Keywords: M/F, oral, anal, D/s
Author: W R Jenkins
Title: A Slight Nod

  Disclaimer:(standard) Do not screw up. Do not do anything illegal.
 This includes specifically (but not limited to) reading on if you are 
under 18- 21 in some localities  If you are underage you must leave 
now. If you're young and curious, this is not the place to get the 
straight story. You act like this and people will look at you strange 
and give you a wide berth. Also, don't try this at home. Some of this 
stuff is just plain wrong, most of it is unsafe in the present viral 
climate and some of it doesn't work in this universe. They are stories. 
They deal with ideas, fantasies and thoughts that might not even be 
pleasant in real life. Thoughts are like that. Fantasies are there so
we can toy with the sensations without feeling or inflicting the pain, 
despair or humiliation. End Sermon.

	A Slight Nod - (anod.txt) - All it takes for Clarisse to show
she understands is a slight nod. All Evander needs to know she is 
fulfilled is a blink of suffering. A contract long ago? A once
negotiated bond? Neither needs to remember, nor forget. M/F, D/s, 
oral, anal

	
			A Slight Nod

	Clarisse would never presume. She was still putting things in
their places in the kitchen when Evander came home. She immediately
turned to face him.
	She was still put away. Evander said nothing. Her hands went to
the tie of the satin gown that draped her, searching Evander's face for
any indication of displeasure. She untied the knot and let the gown
drop from her otherwise naked body. She was taken out for her master
to play with.
	She felt relief to be naked for him. The robe was a confining
reminder that she was abandoned. It covered her because he didn't want
anything from her. She was put away like a toy that pined for its
playmate's return, waiting without purpose until it was taken out
again. Naked, she could serve him, amuse him, fulfill his desires.
	"Back to work," he said casually, the very sound making her heart
beat a little faster.
	She turned and he continued into the next room. He always wanted
to take her out and play, but Clarisse always feared the day he would 
not. That fear came over her every day when he put the robe on her.
She lived in terror each second clothed that it would never end, that
he would leave her forever 'put away' and never take her out again.
	Everything in place, she bent to check the oven. The blast of
dangerous heat on her bare chest was a thrill. If she was burned, it 
would be for him. That idea caused a surge in her womb. She would lean
down and press her nipples against the cruel heat of the oven door if
he wished. She would do it without thinking, except perhaps wishing him
to feel joy greater than her pain as he saw her obey and smelled her
cooking flesh.
	That was how much she loved him. She shut the oven door doubting
she would ever be allowed to show him that devotion. Evander could 
torture her more truly with disdain than pain and he knew it. It was
out of pity and love that he had beaten her at all.
	He had explained that most clearly as he improvised her whipping
post by binding her wrists with his belt and forcing her on her toes
by trapping the belt over the bedroom door. He appreciated her
willingness to demonstrate her devotion, he said, but she had an
eagerness to feel the sear of pain that did not, to him, make it the
best way for her to demonstrate devotion.
	Perhaps she did think, he allowed, that suffering showed her
love and was excited by showing devotion, but he knew the truth was she
enjoyed suffering and that made it too much of a treat for her to serve
as a sacrifice for him. But she had served well, particularly well and
she should consider it a treat.
	Certainly she was bathed in sweat, tears, blood and musk as the
oak switch cut at her flesh. She was aroused by serving, she argued.
There was only pain from the slashing, welting strokes he lavished on
each part of her exposed skin. She strangled real screams of agony in
her throat as some strokes took her beyond mere pain into the ante-
rooms of Hell.
	When he turned her to expose her breasts and thighs, she found 
his eyes with desperation. She needed the reminder to go on with the
torture. She needed to do it for him. She could not enjoy that pain,
she argued to herself. Even if she did know it brought the greatest
contentment along with the brightest fire burning in her sex to endure
it- for him.
	"Almost ready?" Evander stepped in to ask.
	His eyes flickered away for a second. Clarisse froze, hoping. He
looked at her and gave a slight nod.
	She dropped to knees, breathing hard so she would not hurry. She
carefully opened his belt and pressed it aside. She undid the hook at
his waistband and slowly slid the zipper down. She took more deep
breaths to keep her hands steady as she drew his trousers down.
	She did not forget the order. It was only selfishness if she did.
Evander had educated her when she seemed to make mistakes for the 
purpose of being punished. It was willful. She was hoping (bad girl!)
to make a correction a pleasure. He had left her robe on a whole day-
36 nerve-wracking hours as she precisely counted each one.
	She reached in the opening of his shorts and found his prick. She
did love this too. But it was so ordinary. Any woman who felt whatever
pale shade of love she felt for her man would do this. There was no act
meant to produce joy that could accurately show her love.
	 She caressed him with her tongue and then sucked the limp organ
into her mouth. Both he and she liked to feel his organ completely
encased in her mouth as it uncoiled and came erect. She waited and was
quickly rewarded by the creeping, crawling squirm of his cock growing
in the gentle suction.
	Evander did not speak. He did not need to direct this simplest 
of requests. If she loved him near as much as she promised, she should
sense his desire. She would know, as indeed she seemed to, when he
wanted the easy release of his tension into her eagerly accepting
mouth.
