Just Say No
— 2 —
The following day, I was mildly surprised when there was a knock on my door at precisely six thirty.
She wore an ivory shirt with a dark gray jacket and matching skirt that ended well below her knees. Her outfit would have fit right in at my very conservative firm. Yet, on her, it was just as stunning as the skimpy dress she wore the night before.
“You’re looking lovely this evening,” I told her.
She gave me a shy smile. “Thank you.”
We walked to the restaurant in an awkward silence. I assumed she was gathering her thoughts, deciding on the best way to tell her story. I could have peppered her with questions, but thought better of it. There was no reason not to let her explain in her own time. I could be patient.
Cassie finally broke her silence after we were seated at the restaurant. “Get out your phone,” she said.
I was a bit taken aback. “I don’t have it with me. It’s for work, and I wanted to give you my full attention.” I gave her a smirk. “I’d return the favor from last night and let you search me, but I don’t think this is an appropriate place for that.”
“Oh. Here then,” She reached into her purse, pulled out a phone and slid it across the table. “Take mine.”
I tentatively took the black rectangular thing. It wasn’t an iPhone, like I had from work. Probably the other kind of phone. I knew there were two. At least two. Anyway, it was the kind I’d never used before.
“Google ‘Jared Lamar’ and ‘hypnotism,’” she told me. “Go on, the phone’s not locked. I want you to see I’m not making this up.”
My heart rate went up instantly. I know what to click on my laptop to bring up Google. I knew it was possible to do that on a phone, but I’d never bothered to learn how. My phone was for making calls and, if I was feeling adventurous, checking email.
I slid the Cassie’s phone back across the table. “You do it. It will be faster. I’ll probably either spell it wrong or find the wrong Jared Lamar, anyway.”
She shrugged and took the phone back. The way her fingers moved I could tell she was one of the technologically gifted.
When she turned the phone back to me, it showed an advertisement for “Jared Lamar, Stage Hypnotist Extraordinaire.” There was a picture, and show times listed for a casino in Las Vegas.
“Okay.” I didn’t know what she was getting at, but I waited for her to continue.
She took her phone back, jabbed at it some more, then flipped it around again. This time it was a picture of her and Jared, arms wrapped around each other.
“He’s my ex,” She said. “Are you with me so far, or do you still think I’m bullshitting you?”
“Well,” I hesitated thinking about it. “I’ll believe you dated this guy at one point, and I’ll believe he’s doing these shows. That doesn’t mean I think hypnosis is real. No one is getting controlled, it’s just social pressure. If you tell someone they’re hypnotized and they’re up on stage, it’s more awkward if they don’t jump around and flap like a chicken, or whatever. No one wants to be the kid in the Emperor’s New Clothes that points out the whole show is a sham. Besides, this says he’s in Vegas. That’s a long way from Manhattan. How long ago was this?“
“We broke up six months ago,” Cassie said. “That’s when he moved to Vegas. I offered to move with him, but he made it pretty clear that when he said he wanted a fresh start he didn’t just mean a different city.”
“He dumped you?” I asked, surprised. “So he’s not just a charlatan, he’s an idiot.”
“He’s not a charlatan,” She shrugged. “At least, he tries not to be.”
“Tries?” That word didn’t seem to fit the context.
“Before you start quoting Yoda at me, think about it. Imagine you’re a stage hypnotist. How can you tell for sure if any of your subjects are faking it? You see them for one night, and then they’re gone.”
She had a point. “Fine,” I acknowledged. “You were dating a guy who believes he can hypnotize people. So what?”
“He doesn’t just believe—” she stopped mid-sentence, frustrated. “You know how there are music geeks who are obsessed with music and stereo equipment? And computer geeks are obsessed with computers and code? You might call Jared a hypnosis geek. He does everything he can to get it right. It’s not just a way to make money to him.”
I crossed my arms across my chest. “My firm recently had a case where the head of an old, wealthy family started believing he was the Greek god Hermes. His children hired us to help get him committed. That guy was really into being Hermes, swift-footed messenger of the gods. He still needed a wheelchair to get around.“
“And what if you’d seen him leap out of the chair and run a ten second mile? I know Jared’s for real, because he I let him practice on me.“
We were interrupted by the appearance of our waiter. Cassie ordered the chicken Parmesan and a glass of white wine, while I selected the veal and opted to skip any alcohol. I wanted to keep my wits about me.
After the waiter left, I continued. “Let’s say I believe you. How does that explain last night?”
“I—” She hesitated, looking down at the table. “I have a bad habit. I asked Jared to help. You can’t be hypnotized to to do something that you genuinely don’t want to do, but curing a habit? That’s real. That works. Only I wasn’t ready to give it up altogether. Instead, Jared hypnotized me so I had to ask his permission first.”
I had an idea where this was going, but I still needed her to clear up a few details. “If you need his permission, what did you want with me?”
