members, who watched in shock as she spread the ointment over the man's behind and proceeded to shave his ass smooth. His humiliation was palpable, letting out quiet stuttered gasps. The speakers resumed their discussion with the Queen, periodically losing momentum, pausing, and stammering over the odd sight in front of them. Before the man knew it, his ass, balls, and crotch were as hairless as a baby's bottom.

"And what do the people in your kingdom say?" the Queen asked one of the men in the crowd. The conversation went on as she stroked the naked ass of the man on her lap. Her hand slowly worked its way down his crack, turned up again and firmly stretched out over his right cheek, and then clasped onto it possessively. Immediately he tensed up and tightened his butt. She dug in deeper, forcing his muscles to relax and forcing a frightened sigh from his lips. Her eyes had been on, and remained on, the crowd.

Suddenly something was said that displeased the Queen, and she responded with a startlingly hard smack on the man's ass. He yelped in a mix of surprise, embarrassment, and excitement. The audience had fallen silent once more, looking at the red hand-print on his white bottom. He weakly tried to raise up off her lap, but quickly earned another hard smack on his other cheek. She leaned in next to his head and said loudly, "Stay." And stay he did.

"The governed in any kingdom is like a man's bottom," she told those gathered in her throne room, while caressing and fondling the ass on her lap. "Defensive, tense, scared." SMACK. "Distrusting control in any other hands." SMACK. "Afraid of what it could mean if they were to discover how much they like being led." SMACK. "Terrified of finding out they might need it." SMACK.

"You must be firm enough to show your leadership," she continued. "But not so harsh that you destroy what you are taking." Frozen in place, he closed his eyes as she gently teased his asshole with the tip of her finger. "In time, the fear of losing control will turn to fear of living without the protection, security, and order you can provide. People willingly surrender control in the hopes of finding meaning and purpose."

"And before they know it..."

She pressed her finger against his asshole. With a soft moan, he felt her slide into him.

"...they welcome you inside."

"Body," she said, slyly inserting another finger, "and mind." With that, a third finger made its way into his asshole.

The audience stood, jaws agape, anxiously anticipating the Queen's next action. A mischievous smile appeared on her face as she felt the men in the crowd clench up. One by one, she removed her fingers from his anus.

"Once you've shown them how deserving you are of their worship and submission," she explained as she guided him to the floor, "then you must ensure they never forget their place of service. That they always know who holds their chains."

Removing her skirt before them, she fastened on a belt with a rubber cock on the front of it. Whispers and hushed words emanated from the audience. She grabbed the man by his leash, pressed the dildo against his face, and ordered him to open his mouth. He grimaced and turned away. She slapped his cheek and pushed it on his lips again. He hesitated and parted his lips more, but still turned away, breathing heavily in near-panic.

She grabbed his leash, pulled up, tilting his head towards her, and told him to look at her. "The instant your lips willfully close around my cock - and they will do so willfully - your little cock is going to get rock hard. Do you know how I know that? Because you have always been a slave. You've been a slave to fear all your life. Now you are my slave, and no slave of mine is allowed to fear pleasing his Queen."

She stood confidently, staring down at him, waiting on what she knew would follow. He grabbed her long, thick black rubber cock with both hands, stroking it enthusiastically, and stuffed it down his throat. Her expression showed no change. She merely pulled his leash a little tighter, put her hand on the back of his head, and said, "Good bitch."

Just as she had predicted, his little cock stiffened like never before. He felt it, she saw it, the whole crowd saw it. Still, he eagerly continued to suck her big black cock on his knees in the middle of the palace throne room. Audience members tried to leave, but the guards blocked the exits.

"I've seen the way you all look at me," the Queen said now in a dark and displeased tone of voice. "You think me unfit for control. You think I know nothing of power. You'd prefer me on all fours instead of on this throne."

She grabbed her slave by the hair and pulled her cock out of his mouth. At her instruction, he turned around and laid down on the floor, face against the ground, with his bare, smooth shaven ass up in the cool air. "Remember this, for you could be next."

He gasped, moaned, and screamed in ecstasy as she slid her strap-on dick into his tight ass. Stroke after stroke, thrust after thrust, she made herself clear. He could see everything in the reflection from the floor. Finally, he couldn't contain himself any longer and exploded onto himself and his reflection. She gradually pulled her large cock out of him and left him to collapse on the floor, a spectacular mess.

"This broken toy," she said to the crowd, while pointing at her slave, "is more than you will ever be, unless you learn the meaning and purpose of submission."



The Queen and Her Pet



She kneels before her queen fully naked and waiting to please her every need. Her queen is beautiful, tall, slender and naked as well.

Her small but firm breasts with her hard long nipples are deliciously devious to suck on. Her long flowing blonde hair, when let down out of her bun, cascades down the small of her back and it kisses just above her curvaceous back side. Her deep, almost clear blue eyes draws her pet into her queens soul and devours her whole. It leaves her pet breathless and wanting more.

Her queens legs are spread just enough to reveal her sweet wet lips. Her pet can tell that her queen is aroused already and also that she wants nothing more than to please her queen. She wants to kiss those lips, to nibble, to pull, to bite and suck on them. To hear her queens erotic moans that penetrate right through her heart and leaves her body quivering.

On her knees, her pet watches her queen looking down upon her and she stares back at her queen right up into heaven. Her queens red lips move in a melodic tone. Approving of her pets obedience, she tells her pet how beautiful she is. Also, she tells her pet how she wants her, but her pet feels her beauty pales in comparison.

Her queens pale skin is in deep contrast to her pets dark suntan skin. Her hair is black and short. It only goes to her neck. Her body is larger but very, very proportionate with large, full breasts and sweet dark, plump nipples. Her queen fantasies of all the different ways in which she can please her and be pleased by her. She wants to be eaten by her pet in such a needful way that she is already wet at just the slightest thought of it.

Her long red finger nails dig through her pets hair as she pulls her into her wetness, seeking her body to join into hers as one in love.

Her pet feels her queens need for her reaching a crescendo. She gives into her queens demands. She kisses her queens sweet, wet lips. Tasting her intoxicatingly dark desires. Her queen tastes familiar, the way only a lover can. 

Her queen holds back her moaning for as long as she can bear to. She gasps when her pet kisses her wetness. Her eyes squeeze shut and her hands grab her hair and pulls her into her body harder. Her hips writhe in motion with her pets mouth. Her pets hands grasp her ass and hold on tight.

Not letting go of her queen, she starts with a kiss, then a lick before being forced deep inside her love. She begins to suck on those lips which is followed by nibbling upon them. Listening to her queen moan, she can feel her body shake. Tasting her sweet nectar, she is enjoying every last drop.

Her pet pulls on her lips and she let's out a long resounding moan that turns into a yell as her pet nibbles and sucks them. Her queens body needs her pet more and more. She can feel an orgasm building within, begging for release that only her pet can let her escape from.

Her pets tongue is long and devours her cunt in ways that makes her feel like a starved wolf taking down an innocent deer. Her pet is the wolf and she is her deer. Willingly, she lets it all happen and she enjoys every titillating, ecstatic second.

Her toes curl when her pets tongue lunges in and up. Her pets whole mouth is agape as she consumes her queen from within her body. Eating all of her queens luscious wants and deepest desires.

Her pet watches her queen, searching for the pleasure that's written clearly all over her queens face. Her queens head tilts back and forth. Her eyes open wide and squeeze shut from the sexual dance. Her queens body moves with her and for her, all on its own. She knows her queen all too well.

Her queens pussy pulsates and quivers and let's out her sweet, intoxicating juices that run into her mouth. She drinks it all in. Delicious. She feels like the wolf devouring her prey, yet she is supposed to be the pet.

Her queens breath is let out in shorter gasps and her moans are deeper. Her queens body is tensing for her orgasmic release.

Then, all of a sudden and with a gush of fluid into her mouth, her queen cums for her. She screams and moans. Her body is shaking and very tense as the orgasmic eruption continues. Her pet doesn't stop eating her queen until her queen collapses to the floor into her waiting embrace.

Her queen let's go of her death grip on her head. She is panting and gasping as she goes limp and falls gently into her pets open arms. Both of them are on their knees. Her pet strokes the wet, sweaty hair out of her queens eyes and strokes her forehead. She becomes lost in her queen lovers eyes as her queen rests her head upon her lap.

She wants only to please her queen as she knows she already has, but it's never enough. Her queen holds her tight and she leans in for a kiss without asking. She forgets her place and yet is not reprimanded. She is pleased to kiss her lips. To feel her queen tasting herself. To taste how good she is to her.

Their lips lock in a blissful clasp of pure pleasure borne out of love. Her queen can taste herself on her pets lips. She's never tasted herself before. It's kinda sweet as her pet has described it to her time and again. She has never even tasted her pet before either. She has always been the receiver of her pets oral pleasure and she has always pleased her pet sexually with toys, but never orally. Maybe she will soon. She has not wanted to do it before out of fear of giving up control. Yet, she now feels a certain degree of willingness to do so. Of course, it will only take place as she she commands.

She pushes her pet to lay down after the enjoyable kiss departs her lips. Leaving her body in need of more, they lay in each others arms, holding on to one another tightly. She lays her head upon her pets soft tit with her eyes closed. She finds her mouth sucking her pets lovely hard nipple and listening to her purr as she strokes her queens hair. Her pets other hand is grasping her queens breast and playing with the nipple that's already hard enough.

Her queens fingers slide down her body, caressing every inch of her flesh. Goose bumps spring up everywhere. Her queens red nails glide over her clit and flicks it. Her pet yelps out a squeak of pains pleasure. Her queen nibbles her nipple and more moaning exudes from both the queen and her pet. Her queens finger glides between wet labia, arousing sexual fluids to pour out.

Her pet pulls on her nipple in reaction. Her queen growls animalistically. Loving it all, her queens finger finds its way up and down her lips. Her pets body arches in orgasmic desires.

Then, another finger enters her pets temple. Curling upward in a come hither motion, it searches and finds her g spot. She finds it squishy and ready to blow. Her pet has had more than one orgasm that she can sense from her body movements. Her queens fingers are sticky with the release of such pent up emotions. Now, her pet feels another one ready to come out of her already spent body. 

Her pet holds onto to her queen, grabbing anything that she can. She feels lost without her. Oh, the way her queen makes her cum is heavenly. She feels like she has to pee and asks for her queen to stop, but she doesn't as her queen knows best. She tells her pet to let it go and that it's an orgasmic squirt.

Her pet tries to let it go, but can't. She squeezes her queen even more forcefully. Her queen commands her now and she tries to and fails once more. It's hard to let it go she thinks while she moans out in short painfully erotic gasps.

Another orgasm rages through her already perspiring body. She is shaking and gasping for release that her queen won't abide to. Her queen knows what's best for her, yet she already knows that so she tries once more for her queen.

Her queen is screaming yes almost as much as her pet is as she knows what's about to happen. Her pets mouth is open in a quiet scream. Gripping her queens shoulders and hair, her body arched and her head tilted back, her eyes are closed and her queen continues to suck each nipple exquisitely and painfully pleasurable. All the while her queen is finger fucking her pet into sweet oblivion.

With an unknown force, her body convulses. Her pussy contracts and she let's out what feels like pee but isn't. She squirted a little. Not a lot, but enough to get the floor wet along with her queens hand. She shakes and giggles and pants and gasps and she can't help but smile so bright from what her queen just did for her for the very first time.

Her queen unexpectedly licks her hand to taste her pet. She closes her eyes as she does so and thinks of how yummy her pet tastes. She wants more, but not now. Her pet deserves a rest.

Her pet holds her hand in hers and licks her queens fingers. She stares into her queens eyes as she does so and moans with deep satisfaction. 

Her queen lays back down on her pets chest and her pet once more strokes her queens hair until they both fall into a deep, peaceful rest.

Her queen dreams just how she'll please her pet orally when they wake and her pet dreams of just how incredible this all was and also how she will give her queen even better treatment.

Until they wake, we let the lovers rest. Lost in dreams of sexual bliss.



The Queen and I



The Queen of Shadows is lethal in every way possible. Not only is she stunningly beautiful -- in every aspect mind you -- she has a heart of ice. Many of the lower lives who I work with at the castle often talk about her behind her back, and many believe that she doesn't even have a heart -- I of course know how wrong they are.

Queen Vraena has the type of body that can give a man his finest dreams -- at least the parts that men get to see. Her hips are prominent and thick, her cream-colored skin soft -- she has the roundest and firmest breasts that's been seen in these parts for ages. The Queen always wears black, and her clothes always shows off that perfect bust of hers, leaving the castle guards speechless. Her long hair is wavy and dark, and most of the time she lets the curls cascade over her shoulders, some of the locks falling to nestle themselves in her cleavage. Her eyes are what scared most people though. Red. They're a deep crimson color that can only be described as the color of blood, and most often times there's a fire burning in them that can make anyone's knees weak with fear.

But as I've said -- there were parts of this woman that many don't see. 

I'd been brought to the castle when I was but a young girl of fourteen. I was immediately set to work in the kitchens alongside other girls my age. There'd been a whisper traveling around that at eighteen we would receive a proper welcoming. My birthday was the latest of the rest of the girls, December twenty-first. I was left to watch as night after night, an older woman -- the Queen's adviser -- would come and fetch the girls who'd just turned eighteen. Sometimes they wouldn't return to the kitchen for days; it got quite lonely. And when they did return, there was always something different. Their eyes had lost the light, and the frown lines seemed deep in their youthful faces. Their innocence had been taken away.

Needless to say, I'd been more than frightened upon the first few weeks of December. I'd been jumpy and restless, I'd dropped a fair share of plates and gotten yelled at more times than I could count. 

December twenty-first came -- and it passed. I'd never been more confused in my entire life. I wasn't sure if I should've been thankful or not. If not I felt somewhat offended; was I not good enough for Her Majesty? Christmas time at the castle came and went, and then New Year's. A lot of the kitchen girls stopped talking to me because I had yet to see the Queen. But on January tenth, I was awoken from a light slumber to meet the steely eyes of the adviser. 

"Come." she said in her gruff voice.

I sat up slowly, looking around the darkened chamber where the kitchen maids were grouped -- it was dead silent, but I knew they weren't sleeping. They were watching me finally get taken to the Queen's room; I dare say they were probably gleeful in that.  

I wasn't allowed to grab a wrapper or anything, leaving the room in nought but my thin night gown, and I followed the adviser through the cold corridors of the castle. She said nothing the whole way, and even when she stopped at a room, she pretended I wasn't even with her. 

The double doors we were stopped at were large and painted a deep red; most obviously the Queen's room. My stomach twisted in anxiety, and I shifted awkwardly, biting at my bottom lip. The adivser side-glanced me for the first time since we'd left my chamber, before she allowed three heavy knocks on one of the doors. And without a word, she slipped away, leaving me, shuddering in both fright and chill, outside Queen Vraena's room.

A second later, that same door opened just a little, without so much as a creak. There was an unearthly warmth coming from the room, and I was immediately drawn to it, but also frozen by fear. A soft voice rode out through the crack in the door, and it chilled me even more. 

"Don't be shy."

Her voice, no matter how soft the words were spoken, traveled like a tiny roll of thunder, causing the hair on my arms and the back of my neck to stand up. Holding my breath, I pushed open the door and slipped into the room. It was perhaps the largest room I'd ever been in, with a high ceiling that seemed to go on forever. There was a grand fireplace against the far wall, and the flames crackled jovially in it, completely contrasting the mood of danger that hung in this chamber. The door shut on its own, and I jumped slightly spinning to it, before my eyes took in the rest of the room. There was a large canopy bed against the other wall, black satin sheets and crimson velveteen pillows. Close to the bed was a brass bathtub, and I was in awe at the faucet -- I'd not seen one so rich in my eighteen years. 

"I apologize for the inconvenience, lass -- the castle gets hectic around the holidays."

The Queen of Shadows was standing by the large window that I'd almost not taken notice of -- her back was to me. I swallowed the lump in my throat, and curtsied -- she may not have been facing me, but the Queen saw everything. 

"It's no inconvenience, m'lady." I said quickly. 

I was petrified beyond doubt, but as long as she kept her cool and casual mood, there was no need to get defensive. She turned slowly, and a smile tugged at her full lips, as her red gaze moved slowly over me. I felt heat creep up my neck and too my cheeks as I caught her eyes linger over my chest. My nipples had hardened from the chill, and were pressing against the thin muslin of my gown -- for I wore nothing underneath. 

"You are a pretty one." 

The words were directed at me, but she seemed to be musing to herself as she stepped away from the window. I was frozen in the middle of the room as she neared me, and I tried not to look at her, though it was such a tempting sight. She wore a pair of tight black pants, and her boots had thin heels -- though she seemed so graceful you'd think she wore none. Her chest was almost completely exposed by the sleeveless corset she wore -- it was black with red ribbons. The pink tops of her areolas were visible -- any smaller and her nipples would've popped right out. Her long hair was pulled back for once, into a loose ponytail held with a single ribbon, and as my gaze flickered to hers briefly, I found amusement in it's red depths.

"And you think the same of me." it was a statement, not a question.

However, I quickly nodded. "Of course, m'lady." 

She stopped in front of me, and was so much taller than I that I found myself completely level with her chest. I watched it move with every breath she took, and told myself that I was looking at her necklace, not her breasts. One of her delicate hands was suddenly on my chin, and I flinched despite her gentleness. She lifted my face upwards, and forced me to meet her gaze once more. 

"Green eyes." she said, "I've always liked them."