	Clarisse blushed as his hardness pressed the back of her throat
and made her lurch. She had an impulse to dive forward, to struggle
on the impaling shaft to show her devotion. She pulled back as she knew
she should.
	Do it simple. Do it like a whore. Those were the instructions he
gave her. He wanted to be aroused to orgasm. This was about making him
cum. It was a simple release for him, so he could feel less tension.
	She moved an inch back and forth with the head of his cock in
her mouth. Her fingers ringed the base of his shaft and jerked him
rapidly and hard. Evander shifted slightly as she jacked him off into
her mouth. She didn't tire. She kept sucking. There was nothing else in
her world until she felt the hot salt spew fill her mouth.
	Evander was a little tardy today and she reveled in the extension.
It was more of a chance to show him she would suck him forever if it
took that long. She only hungered to please him.
	"Put it away, and now dinner," Evander said shortly after filling
her mouth with his ejaculate.
	She would serve like a maid, ever eager for any chance to give
proof of her obedience, but mostly to pass plates and serve. Evander's
deepest understanding of her soul told him her restraint was tested
more by refraining from anything extraordinary.
	It was so. Clarisse had been squeezed out of her old box with
a jet that threw her to the wall farthest from her prior self. Now the
need to please held her every thought as liberation from chains in 
which she had kept her urges for pleasure in earlier times.
	He had tested her to his satisfaction before her beating. It was
her passive acceptance, even indifference to his instructions that 
earned her what he had discovered was her truest pleasure. She would
balk at nothing he would command. Her former skin was shed completely.

	Long ago, she sat by her window, about to be changed.
	There was good and right and proper and correct. Without them 
being spoken, she had learned the regulations growing up. Nothing
daring was allowed. Anything beyond the quiet blandness of staying in
step, being nothing more inside than she showed outside was prohibited.
	Then she saw them. She could never curse them for what they did
to her because she knew she only had to turn away. She could have left
them to their nasty behavior, but she didn't. She stayed.
	They may have been in love. They may have been married (although
she subsequently found that wasn't true). She knew nothing about the
man and woman she saw across the way in their window, only that they
were naked and holding each other.
	She was no virgin, not even a particularly good girl, but she had
never watched two people so obviously preparing to have sex. However
easy it was to convince her into bed, it was not the same as intruding
on this private moment of others.
	Afterwards, in self-defense, she may have argued that they were
not concerned about privacy, but she knew how wrong it was as she 
watched. She felt like a dirty little peeper, creeping along to peer
over the windowsills into people's homes. And still she could not stop
watching.
	His hands were on her, cupping and molding her breast as their
faces pressed together. Her hand was in his hair, pulling him into the
kiss. His mouth found her neck. Her hands stoked his back, his dropped 
to her buttocks.
	His mouth found her again and his hand disappeared between her
legs. She twisted on his fingers and he surged against her as they
kissed. When they broke the kiss she pulled him toward the bed.
	Clarisse was sweating. Her hands stroked nervously down her
thighs to her knees and back. It was exciting. She had her chance now,
she urged herself, she could move away from the window. But the moment
of realization passed and she did not move.
	She was sprawled on her back with him half over her and half
on top of her. His hip blocked what her hand was doing, but Clarisse
was not such a novice that she didn't know she was stroking his penis,
his organ, his prick, his cock. His hands were again roving over her
body from squeezing her breasts to dipping into the valley between her
legs.
	Their kisses were short pecks as he shared his lips with her and
her body. She stretched languorously as his mouth traveled down her 
body. Clarisse could almost hear her sighs as his lips paused on her
nipples. She could feel her own nipples erect in sympathy for her. Her
own hands were becoming unruly, leaving her legs to lurk around her 
waist, looking for an excuse to sweep up and caress her own breasts.
	His mouth paused around her navel and Clarisse caught her breath
as the woman brought her knees up and Clarisse caught a wink of pink
where the woman's sex had parted in anticipation. His travel downward,
which disturbed Clarisse most of all, was interrupted by the woman
pulling him up.
	There was an exchange and he settled between her legs, poised
and then pushing forward. Clarisse's hands had wandered. One now 
cupped her breast while the other strayed almost teasingly to the 
furry parts below. 
 	There was no longer much to see in the other apartment. The man's
buttocks heaved up and down between the woman's lifted knees. But
Clarisse could not abandon her post at her own window. It seemed there
was a connection to what was happening that would be broken if she
moved. She could see nothing more interesting than thrusting buttocks
and flailing knees but she felt it more deeply than she had as she
merely watched their foreplay.
	She wasn't the woman, feeling the hard cock plunge into her. She
was both cock and cunt as she peeped in on their sex. Her fingers were
the penetrators and she was penetrated. She participated as both
partners while she watched them fuck. She felt like the spirit of their
junction, her own rising lust only a product of theirs and theirs only
a product of hers.
	She came, still desperately watching them, and then dread came
over her like the chill of her drying sweat. What was she doing? As 
horrible was the total blank state she had entered into while she
watched. Her unleashed inhibition was shocking but it paled as she 
realized it went unnoticed. She felt uneasy that she had given herself
so easily to fingering herself. She felt panic that she had done so
without thinking.