I blushed fiercely again, but before I could stutter out a response, she grabbed at the strings of my gown, which were tied at my neck, and she tugged. The tie came loose, and the whole gown slid from my body, pooling around my ankles. A strangled gasp left me, and I desperately tried to cover my body. Her hands were suddenly around my wrists, and with light force, she pulled my arms out to my sides, as her eyes moved over me. My cheeks burned, and I kept my gaze lowered, as tears of humiliation started to form. She let go of my wrists, but I knew better than to move from the way she'd positioned me. 

"I don't see why you'd want to cover such a lovely little body, lass." she said to me, and one of her hands was under my right breast, cupping it lightly.

My blush only deepened at the feeling of her warm hand, and I tried to ignore the thrills that coursed through my body. She may have been right, for my body was something I'd highly took pride in since maturity hit me at thirteen -- my breasts, though not excessively large, were rounded and perky, with perfect pink nipples. My stomach was smooth and flat, and the nestle of blond curls in the triangle between my thighs was well-groomed. 

Her hand moved from my right breast to my left, and her smile grew as my nipple pressed against her palm. As she retracted her arm, she slowly started to walk around me. Biting the inside of my cheek to keep from crying in embarrassment, my arms shook slightly as I kept them out at my sides. The Queen crouched beside me, and place both of her hands around one of my ankles. Her hands moved up, over my calf, my knee, and eventually she was holding my thigh between her hands. I took a deep breath, and she ghosted one of her hands over one of my buttocks as she stood again. 

"Perfect." she said with a hint of laughter.

Fear still clutched at every nerve in me, though she'd been nothing but nice to me upon my arrival to her room. I vaguely wondered if she treated all of the girls this way -- and if so, why would they come back so dead looking?

"Have any of the others told you what happens here, lass?" she questioned, red gaze meeting my hazel. 

"No, m'lady." I whispered.

"Please, call me Vraena tonight." she said, "And what shall I call you?"

"Lanai." I answered softly. 

"Lanai," she repeated, and for a strange reason, I loved the way it rolled off of her tongue. "Lanai -- do you know why you're here?"

"No m'lad -- Vraena." 

Smirk playing on her dark-painted lips, she backed away from me towards the bed. "Come here, Lanai."

I had no other choice but to follow her, and as I neared her, she perched on the edge of her mattress, reaching behind her to mess with the back of her corset. She nodded to the floor, where I noticed there was suddenly a deep red cushion, and I dropped to my knees on it, subconsciously trying to sit in a way so that my bare body could be hidden somewhat. 

Her top came off, and she dropped it to the floor beside me, and I felt my eyes widen unintentionally at the beauty of her chest. Up until this point in my life, I had never thought about another woman in such a way, but as I stared at the wonderfully large breasts of hers, the soft nipples budded and pointing at me, I felt a lump of a different kind form in my throat -- lust. With every breath she took those breasts moved up, it was almost hypnotizing in a way, and when I finally made myself tear my gaze away, she was grinning at me. Perfect white teeth, and cute dimples -- I blushed again. 

"You're different from the other ones, lass." She said, "You seem to like to what you see."

She cupped her own breasts in both of her hands, and squeezed slightly. I watched her milky flesh contract around her fingers, and I felt myself nod. She let out a laugh, and let go -- her breasts bounced slightly from the force, and I felt something stir between my legs. 

"I can already tell that I like you Lanai," she said -- her eyes narrowed briefly. "Let's hope it remains that way."

It was then I realized that the Queen of Shadows had a secret of some sorts. And as she reached down to undo her pants, that secret was revealed. My jaw dropped, and my mouth formed an "o" as she pulled out a cock -- I'd only ever seen one in my life, and that was when I was fourteen. A boy in one of my classes back in town had asked me if I wanted to see it, so I agreed. 

But Vraena's was different. It was big, at least ten inches from what my virginal mind could guess, and it was wide. There was virtually no hair at the base where a perfect sac connected it to the rest of her body, and despite the strangeness of the situation, I felt another stirring between my legs.

As my gaze moved back to hers, I saw hard question in hers. It was apparent now why the Queen of Shadows was such a dark person -- she'd had to live with this her whole life, and I could only imagine the kind of reaction she got when she showed it off. She was obviously waiting on my reaction, and I knew then and there, that all the other girls had given her bad reactions.

"M'lady," I said in a breathless whisper, forgetting to use her name. There was a different kind of heat coloring my cheeks this time, and as if she could read my mind, her gaze softened as she smiled. 

"You like what you see, lass?" she questioned.

I nodded, still eye to eye with her dick. "You're beautiful." 

She grabbed a handful of my blond hair, and pulled my head back slightly, leaning down. Before I knew it, her lips were on mine. As soft as those full lips were, there was a roughness to the kiss that excited me. Her tongue slipped into my mouth without hesitation, and I blushed as I inexpertly tried to kiss her back. When it came to things like this, I was, in every form, a virgin. She ignored my adolescent attempts, and her warm tongue explored my mouth as if it were a new territory; she licked at my teeth, at the roof of my mouth, and her tongue even pressed teasingly against my own. A noise rose from the back of my throat, and she pulled away. 

I was breathing hard, and she still held me by the hair, and she smiled at my clear lust for her. I'd never felt lust for anyone in my entire life, and it was obvious that she knew that. She let go of my hand, and sat back a little, wriggling her hips on the bed some. Her cock wavered slightly, but was standing rigid and stiff -- and whether or not I was imagining things, it seemed to have grown a few inches. 

"Touch it, Lanai." she ordered softly.

I swallowed hard, and reached up with one hand, wrapping my fingers lightly around the base of her shaft. I looked up at her unsurely, and she nodded. Her crimson eyes had darkened with her own lust, and by now there was a heated throbbing between my legs. I slowly started to move my hand, sliding it up her cock, and back down. My fingers moved over veins, and I could feel her pulse, and this was all a new excitement for me. I realized that this would not be a bad night, I had nothing to fear -- for what I felt for the Queen of Shadows was exactly what she felt for me. As though we were perfect for each other.

A low moan left her throat, and I felt another thrill surge through my body. A drop of pearly precum appeared on the head of her cock, and as I continued to stroke her, more oozed from the tiny slit. I rubbed at her shaft for at least a few more minutes, looking up to her every now and then to see her reaction. Her eyes were half-closed as she watched me, and her breathing had sped up -- she was enjoying it, and my ego was quickly rising. 

"Now taste it, Lanai." she commanded me with a pant.

I kept my hand wrapped around the base of her cock, and I glanced at her again almost unsurely. Another nod was my motivation, and I leaned towards the glistening head of her dick -- from all the attention I'd paid to her shaft, the helmet had swelled and turned a deep shade of red. I slowly stuck my tongue out and brushed it over the tip of her length. An almost salty taste filled my senses -- it was unlike anything I'd ever had before, and though a part of me was cringing, another part was still excited. 

"Mmm." she said, one of her hands petting at my hair. "That's it."

I cautiously wrapped my lips around the swollen head, and swirled my tongue over it. Despite my inexperienced ways, she moaned again. When I'd lived in town and still attended classes, I'd often hear girls giggling and telling each other about what they did to the boys -- sucking was one of the many things I'd heard, and apparently it was something that was well liked by the receiver. Without a second thought, I began to lightly suck on the tip of her dick, and Vraena took in a sharp breath. 

Her fingers had tangled in my blond locks again, and she was lightly pushing at my head, urging me on. Still sucking lightly, I pushed my head forward, sliding her thick cock further into my mouth. I stopped when it felt like it was too much, and I opened my eyes, feeling them widen slightly. It would seem that I only had half of Vraena's dick in my mouth, and yet it felt like too much. My gaze shifted upwards, and she smiled encouragingly at me. Breathing deeply through my nose, I tried to swallow her full length. 

She groaned some more as I moved, my throat muscles widening slightly to accept her size, and as the head of her cock tickled at the back of my throat, I don't know who was more surprised, her or I. However, my body naturally wanted to reject such a thing being shoved into it, and I almost gagged, quickly pulling my head from her organ. She was smiling down at me as I panted, still holding the base of her dick with one hand, and she combed her fingers through my hair. 

"Relax," she said soothingly, "It'll make things easier."

I'd thought I was relaxed, but I didn't say this, nodding quickly, and I leaned forward again. Once more I wrapped my lips around her cock, which now gleamed with both her precum and my spit, and I slowly pushed my head forward again, starting to swallow her dick. 

All of a sudden, it was as if I was I'd done this many times before -- I felt like I knew what I was doing. Instead of the slow pace I'd started with, I quickened my movements, starting to bob my head forward and back as I sucked with gentle force. My throat had relaxed as much as it could, though I still didn't try to swallow her full length each time anymore, instead going as far down as I felt like, before lifting my head, and repeating the process.

She moaned my name, fingers twisting into my hair, and a sense of pride washed over me; had she moaned the other girls' names like this? Without a warning, she thrust her hips upward off the bed, shoving her cock further into my mouth. I gagged audibly, but didn't retreat, continuing to bob my head on her, as she pushed off of the mattress, holding my head in place as she fucked my mouth. My hands both now rested on either side of her hips on the mattress, giving me something solid to hold onto as I worked, and my eyes were closed. Pleasure was boiling over in the pit of my stomach, not because it felt good to suck the Queen of Shadows off, but because it felt good to know that it was I who pleasured the Queen of Shadows so. 

Suddenly she stopped her almost frantic bucking, and relaxed back into her seating position, and she pulled my head from her cock. A thin line of saliva hung from my lip to the helmet of her dick, and she moaned under her breath slightly, leaning forward to kiss me again. I knew she could taste herself on me, but this only seemed to excite her, and she devoured my lips with hers, biting hungrily at them. When she pulled away, she grabbed her cock in her own hand, and started to stroke it quickly. She spread her legs a little more, and gave her hips a wriggle.

"Play with my balls." her tone had taken on a higher-pitch at the end as if she were asking me, but I knew it was a demand. 

Obediently I reached forward with one hand and cupped her sac in it. She moaned, head falling back and rolled her hips forward. I started to massage her scrotum with one hand, watching as curly locks from her ponytail fell from the ribbon to frame her oval-shaped face. She truly was the most beautiful woman that anyone could hope to lay eyes on. 

Without thinking, I leaned forward once again and pressed a soft kiss to her sac. An excited noise left her throat and her hips jerked forward slightly again. I ran my tongue over her balls, giving them butterfly kisses as I continued to knead my knuckles into them, and she said my name with a groan once more. I wrapped my lips around one of them, my hand playing with the other, and I sucked gently some more. 

"Ugh -- Lanai." she said, tone laced with sudden urgency.

She pulled me back with her other hand, keeping one of them attached to her cock, and moved forward slightly, swiftly stroking herself in front of my face. She told me to open my mouth, and I complied with her wishes, letting my mouth fall open. A gasp left her, and her grip visibly tightened around her shaft, as a stream of her cum sprayed from the head of her cock, landing squarely in my mouth. It almost choked me, but I didn't try to pull away -- even if I did, she held me there tightly as she stroked her dick for all it was worth.




The Queen and the Boy Next Door



This story is an extension of The Princess and the Stud. Katie and Nate were supposed to be side characters but they need a story of their own. Apologies for the delay, this year has been crazy.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Katie San Sebastian once again fidgeted with her hair and checked the clock on her office wall. Patience was an asset she sorely lacked. It wasn't due to immaturity or arrogance; it was because the death of her parents had taught her, time was a precious commodity. Her parents had also taught her that control and discipline were key to living a successful life. They hadn't taught her these lessons by being exemplary models for these virtues themselves. Nope, they had taught her by being poster children for the exact opposite. 

Her parents had been flighty, selfish and utterly useless creatures who had burnt themselves and each other into cinders. If not drugs, they would have found some other vice to destroy themselves. According to grandfather, Marianna San Sebastian had been a good child. While being an only child of doting parents had left her slightly spoiled, her life may have turned out very differently if she hadn't met up with Marcus Gilles. 

Katie didn't buy it. Her earliest memories of her mother were of a disorganized and indifferent woman. The only thing her parents cared about was each other. Their love was a twisted thing that left no room for anyone else, not even their children. Bordering on obsessive and completely unhealthy, they had brought out the worst in each other. Katie could never reconcile the mother she had known with the daughter her grandfather had told her of. And grandmother never spoke of her, except to remind Katie about the lessons she could learn by their example.

Katie knew she looked like her mother. At times, she wondered if that was the reason for grandmother's mistrust. If she didn't see Katie, but Marianna in her granddaughters face. She almost understood. Katie had been old enough to remember quite a bit of her mother's betrayal of values and her family. No, she couldn't blame her. And that is why she was helpless, frustrated and angry. Nate had made it sound so simple, that she could just talk to grandmother. He didn't understand.

Having met his family, Katie understood why he didn't. His family was what she had dreamed of as a child. They were warm, happy and complete. Nate belonged to the world of family barbecues and sunshine. While her secretary had sighed over his warm brown eyes and handsome face, Katie found his ever present smile irresistible and utterly sexy. His hard body also helped. 

Katie felt her melancholy give way to arousal at thoughts of Nate. She glanced at the time again. It was a quarter until 6. He could walk in at any moment. Katie turned to check her reflection in the office window. Smoothing her hair, she undid another button in her shirt to show off more of her chest. Frowning in dissatisfaction, she quickly reached into her bra to lift each breast for more cleavage.

"You start without me Cleo?"

Katie jumped and quickly turned around to face Nate.

"You gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry... you can go back to touching yourself now."

"I wasn't touching myself! I... I was adjusting my bra. The underwire-" Katie's response faded away at Nate's grin. She couldn't help but sweep her eyes over him. He was in his usual late work attire, jacket missing and the sleeves of his button down shirt rolled up. He was beautiful. Her heart thud faster as his smile became more intimate and his warm brown eyes heated. 

She found herself across the room, standing in front of him. Reaching a hand up, she cupped his cheek. Her thumb brushed the corner of his smile. After a heartbeat, she leaned up and touched her lips to his. Her body flushed as his scent filled her nose and their lips parted. She tasted his mouth. It was a sweet, sexy kiss that made her pussy start to wet. She felt Nate's hands on her back, pulling her body to his. Katie felt his erection against her belly. She'd tasted him there, taken him into her mouth. The memories of that night filled her mind, while their kiss and embrace overwhelmed her senses. She didn't care about control, she wanted him, needed him for what seemed like forever, she was going to have him.

Nate abruptly broke the kiss. Still in a sexual haze, Katie tried to initiate another kiss. Nate evaded her lips, pulled her closer to him and buried his face in the crook of her neck. 

"Cleo, slow down sweetheart." He murmured into her ear.

"I don't want to slow down." Katie replied as she placed her mouth on his vulnerable neck and sucked.

Groaning, Nate couldn't help but tip is head further to give her mouth more access. She was going to drive him out of his mind. After a moment, he tried again.

"Cleo stop, we have to talk."

"Later," Katie purred, licking her way to his ear, "I want to fuck first."

Nate felt his cock jerk at her words. He realized he needed to pull back now. Abruptly pulling her arms from him, he stepped back. Breathing heavily, Nate tried to focus. Due to all blood flow being directed to his dick, it was an effort. He found an irritated Katie looking at him incredulously. 

"Are you serious right now?"

"Huh?" Nate tried to figure out what was happening.

"You're rejecting me?"

"What? No!" Feeling his mental functioning resume, Nate indicated the front of his pants. "Does this look like rejection to you Cleo?"

"Then what..." Confusion quickly gave way to anger. "Is this punishment?"

"Punishment? For what?"

"The other night, when I ran out on you."

"Don't be ridiculous. We need to talk."

"Well I want to fuck." Katie replied, sultry and low.

Nate felt his dick jump in reaction to her words. He stared at the outline of her nipples and the cleavage revealed by the open buttons of her shirt. The things he wanted to do to those perky tits... oh hell. Frustration made his voice a little rough. "Oh we'll fuck Cleo, but not right here, at least not right now."

"Why not?!?!" The angry scowl was back in place.

"Because the first time I fuck you, it's going to be in bed."

Desire, frustration and arousal flitted through Katie at his words, leaving her confused.

"But I want you now."

"It's going to be in bed sweetheart."

Katie felt her chest hurt at the endearment. He always called her Cleo. 

"Why?"

"Because you're special." His brown eyes touched her heart. "This is special Cleo."

Katie stood frozen, as Nate walked up, kissed her forehead and pulled her close. Standing in his embrace, Katie San Sebastian felt something inside her chest hurt.

"Not special." She whispered the childish words, not knowing if she was denying what was between them or his statement about herself.

"Yes, you are." He whispered back.

Feeling the beginnings of a lump in her throat, trying to keep the horror of her own reaction at bay, Katie pulled herself together. She pushed away from him and walked blindly to her desk and stood there facing away from him. She couldn't let him see.

"This will never work." She was proud of the steadiness of her voice.

"We have to try."

"Why did you have to change everything?" Katie prayed he didn't hear the slight catch in her voice. What was wrong with her?

"We have to try, Cleo."

"Try for what?" Suddenly afraid of the possible answer, Katie hardened her voice, "Never mind, I don't care. Can you please leave? I need time to process."

Nate wanted to round the desk, to see her face but he sensed she was on retreat and if he pushed her, she'd suddenly turn on the attack. Well at least he'd lucked out in that she hadn't decided to go the route of attack first. That could be seen as progress. She wouldn't be able to turn this thing between them into something purely sexual. He'd never had this type of connection... reaction... whatever this was with any woman. He wasn't going to fuck it up.

"Okay. I'll call tomorrow."

Hearing the click of the door, Katie couldn't contain the pain in her chest as it bloomed throughout her body and left her shuddering. The lump in her throat grew until her eyes welled up. Collapsing into her chair, Katie sat there trying to stop her mind from rushing thoughts and willing her body back into control, it was a long while before she made it out of her office. 

************************************

Katie ignored his call the next day, but by the end of the work day she couldn't help but call him back.

"Finally couldn't help yourself, huh?" Came his snug voice on the phone.

"I'll have you know that I've been busy all morning. I hav-"

His chuckle cut her off. "Just teasing Cleo. What are you doing this weekend?"

Feeling strangely defeated that he'd correctly guessed her response and she wasn't going to see him that day or tomorrow, Katie felt her anxiety give away to disappointment. She muttered "I'm not sure. "

"O-kay." He drew out, "well if you're not too busy I was going to swing by and pick you up on Saturday."

"From the mansion?"

"Um, yes, unless you work on weekends?"

"Actually", quickly Katie countered, "I will be but I should be done by lunch."

Lila was rarely home on weekends anymore, but Katie wasn't going to chance either her sister or grandmother finding out about Nate.

"Sounds good." Came his response and Katie could sense the smile in his voice. She couldn't help but smile in response.

"So what are we doing?" she asked.

Silence.

"Nate?"

"So..?"

"What?"

"What are you wearing?"

Katie hung up the phone.

********************

Katie tossed her cell phone into her bag as she quickly made her way to the escalator. The week had moved slowly to Saturday. Her feelings had been a mix of anxiety, excitement, self disgust, weakness and lust. To deal with it, she'd planned. And the plan was the same as before, no holds barred, sweaty, intense sex. The difference was, no wimping out. She would need to conquer her fear and Nate Robison. Looking at her reflection in the escalator doors, Katie smiled. She'd even dressed for the occasion. The tight red bandage dress emphasized what curves she had while her black "sex me" pumps completed the ensemble. Black eyeliner gave her eyes a cat-like look and her lips had been painted in a shiny shade of cranberry. 

While waiting for the doors to open, she fantasized about his reaction. Maybe he'd even cancel whatever reservations he'd made and they'd head over to his place. Stepping out into the parking lot, Katie found Nate with his back to her, talking to his cell phone. Feeling annoyed, Katie frowned. He could at least be politely waiting! 

Oh well, he'd be in for an even bigger surprise while he was distracted. Smiling, Katie started walking over to him, enjoying the sexy click of her heels. To her consternation, she made it over to his side without him even glancing at her. Her smile gave away to annoyance. 

"Yeah, we'll be right there. She's down. Okay."

Katie felt annoyed but couldn't help but run her eyes over him. He smelled clean, like he'd just gotten out of the shower. The green of his polo shirt set off the slight tan of his skin while.... Wait a minute... polo shirt? And who had he been talking to? Were they meeting someone?

*****************************

It had been a long two months. The bastard had insisted on abstinence. His strategy was to stay in public places. They'd gone to the movies, done couples dinners with Lila and Michael and his sister and Clint. In fact the day of the bandage dress fiasco, had been brunch and watching a football game with Michael and Lila. The look on Lila and Michael's faces had been priceless. Apparently they hadn't known who Nate's date was any more then Katie had known who his "buddies" were. Katie had not appreciated his trick. She'd been so pissed that she'd ignored Nate for a week as punishment. 

Lila had been sworn (or warned) to keep her mouth shut. Katie had gone along with it for a few weeks, thinking she could seduce him but he'd held firm. After awhile, she'd found humor in the situation. It was like a bad comedy, the oversexed jezebel pursuing an innocent, virtuous monk. So she began enjoying herself. She even had a girl's night with Tina and Lila. Tina had become a good friend; they'd often join forces to needle Nate. It was fun. Family sporting events, family nights, he'd even insisted on having a family dinner with her family but Katie had been adamant about keeping her grandmother from finding out about Nate. 

Unable to explain why to Nate, he'd eventually worn her down. It had been a nightmare. Katie had been thrown for a loop, by the speculative and satisfied gleam in her grandmother's eyes. The crazy woman had probably been imagining marriage and babies. After dinner, her grandmother's words confirmed it. Grandmother had congratulated her on 'landing' Nate and implored her not to screw it up. Then she'd brought up David. Katie knew deep down inside that she'd overreacted but she couldn't seem to help herself.

She'd broken up with Nate, refused to return his calls, or see him. She'd even ignored Tina's calls, crying off and using Lila's upcoming wedding date as an excuse. Katie had ignored her sister's reproachful looks and brutally cut her off when Lila had tried to bring up Nate. Michael had become cold as before, not that he'd ever been warm and cuddly but the openness he'd started to have with her was gone. 

A few weeks later, when grandmother had asked after Nate, Katie had baldly informed her that they'd broken up. Seeing the disappointment in her grandmother's eyes had brought none of the satisfaction that Katie had thought it would. 

************************************

Katie looked through the window to the scene below. Purple and magenta flower center pieces dotted the tables and servants milled around the transformed grounds. Satisfaction at the arrangements warred with disbelief. Her little sister was getting married. Barnes had informed them that Michael and his party had arrived. Since then she'd tried to locate shining brown hair.

Katie turned to look at Lila who was adjusting her veil. She was stunning. For some insane reason Lila had opted to recycle Katie's white evening gown, the one she'd worn the night she'd met Michael Hirsch. Of course moderations had to be made. Lace covered the lower half of back the dress had originally revealed and matching lace had been attached as a train. Katie and Catherine had tried to talk her out of it but Lila hadn't budged. Katie had to admit that the dress looked beautiful. Lila had left her hair loose, it waved down to the small of her back. Pink lipstick and soft make up completed the picture. Lila had given a secret smile when Katie had told her she looked like a fairytale princess.

Catching her own reflection behind Lila, Katie smoothed her hair and adjusted her dress. The deep purple halter dress left her shoulder's and back bare, while the vivid color brought out her eyes. She'd picked the dress for herself. Except for insisting on her recycled wedding dress, Lila had been content to let Katie dictate the remaining details. Katie had needed the distraction.

She was going to see Nate in a little while, and she wasn't sure what her reaction would be. She'd missed him terribly. She'd kept his voicemails and listened to his voice on them, like some sort of crazy stalker. The hurt had firmed her resolve that this infatuation with Nate Robison was unhealthy. If she'd never met David, perhaps she would be the type of person who could be with Nate. But she had and she couldn't. Realizing she'd been staring into her own reflection, Katie straightened her shoulders. All she had to do was get through the day. 

***************************

Lila watched her sister fidget and picked up her cell phone. Nope. No missed calls. Katie probably was either going to react very badly to this or there was the chance that everything would work out just as Lila and Michael had planned. Well, mostly this was Lila's plan. Michael was at best a grudging accomplice. Nate would probably forgive her, he was good natured but Katie would make her pay. But it was Lila's wedding day and she'd probably hold back her vengeance for another time... Lila hoped. 

Lila almost dropped her cell phone when it rang. She quickly opened it and put it to her ear.

"He's on his way."

"Oh! Good!"

"I love you."

"I love you too." Taking comfort from Michael's words, Lila rang off and turned to her sister with what she hoped was a look of innocence.

"Katie, could you do me a favor?"



The Queen and the Soldier



The following story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between actual persons, living or dead (or just confused) is entirely coincidental. Please do not copy/redistribute the story, in part or in total, without the author's permission.

This story takes place in the entirely fictional city of Springfield, California, so don't go looking for it on a map. And in my little fictional world, there are no unwanted pregnancies or STD's, except as plot driving devices. The author encourages the practice of safe-sex.

Also, this is a LONG story, so if you're looking for quick gratification, you might want to skip this one.

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The Queen and the Soldier – A Story of Scars

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"It was a dark and stormy night," Sandra Lopez muttered as she sat on the back of an ambulance, sipping a cup of coffee as the paramedics made sure that none of the blood on her thousand dollar dress-suit was actually hers. 'That's how these stories always start, don't they?' she thought as some well meaning but oafish EMT shined a flashlight into her eyes for the millionth time that evening. 'Well, it's certainly dark and I can almost smell the rain coming,' she finished.

Sandra was a powerful woman in the music industry, and she had clawed her way to get to where she was. At thirty-two years old, she was the youngest president in the history of Mega-Global Records. Her parents were Mexican nationals who had moved to the United States and started a successful chain of Mexican, sit-down restaurants throughout California. And even before they had found success, they had devoted their whole lives to Sandra and her six siblings, and the kids had worked hard to repay their parent's generosity and devotion. They worked hard in school or athletics, and sometimes both. Sandra had started as regular talent scout and had worked her way up the ladder. She had been mostly raised in Beverly Hills, leaving her with very little trace of an accent. But she was proud of her language and her culture. Her parents had made sure of that. She had bought a nice house in Springfield in a nice neighborhood, and she talked to her parents every day. Unfortunately, she had been so busy recently that her love life had suffered. She had just gotten back from a Battle of the Bands that she had gone to on a whim when she was at a meeting in Texas, and she had signed a local band there that she just knew were going to rock the world some day. The fact that they were five lovely . . . very lovely . . . young women had played a small part in Sandra's decision, but she also realized that if she didn't snag them, someone else would. She knew that half the band members were gay, but were also unfortunately involved with other people. 

"Well, just as well," she had muttered to herself. She had stupidly taken potential acquisitions to bed before, and it had almost come back to bite her on her ass a couple of occasions. So she had planned on calling an escort service that she had used before; one that promised high quality ladies and total discretion. Unfortunately, she had walked in her front door and slipped in a pool of blood. She had taken a bit of a bump to the back of the head. But mostly what she had done was scream. She had screamed until she had finally gotten enough sense back together to call the police with her now bloodstained cell phone. All the while, there was a dead neighborhood security guard lying three feet away.

The police had arrived and had already taped off the entire property, from the front gate to the back wall. The EMT's were looking her over, and she had already been questioned about twenty times by different people. They had already managed to confirm that she had been on a plane no more than half an hour earlier, and the guy from the coroner's office was already speculating that the man had died at least three hours earlier. But no one had actually moved the body, and everyone seemed to be waiting for something.

After about ten more minutes, the sea of police parted for a woman in her late twenties. She was wearing baggy clothes, so it was impossible to get a good look at her body, but she appeared to be about five feet, seven inches tall and had a shock of unkempt red hair emanating from beneath a cap that had the letters "C.S.I." emblazoned on it. The detective in charge immediately started consulting with her on a number of issues. Then everyone backed out of her way and she dipped under the tape around the doorway and slowly made her way inside. The woman was walking more slowly than Sandra thought possible. She would move, slowly spin in a three-hundred-and-sixty degree arc, scanning from roof to floor, and then taken another step. She made especially sure not to disturb the pool of blood, much like the man from the coroner's office had done. She took pictures . . . she stared at apparently random objects . . . she retraced her steps.

"Good God!" Sandra muttered. "I'd like to be able to get into my house sometime this year." Just then, the red-haired woman stooped down and began looking at the security guard's shoes. "What is she . . ." Sandra started again.

Another officer wandered over. "We're sorry for the inconvenience, Ms. Lopez. Do you have a place to stay tonight?"

"Yeah, yeah. There's a company condo that no one's using right now. It's usually reserved for top-notch clientele, but I don't think anyone will argue with me if I borrow it for a while." She wondered if she might wind up borrowing if for longer than "a while." Someone had been murdered in her house, and she was still having problems wrapping her brain around that. "As soon as I can get in my house and grab some of my things," she continued impatiently.

"Again, we're sorry about the delay. Our person from the crime lab needs to collect evidence from both entrances to the domicile before you can go in. At that point, we'd like you to take a look around, supervised of course, to see if anything is missing. It could help us establish a motive."

"Yes, yes. Fine. How long is she going to take?" Sandra asked, glancing towards the house.

The officer's face became a little less friendly. "She'll take as long as she needs," he said shortly. Then his countenance and voice softened again. "Sorry ma'am. The more time she takes now, the better our chances of finding out what happened. Trust me, if this case CAN be solved, then she WILL solve it."

After what seemed like forever, the woman reappeared and started consulting with a couple of detectives. They were joined by another man whom Sandra recognized as the owner of the security company that patrolled her neighborhood. After that man had left, the woman and one of the detectives made their way over to Sandra. The distressed homeowner finally got a little bit better look at the redheaded police officer, finding her to actually be very pretty. Except for a few freckles, the woman's skin was as smooth and perfect as a porcelain doll's, and her eyes were wide, clear and deep green in color. Her full lips bore no taint of lipstick. Actually, she appeared to be wearing no makeup of any kind. And she seemed to have problems meeting Sandra's gaze. 

It was the other officer who spoke first. "Ms. Lopez, my name is Detective Jones and this is Special Detective Reynolds. We just have a few questions for you before we escort you inside."

"It's about time," Sandra muttered, shooting withering glances at both of them. The detective paid no mind, while the redhead actually flinched. 

"Sorry about the delay ma'am. Anyway, did you know the deceased?"

"No. I'd seen him driving around before, but I've never spoken to him."

"To the best of your knowledge, had he ever been on your property before?"

"No. As far as I know, I've never had anyone from the security company actually have to come on the property since I bought the place."

"Okay," the man said as he scribbled something down. Sandra looked at the woman again, noticing that she seemed to be listening very intently (almost disconcertingly so) to everything Sandra said. Then the male detective spoke again. "Okay, you've got grass in the backyard. Do you have an automatic sprinkler system?"

"What? Why the hell . . ."

"Please, just answer the question."

Sandra gave out an exasperated sigh. "Yes, I have an automatic sprinkler system."

"What time is it scheduled to go off at?"

Sandra rolled her eyes and shook her head. What kind of dumb-ass questions were these? "Seven o'clock. It's more efficient to water after the sun goes down. What does that have to do with anything?"

Finally, the redhead spoke. "It helps establish a tuh-... tuh-... timeline," the woman said with a definite stutter. "The guh-... guh-... guard had muh-... mud on his sh-... shoes th-... that we think cuh-... came from your guh-... garden out buh-... back."

'No wonder she let the other cop do almost all the talking,' Sandra thought. 'That's one hell of a stutter.' 

Special Detective Reynolds spoke again. "The muh-... mud was fuh-... fuh-... fresh, so for some reason, he wuh-... was in yuh-... your buh-... backyard after suh-... seven."

Sandra turned to Detective Jones. "Listen, I'd like to know when I can go in my house, preferably before I die of old age," she added curtly with a sideways glance at the redhead. "I'm sure Detective Reynolds may be a fine investigator, but quick and concise she isn't." The man she was speaking to suddenly looked annoyed while his female counterpart visibly blanched. 

"Shannon," said Jones, "you want to get back to the lab and start processing this stuff?" He glanced contemptuously at Sandra. "I think you've done all you can here." 

The girl, whose name apparently was Shannon Reynolds, nodded and she hurried over to a waiting taxi. Sandra suddenly felt very much like an ass. The woman was probably very good at what she did, and there had been no reason to make light of the woman's speech impediment. While Sandra was normally cool, she usually tried not to be cruel. But she was tired, scared and shaken, and she was in no mood to apologize. 

"Officer Tyler, could you escort Ms. Lopez here through the premises? Get an inventory of anything that's missing, then escort her wherever it is that she wants to go." Detective Jones looked right at Sandra. "Thank you for your time Ms. Lopez. I don't have any further use for you at this time."

'Ouch,' Sandra thought. 'Well, I took a swipe at the Law, so I shouldn't be surprised if the Law swipes back.' Under constant supervision of a police officer, she made her way through the house. She was missing quite a bit of stuff, but nothing that was going to break her heart. Some artwork, her silverware, some assorted jewelry that she hadn't put away, her electronics, etc.; these were the things that were missing. Most of her real valuables and jewelry were in a safe hidden behind a mirror in her bedroom. And since everything was insured, she wasn't really worried about replacing the stuff. Only one thing had been taken that wouldn't be easy to replace, and that was her sense of security. 

When she was done, she was allowed to grab a briefcase with clothes and toiletries as well as any other necessary personal items. She grabbed her cell phone charger, her PDA, and her 'little black book.' When she headed back downstairs, the pool of blood emanating from the dead security guard almost eerily fascinated her. She crept around it, emerging with a bit of a chill into a otherwise balmy evening. She also noticed then that her hands were trembling. 'Get it together Sandra,' she thought. 'Get it together.' The officer who had been accompanying her noticed her shivering. 

"Ms., would you like me to give you a ride? You could come back and get your car . . ."

"NO!" she started vehemently. "I'm . . . I mean, no thank you. I'm fine. I'm fine." She didn't even believe herself.

She managed to get to the company condo without crashing into anything, which was something of a blessing. The building that the condo was situated in had its own security, so she told the officer she would be fine from that point on. 'I'm spending a lot of time trying to convince people I'm fine,' she thought as she took the elevator up. As soon as she got into her apartment, she flipped open her black book and called the number from a well-worn page. It was the number for the escort service. 

A soothing voice came on the other end. "Hello Ms. Lopez," the voice said. "This is Amanda."

"Hi Amanda," Sandra returned. She was familiar with most of the staff at the agency. "Listen, I know it's late and all . . ."

"It's never too late for our customers," Amanda said. "Though it IS later than your normal calls. Is there someone in particular that you wanted for 'company,' or . . ."

"Is . . . is Jasmine available?"

"Let's see. I believe she is. She had been taking some time off, but she left instructions to call her in case any of her preferred clients called. I could have her at your house by . . ."

"NO! I'm sorry. I'm not at the house. I'm at the company condo." Sandra gave the woman the address. "I'll let the doorman know that I'll be expecting a visitor. Thanks for accommodating me at this hour."

"Not a problem Ms. Lopez."

Sandra turned the phone off and went to sit on the bed. She put her face in her hands. It finally hit her just how scared she was. Someone had been murdered in her house. If she had gotten home earlier, it could have been her lying dead on the floor. She didn't like being scared like that. She didn't like it one bit. And she certainly didn't want to be alone.