	Would she have done so if she had been in the street? Would
company have been enough distraction to prevent her from touching
herself in front of them? She tried to believe that neither was true,
but she questioned her faith. Her hands had acted without direction,
without conscious control.
	All that panic only delayed the other horror. Instead of turning
away when she saw that private moment across the way, she had looked.
She looked, she stayed, she trespassed on their privacy. Too easily
she had given in to the dirty urge to sneak her peek, to know them 
without their knowing.
	Her revulsion was in place the next time. She hated herself and
begged herself to turn away, but she looked out each time she passed
that window. And when he was there with another woman, she stayed. She
watched in her dark apartment, feeling like she had been possessed by
some demon of lust.
	It was the same with the next- and the next.
	"I know you," he said to her as they passed on the street.
	That could not be so. Perhaps it was the way he found the women
that made the parade into his window, but he couldn't know.
	"Excuse me?" Clarisse said, ready to rebuke his advance.
	"Don't you know that the light that lets you see illuminates you
in return? A pale reflection of a face like a ghost across the way,"
he said, his voice dropping as he added. "And sometimes even more
emerging from the dark, a naked ghost haunting my liaisons."
	The flush of blushing embarrassment had no chance against the
fear draining the blood from her skin. She felt pale and cold as she
knew he knew. It was no guess that made him confront her. He had not
been singling out every one he passed. He had picked her face from the
crowd.
	"Now I suppose I'm supposed to be one of those women? You want
me to join the parade, come up, let you use me and then go on?" she
asked to mask her panic.
	"Oh no," he said, his manner changing, a smile coming to his
face, "I think there are better things for you to do."
	It was a dizzy feeling, a feeling of spinning and falling, a 
feeling of dropping into a pit. Up there, way up there, was his face 
blocking the light that came in the hole. Clarisse was trapped by her
own embarrassment, her own fear of discovery. It was her first step,
her first fall into darkness.
	She stood by her window. He had arranged the bed to give them 
both a clearer view. She was not allowed to peer around the sill. She
stood in the open, full frontal nudity turned toward his window. She
felt even his briefest glance when his eyes came up to look across at
her before turning back to the woman he was with.
	She was to watch while he knew she was watching. She was to
stand exposed in her window so he could look at her as she watched him.
Clarisse felt the reversal deep in her heart. She was the victim of her
own voyeurism now. She felt his control as if she was tied to strings
which he was pulling from across the way.
	He had given her permission, ordered her really, to touch herself
as he claimed his latest conquest. His eyes were on her, smug look on
his face, as the woman knelt and sucked his cock. Her hands roamed her
body as he watched.
	She was sickest when it was over. Only then did her actions 
become her concern. The source of her deepest nausea was how easily she
obeyed. Even prickling with awareness of his eyes, her hands touched
her flesh at their own bidding. She was not coerced into her shameless
masturbation, only freed.
	Her willingness, even when humiliating herself, to give in to her
urges was a source of confusion and disgust. Clarisse was beset with
revulsion. If she could, she would run as fast and as far as she could
from someone like herself. Only she knew, with growing distaste, that
she could not escape herself.
	She was not even allowed her self-loathing. He made it a point to
intercept her after she had yielded to the weakest flirtation and
brought home a man whom she allowed to ravish her in all the ways he
wished. She was giving the slut she was what it wanted, but she was to
be denied even that form of punishing herself for her shame.
	"I didn't say I wanted to watch," he told her sternly. "You are
never to do that again. You are to watch me. Perhaps, if you learn to
to do what you are told, I will see to a more personal satisfaction for
you- but you must earn it."
	It was pointless to say he had nerve. She knew that. It was as
pointless for her to consider resisting his commands. As much as his
assumption rankled her, she knew she would not transgress. The same
sense of necessity that made her loathe what she was doing had seemed
to transfer to obeying his depraved commands.
	She stood in the window and touched herself as she watched him
with other women. She went to the window at his command and touched 
herself while he stood and watched. Every time she fell on her bed
and pounded her fists afterward. It was wrong. She was evil. And she
could not stop.
	"If you wish, I could stop by and give you some relief," he said
in passing.
	She hated him more than she craved more. She didn't need his
pathetic hand-out. She would not stoop to admitting her need, not to
him. She would not make that decision. She would not confess to such
an uncontrolled urge. She would not make it her fault.
	"Whatever you want," her mouth betrayed her.
	"Exactly," he said.
	She was NOT his toy. This horrible insanity had to END. She was
on the verge of lapsing into some dark inescapable void of madness.
Not only did she have these devil urges, she had given in to this
man's demands like he had some power over her. He had no power. She
had to break that foolishness. Then she could find- through therapy and
perhaps prayer- why she was a victim of her other carnal obsessions.
	After days of that smoking tirade from within herself, Clarisse
was trembling in fear when he arrived. Whether he or her own anger was
more terrible, she couldn't decide. She felt like a third party, 
quaking at the confrontation and doomed to be a hostage of the victor.
	Her anger, self-righteousness and resolve all linked hands and
fled. She was left alone to confront him.