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

A short while later . . .

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

Sandra had just downed her second rum and coke when Jasmine arrived. Jasmine was one of the most stunning creatures she had ever laid her eyes on. She was five feet, nine inches of pure oriental beauty. She had a slim body, smallish breasts and warm, light-brown skin. Her face was exquisite, with high cheekbones and big beautiful eyes. Sandra liked her women a bit on the exotic side, and Jasmine fit that definition to a T. She was wearing a form fitting green-silk dress, emerald earrings, and her long, silky black hair was done up in a fashionable bun. 

"Hello Sandra," Jasmine said warmly. "It's been too long."

"Yes," returned Sandra, who hugged the escort with hands that were trembling again. "Too long."

Jasmine looked concerned. She had spent many a night in this woman's arms and she was quite fond of her. Sandra was a woman who could easily find companionship that wasn't paid for, but the beautiful Latin woman seemed to only have time for her family and for her job, and it was the latter that dominated most of her time. If Jasmine had been looking for a longtime companion, she might have chosen Sandra once upon a time. She was a woman of remarkable beauty with soft, generous curves and an iron will. But that will had apparently been shaken.

"What's wrong?"

"I've just had a long night," Sandra said. It was obvious that Jasmine didn't believe her.

"You know perfectly well that the night won't be nearly as pleasant if you take emotional baggage to bed. All my services are available to you, even just listening." Jasmine put her belongings on the table. "You could start by telling me why we're meeting here rather than at your home."

Some people would call what Jasmine did plain old prostitution with a high-class packaging, but Sandra felt that didn't do the woman justice. Not only were the women at that service clean and classy, they also acted as friends and therapists as was needed. Sandra got around her trepidation of paying for sex by convincing herself that she was really paying for the company, and that the sex was just a bonus. And more often than not, that was the God's honest truth. This was one of those times. 

"Why don't you get undressed and lie down on the bed? Then you can tell me everything." Jasmine suggested. Sandra knew that this wasn't an immediate precursor to sex. Jasmine often gave her a wonderful massage ahead of time. It actually sounded like a great idea.

But before they even got to that part, Sandra just sat on the bed. She had unzipped her dress and had let it hang off of one shoulder, exposing a bra strap. She found herself without the strength to continue. Then she looked up at Jasmine.

"Jasmine . . . Someone was murdered in my house tonight," she said, her voice barely audible. "And I'm really scared."

Jasmine was more than a bit taken aback. This was certainly more serious than the types of problems that she was used to dealing with, such as a hard day at work or the like. But this woman was a both a client and, to some degree, a friend.

"My God," Jasmine said. "What happened?"

Sandra broke down and told her everything. Jasmine cradled the woman's head against her chest as a woman used to being in control lost that control. Sandra had been the queen of her world, cast from her throne and sent into exile in the middle of the night by an enemy she couldn't see or name or even understand. The escort kept running her fingers through the thick black curls of Sandra's hair, following them down past the woman's shoulders to the middle of her back. She traced her fingernails over the woman's brown skin, a shade or two darker than Jasmine's. 

"Look at me," Sandra sniffled at last, wiping the moisture from her eyes. "You'd think I never saw a dead person before," she finished with a slight chuckle.

"Have you?" Sandra shook her head. Jasmine sighed. "I know what you're thinking, you know. And no, it doesn't make you weak to be frightened. In all my years in this profession, I've never seen someone who had been killed before, much less to know that it happened in my home . . . my sanctuary."

"And then I was really rude to this one cop because of this stutter she had. She was just trying to do her job . . ."

"We've already established that you weren't in your best frame of mind, love. If it bothers you that much, you can go apologize to the nice detective in a couple of days."

"I guess that would be the best thing . . ." Then something hit Sandra. It was something Jasmine had said. "I never said she was a detective. How did you know that?"

Jasmine's eyes widened a bit. She was normally so composed, but Sandra's story had unsettled her a bit. And Sandra was no fool. Jasmine wouldn't be able to pull the wool over this woman's eyes.

"All I said was that she was a cop with a stutter." Sandra narrowed her eyes. "You know who I'm talking about, don't you? But you're not going to tell me anything, are you? Because . . . she's a client, isn't she?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss who might be or might have been a client. You know that," Jasmine said a bit unsteadily. Sandra was back in a position of power, and Jasmine hoped that the woman respected the position that Jasmine was in. "Please," she said. "If you were to say anything, even if it were speculative in nature, it might cost me my position at the service."

Sandra fell back onto the bed. "No, I won't say anything. I just . . . I mean, she's a cop . . ."

"Not that I'm confirming or denying anything, but did you think that music company executives are the only ones with problems?" Jasmine rolled her client over and, with a bit of assistance, started peeling Sandra's clothes off. Soon, the mocha-skinned beauty was lying naked on the bed before her. Jasmine was amazed that this woman would ever want to pay for company. Her full, well-proportioned butt was rising from the white bedspread while her generous breasts bulged out slightly from beneath her as her upper body lay against the mattress. Jasmine let her own clothes fall to the ground before straddling the woman's back and massaging her shoulders. 




The Queen and the Soldier



"Mmh." Sandra let out a low, contented groan. "I'm glad you were able to make it tonight," she said. She already felt some of her fear and apprehension being siphoned out of her back by Jasmine's fingers as they worked their way down Sandra's spine. "I knew I would've spent the entire night jumping at my own shadow."

Jasmine smiled. "You know, if you would just make more time for yourself and try and meet someone, you wouldn't have to go calling the service at an ungodly hour in the morning. And don't go complaining about me mothering you," she continued, letting her hands drift down to trace the sides of Sandra's breasts. Then she slid down until her body lay completely on top of Sandra's, her hard nipples pressing into the woman's warm back. She brushed Sandra's hair aside and began nuzzling at her neck. "Stick out your hands," she said. Sandra stuck her arms straight out and Jasmine reached out to grab her wrists. Then the oriental looking woman continued kissing and nuzzling the neck of her Hispanic counterpart. She wished she spoke Spanish, because she would have loved to understand the words that started coming out of Sandra's mouth. Sandra was helpless to stop Jasmine's teasing. "You're a beautiful woman, Sandra. You're smart and strong. And no matter how long you hide in your office, someone's going to catch you and steal your heart." The started nibbling on one of Sandra's sexy shoulders and no more words were necessary. Sandra wanted to be taken out of herself for a little while, and Jasmine would act as her guide.

Jasmine traced her tongue as far down Sandra's spine as she could without releasing her hands. She kissed the sensitive skin just below the armpit and partially exposed swell of one of Sandra's breasts. Then she released the woman's wrists so she could reach behind her, parting Sandra's legs with one hand and dragging one long fingernail along the length of the woman's slit.

Sandra moaned. She was still a little dry, mostly do to her nervousness, but she knew that Jasmine would take care of that. Jasmine took care of everything. Sandra knew that calling the escort service and requesting this woman was a crutch, but that night it had been a necessary one. And now, the woman's fingers had begun working their magic. She started grinding her hips lightly against the bed as Jasmine's finger worked its way up and down her sex, remaining buried about half an inch in the entire time. Those lower lips were already beginning to swell and the skin was becoming slicker. Sandra kept her mound completely shaved, loving the extra sensitivity that having it bare provided. She felt a smack on her ass as Jasmine swatted it with her free hand. When the swat came down, Jasmine buried her finger into Sandra's box as far is it would go. She then left it there, letting it wiggle like a worm on a hook. Then she felt a second finger join the first. Then a third penetrated her, and the three acting as a single, small phallus as they pumped in and out of her femininity. She spread her legs a bit more and arched her buttocks towards the ceiling just a little, trying to give Jasmine room to maneuver those long, wonderful fingers.

After feeling her ass get spanked a few more times, Sandra felt those nails lightly raking along the soft skin of her back. They were never pressed hard enough to leave even a temporary mark, but they certainly lit up Sandra's senses. There was something almost primal about it to her. Jasmine was working her fingers like mad in Sandra's pussy, and then the Latin lady felt a thumb being pushed into her rectum up to the hilt. Sandra gasped. This was coming earlier in their session than she was used to, but she didn't mind too much. Not everyone followed the exact same schedule that she did. 

And that's how things went for another ten minutes, Sandra laying face first on the bed while being straddled and fingered by Jasmine. Sandra thought it would take longer, considering her emotional state earlier that evening, but she had underestimated Jasmine's abilities. It wasn't a mistake she often made. Sandra felt the pressure building as the Asian beauty's fingers stretched her vaginal opening to its limits. Then all the pressure that had been building the entire night was released in a single torrent. Sandra's body shook like a rag doll in a windstorm as she came all over Jasmine's fingers, her own thighs and the bed sheets. She gasped, she groaned and finally, she collapsed.

Sandra felt herself being rolled over. Jasmine loomed over her, looking wholly satisfied with her performance. Sandra wished she could return some of the pleasure she had just received, but that was against Jasmine's rules. She had once said that allowing oneself to be pleasured gave too much an impression of a normal relationship. Even with the clients she liked, she needed to keep that thin line clearly drawn. This was business, and she was good at what she did. But that didn't mean that she didn't care. 

Jasmine bent over and cupped Sandra's warm, 34-D tits in her hands, licking her dark aureole and applying great sucking pressure to her pert nubs. Sandra smiled. Not only was this pleasurable for her, she knew that Jasmine got a kick out it as well. Jasmine toyed with the nipples and then kissed the soft undersides of those wonderful mounds. With hands still on Sandra's breasts, Jasmine began kissing her way down the smooth skin of the woman's abdomen. Sandra kept in shape mostly by cardiovascular work and a good diet, but she wasn't really cut. Not that anyone who had seen her naked had anything to complain about. She had a pierced bellybutton, and Jasmine enjoyed running her tongue around and across the stud. But as much fun as it was for the woman from the escort service to tease Sandra's navel, there was another destination it enjoyed even more. Jasmine finally had to release her client's breasts, but it was no matter. Jasmine's face had reached Sandra's crotch, and there was work to be done.  

Jasmine loved the contrast between the dark mound surrounding Sandra's secret garden and the light pink color inside. She pressed one finger from either hand inside, pushing the walls apart so that she could admire, and orally stimulate, the view. After some deep-tongue swipes, she started licking in circles, spiraling outwards towards the opening. She flicked her tongue against the clitoral hood a few times, each time eliciting a pleasant little moan. Then she started tugging gently on those soft, supple inner lips with her mouth. Then she tugged on them a little bit with her fingers while licking between them a few more times. 

Sandra had never found anyone who could do what Jasmine did to her. She knew that Jasmine meant well when she encouraged Sandra to find someone, but the record executive wondered if anyone else would be able to satisfy her. Secretly, she was forced to acknowledge that was part of the reason she could never have Jasmine. The woman from the escort service had, in many ways, trained herself to be the perfect woman . . . the perfect lover. But Sandra probably wasn't the only girl who had brought Jasmine to her bed who had thought the same thing. All those women were riding an erotic carousel, each reaching for that brass ring that was Jasmine as their wooden horse swung past, none of them quite able to reach it. But that was part of the joy of being with that woman. Not the having, but the wanting. 

And Jasmine had never left Sandra wanting. At that moment, Sandra wanted nothing more that to scream in ecstasy, so that's what she did. "Oh fuck!" she shouted with eyes glazing over. She was very glad that these were quality condos where the sound didn't carry too far. "Oh God! Oh! Oooooooooohhh!" Her body tensed again and her pussy twitched. Jasmine left her tongue buried deep in the slot as Sandra came, letting the woman's juice run into her mouth as if through a trough. Maybe it was just her still slightly romantic nature, but Jasmine always thought that Sandra tasted sweeter than most other women.

Jasmine crawled back up Sandra's body, finally lying next to her while propped up on one elbow. "So, were my services to your liking?"

Sandra flushed a bit. "I hate it when you say 'services' like that. You know I think more of you than that."

Jasmine's face grew a bit sad. "I know. It's why I would ask that you not ask for me at the service anymore."

Sandra was stunned. "But . . . I thought . . ."

"That I liked you? That you were special?" Jasmine sighed. "You are. You have become special to me. I'm actually quite fond of you, which makes certain aspects of my job more difficult."

"And it makes things too easy for me to use you as a crutch," Sandra reiterated from earlier. 

"True. If you were to call and request me, by company policy I wouldn't be able to refuse. I would only ask that you promise not to ask. I think I could grow to enjoy your company, Ms. Sandra Lopez, but . . ." She let it hanging.

"But only as a friend?"

Jasmine nodded. 

Sandra sighed. Actually, she felt a bit relieved, though she couldn't quite understand why. Maybe it was because this meant she might finally be forced to look for that thing which she had been putting off for so long, a real relationship that she might have to work at. She looked at Jasmine. "As . . . as a friend, could you stay with me? Just for the night?"

Jasmine smiled warmly. "As long as you can keep your hands to yourself," she joked, "I might even be able to stay for a while tomorrow. In case there is anything else you wanted to talk about."

Sandra smiled back. Then she realized that it was about three o'clock in the morning and that she was exhausted. The sudden sexual release had drained her of more than tension, and she was looking forward to sleep. She changed into a pair of cute but comfortable pajamas and offered a pair to Jasmine, who gleefully accepted. It was like playing dress-up at a teenage girl's slumber party. They lay under the covers, near one another but not touching. The talked for a little while, but Sandra was quickly overcome by sleep. Jasmine was happy for the new role she had an opportunity to play. She had many lovers but few friends. And as a friend, she might be able to give Sandra support in a way that an escort never could.

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

A few days later . . .

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

Sandra really wasn't very comfortable. She hadn't been in a police station before. How anything could simultaneously be so dirty yet sterile was beyond her. The police had actually found some of her stolen items and they wanted her to confirm their identity. They wouldn't be able to release the items yet as they were evidence in a murder investigation, but Sandra didn't care. She wanted to put the whole thing behind her as quickly as possible. 

The only thing that was keeping her sane was Jasmine's assurances that an extraordinarily gifted individual was handling the case. Sandra had smiled at that. As a client, Jasmine hadn't been able to tell her anything about the redheaded cop with a stutter. As a friend, she couldn't do much more except to say that Sandra should be more patient with the woman should they cross paths again. Apparently, this investigator was worthy of respect. Over lunch the previous day, Jasmine had acknowledged that even SHE hadn't been able to discern all the woman's secrets. Sandra had pressed her new friend for more background information, but Jasmine had stonewalled her after that.

Sandra was sitting on a long bench in a hallway in the police station. Across the hall were a series of corkboards with newspaper clippings attached to them. They were stories about police officers. Just to occupy herself while waiting for the detective to come get her, she started browsing through them. Some were about light-hearted matters, such a charity auctions, silly rescues, stupid criminals or rescuing cats from trees with the help of the fire department. Others were more serious. Officers killed in the line of duty, police corruption accusations and . . . 

Sandra stopped for a minute. The headline read, 'Rookie CSI Cop Is Shot During Botched Walkthrough.' The article described how the officers on the scene in a murder investigation had failed to adequately search and secure the crime scene. As a result, the fact that the murderer was still present went undetected until one Detective Jones accidentally flushed the perpetrator out of the closet he was hiding in. The suspect had been armed with small-caliber handgun and had leveled it at the officer's head. A rookie CSI cop, without the time to make drawing her own weapon a viable option, had grabbed the suspect's wrist and attempted to disarm him. In the ensuing struggle, the rescuing officer was shot in the upper chest, but luckily the bullet managed to avoid the heart and lungs. Sandra saw a picture of a pale white face topped off with red hair peaking grotesquely from beneath some artificial breathing apparatus. Sandra looked at that officer's name. 

"That was one of the first cases I ever worked with her. That was about three years ago," came a soft voice beside her, making Sandra jump out of her skin. It was Detective Jones. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay."

"Are you ready to view those items now?"

"Yes," Sandra replied. "Listen . . . Detective Jones, I . . ."

"Call me Bobby," he said with a non-threatening smile. 

She smiled back. "Bobby . . . I wanted to apologize to you and Investigator Reynolds . . . particularly Investigator Reynolds . . . for my behavior the other night. I . . ."

"Don't worry about it Ms. Lopez. When you've done as many of these cases as we have, it's easy to forget that not everyone else has become quite so desensitized." He led her into a room where a number of items were laid out on a table, with each item stored in a plastic bag. "Please point out items that you are sure are yours."

Sandra started looked over the table. "So, do you have any suspects? I guess that's a bit premature, but . . ."

"Actually, we made an arrest this morning. Obviously I can't tell you the details at this time, but we're fairly confident we have our guy."

Sandra was a bit stunned. "That was fast. So am I going to need to testify or anything?"

"No. Your alibi checked out, and it seems that you only stand to LOSE money in this whole thing. The only thing you would be able to testify to is that you didn't know the victim or have any idea why he was there. I think we can make our case without that."

Sandra finished looked over the items. Most of them were hers with a few exceptions. Detective Jones looked pleased, gathered up the items and had another officer take them back to the evidence room. About that time, Sandra saw a flash of red hair wandering by in the hallway. It was Investigator Reynolds. Detective Jones saw her too and went outside to intercept the woman. Sandra couldn't make out exactly what they were saying, but both glanced into the room where she was standing. The redhead was looking increasingly nervous and started backing away before Detective Jones placed one hand gently on her shoulder and ushered her into the viewing room, then stood outside and leaned against the doorframe. It was as if he were playing goalie in case Inspector Reynolds attempted to leave the field of play.

The officer glanced first at the floor. She was wearing a baggy sweatshirt, sweatpants and that same CSI baseball cap that she had been wearing the other night.

Sandra spoke first. "Officer Reynolds, I wanted to say how sorry I was about my behavior the other night. It was out of line to make fun of your . . ." She tried to think of a polite way of saying it.

"Stuh-... stutter," the cop filled in for her. "It's okuh-... okay to use the wuh-... word. And it's alruh-... alright. I wuh-... was a little fuh-... freaked out the fuh-... first time I saw a buh-... body like that. Actually, I thuh-... threw up." The woman was smiling a little now, showing two rows of perfect, pearly-white teeth. It was a pretty smile.

"Well, now that I have THAT bit of visual information to deal with," Sandra said. "Listen, regardless of how bad it was, I'm sorry that I was rude . . . Shannon, was it?" The woman nodded. "Listen, I realize that this probably isn't the best time to ask, but why don't you let me make it up to you? Maybe buy you a drink?"

Shannon looked like she had just been caught in the path of an oncoming train. She was glancing around nervously. "I'm suh-... suh-... suh-... sorry, buh-... buh-... but that would buh-... buh-...be unethical cuh-... considering you're a wuh-... wuh-... witness in a muh-... muh-... murder investigation."

Was in Sandra's imagination, or did the woman's stutter just get a lot worse? "I'm sorry. Detective Jones told me that I wouldn't be called upon to testify or anything. But I thought that maybe at least after the investigation was over that . . ."

"I'm suh-... suh-... sorry, buh-... but I've guh-... guh-... got to guh.-... guh-... go." She turned on her heels and walked out the door, giving Detective Jones a not-too-gentle punch on the arm as she went past him on her way down the hall. The fairly stocky man came into the room, rubbing the spot where he had been hit.

"She must really be pissed at me," Sandra said a bit dejectedly. She had hoped that her apology might go over a little better. Things had seemed to be fine at first.

"No, she wasn't pissed at you," Bobby said. "She was a little pissed at ME for some reason, but not you."

"But her stutter got worse. Doesn't that happen when someone with a stutter gets angry?"

"Sometimes. Depends on the person. Shannon doesn't stutter more when she's mad. She stutters more when she's nervous. Trust me, you DON'T want to see her when she's mad."

"Why? Does she shoot dirty looks at people?" Sandra said. She couldn't imagine what the woman would be like when upset. She could barely finish a sentence when in a good frame of mind.

"Remember the article?" Bobby asked? "Well even after getting shot, she had enough left in her to disarm the suspect and toss all two-hundred-and-fifty pounds of him through a sliding glass door." Detective Jones held the door open for Sandra, who was more than a bit dumfounded. He noticed the confusion on her face. "The way I understand it, she's been taking Karate or something like it since she was six years old."

If Sandra had needed anymore proof of what the Detective had just told her, she was going to be getting it sooner than she expected. They were at the front of the station where Sandra had to fill out some paperwork. Investigator Reynolds appeared suddenly at her side. Sandra stopped and looked into the woman's eyes. For the second time, she was struck by how genuinely pretty the officer was. It looked like Shannon wanted to say something. 

But at that moment, some officers were bringing a large man in, his hands secured behind him. The individual in question reeked of alcohol and various other odors. He had appeared complacent, but he suddenly acted up, letting out a guttural howl as he smashed his six-foot four-inch fat frame into one of the cops, knocking him down. He then head-butted the other officer and kicked a third in the groin, dropping both of them. The man had developed a maniacal look in his eye. Sandra had been around enough musicians to know that alcohol wasn't the only thing this guy was probably hopped up on. And then he saw Sandra, Shannon and Bobby, and he came charging up towards the desk with the apparent intention of assaulting anyone in his path. Sandra looked for a place to run. Bobby reached for his sidearm. Neither of them needed to bother. 

Sandra barely saw Shannon move. The smaller woman stepped forward and planted a straight heel-kick onto the rampaging man's left kneecap. The sound of something breaking was audible throughout the lobby. Before the man could even collapse, Shannon swung one leg up and hit him with some kind of crescent kick to the side of his face. Sandra was sure she saw a tooth go flying somewhere. Two straight kicks to his ample stomach sent him staggering backward. Then it was something like out of a Jackie Chan movie. Shannon was facing northward when she jumped about three feet in the air, rotating her hips to put all the power she could into a roundhouse kick to the other side of the man's face. She landed back on the ground facing southward. The man spun around once and dropped like a rock. The other cops quickly moved to check on the man's condition, and paramedics were called. 




The Queen and the Soldier



Shannon's visage could best be described as animalistic. Detective Jones moved forward and put a hand on her shoulder. Suddenly, Inspector Reynolds went very pale and her countenance reverted to the shy woman that Sandra had been speaking to earlier.

"Listen, I think Dr. Griego might still be here. Did you want to go ahead and talk to him now?"

Shannon nodded her head, looking very pale. She glanced at Sandra, again looking as if she wanted to say something. But she closed her mouth and vanished down another corridor. Sandra could do nothing but stare after her as she retreated. Then she looked back to the unconscious man on the ground. Sandra found herself . . . aroused. 'That woman kicks ass!' she thought. Then she blushed a bit. 'What am I, some addle-brained high school girl that gets turned on by displays of random aggression?' She looked down at the man again, then down the corridor where Shannon had disappeared. 'Maybe I am.'

"Where did she go?" she asked Bobby.

"She had to go talk to one of our on-staff psychiatrists. Shannon has . . . well, anger-management issues."

"But she was completely justified . . ."

"I know that. You know that. But it takes someone with a Ph.D. to convince HER of that. Here, let me walk you to your car. We can work out the rest of the paperwork another time."

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

The next morning . . . 

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

It was nine o'clock in the morning when Shannon finally drug her weary carcass into her one-bedroom apartment just a few blocks from the police station. She placed the large pile of files she had to look over neatly on one corner of the card table that also served as her study area and dining area. There was a single folding chair next to the table. She never had company, so there was no need for two chairs. She went and grabbed a low-fat yogurt cup out of her refrigerator and sat down on the carpet in front of her sensible, seventeen inch television sat down to watch the morning news. She had a crush on Sharon Tey, one of the anchors for KTLA's morning show.

'One of these days,' Shannon thought, 'I'm going to have to get off the graveyard shift.' She groaned inwardly. She thought that she might have sprained something when she kicked that guy in the head the second time. She just hoped she wasn't going to be charged with anything, and she was glad she hadn't actually killed the guy. 

The news went on about soaring gas prices, fluctuations in the President's popularity level and the ongoing transit strike going on in several California cities. There was brief blurb about the arrest that had been made in the murder investigation that Shannon was working on. It had been a relatively simple situation in Shannon's eyes. The security guard had been inside the house when he was shot, but he had never radioed in to his headquarters that he was investigating something, which was standard procedure for the company for when their guards left their vehicles to do anything but use the bathroom. If he had been investigating a possible intruder, why didn't he call it in, and why had he never drawn his weapon? He had been shot at close range in a place where it would have been difficult for someone to "pop out of nowhere," so why hadn't he been alarmed. The reason was that the security guard knew the perpetrator. Shannon had hypothesized that he had actually been working with the thief. It would explain why the guard had apparently been in the backyard; he had been carrying stolen goods to the back wall, tossing them over next to the other perpetrator's vehicle. She had checked the guy's work file, and he apparently had reported "scaring people off" of other clients' property a large number of times. If they were working in tandem, he would have had to call in the disturbance. If he didn't, then the security company would look incompetent. But by calling it in after a "minimal" amount of theft, he looked like a hero. And since the amount stolen had never been excessive, this particular cat burglar had never shown up as a priority on police radar. Then the two probably split the money.

'Did his partner just get greedy?' she asked herself. 'Or stupid? For an extra couple thousand dollars, he's now facing the gas chamber.' Once she had deduced the scheme, she figured out the "how" of the matter. She had already realized that the primary intruder had parked on a small access road around the back of the house. She had fingerprinted a large section of wrought iron fence-work and had lifted several usable prints. These had matched up in the database with a man who had done time many years earlier for armed robbery. The detectives and beat-cops had taken over from there. 

That left her thinking about Ms. Sandra Lopez. She sighed gently. 'That is one beautiful woman,' she thought to herself. 'She even asked if I wanted a drink, and all I could do was babble.' She finished off her yogurt and placed the plastic cup in the appropriate recycle bin. She got up and went to take a shower. She undressed in the dark like she always did. Before climbing into the small shower stall, she did turn on a nightlight that provided just enough illumination for her to find things like her Pert-Plus shampoo & conditioner bottle, but that was it. Shannon hated her body. She didn't like looking at it at all.

As her hair began absorbing the water, her thoughts went back to Sandra. She had often felt that a Hispanic woman who kept her figure was one of the most beautiful creatures alive, and Sandra had DEFINITELY kept her figure. Shannon's hand found their way to her neatly trimmed nether region. She slipped one finger inside and diddled herself while the water poured over her face. 'Why do I do this to myself?' she wondered, but that didn't stop her. She stopped fingering long enough to rub her mound with her three longest fingers, rubbing in quick, short circles. Her fleshy mound and swollen lips were already warm to the touch and aching for a bit of the bad touch. She brought her free hand up to cup one of her breasts. They weren't particularly large, though they were noticeable. At least they would be if she ever wore something besides sweatshirts. But her nipples were sensitive, and she started rolling the nub between her thumb and forefinger. 

Shannon thought about Sandra's hourglass shape, about her generous cleavage and wonderful hips. Shannon stuck a couple of fingers back into her box and curved the tips upward. She let her palm come to rest lightly on her clitoral hood, massaging it as her fingers probed her own body. She also kept pulling on and tweaking her own nipples, one after the other. She would pull one out until she couldn't stand it anymore, then release it and move back to the other breast. She was humping her own hand, wishing that she had a little more space in the shower to maneuver. She pressed her palm a little harder against the clit, giving her a burst of pleasure. She withdrew her fingers again and started rubbing up and down the slit with her fingertips, then sunk them back into her pussy. She wondered how it would feel to do this to Sandra. She found herself blushing. 'Why do I even bother thinking about . . .' 

Her self-depreciating streak ended when she felt her orgasm building. She gripped one of her nipples hard and she drove her fingers deep into her box while her thumb stimulated the clit. She felt her abdominal muscles clench, setting of chain-reactions in other muscle groups. She felt her pussy convulse and she felt some warm fluid running onto her inner thighs. She gasped, and some shower water actually got into her mouth, and she promptly spit it out. Her body relaxed and she withdrew her fingers from their nest. 

She finally got around to actually cleaning off. She toweled off and threw her comfortable, sensible flannel pajamas on and crawled into bed. Before going to sleep, she opened up the drawer in her nightstand and pulled out a business card that was inside. It was the number for an escort service she had used. She was so tempted to dial that number, even though she knew how much trouble she would get into. She had discovered the place investigating an assault charge. She had no real desire to investigate the service itself. She thought the idea of regulating sexual activity was a huge waste of taxpayer money and police resources. But there had been a few times in the last couple of years where the loneliness had become almost overwhelming. 

Shannon sighed and put the card back in the nightstand before turning off the light. 'No,' she thought. 'I can't keep pretending. Every time I call that number, I just pretend that it's a real relationship. I can't do that anymore. Because in the morning, whoever she is always leaves. I don't need to go paying someone to leave me.'

It was on that sour note that Shannon was finally overcome by sleep.

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

A few days later . . . 

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

Sandra was sitting around a trendy downtown café having a pleasant lunch with Jasmine. It turned out that having that woman as a friend had been a wonderful turn of events. Sandra bore no delusions that this was a precursor to a more romantic affair; she understood the rules that Jasmine had laid down. But having an actual friend, rather than a butt-kissing lackey or potential client, had its advantages.

"So, your trip to the police station was eventful then?" Jasmine inquired.

"Yep. I looked over some recovered items, tried apologizing to Inspector Reynolds, managed to offend her somehow . . . at least I think that's what happened. And then I witnessed a woman who is only about five and a half feet tall kick the living hell out of a man almost three times her body mass, then run off to talk to a psychiatrist." Sandra narrowed her eyes. "But you probably knew that she was all . . . well, kung-fu. Didn't you?"

"You just keep digging, don't you?" Jasmine said with a wry smile. Sandra had been trying to pry information from about Investigator Reynolds for a couple of days, but to no avail. Even if Jasmine had been willing to talk, she didn't know much more than Sandra did. She had only serviced Ms. Reynolds a couple of times, and the woman had been very introverted.

"Yes, and you keep dodging. I guess that's the game we're destined to play," said Sandra grumpily. She sucked sexily on her straw, causing a skateboarder to lose track of where he was going and crash into a fire hydrant. "Score one more for me," she said.

Jasmine made another mark on her napkin. They were neck in neck in the contest to see who could distract more passersby until they crashed into something. "Are you sure she was offended? It sounds like she may have just been put on her guard." Jasmine traced her long, beautiful neck with a bit of ice before sucking the cube between her perfect lips, and a jogger ran into an open taxi door. Jasmine quickly marked her score down. 

"I don't know. Bobby . . . I mean Detective Jones . . . talked to me yesterday. Apparently they've already wrapped this case up to the point that the public defender is looking to make some sort of deal. So I don't think she refused for business reasons."

"But it doesn't sound like she actually refused the offer of drinks. She just . . . panicked. Maybe if you let her know specifically that you want to go on a date . . ."

"Who said anything about a date? I just wanted to apologize to her!" Sandra unbuttoned the top few buttons of her blouse, exposing a generous amount of cleavage. She took another napkin and fanned the generous expanse of dark cleavage that was suddenly available for viewing, and two businessmen walked straight into the hotdog vendor on the corner.

Jasmine scowled and put two tics down in Sandra's column. "You apologized! If that was all you cared about, you wouldn't be worrying about it still. Okay, now you might want to thank her for saving your cute butt from that man at the police station, but don't try and tell me that you're not interested. Crap!" she muttered. "It seems that we have a lull in our pedestrian flow. I guess that means you win, and I have to pick up the tab." She looked across the table at Sandra, staring directly into her eyes. "I know you think she's pretty and you now have some respect for her . . ."

"Especially after reading that article," Sandra said softly. "I can't imagine putting yourself in the line of fire like that."

"And I know that you consider her a mystery," Jasmine said a little smugly. "You're captivated by her. So why not find out if there's something more there? What could it hurt?"

Sandra grinned. Jasmine was still very good at what she did. "So what do you think I should do?"

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

That evening . . .

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

Shannon arrived for work right on time, just like she did every day. She had gotten up several hours earlier, eaten, read the paper, fed her pet turtle (whose name was Mr. Ages), worked out, jogged a couple of miles, showered and dressed. Just like she did every day. But that night was going to be a bit different. 

When she checked in at the front desk, the secretary said that something had been delivered for her. It was a bouquet of flowers. Shannon had no idea what they were for. Things like birthdays and random presents from family members didn't apply to her. She really didn't have friends, so . . .

"Maybe you should read the card?" the secretary suggested with a smile.

"Cuh-... card?" Sure enough, there was a card stuck in the middle of the whole thing. It read, "Thanks for your hard work on my case and for saving my tush the other day. That offer of drinks still stands. Call me at (555) 555-5309. Sincerely, Sandra Lopez."

Shannon was so swept up in reading the card that she almost walked headlong into two detectives, a street cop, a sergeant and a K9 unit. She took the flowers and put them on the desk in her office and just stared at them for a moment. Other CSI personnel would wander by and see her in her office, just staring at some very pretty flowers. They kept walking. They all actually liked her quite a bit, but she was rather peculiar. 'What does this mean?' she thought to herself. 'Is this just a continuation of the apology? I told her I was fine. Is this about what happened in the lobby the other day? I don't get it.'

Bobby wandered in. "Hey, we've got a smash-and-grab job over at Victoria's Mall. All the day shift is out on stuff and, as usual, you're the only one of the night crew who showed up right on time. The Big Guy wants you to take lead CSI on this one. Shannon?" He waved his hand in front of her face. "Anyone home?" 

Shannon shook her head, freeing herself from her flower-induced stupor. "Yeah . . . smash-and-grab . . . mall . . . CSI. Cuh-... cuh-... can you guh-... give me a lift?" she asked. 

"You really need to get a car. No one walks around as much as you do. Not in California. So, who are the flowers from?"

"Ms. Lopez, it woo-... would seem," Shannon said, putting the card back on the desk, then staring at the arrangement a moment longer. On the way out to the car, she told him about what the card had said. It still felt a little strange, telling Bobby about that sort of thing. He had become a friend over the last several years, but there had been a time when things had been very tense between them, mostly due to Shannon's sexual orientation. But they had gotten over that, and he had proven to be a true comrade when she badly needed one. 

"Sounds like she's asking you out, though I am a little bit out of the dating scene," he added.

"Or at luh-... least thuh-... that's what you teh-... tell your wife."

He grinned at her. She didn't make jokes often. "I mean, if she just wanted to thank you, she didn't need to leave her number. She wants you to call her. So . . . why not? You've been moping around the office for years now," he said, but wished he hadn't. Shannon glanced down at her hands. The girl was shy, but for what reason he still wasn't clear. She was smart, nice and had a smile that could really light up the room when she let it creep out. And whether you approved of her sexual orientation or not, everyone had to acknowledge that at least her face was very pleasing to look at. No one knew what the rest of her looked like except the department physician, and he wasn't saying anything.

"Buh-... but what would I say?"

'Good,' Bobby thought. 'The stutter's getting better. Means she's calming down.' "Say anything! Don't be so self-conscious. I mean, you DO want to date don't you? You didn't secretly trade your badge for a nun's habit, did you?"

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Nuh-... not that I'm aware of."

"So call her. If things don't work out, I'll let you mope all you want," he said with a grin.