	"My, my, Clarisse, you do try so hard to hide who you are," he
said looking about her apartment.
	His knowledge and his critique did nothing to calm her thumping
heart. She didn't think he would attack her, yet he felt more dangerous
than that. Clarisse resisted.
	"Maybe you just don't know who I am really," Clarisse said.
	His brows came together and his mouth turned down. For an instant
Clarisse felt she had won something, but that hope faded as she
suffered his disapproving gaze.
	"You are the one living a lie," he said in a quiet voice. "We
both know about those cravings you try to hide- obviously from even
yourself. We both know you want things you have not faced."
	No. She was not going to share that with him. He knew nothing. He
knew she was a voyeur who he had trapped into bribing his silence. That
was more than enough. She felt resistance rise.
	"Take off your clothes," he said when she remained silent. "And
be quick about it."
	Her hands went to the buttons of her blouse. Something inside her
was grumbling, but it was not enough to stop her undressing. She
dropped her blouse and reached back to unsnap her bra. She was taking
off her skirt when he spoke again.
	"When you are done there, you will crawl to me on your hands and
knees and take out my cock," he told her. "Now hurry up."
	It didn't disgust her. That more than anything made her act. She
felt the danger of obeying more sharply. She felt a deep hole in front
of her. She felt a long dark fall coming if she went on.
	"I don't want to," escaped her mouth.
	She felt dread mixed with relief. She had not been able to muster
the courage to speak. Her thoughts escaping in that unguarded moment 
eased some inner tension, but made her skin tighten in fear.
	He regarded her coldly. His eyes flashed for a moment, but then
went cold like the last ember dying in a fire.
	"Then live in the Hell you make for yourself," he said. "I'm not
going to beg you to climb out of the pit."
	He turned on his heel and walked away.

	She felt a twinge of loss, but it was lost in over-riding relief.
She hade been on the verge of something, something dangerous. She felt
better having escaped.
	The euphoria was less as her other urges began to pull at her
again. There was loss. The apartment across the way remained dark. It
was a slammed door. She had lost the source, the evil source, the 
source that made her uneasy, but the source of her secret fulfillment.
	Good, she tried to tell herself. The things you were doing were
sick. But the beast that had been briefly triumphant was not tamed.
She looked with predictably dashed hopes across to his window each time
she passed. The beast raged to be fed.
	There were other ways, she told herself. She could replace the
dangerous with the merely bad. She was hard on herself. She was
over-protective, unyielding and old-fashioned. It wouldn't hurt to
loosen up a little bit. She didn't have to listen to anyone. She was a
grown woman free to do what pleased her.
	She looked at the window across the way, not for the presence she
knew would not appear, but in spite as she brought home a man. She 
didn't bring him home for another man to watch. She brought him home
to fuck him.
	It was like the temporary relief of ice on a burn, and that was
in the best case. Some egotistical and selfish pigs only made her
yearnings worse. They would tease her with fulfillment, with release,
and then shoot off too soon to deliver.
	In the best case she would feel the glow of satisfaction and the
warmth of an embrace as a temporary peace. Before they were dressed, or
just after they had rolled over, in the rare cases that they spent more
time with her than it took to fuck her, she felt the need return. Her
lust was not satisfied, it was only suspended. The only relief was the
blissful oblivion of orgasm and the relief only lasted as long as her
climax.
	She never quite grasped the pathetic sadness of finding a man who
would take the time to come home and fuck her and then finding another.
Part of her did not admit it was happening at all. Another part was
only interested in the mechanics of procuring another man to fuck her.
	When she had worn out her best choices, she began to find other
men and one of them gave her a new perspective. He wasn't exactly a
bum. He was a regular in one of the local bars and shabby at worst.
	They differed on what her invitation implied and he held her up
to a mirror and explained to her what she saw. And he did what he 
wanted anyway.
	"What the fuck you mean? Don't give me that shit!" he said when
she asked him to wash his dick before she sucked it. "You're the one
with needs here. Don't go telling me what to do."
	She wondered what he meant about her needs, but he shoved his
cock into her face and she lost that thought. That was only the
beginning.
	"No- Please! Just fuck me some more. I'm so close!" Clarisse
begged him when he pulled out of her.
	"I've seen your kind before," he told her. "You think you're
going to get off, but you never do. That's why you can't stop fucking
all day and all night. It ain't really gonna happen, so roll over and
let me fuck you in the ass."
	He thought she was a nympho? A blur of the faces of other men in
her head made her stop a second to see if he had a point. That
rumination was interrupted when the man started pulling at her hips to
make her roll over. She did cum and she didn't want anything up her
ass.
	"I don't do it that way," she said plainly and tried to pull away
from his hands.
	He took a hand away and punched her with it.
	"You do what I tell you." he informed her as he hit her again.
"You can't be giving it away like you do and then get picky. You ain't
telling me I can't do you however I want."
	However confused and unfair she thought his reasoning was, it
was still better than the beating when he stopped punching her and 
rolled her onto her stomach. She wasn't looking forward to it, but she 
was certain that pain would be less than a crashing fist.
	"Just spread your legs. You're fine like that," he told her.