She tried to fight it, but she smiled back. It didn't stop her from slapping her friend in the arm, but she did smile.

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

The next evening . . . 

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

Sandra pulled up to the address she had gotten. There were a series of unimpressive apartment complexes in front of her, filled with unimpressive apartments. She had been surprised that she had actually received a phone call from the young woman after one try. The girl had sounded confused as to why Sandra had left her number. Was the concept of getting hit on such a foreign one to the redheaded police officer? Sandra walked up to the apartment and rang the doorbell. She wondered if she might have overdressed. She was wearing a stunning, low-cut white blouse and a black, knee-length skirt. She had put on some of her nicer earrings, a pair of stiletto heels and a spritz of her favorite perfume. She heard someone fumbling with the bolt-lock. Then a door-chain. Then another door chain. Then there was the door-lock itself. Finally the door opened and Shannon was standing there . . . wearing black sweatpants, a black sweatshirt, white tennis shoes and a CSI baseball cap. And she had a completely baffled look on her face.

"I'm suh-... suh-... sorry. I thuh-... thought thah-... that things wuh-... would buh-... be more cuh-... casual."

"That's okay. I hadn't even thought of where we might go yet. Did you want to change or . . .?" Shannon appeared to be staring at her feet and blushing.

"Thuh-... this is all I've guh-... got to wear."

"You only have one pair of clothes?"

Shannon shook her head. She explained that she actually had nine identical outfits: one for each day of the week, and two extras. One of the extra pairs was worn on Sunday, which was laundry day. Besides that, all she had was her police dress uniform, which was reserved for special occasions, court appearances and funerals. "I'm suh-. . . sorry," she whispered. "If you'd rather cuh-. . . cancel and . . ."

"Oh nonsense!" Sandra said. This girl was becoming increasingly interesting. And her apartment was so . . . bare. A card table, a single chair, a small television, a weight set, a self-standing punching dummy . . . surely this woman earned enough money to buy nicer things. She didn't even own a car! "Are you hungry, just thirsty, or . . ." 

"Thuh-... thirsty," Shannon replied. "I juh-... just ate." Sandra saw her take an empty yogurt container and put it in one of three, nicely ordered and labeled recycling boxes.

Sandra wanted to make a comment about Shannon's idea of food, but held her tongue. She didn't want the woman to bolt again. Besides, she could bring it up later. "I've got a place we can go!" Sandra indeed had thought of a place. People could dress however they wanted, the lights were always low and the music was always good. She hadn't been there in a while.

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

A little while later . . . 

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





The Queen and the Soldier



She parked her Porsche outside an all-women nightclub called "The Siren's Cave." She hadn't been there in over a year, but she was sure the same couple owned and ran the place. When Shannon got out, she appeared to recognize the place. "Been here before?" asked Sandra. "On a date maybe?" she added with a smile.

Shannon's smile was much softer. "Nuh-... no. On a cuh-... case," the woman corrected.

The two of them walked up to the door. There was a hulking, almost mannish female at the door. She had to be almost six-feet, four-inches tall and looked to way close to two hundred pounds of solid muscle. Sandra recognized her right away. That was Ruby, and she had been working the door at the club for at least five years. If you weren't supposed to come in, Ruby stopped you. Apparently, Ruby wasn't her real name. It was short for Rubicon, and it meant that she was someone you just didn't cross.

"May I . . ." the woman started in a husky sounding voice. "Ms. Lopez?"

"Hi Ruby. It's been a while."

The mountain of a woman picked up Sandra and gave her a big hug. The woman apparently didn't cling to uptown etiquette. "Tara and Mia were just saying the other day that it'd been too long since we saw you in these parts," she said, referring to the club's owners. Sandra had been in their bed once or twice on her way up the corporate ladder, and she had always enjoyed their company and had been a valuable patron in times of need.

"I'd love to talk to them if they're here tonight." It was a silly question. Those two were always here. They literally lived here.

"I'll let 'em know you're here. And I see you've got a guest." Ruby noticed that there was someone standing close behind Sandra, and that whoever it was had a cap with a police insignia on it. "And a cop? Who . . ." Sandra stepped aside to reveal Shannon, and Ruby had stopped in mid-objection. Did the huge woman recognize the officer, or was she just sizing her up? "I'll have to ask that you remove the cap ma'am," Ruby said at last. "We don't have much of a dress code, but nothin' that screams gang member or cop. Those tend to make folks a bit nervous." 

Shannon removed her cap, letting her red hair flow. It was then that Sandra noticed a small scar just below the hairline that was usually covered when the cap was on. Shannon actually brushed her hair down in front of that spot as soon as she realized it was exposed. Then she borrowed the keys and went to put the cap back in the car.

Ruby watched her go. "Not someone I'd expect you to be showin' up with, but what do I know?"

"You know her?"

"Oh yeah. She showed up here a year ago to investigate a robbery that went bad."

"I remember that," Sandra said.

"Well, I wasn't keen on cops, but Mia had told me to make sure to make myself available to her. She wandered around and looked at stuff . . . took a damn long time," Ruby said. Sandra smiled. She remembered what that felt like. "Meanwhile, a couple bulls decided they wanted to leave even though they'd been told to stick around until the police talked to 'em. They bum-rushed the girl at the door . . . they were going to jack her up something bad . . ."

Sandra interrupted her. "But Shannon stopped them?"

"Is that her name? If it is, then yeah, she stopped them. Never saw anyone move like that in my life." They stopped talking about the officer as she returned to the door. "So, where you want to sit? Top tier?"

"If you've got space available."

"For you . . . always. Not many people get allowed up there these days. Tara and Mia have gotten picky." Ruby called another woman over who would escort them to their table. 

The inside of "The Siren's Cave" was an architectural marvel. There was a round stage in the middle of a round dance floor, and there was always a live band performing. There was a single, long bar that encircled almost half of the bottom floor. There was also a spiral walkway that wound its way around the walls. Periodically it would level itself off for a bit and widen, leaving room for tables. A clear, tough-plastic mesh kept drunk people from wandering off the edge. There were about ten leveled-off points or "tiers" on their way up, each tier a little smaller than the last. And the more important you were or the more the owners liked you, the farther up you got to sit. The top tier was actually a platform of clear, thick plastic that protruded into the air about fifty feet over the stage. It was also surrounded by a clear plastic cage, and was generally reserved for preferred guests. Sandra apparently still qualified. They made there way up the long winding road to their table. The club actually had a golf cart that would drive you up, but Sandra wanted to take in the view. They finally arrived, and took a seat at one of only four tables on the tier. 

Shannon was able to look straight down on the band through the clear plastic floor. She wondered if that might be a good time to mention that heights made her uncomfortable. She tried to concentrate on the music, which was all right, and on trying to have a pleasant . . . outing.

Sandra ordered a martini and Shannon got a Long Island iced tea. She was wondering if they should both be drinking. She might be forced to arrest both of them if they attempted to drive home. 

"Don't worry. We can call a cab," said Sandra, reading her "date's" thoughts. They sat in an awkward silence for a moment. Sandra didn't want to "thank" Shannon again, as that would sound repetitive. 'This used to be so much easier,' she thought. 'Well, I guess we can try doing this the old fashioned way.' 

"So," she continued. "Tell me about yourself. Where are you from? Tell me about your family. Tell me . . ." Sandra stopped. So far, each statement or question she had made had fallen almost like physical blows on Shannon's face. Apparently, there were some wounds there. She didn't know then how many wounds there actually were. "Sorry. Well, let me tell you about . . . me." Sandra talked about her parents, their business and her life growing up. She talked about her brothers, sisters and cousins. She talked about her schooling, her climb up the ladder of success and her work. Sandra even made reference to the fact that she had used an escort service. Shannon seemed to be listening intently, almost as if she expected to be quizzed on this later. The admission about the escort service got a brief reaction from Shannon, but she quickly regained composure.

The redhead's face had softened a bit. It had been a really long time since she had done this . . . just sitting with someone and getting to know them. She liked it. And Sandra seemed to be being very open and honest with her. She wondered how much she should share. 

"And so I had just gotten back from Texas when I found some guy murdered on my floor," Sandra was saying. Then a new voice broke through the din.

"We had heard about that and had planned on calling you," the voice said. Sandra and Shannon turned and saw the owners of the club. The speaker was Mia, a short woman (only five feet tall) with short, spiked black hair, a decent set of curves and piercings all over her stern face. Tara was a foot taller than her counterpart, thin and flat, but with a beautiful face and long black hair. They didn't make sense as a couple, at least not until you actually met them.

The two of them seemed intimately familiar with Sandra, and both greeted her warmly and briefly discussed her recent tragedy. Shannon just pushed herself into what shadows she could and hoped they didn't notice her. She was just beginning to think up polite excuses to leave when the owners had to go and greet some other patrons. Sandra kissed both women on the cheek before they left. Then she and Shannon were alone again.

"Planning on going somewhere?"

"Luh-... listen, if you'd rather vuh-... visit . . ."

"Don't be silly. I came here to get to know you, and that's what I'd like to do. I understand if you're not ready to tell me everything, but tell me something. Anything. Just as long as it's about you."

Shannon sipped at her drink again. "I . . . I've used that escort suh-... service too." She waited for some kind of "oh my god" reaction, but none came. That gave her some confidence. "I've got a tuh-... turtle. His nuh-. . . name is muh-. . . Mr. Ages." Sandra looked puzzled for a moment, then started to laugh. Shannon started laughing right along. It had sounded rather silly. Then she slowly talked about her job, which university she had attended, her job, stupid criminals she had helped catch or had heard about, her workout routine (which got Sandra tired while just thinking about it), and her hobbies, which included collecting stamps, playing solitaire and fishing. 

Sandra noticed that all the things that Shannon did were generally done alone. And she had also picked up on the fact that her companion didn't talk about anything from before the age of eighteen. Nothing about her family or where she had come from . . . just nothing. But the girl was obviously not used to being open, and Sandra decided not to push the issue. She would have time for that later. Sandra scooted over until she was sitting right next to Shannon. That seemed to make the girl nervous again. Finally, Sandra asked about the article she had read in the police station, and she got a good glimpse into the soul of the woman sitting next to her.

Shannon told her about her first year in CSI. She had been struggling to fit in and earn the respect of her peers. A number of the cops were from the Good-Old-Boy club. Some resented her for being a woman or for getting such a "cushy" position at such a young age. But when people figured out that she was gay, partially due to her complete lack of interest in their slimy advances, things got ugly. Notes were left on her locker with repulsive pictures or comments on them. People snickered at her behind her back. A couple of the beat cops and one detective were even heard saying that they wished they could find a way of getting rid of her. Much to Sandra's surprise, that one detective had been Bobby. Shannon acknowledged that she had been shaken up by the harassment, but hadn't ratted anyone out or complained. She had wanted to prove that she could take care of herself. Then that night at the murder scene had come. The first officers on the scene had screwed up the initial walkthrough, and the killer had come out of the closet with every intention of killing at least one more person. He had targeted Detective Jones. Shannon hadn't even thought about it. She had moved to interfere and took a bullet high in the chest for her trouble. She disarmed the guy (by breaking his wrist) and then hip-threw him into the sliding glass door. Then she had collapsed on the grungy kitchen tile. What she told Sandra next almost broke the woman's heart: Shannon had half expected the other officers just to let her die. She knew what they thought of her and that they had wanted to see her gone. That was their chance. She remembered thinking that it didn't hurt like she thought it would. Of course, that was because she had been in shock. But she had picked up her head, stared at the assembled officers and then let it rest in a pool of her own blood. She lay there and waited for the end. 

But she had underestimated something. Despite their bigotry, their differences and their attitudes, a cop was still a cop. They were a strangely loyal breed when one of their own was threatened, even if the threatened member wasn't popular to begin with. The last thing Shannon remembered hearing was someone screaming "Officer down! I repeat, officer down!" at the top of his voice. All the cops had come to visit her in the hospital, even the ones who had insulted her sexuality. But Bobby had come by every day. She hadn't asked him to. And he had changed somehow. He brought his wife by once, but she had broken down crying. Shannon had thought that odd, but Sandra understood. Shannon had saved the woman's husband's life. How do you thank someone for something like that? How can you ever repay someone for that kind of debt? Shannon skipped a bunch of stuff after that, but apparently Bobby had become one of her only friends as well as her staunchest ally in the department. She never was harassed again after that night. 

Sandra was a little bit humbled by it all. "Why did you think they would just leave you? I mean, I've known a lot of bigots, but it's a big step between narrow-minded and being outright evil."

Shannon glanced at her now empty glass. She was wondering if she really should have drunk that much. She was a lightweight and she knew it. She couldn't even look at Sandra when she responded. "It's juh-... just something puh-... people duh-... do."

Sandra didn't quite understand that statement at the time. But she got the distinct impression that Shannon had said more than she had originally intended. Sandra had made headway, but it left her wanting more. What had happened to this woman that caused her to have so little faith in mankind?

They sat in silence again, this time very uncomfortable. The only reason Shannon had discussed the issue was that it was something to talk about and Sandra already knew the basics. Now, she felt like the dark-haired woman was just staring at her . . . probably feeling sorry for her. 

Shannon asked the waitress for some orange juice while Sandra ordered another martini. They were both trying to think of something safe to talk about. 

"So," said Sandra with a ridiculous grin. "Tell me about your turtle . . . "

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

A few hours later . . .

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

They were both laughing when they made their way out of the club. Shannon was still easily sober enough to drive. Sandra gave Ruby a hug on the way out of the door, then they got into her car. She knew that Shannon was at the beginning of her days off (she worked four days on then three off), and that the redhead had nowhere to be. When Shannon had started talking about her turtle Mr. Ages, Sandra had been watching. Her stutter became less pronounced as she got more comfortable, and she got more comfortable by not talking about her past. She was an odd woman, but Sandra found herself increasing attracted to her. She had listened to the tale of how Shannon found Mr. Ages trying to cross the road on her way up to a remote fishing hold. Shannon would apparently rent a car once a month, grab her fishing gear and disappear for a couple of days. She had almost hit Mr. Ages on the trip up. She had stopped and helped the reptile across the road, then continued on her way. Then she had encountered the same turtle on her way home, trying to cross back across the road in the same place. Shannon felt sorry for anything more lost and confused than she was, so she just adopted the animal. After that, the two talked a little more freely, including about the simple things such as favorite movies, types of music and books. 

Shannon had been talking about something or another towards the end, but Sandra had just been watching those lips. Sandra wondered what they would look like with a little lipstick. When Shannon was looking away, Sandra moved in. Shannon turned her head back and the two women's lips met. It was a strange first kiss. Shannon obviously wasn't sure what to do, but Sandra knew EXACTLY what she wanted. She had kept her lips pressed against Shannon's, and had slowly teased the woman's lips apart with her tongue, finally tasting the inside of the officer's mouth. 

After a minute, she felt the woman tentatively kissing her back. That was when she had whispered, "I'd really like for you to go home with me." A few minutes later, they were in the car. Shannon, unfamiliar with the subtleties involved in driving a high-performance automobile, had driven annoying slowly, but finally they had arrived at Sandra's company condo. Shannon was noticeably nervous as Sandra took her to the elevator and up to her floor. 

Shannon was feeling very much out of her league when she saw Sandra's "back-up" place. The cops had given her the okay to move back to her house, but Sandra had been a little leery of doing so. 'The entertainment center probably costs more than everything I own,' Shannon thought to herself. And the bed was huge! Sandra led her into the bedroom. Shannon could scarcely believe this was happening. Then Sandra took her earrings off. Next, she sat on the bed and kicked off her heels. Meanwhile, Shannon just stood in the corner of the room, wishing she could vanish into the shadows.

Sandra saw her standing there nervously. This was going much more awkwardly than her dates used to go. "Hey, why don't you come sit over here next to me?"

Shannon shuffled over in a not-particularly-sexy manner and sat down on the bed, wringing her hands nervously. "Suh-... suh-... sorry. I'm nuh-... not vuh-... very guh-... good at thuh-... this."

Sandra stopped undressing. Usually people were anxious to get into her bed. Shannon apparently was terrified. 

"Listen, is there anyway I could make you more comfortable?" She kissed Shannon on the lips again, and there was less hesitation than there had been before. 

"Cuh-... could wuh-... wuh-... wuh-..." Shannon seemed to be stuck. Sandra gave her another kiss, just to try and 'jump-start' her. ". . . we turn off the lights?" Shannon finished in one explosive breath.

Sandra placed the palm of one hand against Shannon's face, tracing on of the dark circles under the girl's eye with her thumb. 'What are you hiding?' she thought. Sandra stood up and wandered over to the light-switch. Before she switched it off, she let her blouse tumble to the floor, giving Shannon a good view of her dark skin and the swell of her breasts against her lacey bra. She saw Shannon take a deep breath and then swallow. Then, the lights were out. 

Sandra finished undressing next to the door, then slowly made her way back in the direction of the bed. She bumped into the corner before sitting down next to Shannon. She reached an arm out and encountered her would-be lover, still dressed in her sweats. 

"May I?" she asked, running her hands down Shannon's body to the edge of the sweatshirt. "I can't hear you nodding." She heard a low, nervous 'yes,' so she continued. Shannon seemed to raise her arms, letting Sandra pull the garment off. Then Sandra let her hands feel their way back down. Each touch seemed to send tremors through Shannon's body. Sandra hoped they were good tremors. But Sandra was distracted by the body underneath her hands. It was perfect! There was almost no excess body-fat to speak of, and the muscles were all hard and straining against the skin. Sandra felt a taut four-pack of abdominals, which clenched involuntarily under her soft touch. Shannon's breasts fit into Sandra's hands perfectly, with aureole the size of a quarter and soft, soft nipples. Sandra would be they were perfectly pink. 'Why are you hiding this body?' she thought as she leaned Shannon back onto the bed. 'If I had this body, I'd show it off to everyone!' She hooked her thumbs into the woman's sweatpants and drew them, and an undoubtedly ugly pair of cotton panties, down to the ground. Thankfully, Shannon had already kicked off her shoes, letting Sandra get rid of the offending garments quickly. Just as she had done with Shannon's upper body, Sandra felt her way up the girl's lower body. She had perfect, muscular calves, tight thighs, narrow hips and powerful buttocks. Sandra moved her hands inward, touching the nicely groomed triangle above the Promised Land. Her hands drifted a little lower and she felt the clitoral hood. She passed by that, running her thumbs along the swollen outer lips until they ended. The traced one finger from the bottom of the slot to the sphincter nestled between those muscular cheeks. That got a bit of a panic jump out of the woman, so Sandra let it be. For the time being.




The Queen and the Soldier



Sandra moved her face in and planted a kiss on those juicy lower lips. She heard a loud, melodic moan emanating from above her somewhere. She smiled to herself. She forgot how good this felt. Being with someone who didn't see you as either a client or a meal ticket. She licked around the outer lips for a bit, then sucked the lower lips into her mouth. With those fleshy bits captured, she started to hum. 

"Oh God! That feels wonderful!" Shannon said.

'Hmm,' Sandra thought. 'Stutter's gone.' She hummed again, then began licking again. She pinched the fleshy outer lips together, then stuck her tongue between them like a little penis, pumping away at Shannon's box. 'God, she's tight,' Sandra thought as she plunged into the girl's willing depths. 'Yummy too!' She used her tongue exclusively for a while before using her fingers. She started ramming two fingers into Shannon's body while she licked her clit. It wasn't long before she sensed the internal tremors and felt those many muscles begin to lock up. She pushed tripled her efforts, licking and fingering with all her might. Then the juices started to flow, and Sandra tasted of them. Shannon tasted . . . well, certainly less bitter than Sandra had sampled before. It was actually kind of nice. She kept flicking her tongue against Shannon's clit until the climax was over.

Sandra got onto the bed and lay down next to her lover, hoping she didn't accidentally land on anything. Shannon rolled over, her lips seeking Sandra's. 

"That was wonderful," she said shyly. 

"I thought so," Sandra replied. She wasn't sure why the stutter was gone, but she wasn't going to point it out. She heard Shannon start to speak but then stop. "Listen, if you're wondering how you can make it up to me . . ." She whispered instructions into Shannon's ear. Shannon moved until she was on top of Sandra and the latter girl's legs were wrapped around that tight waist. Then the redhead squeezed her fingers between their bodies until her palm rested towards the top of Sandra's mound while three fingers, pressed together, worked their way inside. Then she thrust forward with her hips, driving her fingers into Sandra's body. 

Using this "makeshift dildo" consisting of her fingers, Shannon began a long, steady series of thrusts. She was so wrapped up in the act that she didn't really notice Sandra's hand exploring Shannon's back. 

Sandra could find no flaw with her lover's body. Even the broad muscles of her back were smooth and tight! Then her fingertips noticed spots were there seemed to be little spots where the skin went from hard to soft for just a split second, and a few other points where there was a slight protrusion of the skin. She let her hands move on. She believed she knew what those anomalies were, but didn't want to draw attention to them. Not yet, anyway. She slid those hands up to Shannon's neck, pulling her head in for another kiss. 

Shannon never stopped her fucking motion until Sandra finally came. She found herself wishing she could watch the beautiful dark skin of Sandra's body shiver as she came, but she consoled herself with feeling it beneath her. She stopped using her fingers as a small cock and crawled down Sandra's body to taste of her sex. Sandra's body was already in the final stages of her orgasm, but it wasn't too late for Shannon to reap the rewards of her efforts. She found the taste not at all unpleasant. She started licking around much like Sandra had done for her earlier, acquiring every last drop of the sweetness that she could. She stuck her tongue in deep a couple of times, and Sandra began to react. 'Well, as long as I'm down here,' she thought. Shannon tried remembering what her lover had done, and she tried remembering what the few girls from the escort service had done. She had very little personal experience to go on, having only dated a few times in her life, and those times had ended quickly and badly. But she did her best, knowing that this beautiful woman would probably leave her in the morning. Shannon knew she had to be a disappointing lover for the more experienced woman.

But her own feelings of inadequacy didn't stop her from doing her best. Sandra was already at a heightened state of arousal, so Shannon thought it would be best to just keep her there. She'd liked what Sandra had done when taking those interior pussy lips into her mouth, so Shannon gave it a try. They were soft and wonderfully pliant. She pulled on them, sucked on them and even tugged on them with her fingers. That was kind of fun!

Little did she realize how overblown her fears of being an unsatisfactory lover actually were. If the lights had been on, she would have seen that the Hispanic woman's eyes were closed and her mouth open in an ecstatic smile. Sandra was loving this! Her mind was still reeling from that first climax, and she was being kept in that murky, happy sensation that usually followed it for a longer period of time than usual. 

Shannon found that she could nuzzle her lover's clitoral region with her nose so she didn't have to break off her tongue action, so she gave that a try. Sandra's moans indicated that it was a good combination. Then she remembered that the woman had done some light stimulation of Shannon's anal opening, so maybe she liked that. Despite the possible health risks, she flicked her tongue across Sandra's sphincter, getting a cooing noise and a body shiver. 'Well, that worked,' Shannon thought. She tried it again. Same reaction. She slowly pressed one finger inside that greedy rosebud until it reached the first knuckle. That got a gasp and an "Oh yes!" from the woman. Another good indicator. She sunk the finger up to the second knuckle and wiggled it. Sandra was groaned contentedly. So after several more minutes of a finger in her butt, a tongue in the great divide and a nose against her clit, Sandra came a second time. And it tasted as sweet as the last.

Sandra's head was spinning. She wanted to get back into the giving end of things, but she didn't want Shannon to stop. "Why don't you get back on the bed?" she gasped. "Spin those legs around." Shannon did as instructed, finding herself in a sixty-nine. She wasn't so naïve that she didn't know what one was, but she had never been IN one before. Sandra seemed to be a little more comfortable with the idea, as she had already started in on her cunnilingus. So, after biting her lower lip and giving out a pleasurable moan, Shannon went to work as well.

The stayed that way for twenty minutes, exploring each other's insides with their tongues and fingers. Sometimes they would flip over, changing who got to be on top like some sexual rotisserie. This was pleasure for its own sake. Shannon discovered that Sandra started moaning things in Spanish when she got really excited and it all sounded horribly romantic, though the woman could have been reciting her grocery list for all Shannon knew. Sandra could tell by pauses in Shannon's attentions that she was about to do something completely different. The girl loved to analyze things, after all. Both women experienced an additional climax, and in relatively close proximity to each other. 

'Those are the best kind,' Sandra thought as Shannon brought her off for the third time shortly after Sandra had brought her off for the second. The both lay on their sides, gasping. Sandra considered reaching for the lights, then thought better of it. She felt Shannon move off the bed. 'Maybe she just needs to use the restroom,' Sandra thought. Then she heard elastic snapping against flesh and . . .

"Are you getting dressed?" she asked confusedly. 

"Yuh-... yeah. I thuh-... thought yuh-... you'd want muh-... me to leave now."

"Why . . .? No, of course I don't want you to leave! This is the part . . . You really don't do this often, do you?"

"I tuh- ... tried to tuh-... tell you . . ."

"It's okay." Sandra wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or pull her own hair out. This woman had confidence and self-esteem issues that would give Dr. Phil a migraine. It also occurred to her that this might be a bit awkward since Sandra wanted to sleep in the near future but it was a time Shannon might be awake and active. "Want don't you just come lie down for a bit?" She felt the bed sag a bit shake as Shannon found a place to lie down . . . about three feet from Sandra. Sandra sighed. She'd almost be willing to bet that Shannon was completely dressed as well. Sandra rolled over once, bumping into her companion in the process, and draped her arm over the woman's still body. 'Yep,' she thought. 'She's already dressed.' "Listen, why don't you just relax and . . . and tell me something about yourself." She felt Shannon tensing, but decided to proceed; cautiously. "You never told me about your family or if you were born around here or anything. I had fun tonight, and I'd like to get to know you." 

"I . . . I . . ." Shannon was struggling. There were so many painful memories that she didn't know where to begin, so she picked one that involved less immediate hurt to her. "I duh-... duh-..." She was stopped momentarily by those full, wonderful lips of Sandra's pressed against her own. ". . . don't have any family. I was orph-... orphaned when I was thuh-... three." Shannon went on to tell her bedmate what she had pieced together from police reports. She had been found wandering the streets of some bum-fuck little town in the Great Smokey Mountains of North Carolina. A huge fire had swept through the area, causing huge problems for a lot of those families that lived up in the woods and shunned most human contact outside their own little communities. Some social workers and police officers thought she might have belonged to a family that had been killed with a fire, but families like that often gave birth and never bothered telling the government. Regardless of how she came to be there, the authorities were unable to find her parents, or even any medical evidence that she existed. She had lived in orphanages her entire life until she graduated high school when she was seventeen. She had gotten legal permission to move all the way across the country to attend college, despite not legally being an adult. She had struggled but had qualified for a series of academic scholarships, including a full academic scholarship to University of California at Springfield.

Sandra respected that. It was a hard-knocks story to be sure, but not the worst she had ever heard. And Shannon had pulled herself up by her bootstraps and done something with her life.

"So," she asked, "when did you decide you want to be a cop?"

There was silence. "I think I nuh-... need to tuh-... take a shower," Shannon said. Sandra felt the bed shift again as her companion rolled out of Sandra's arms, off the bed and then hurried into the bathroom. Sandra heard the door closed, but noticed that the light did not come on under the door. 'Does she even shower in the dark?' she thought.

Sandra got up and turned on the light. The bedding was reasonably displaced and her clothes were piled up next to the door. This had to be the WEIRDEST first date she had ever been on. She had engaged in sex, which was unusual for her first time out with someone. Her date was a very intelligent, very attractive woman with some very peculiar habits, huge self-image problems and a tendency to panic blindly when asked direct questions. 

"Maybe I should just cut my losses and run?" she asked of herself, staring towards the bathroom door. "But the sex was fun, and she seems sweet enough." She noticed that Shannon had left her plain cotton underwear in the bedroom. She picked it up and saw that it had the woman's name and the day of the week written in the back. "You've GOT to be kidding?!?" She heard the water stop running, followed by some fumbling. During that time, Shannon's pager started beeping like mad. A still wet, but fully dressed, Shannon rushed out into the main room. She picked up the electronic device while sending an apologetic look at Sandra. 

"Shuh-... shit," she muttered. "Emuh-... emergency. Can I buh-... borrow your phone?" Sandra nodded and Shannon made a call. After less than a minute, Shannon hung up the call and then called a cab. "Suh-... sorry. Duh-... double homicide, and everyone else is out luh-... looking at a buh-... bus crash or on suh-... something else." She could barely meet Sandra's gaze at that point. "Thuh-... thank you fuh-... for a guh-... great evening."

Sandra, still nude, leaned against the bedroom door as Shannon tried to make her getaway. "I take it you won't be back tonight?" Shannon shook her head. "Why don't I give you a call tomorrow? You're off work, right? Assuming they don't call you in again?"

Shannon nodded. "Yuh-... you duh-... don't huh-... have to if yuh-... you duh-... don't want to." She was completely perplexed. She knew what a psycho-basket-case she had been. Why would anyone want to talk to her after all that? She was also having problems concentrating to the extreme proximity of Sandra's very inviting, very nude body.

"I guess that means I must want to," the woman whispered, giving Shannon a kiss on the cheek, then on the lips. "I'll talk to you later," she repeated after a retreating Shannon.

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The next afternoon . . .

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"I don't get it," Sandra was complaining. Jasmine had dropped by her office for lunch. She was filling out forms before her two o'clock conference call with some addle-brained pop star on the East Coast and her representatives. "Things would be going great for a while and she'd be really opening up, then poof . . . she would completely freak out about something. Do you have an extra hot sauce?" Jasmine tossed a packet of the stuff over the desk. Neither woman normally partook so heavily in junk food, but the idea had just struck Sandra as being a good one. Of course, her parents would freak if they knew she was eating Taco Bell. They might even disown her.

"Well, you gave it a shot," Jasmine said. Her feet were kicked up on another chair as she sucked down what constituted a gordita at their restaurant of choice. Sandra was amazed how the woman could go from such an elegant escort to such a casual couch potato in just a few weeks. The two were becoming fairly comfortable as friends. "So are you thinking of cutting anchor?"

"I don't know. She IS smart and she's actually kind of funny when you least expect it. She's got an interesting job and she's had an interesting life . . ."

"Then call her again tonight."

"But she's insane!"

"Then . . . when did you turn into sixteen-year-old girl again?" Jasmine was actually having more fun than she was letting on. Normally her clients expected her to have answers to all their problems. Here, she just got to egg Sandra on.

"Am not," Sandra pouted, pounding her feet petulantly on the office floor. 

"Well then make up your mind, because you're giving me a headache."

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That evening . . . 

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Sandra had worked late. Her conference call had carried on longer than anticipated, one of her aging singers wanted to rework their contract so they would get more money for doing less work, there were problems finding land for the company's new recording studio and she had wound up in an emergency meeting with their public relations people about how to handle another artist's "chemical indiscretions" at an awards banquet. And she had gotten the okay to move back into her house, so she decided that was what she was going to do that evening. She would call Shannon and tell her what was up; hoping the woman wouldn't take it personally. She was nervous about moving back. She hadn't even been there since . . .

She got to the condo and walked in the lobby. That was when she noticed Shannon sitting on a bench next to the guard station. She was apparently discussing the finer points of his sidearm when she strolled up. Then Shannon noticed her.

"Huh-... hey."

"Hi," Sandra responded, a little surprised. "I was going to call, but I worked late and now I was going to move back into the house."

"I nuh-... know. I huh-... heard when I guh-... got off thuh-... this afternoon."

"You worked until this afternoon? When was the last time you slept?"

"Abuh-... about twenty-fuh-... four hours. I thuh-... thought you muh-... might like suh-... some help."

"Thanks. I've only got a couple of bags, but I'll take any help I can get," she said. Actually, she didn't need help carrying anything. She just didn't want to be alone when she went back there. And it was particularly comforting that she'd be there with a cop. They went up to the condo, and packed up all her stuff.

Shannon was nervous and didn't know what to say. She realized she had probably freaked Sandra out yesterday. Normally, she would have just given up and wrote it off as another social failure on her part. But she had realized that afternoon that she didn't want to. She and Bobby had both worked an obscene number of hours recently, including the case last night. She had been stressed and had gone over to his office to talk about their day. The two of them had been picking body parts out of shag carpeting for hours. His wife had shown up and was ready to drive him home since he was exhausted. She had been hugging him and cradling his head. Somewhere in the last several years, Detective Bobby Jones had turned into a really decent person. She had watched him and his wife for a moment. She realized she would never have anything like that. Then she corrected herself. She would never have anything like that if she kept giving up as soon as something appeared to be going wrong.

They were tossing Sandra's bags into her car when Shannon looked over. "I had fuh-... fun yesterday. I'm suh-... sorry about the wuh-... way I was acting. I duh-... don't duh-... date often. I wuh-... wasn't sure if it even wuh-... was a date."

Sandra actually started laughing. "Thank God! I thought I was the only one confused about that! At first I was just wanted to thank you, and then it turned into 'having drinks' and then there was the confusion about where to go . . ." An idea came to mind. "Do you want to try again? Let's just go do something and we drop this stuff off later. Dinner?"

Shannon rolled her eyes. "If yuh-... you'd seen suh-... some of the stuff I'd suh-... seen today, you woo-... wouldn't want to eat either. Buh-... but I don't muh-... mind watching whuh-... while you eat."

"I'll just grab something on the way to the house then." Just then, something caught her eye.

A few minutes later, the two women were playing miniature golf. Sandra grabbed a hotdog at the vending table and Shannon was sucking down diet-soda in a crazy-straw cup. They played golf, rode on go-carts and even played skee-ball. They did very badly at that last game. It was a first for a couple of fifteen-year-olds who had bloomed a little bit late. 

Afterward, they sat outside on the bench and watched other people play.

"Suh-... so, why did you guh-... get into music?"

Sandra sighed. "First of all, it was big business and I was good at business. I'd been watching my parent's business grow for a long time, and I saw how a well-run business made life better for everyone who worked there. The music industry was exciting, and I thought I meant I would get to hob-knob with all the celebrities and the big-shots. Then I became a big-shot and realized that hob-knobbing was really annoying. But I love it still. Especially w hen you find someone who's actually good and loves the music. I can't carry a tune in a bucket, but I recently found a band of girls that's gonna change the world someday. And I get to help them get there. The rest . . . the meetings, the public relations . . . it's all bullshit. It's all about seeing the next big thing when he or she or they break out." She stopped. "You know, I asked you the same question . . . I mean, how did you decide to do what you do?"




The Queen B



I had intended this to be a two or three part series, but as the characters developed, it seemed best to let the other two episodes take place in your minds. As written this story is foreplay for your mind. It is a story that will warm you up and usher you through the door. But from that point on, it is up to your imagination.

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WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2014 by The Technician.

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden. 

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* * * * * * * * * * * * 

It all started with a clicking in her left pedal. Bea didn't pay a whole lot of attention to it. She often rode unpaved trails and her bicycle picked up a lot of dirt and dust. When she got home, she made sure the bike was thoroughly cleaned and used some spray silicone lube on the left pedal.