	Without knowing how kind he was being, Clarisse did not try to
fight the finger that spread something greasy on her anus. It was only
creepy and that was much better than being punched. Then she felt his
weight on the bed and he leaned over her.
	"See now, baby? You know you wanted it," he said to her as he 
pushed his cock between her buttocks searching for her asshole.
	Wanted was too strong. Finding it only annoying in comparison to
being beaten was about the best she could say. He had anesthetized any
silly concerns about proper and acceptable with his punches. It was
only a matter of letting him fuck her ass and then surviving.
	She found the annoyance diminishing and her fear growing to
replace it as he fucked furiously into her ass. The stabbing pound had
gone into a grayness that let her think of what might come next.
	She counted herself lucky. When he came in great jerking thrusts,
he drove the last thrust deep and held it. Clarisse tried to keep her
panic at bay. Then he got up.
	"That was good," he said as he dressed, his bravado slipping a
bit as he added, "Um... Sorry about, you know, getting rough. But you
shouldn't try to order people around."
	Clearly that was his job. It was two weeks before Clarisse could
bring herself to that thought. Before that she shook with nervous fear
when she thought of him and sometimes for no reason at all. She kept
seeing things out of the corner of her eye that disappeared when she
turned. It took time to recover.
	Then she found recovery had been a time of relative joy. With
her world shrunk down to the box of fear around her, there was no space
for her to feel the need that had driven her seek out men in the first
place. When she had stopped jumping at the sound of a tick of the
clock, that dilemma took her.
	There was a clean basicness in being hit that brought a clarity
to the issues of life, but she was not interested in a philosophical
endeavor, definitely not that one. The fear of and resolve not to 
repeat that experience made her temporary solutions obsolete. That 
left her with an absent man and desires that he would never satisfy
again. It wasn't really a dilemma, it was just a no-win situation.
	She existed as a husk until she chanced to meet him on the
street. Suddenly there was hope. She felt real again. She caught up
to him.
	"You haven't been around forever," she said.
	He gave her a strange look. It wasn't exactly questioning who she
was. It was clear he knew her. It was questioning what she could have
to say to him.
	"I've changed my mind," she said hurriedly, "I do want to do what
you want me to do."
	"You said you didn't." he accused.
	"I've changed my mind," she said again more plaintively.
	"How do I know you won't change it back?" he asked her.
	He had stopped finally. They were in the middle of the sidewalk
although the traffic was light.
	"I've had a lot of time to figure it out," she said. "I think
you understand something about me I don't understand."
	He seemed unimpressed by her repentance. He just looked at her as
if he was expecting more. Clarisse didn't know what to say. She wasn't
sure what it was. And his eyes kept expecting. She felt them press her
down.
	"Please," she begged, sinking to her knees and tugging at his
trouser leg, "I'll do whatever you say. I'll do anything you tell me.
Just come and see me again."
	Clarisse knew where she was. It wasn't important. She needed him
desperately and she thought this was what he wanted. She had no thought
of the people staring. She had to do this.
	"Leave me alone," he pulled his leg away. "You said you didn't
want to."
	There was nothing to do but absorb the loss. Perhaps she would
find another man who knew what this one knew. She could only hope and
look. She would try and be careful, but she couldn't stop. It was 
misery too dire to live on the edge of her urges. She had to find her
tormented soul some rest.

	But we know the ending is a happy one. One night there was a 
light across the way. If it was a dream, Clarisse wanted to dream it.
She went to her window and stared out.
	He was there. He was alone, standing framed in the light. He
pointed to her and made a dismissive gesture. Her heart sank until a
different interpretation suggested itself to her.
	She opened her robe and let it drop. He crossed his arms. She
took off bra and panties and stood in front of the window for him. He
stood still for long moments and then his hand came up. He beckoned.
	She felt a rush of joy, of freedom, of dreams come true. She did
not think about being naked until she was lit, bright and pale, by
the headlights of a car in the street as she crossed. Then she noticed 
it without caring. Her mission was to reach that room in which she had
seen so many women seduced, to meet that man and do whatever he asked.
	"Will you crawl to me now?" he asked as she opened the door.
	She went to her hands and knees before she answered- "yes".
	"I will tell you what happens to bad girls while you suck my
cock," he told her. "I won't punish you for what you did before you
heard the rules."
	That was very nice of him. He was fair, if strict. If she ever
chanced to lose him again, she deserved to be punished. She trusted him
to only make her suffer her due.
	It was the relief of returning home. She had no faith in any of
her beliefs anymore. She was willing to accept what he told her. She
knew it had all felt wrong without him and that it all felt right now.
She felt safer thinking he might whip her than existing alone where
she would inflict deeper wounds on herself.
	He wasted no time listing payment for sins. As his cock throbbed
in her mouth he told her he was obeyed. He punished as he saw fit and
told her to do what he wanted. She obeyed. Her part was simple. He was
burdened by teaching her what to do, both by ordering and by
correcting. She should be grateful.
	Clarisse had not taken a blow to the head. She was aware of their
positions and aware that instructing her was not the burden he claimed.
Still it seemed a fair exchange. She knew that she needed him now and
that part of her need was to give him control. She had been at her
happiest doing his bidding, tripping into forbidden areas light-hearted
and being sated.