That worked for a while, but the click returned, and soon she found that she was having to use the spray before each ride. And despite that, the clicking was getting louder. She could even feel it in her foot if she was pushing hard on an uphill.

I really should stop at the bike shop and have them look at that, she kept telling herself. But she continued to put it off and put it off. Then the click became a continuous high-pitched squeal. It was somewhat annoying, but with regular squirts of the silicone lube, it no longer seemed to be creating drag on her pedaling, so she continued to put off getting it fixed. Now she was sitting in the grass alongside Milk Run Trail slowly moving her arms and legs to make sure that she wasn't badly injured.

Having a bicycle pedal snap off at speed can be catastrophic. Luckily, her rear end was above the seat so that she slammed into that rather than the frame, but she was still bruised between the legs. Somehow she bounced her foot off the ground and retained some-but not total-control of the bike. Wobbling badly, she was able to brake and get into the grass, but that was it. When her wheels began to slip on the damp grass, she instinctively tried to press her feet down on the pedals to steady herself, but with one gone, her actions merely caused her to finally tumble.

Once she had assured herself that she was not significantly injured, she stood up and examined the damage to her bike. Except for the missing pedal, it appeared to be OK, but without the pedal, she wouldn't be able to ride it.

She looked both ways up the path. She was approximately in the middle of what was called "the long loop" of the path. The long loop went through farm fields and a forest area and, except for a couple of trails that evidently led up to houses, there were no exits. In one direction it was about seven miles to the highway. In the other direction, it was about nine miles into town and the main entrance to the trail. Since she didn't know which, if any, of the smaller trails actually led anywhere, those were her only options.

She pulled her phone out of her side pack and opened it to make a call, but then stopped. Who would she call? It wasn't exactly like she could call AAA and request a tow truck out on the trail. She checked the clock on her phone and saw that it was just past 8:00 pm. No one else would be starting out on the path this late. She was on her own.

She again looked both ways down the path trying to decide which option would be best. Finally, she shrugged her shoulders and said aloud to herself, "Either way, I am going to be walking in the dark." Her choice was made. She starting walking her bike toward town. 

The bike path she was walking down was called "The Milk Run." Like many bike paths throughout the country, it followed what was once a railroad track. At one time there was an electric train that would slowly make the 32-mile loop from the local dairy to the farms west of town and back. The train stopped running "just before the war"- meaning early 1940- when they graveled the roads and milk trucks were able to reliably get to the farms.

Since the tracks were owned by the dairy, they sat idle until the late 1970s when the dairy went out of business. The town bought the old dairy and turned the land into a park. The tracks were removed and the right-of-way turned into a jogging / biking trail. Several shops, including a restaurant, an ice cream shop, and, of course, a bike shop, sprang up alongside the park.

The Milk Run was Bea's favorite bicycle path primarily because it was so long and so isolated. Many people rode for exercise or to fit in with their friends. She rode for the solitude. She often had the ear pods of a music player stuck firmly in her ears as she rode, but the unit was never turned on. Instead, she was listening to- and watching- various erotic fantasies play out in her mind as her legs pumped automatically on the pedals.

Her erotic fantasies were the reason that she was on The Milk Run tonight. Her late evening rides were when those fantasies often became more than just in her mind. There was a small rest stop for bicyclists about a mile past where her pedal broke. More than once, she had ridden to that small oasis just before dark and then walked her bicycle onto the small path that led out behind the shelter. After hiding the bike- and her clothing- in the bushes, she would return to the table and lay upon it masturbating with one of her favorite dildos. There was a motion-controlled light in the shelter, but she had learned that there was a switch for it on one of the back posts, high on the outside nearly at the roof where it was not visible from the bike path. 

She often imagined herself tied to the table, being ravished by pirates or convicts or gangs of unbelievably handsome outlaws. Only once had she even come close to being caught. She was lying on the table in the darkness when a lone bike went past on the trail. Whoever it was probably lived somewhere on the path and was riding home. They had a small headlight aimed at the path and evidently did not see her on the table in the darkness.

The thought of tonight's missed rendevous brought a wry smile to her face... and a yearning between her legs. She was tempted to complete her fantasy here in the middle of the trail, but her soreness from the fall had broken the mood. Besides, she had a long walk ahead of her. As she walked slowly toward town, she tried to turn on the headlight and taillight, but neither was working.

Oh, well , she thought, at least I'm visible to anyone with a headlight.

Bea was indeed visible. To most people who regularly rode The Milk Run, she was known as "The Queen B." That was because of the distinctive outfit that she always wore. The skin-tight bicycle shorts were black with a four-inch stripe of color down each side. Most people called it yellow, but it was actually "visibility green." The center inch or so of the stripe was reflectorized.

The equally tight-fitting blouse was also black with wide, horizontal stripes of the same visibility green. A one inch vertical stripe beneath the arm and the lowest stripe on her sleeve were also reflectorized. In the middle of her back was a huge, reflectorized "B", also in visibility green.

It was that large "B" which had caused her to purchase the outfit from a French on-line site. Her full name was Beatrice Beverly Bomgartner. For some reason her mother was infatuated with old-fashioned names. She hated the name Beatrice and had gone by Bea or "B" since grade school. She consoled herself with the fact that at least she didn't have to deal with Myrtle as did her older sister.

The large "B" caught her eye as she was searching for black bicycle shorts. Black hides many things, but Bea was not looking for something to hide her shape or any oddness to her figure. She had perfect muscle tone and was exactly where the charts said her weight should be for her height. What she needed the black shorts for was to hide the fact that she was often very wet between her legs when she finished her fantasy-filled rides.

She didn't realize how bright the outfit actually was until it arrived. She also hadn't known that the large"B" stood for "bicycliste." The high visibility outfit was designed to appeal to nighttime riders training for the Tour de France. She had first worn it three years ago, and it immediately become her trademark. She ordered two more identical outfits so that she would always be "The Queen B" of the local bicycle paths.

When she first began wearing the outfit and heard people calling her "The Queen B", it sparked a new fantasy for her. She knew about the mating habits of bees. Her uncle kept hives and had explained it all to her as a child. As she rode, she envisioned herself as a true queen bee on her mating flight surrounded by drones. A vibrator inside of her that day took the place of their endophalluses- their little bee pricks which broke off after flooding the queen with sperm. The orgasm that resulted from that fantasy was so intense and overwhelmed her so suddenly that she had also found herself tumbling into the grass.

A sudden call of "Passing Left," broke her out of her reverie. A bike was approaching fast. All that was visible was a bright headlight in the darkness. There was a blur as it passed and then a blinking red light that was fading into the distance. But the red light was slowing and the headlight swung in an arc and began coming back to where she stood.

"Looks like you've got a problem," said a deep, rich voice from the darkness. Bea recognized the voice but she couldn't say from where.

"Broke a pedal," she answered the unseen man. "Looks like I'm walking home."

"Not necessarily," he answered. There was a click and his bike bobbed slightly. Then he stepped around into the glare of his headlight. 

He must have one of those European style double kickstands, Bea thought to herself.

As he stepped into the light, she could see that he was a young man in his mid to late twenties. His helmet hid his hair and much of his face, but what she could see could have been right out of her fantasies. His arms were obviously well-muscled, but not grotesquely so. His face had that Slovic sharpness to it, but the chiseling was just enough to give him an air of authority without making him look like a movie thug. His eyebrows, which she could see beneath his helmet were thick and a deep black, so that was probably the color of his hair.

She knew him from somewhere, but where?

He reached up toward his shoulders and slid a backpack to the ground. "All you need is a tow," he said.

Bea laughed and answered, "Yeah, I figured that, but Triple A doesn't have a tow truck small enough to come down the path."

He returned her laugh and said brightly, "You should have called a tow bicycle." He then opened his pack and carefully extracted a length of rope.

Bea caught her breath as she watched him slowly pull the rope out of the backpack. Two things caught her attention. One, the rope was soft, about a half-inch thick, and pure black. And two, as he pulled the rope out of the pack, a piece of leather that looked like an overly-wide dog collar fell onto the path. She recognized it immediately as a restraint cuff, and the rope looked exactly like the bondage ropes of her fantasies. She could feel the wetness returning to her crotch.

He quickly scooped up the leather cuff and put it back in the pack with the comment, "Don't need that tonight."

He then pulled his backpack into place and went over and unclipped his headlight from his handlebars. Using the light, he carefully examined her bike. "Looks like you hit pretty hard," he said. "You've knocked the batteries loose in both your lights." After a few clicking sounds, a bright spot of light was shining from her handlebars and three small red lights were blinking just beneath her seat.

Standing in the pool of light in front of her bike, he said, "Get on your bike. I'm going to tie this to the frame here, just below your handlebars. Then, I'm going to tie the other end to my seat post. That way I can tow you to the parking lot at the park." He paused before adding, "I assume that's where you parked your car."

"Actually, I rode from home," she replied, "but getting me to the park makes my walk a lot shorter."

"Then we'll just have to stop at the bike shop and get your pedal fixed," he said with a grin. 

She started to tell him that the bike shop would be closed, but he was already back at his bike. "Keep alert," he shouted over his shoulder as he tied the rope in place at that end. "You'll be pretty close behind me and I don't want you ramming into my ass if I have to slow down suddenly."

He started very slowly and gradually picked up speed. Soon Bea was rolling down the bike path behind him. One foot was firmly on the right pedal, the other was balanced precariously on the stub of her left pedal.

There is an old saying, "If you ain't the lead dog, the view never changes." For some reason Bea thought of that as she watched his legs pumping rhythmically in her headlight. His legs matched his other Slavic features with dark hair evident from the end of his shorts to the top of his socks. His ass was very firm and the rounded musculature matched the power displayed in his legs. He was bent low in a power stroke position so that he could pull the extra weight and it accentuated Bea's view. Watching his butt bounce as he pedaled, she suddenly realized who he was. It was Veek.

Veek was the owner of the bicycle shop. If you asked him why people called him Veek, he would tell you it was because his initials were VEK... Viktor Eduard Kohl. The truth was, however, that his mother was from the old country and when she would call him to come home as a small child, she would yell "Veeektoor, is time for soooper." It upset him when his American friends teased him with "Veeektor", but once it was shortened to "Veek", it was OK.

Bea remembered sitting at the ice cream shop next to Veek's with two of her girlfriends. He walked by and one of them made a comment about his cute butt. The other said, "Don't waste your time, he's gay." But the first said, "I don't think so. You should see the way he checks out Bea's ass when she's in the shop. I think he's just waiting for the right kind of girl."

Now Bea was checking out his ass... very thoroughly, after all, the view never changed. For the several minutes it took to get back to the start of the trail, all she could see was Veek's ass bobbing in the spotlight created by her bicycle headlamp.

"Start applying your brakes," Veek's voice instructed her, and he began slowing down. They coasted to a stop a short way from the lights of the parking lot. "Let's walk them in from here," he said as he untied the rope from the front of her bike. "I'll open the shop and fix your pedal and then you can be on your way."

"Oh," she chirped, "you're Veek," thankful that she didn't have to say that she had finally recognized his butt.

Despite the heavy roll-down night protection covering the windows, it only took a moment to open the shop. The door itself was all that needed to be opened and it had a separate protector. Veek wheeled his bike inside and Bea followed with her bike. He put his up on its stand and then walked over to the center display area where he did something so that a door swung inward.

Veek's shop had originally been two smaller shops and the two areas were still separate in the front. In the rear, the walls had been opened and a service counter and area went across the entire back. The result was that the shop was U-shaped with bicycles displayed and arranged along the outside-and the inside-of the U.

Evidently there was a good-sized room in the middle of that U for storage... or something.

A light came on as Veek pushed the door open and for a moment Bea thought that she could see several wooden structures inside. He quickly slid his pack onto the floor of the room, however, and pulled the door back closed before she could be sure of what they were.

As he turned back towards her she said, "I'm sorry I didn't recognize you on the trail. Thank you for rescuing me."

"'Tis nothing," he replied. There was absolutely no accent in his voice, but his facial expression and hand movements as he spoke were very European. He took the bike from her and wheeled it behind the counter into the service area. He clamped it in place at a work bay and quickly removed both the right pedal and the broken off stub of the left pedal.

He walked over to her with the stub in his hand and said, "You should have come in here three months ago when you first broke the bearing in this pedal."

"Yes," she replied. "That's when it started clicking." Then after a startled pause, she asked, "How did you know it had been that long?"

"Because that's how long," he explained, "it would take someone riding as much as you do to score the shaft sufficiently so that it would break under pressure."

He smiled at her, "I should have stopped you when I heard you go squealing past the other day. I knew that this would happen eventually if you didn't get it fixed. You were very careless not to take proper care of your bike. It could have resulted in you- or someone else on the path-getting very badly hurt."

Bea asked, "How do you know how much I ride?" She wasn't upset. She was only curious... very curious.

"There is only one Queen B," he replied with a chuckle. "Your outfit is a bit, shall we say... distinctive. I notice when you come into the store or when you ride by."

He smiled at her and his dark brown eyes seemed to twinkle, "All the drones notice when the Queen B flies past."

His smiled deepened and his voice changed. It became deeper, more resonant as he said, "But the Queen is looking for a King, not a drone, is she not?"

She looked at him. The confusion was obvious on her face.

"Did you know that many of the women who come into my shop think I'm gay?" he asked with a smile. "That's because I don't come on to them or respond to their flirtations."

He looked directly into Bea's eyes. "It's not that I'm not interested in women," he said quietly. His voice was very soft, but somehow retained that deep resonance. "It's that I am interested in a particular type of woman. ... a woman like you."

She heard her deep intake of breath and then realized that it was not his words which had caused it. It was his fingernails as he lightly ran the tips of his fingers backward over her right breast and nipple. "Black hides wetness very well," he said, "but it does not hide the perfume of passion that flows from your sexual fantasies. You have come into my shop many times reeking of your sexual desire."

Bea opened and closed her mouth several times, but no words came out. He continued speaking in a slightly louder voice, "But there is more than that."

Suddenly Veek turned back to the bike and began installing the new pedals. "Did you know," he said casually, "that the long loop rest area shelter is actually on private land?"




The Queen B



The sudden change in topic startled Bea and she stuttered, "N-n-no, I didn't."

"Yes," he continued, "the path on the backside of the shelter area goes up to a house... my house." 

He smiled at her and she felt the shock of what he had said register on her face. "I was wondering who kept turning off my security lights," he continued. "So, I installed an infra-red trail camera in the ceiling over the table in the shelter. Do you know what those are?"

"No," she replied.

"They are motion-triggered cameras used by hunters to take pictures of deer or other animals on trails. It gives them a better idea of where to set up their stands for hunting. This particular camera could be set for still photos or for video. I set it to take 30 seconds of video whenever it was triggered by movement. As long as someone was in the shelter, it would record."

He put the second pedal in place and begin tightening it with a special wrench. "Video includes sound," he said.

He looked up at her and smiled, "You make some very interesting sounds when you are masturbating on my tabletop."

Bea felt herself go totally red. "And you say some very interesting things... things which made me believe that while you took yourself to orgasm, you were imagining yourself tied and helpless on that tabletop."

He again brushed his fingertips lightly over her breasts. The tips of the fingers themselves were not touching her, only the very tips of his fingernails grazed the thin cloth that covered her body. It was a tantalizing almost-touch that sent waves of pleasure through her.

He set the large pedal wrench back onto his work counter and announced, "Repairs complete." He then wheeled the bike out into the middle of the room and put it on its stand. 

He turned toward her and began, "I came down to the shelter with my little bag of bondage goodies tonight to see if you were interested in turning fantasy into reality... but you weren't there."

He raised his eyebrows, made another European-style gesture with his hands, and said, "I had been so sure that you would be there. This was the perfect night for your nocturnal activities. It was even a Friday- your favorite night for your escapades- but you never appeared. I thought my guess was wrong. I was actually on my way back to the shop to return the materials to my play room when I came upon you broken down on the path."

He stood in front of Bea and spoke softly. "Had I found you at the table, I wouldn't have forced you. It would have been your choice whether or not to put yourself in my hands... but I was pretty sure what your choice would be."

He rolled her bike up next to the door. "It is still your choice," he said. "You can take your bike outside and pedal home..." He walked over to the wall and again opened the door to the inner room, "... or you can take off your Queen B spandex and walk naked into my play room. We will have some fun together here for a while and then I will tow you back to the shelter and leave you tied to the table for the rest of the night."

He once again smiled at her. "In the morning, I will make you breakfast at my house. Then I'll call my assistant manager and tell him I won't be in. That way we can spend the day together engaged in... ... further activities."

He reached across and pulled the shade all the way down on the door so that the interior of the shop was now completely hidden from outside eyes. "The decision is totally yours," he said in that soft, but resonant voice. "The scent in the air and the wetness apparent between your legs tells me what your body has decided. What you do next will tell me what your mind has decided."

He gave a short laugh, "Oh... and either way, the pedals are a gift from me to the Queen B of The Milk Run Bike Trail."

It was very, very quiet in the shop. Bea looked down at her crotch and could see the fabric glistening with her juices. She could faintly smell herself. Veek was right... about everything. This was her fantasy come to life. But could she actually go through with it?

She stood beside her bike for several long moments and then asked quietly, "When you tow me back to the rest area, will I be bound and naked?"

Veek answered just as quietly, "Of course."

He gestured toward the work area and added, "I will temporarily attach a senior stabilizer to your bike so you don't have to worry about steering or falling down while your hands are tied behind your back to the seat post."

"In that case," she replied, "I had better put my clothes in my seat pack."

The mating flight of the Queen B had finally begun.

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END OF STORY

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