	She knew, without allowing it to rise to the level of conscious
consideration which might alert that part, that part of her was a
jealous master he was replacing. It was that doom-saying part she no
longer wished to hear. That was the bondage. She was escaping its
joyless tyranny into the freedom to obey.
	The paradoxes comforted her. She felt more alive and at peace.
Most important, she knew she had found her place. 
	"On the bed," he said when she had been given his expectations.
	Clarisse crawled. She had not been told otherwise. She got up on
the bed and rolled on her back, legs wide open for him.
	Evander was impressed with her. She knew nothing of the world he
invited her into a few weeks before. He saw her potential in the way 
she had responded to his first naughty play games, but then was 
disappointed and, frankly, surprised when she showed her complete 
innocence of his intentions.
	He thought he had mistaken her desires. It was some strange quirk
that she would play voyeur at his command. Now he saw a precocious
grasp of his intent along with her embracing her role. He was impressed
with her natural sense of place. She still did not, he was sure, know
the world she entered, but she was born to live in it.
	"How should I take you?" he tested her.
	"However gives you the most pleasure," she said. "Any way you wish."
	Busy thoughts crowded Clarisse's mind, but her brain's activity
was scarce competition for the vibration in her body. She was already
healed more than any momentary orgasm had done. She sparkled in
anticipation of the greater reward of having him use her.
	He could hit her and she would thank him. Use me, her body cried.
Flashes of the other cocks that had brought pale relief, the punches
that terrorized her, the sodomy she endured, were changed in his
presence. Any- all!- would carry a different meaning delivered by him.
	She needed him. Anything that would please him was what she
wanted to give. She had once thought of obedience as a pit. She now
knew it was the enfolding arms of safe haven, protection from the
storms in the open. She left misery and trouble to be safe in his care.
	"Get on your knees," he said. "face down on the pillow."
	Hope put her in position. The dizzying joy that he had returned
erased her past and banished the tyrant within. He was stronger than
her inner critic. She realized her position exposed her to his whim
and felt excitement in the hope he would take advantage.
	"I have seen you with a man so I know you are not a virgin," he
said with bitterness creeping into his voice as his finger traced the
opening of her sex. "I suppose I can still make use of this."
	Clarisse went cold then hot as she felt his displeasure and then
his decision. She was eager for his cock to enter her.
	"Has anyone used this entrance?" he asked as his finger slid up
to press against her anus.
	Someone had. The details were still dim, lost in that haze of 
fear she had survived, but someone had. She wished she did not have to
admit it. She was sure he would be disappointed.
	"When I ask a question, you must speak," he said. "When I ask,
you will answer."
	Already she was worthless. So soon she had erred. His tone was
firm and not angry, but Clarisse screamed at herself in his stead. She
felt a need to be punished.
	She answered. A man beat her for refusing and then forced himself
into her rear passage. She didn't remember much about it except it was
better than the beating.
	He seemed pleased. Clarisse was puzzled. She heard him chuckle
but it was not her place to question. He pushed his finger into her
ass.
	"Will I have to beat you to use this?" he asked.
	"You can do anything you want," she said. "You can beat me to use
me if you wish."
	The words felt shocking but Clarisse knew they were true. She did
not doubt he would be as fierce, but from him she could accept the
crushing impacts with happiness. The moments would narrow to the clear
suffering as before, but it would be content and not fear that made
the cage.
	"You will not change your mind?" he asked.
	He had found the point that still could bring her pain. Clarisse
startled when he asked. Her treachery, her faithlessness, her denial
of him triggered fear that she could not endure. In a voice shaking 
with panic she replied.
	"NO. I am yours. Forever. Or as long as you want me," she said.
	'As long as you want me' also brought fear. It rivaled her pain
at remembering her disloyalty. She had to make him want her. She had to
erase all memory of her lack of faith.
	"Lay on your back," he instructed.
	If he was testing her, it was less than a test. She had passed
this test when she knelt at his feet on the street. She understood what
she was giving. She was his. Every part of her, every action she took
was his. She had been desperate for this feeling as she sought him.
	He noticed how her breasts mounded even as much of their mass
draped down the sides of her ribs. He noticed the swoop to a narrow
belly and then broad curves out to her hips. He noticed that her 
natural fur thatched heavily on her mons and then trickled in a
pubescent fineness around her lips down her crotch.
	He saw her sex swollen and bursting like a ripe peach with 
watermelon red lips parted and glistening within. She was aroused to be
his. She had seemed the ghost of a dream in her window when he first 
saw her. He had accepted the blame for her rejection when he first
approached her. He had thought his own desire to possess her had
caused him to be hasty, to confuse his wish with hers.
	His punishment had been to discard the attempt. He vowed to
prepare the next object of his fancy fully, more properly, more
completely before he offered to possess them. He had given up on her.
	There she was. She had fulfilled the penance for both of them
with her perseverance. She had forgiven him at his feet and made
herself worthy with her devotion to the window in which he appeared.
He expected no less than obedience when he summoned her. He already
knew she was his.
	But now she was flesh. He allowed himself a trickle of glee as
he looked over her. He deserved her. She would be worthy of him.
	"You've got nice tits," he said. "Nice big ones."
	Clarisse remained silent, unsure if she was to thank him.
	"You have no objection to piercing them, perhaps hanging from
them?" he asked.
	"I... I am yours. I will do whatever you wish," she replied.
	He saw the catch in her throat came from joy rather than fear.
Her sex oozed more oily fluid like a tear. She wanted him to hurt her.
She wanted to endure most horrible torture to prove herself. He smiled.
	Clarisse did see her pain in a romantic vision. Each second of
agony would be more love she gave him. She did not understand as well
the devotion of stillness. She ached for him to pleasure himself with
her and felt panic rise in her when she saw his cock was slumping 
from erect to half mast.
	Was she unworthy to excite him? Did she not please him? She
couldn't take any more of the hollow existence without him. Was he
going to reject her? Was he going to find her undeserving? Her fears
cut her deeper than any knife.
	His mind had turned to other matters. He was aroused at a higher
level than his groin. There was more joy in her gift of herself than
tits and ass and cunt and mouth. She was fingers and toes and arms and
legs and eyes and mind as well. She had offered herself whole.
	He had in his power- and care- a being which was his to command
and for which he was responsible. Her trust was more powerful than any
aphrodisiac. His power over her was more exciting than days of orgasm.
He allowed himself to assess his new property a few moments more.
	"Go to the bathroom," he said after the pause.
	She was puzzled. He saw that as a good sign. He made himself clearer.
	"Get up and walk to the bathroom," he revised.
	That was almost as puzzling. Clarisse got up and took a timid
step toward the wall with two doors. He stifled saying the direction of
the proper door. He waited to see what she would do.
	She walked toward the left door. That was correct, but she had no
way of knowing. That made each step suspenseful as she approached her
choice. She did not understand. She did not feel she needed to, but
that left the mystery of why she had to choose. Did it amuse him to
make her pick her fate? Was one door reward, or at least amnesty, and
the other punishment or was it simply a choice between punishments?
	In the end it did not matter. She would do what she was told and
guess as best she could.
	It was that decision which made him happiest. Her confusion was
obvious and her decision plain to see as she walked to the door of her
choice and opened it. She would be bold and she would be obedient.
	The toilet and the shower were something of a let-down to
 Clarisse. Not in themselves, but as a tool of understanding. Of
course, if he punished her, she would know he was bound to, whatever the
outcome, but she did not know what would have happened if she was
wrong.
	"The other door is the kitchen," he said, satisfied with the
experiment. "You may move between these three rooms when I am not
here. When I am here I will instruct you."
	He was sending her on the tour. Clarisse had a sinking feeling.
She wanted him to do something to her. She had been supremely ready 
for him to take her while she was on the bed. Now it seemed he was
not going to.
	"Did you lock your... Of course you didn't," he said and then
knit his brows to say: "Stay here."
	He left. Clarisse explored. She went into the kitchen and then
came back to sit on the bed. She bristled with energy as if she was
waiting for her cue to be onstage. She had yet to consider more than
his return.
	He found her door open. He pulled it closed behind him and then
looked for her keys. He was not here to paw through her underwear or
search out her secret hiding places.
	In a very real sense and in every sense that applied to him, she
no longer had this past. Her history extended back no further than her
naked dash out her door. His only other stop was in her bedroom to
loot her closet of the robe she wore when he first saw her.
	The rest he could have moved to storage. He would inquire about
her lease. Perhaps he would leave it for a while. He would have to 
wait and see. He locked the door behind him when he left.
	Clarisse stood without knowing why when he came in the door.
He didn't seem to notice.
	"You will wear this when you are alone," he told her, holding
up her robe. "When I am here you will be as you are."
	Clarisse nodded, but he didn't need her acknowledgement. He had
another matter to attend to.
	"Crawl over and take out my cock," he told her.
	For him, a rift in time was mended as she dropped to her hands 
and knees. Weeks between his order and this compliance no longer 
existed. For her, time started. She came out of the void she had been
in between the command and this moment.
	She thought of his wrath and dared it as she took his cock in 
her mouth without instruction. She was compelled to show him her
eagerness to serve. And she was not adverse to being punished. There
was a blackness of mystery to it that she desired as much as feared.
	"Now lower my pants," he said and the instruction began.
	Open the belt and press it back. The hook and then, if it is not
open, the zipper, firmly on both sides, lower, not drop. She would need
only once to memorize it. She would have only one chance.
	He left her anus unfilled that night. He sated himself between
her legs, facing her, in just the position she had first seen him in
when she first saw him across the way.
	It was joy beyond telling. Her heart surged as if to burst from
the moment his member slipped into her soggy and aching sex. Every 
second was more than the most thunderous orgasms from the rapidly
fading past. Feeling him use her was a bliss that she had never 
dreamed. Her response to his cumming blurred in its brilliance. She
could only recall, in tiny detail, his shudder, the swelling of his
cock inside her and the jerks as he filled her with hot joy.
	Then her heart was quiet, content. If there had ever been a
doubt she did not remember it. Her longing had been fulfilled. She
now knew what mysterious goal she sought. She was lying at the center
of it. It was calm and peace. She had found her place.

	He trained her in those three rooms. He was most severe in 
wrenching her from her past. She was allowed to wear her robe when she
crossed to her old apartment to select clothes. That was his kindest
act.
	She was to resign. There was no question of continuing. She was
not coming in any more. She would accept their anger or scorn without
compromise. If pressed, she could offer sex as a compensation, but not
even one more day.
	For Clarisse it was no challenge. She repeated the words she was
ordered to say. She heard the anger and disdain without emotion. They
were not real any more. She lived in a different world now. She felt no
need to compensate them. She didn't belong to them.
	She was cheated of the joke when a vice-president called her to
berate her more.
	"Of course I love you," she answered as prompted after Evander
had listened to the man say she would never work again.
	"I will always admire working people," she said after the voice
had tried to impress her with his importance and the direness of his
threats.
	She did not know the anger and confusion the vice-president was left with as the phone hung up. She did not visit the apartment again. It was cleared out within the week. She disappeared from her past existence.
	He beat her with a rolled up newspaper like a puppy until he saw
that she erred to earn the punishment. He did regard her joy, but it
was not the tool to correct her. That he could do better by banishing
her. Instead of less cruel, Clarisse found 'time out's to be monstrous
compared to the comfort of suffering pain for him.
	Though she did not believe it herself, he understood that
pain was pain to her. He knew she had no masochistic magic to turn
it to pleasure. He understood, as she didn't, that her content at
suffering for him was a reward. And it was a reward that he did not
wish to offer her often.
	Her bleeding, cross-hatched body after her torment with the
switch disturbed him. As unsettling was knowing the gratitude he felt
at her craving to endure it to prove herself to him. It was a
resignation, like putting a suffering animal out of its misery, that 
made him take her damaged body brutally and force her to swing between
pain and climax as he drove inexorably into her bleeding flesh.
	Contrarily, she felt safest in that time he was using her after
she had endured the beating for him.
	She was then the finished product, although her final test was
ill conceived. Perhaps she did not need it. It was most certainly more
significant to him than her. He needed the proof. She gave it without
concern.
	It was, as had been most of the months, more education for him
than for her. Her obedience was sealed by the certainty she would die
without his direction. He was the one to learn how best to use this
unflinching gift.
	"Warm her up for me," he said to his unnatural possession.
	They were the first words that had meaning. Before, he had simply
been reciting facts. Clarisse did not evaluate facts. She did what she
was told. He had brought another women home. He would have sex with
her. Those were facts.
	She was to wear a harness. She had a quiver of delight in the way
it bit into her flesh, pulled tight through the crease of her sex. She
was to warm her up for him. Those were instructions.
	No silly protests that she knew nothing of exciting a woman. She
was only his will. She would learn quickly for him. She was buried
inside him. She had given herself to him. What she did was only his
wishes done with her hands.
	"Now sit on that thing," he said.
	Her breath came fast at the impossible order before she realized 
it was not directed at her. She leaned back to let the woman straddle
her lap. She shuddered when the woman disobeyed.
	"No. Put it up your ass," he told her.
	She whined. She protested. She was unworthy of her man. But it
was not her place to decide for him. That did not mean she could not 
hold her in contempt.
	"You know, this is pretty sick," the woman said.
	"I thought you'd done it all," he dismissed her. "I guess you 
are little more than a virgin after all."
	Clarisse continued in her contempt. She had heard no command in
his words. She sat and let the other woman squirm on the faux penis
lodged deep in her rectum.
	"If you're going to fuck me, do it. It's pretty uncomfortable
sitting on this like this," she whined.
	Perhaps there was a bit of happiness in Clarisse's contempt. This
woman was not worthy. He must see that she was inferior to herself in
every way.
	"Then let's do it another way," he said easily.
	Clarisse sat content while she got gingerly off the intruding
phallus and instead impaled her anus on Evander's rigid tool. Her only
concern was that the dildo in her crotch had taken some of the pleasure
away from him by enlarging her too much.
	"Now you fuck her," Evander turned to Clarisse.
	There was no question. As exquisite as it was to be buried in the
oven of this woman's bowels and be urged to climax by the accelerating
thrusts in her other passage, the greater delight was Clarisse's
unreserved performance. No compassion for the protests nor rancor at
his choice, she fucked the woman as if she was a man.
	It was a proof he needed. She provided it without the merest
flinch. When he had disposed of the test bimbo, he treated her to the
whipping.

	"We will have sex tonight," he answered her nervous flitting
as she cleared away the dinner dishes.
	He was spoiling her. She had no need to know his intent. But he
was as grateful as she was anxious to prove her devotion. And, he
comforted himself, it would leave her agitated until he got up to go
to bed.
	Clarisse did not deserve hope. She had more than she deserved
already. She let herself suffer a little bit from his kindness. She
would please him as best she could, but that was no measure of her
love. Being with him was more joy than she could repay by any
obedience.
	He was cruel to be so kind, to let her fall so deep in his debt.
And it was the kind of cruelty she could not count to her credit.
Only not repaying it was punishment enough to discharge her debt.
	Clarisse let the paradoxes comfort her as she waited for him to
add to her obligations.
	###