“When Jared left, he put me under again, and changed it,” she said. “It wasn’t a bad breakup, he said he wanted to let me down gently, so he did what I asked. I still need permission, but not necessarily his. Just someone. Anyone. It doesn’t have to be the same person each time. But, if I ask someone, I can’t ask anyone else until that person says yes. I don’t think he intended that, but that’s how it worked out, how my mind is working. So now I’m stuck.”
She was earnest. At the very least, it seemed like she believed it. Further, if she believed it, then it was by definition the truth, wasn’t it? The whole crazy claim hinged on what what was going on inside her head.
I think part of the reason I was starting to believe her about the hypnosis was because bad news is easier to believe than good news. My mindset went from she’s spinning a crazy but entertaining story, to oh shit, she’s just like Ms. Henderson.
“That day on the elevator, you were asking my permission.” I surmised. “You were trying to make me think you were asking to leave the elevator, when really it was this. Right?“
It was obvious to me what habit she was referring to. I probably should have just said the word out loud. I hesitated, because even the thought of Cassie, this beautiful woman before me, smoking turned my stomach.
Cassie had blithely dismissed doing drugs the previous night, and she’d just ordered a glass of wine herself. That narrowed the possibilities. Further, she’d mentioned she had porn queued up before visiting me. Smokers liked to practice their filthy habit after getting off, didn’t they? Not that Ms. Henderson ever got off in my presence, thank goodness. The thought of that was stomach turning all by itself, even without the cancer sticks.
Cassie nodded. “Right. I’ve found this workaround. I don’t have to explain why I need permission. You were there on the elevator, and it seemed like an opportunity. You believe me?”
“I believe that you have a filthy, disgusting habit. But you already know that, don’t you? That’s why you asked for this.”
Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes went wide as she spluttered in surprise. “I don’t—You—” She stared at me in silence for for a moment, then dropped her eyes, breaking eye contact and then finally answering in a much softer voice: “Yes.”
“Believe it or not I was listening last night, and I’m not stupid,” I told her.
“You realize it’s not the porn, right? I’m not addicted to porn. It’s what comes after.”
I hadn’t even considered that possibility. Could women even get addicted to porn? Either way, she was confirming my deduction. “I know. Calms your nerves, does it? Takes the edge off? Helps you relax? I’ve heard it all before. You expect me to approve of that?“
She kept her eyes down, staring at the table in front of her. Again, her response was barely a whisper: “No.”
When I was seven years old, over two decades ago, I had a babysitter. She was an acquaintance of my parents, her name was Anita Henderson, and she was the most revolting human being it has ever been my misfortune to meet.
Mrs. Henderson smoked, not so much like a chimney, but rather like a forest fire. Possibly an active volcano. Her home was perpetually enveloped in a toxic, nauseating miasma of tar and nicotine. Everything in there was covered in countless layers of yellowish brown residue, and that very definitely included her own hair, teeth and fingernails.
That wasn’t the worst part, though. The worst part was what happened when she needed to run an errand. She would force me to ride along with her to the bank or the post office or wherever she needed to go. As she drove, she puffed away on her vile Marlboro Reds with the windows up. Ms. Henderson would crank up the windows, crank up Billy Joel on the radio, and trap me in what can only be described as an earthly embodiment of Hell.
To this day, the thought of being around someone smoking makes me physically ill. I even start to throw up in my mouth a little bit every time I hear a song by Billy Joel.
I wanted to communicate to Cassie just how inappropriate her habit really was. In my experience, smokers could be willfully oblivious.
“Tell me something,” I said. “Do you hide it from your coworkers? Do they know about your little problem?”
Her demeanor changed in an instant. She was defensive, angry. “My clients don’t know shit about me, and I like it that way.”
This time it was my mouth that fell open. I was surprised at the instant shift in her behavior more than what she said.
Cassie must have assumed I’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. “Get your mind out of the gutter!” she snapped. “I’m a freelance developer and I work remotely. Android apps, mostly, though I’m branching out into iOS.”
I raised my hands in a placating gesture. “Hey, I don’t care, really. I was just asking whether your habit is something you’re proud of. You asked your ex for help for a reason, right?”
She seemed to deflate all at once. “Sorry, sorry. It’s a reflex. You want to know why I work remotely? I did an internship my last summer in college, and that’s the first and last time I’ve ever worked full time for a big company. Maybe you’ve heard stories about how women don’t get taken seriously in the tech industry? Trust me, they’re all true. I’ve found freelancing is the best way to get away—physically, away—from that bullshit. Even then, it’s still there, waiting under the surface to bite me in the ass. Let’s just say I can be a bit sensitive on the subject.“
“Well, let me say, for the record, that I’m sure you’re good at your job. Two of the three partners at my firm are women, and they’re scary smart. I’m all for gender equality in the workplace.” I hesitated. “It’s just—“
I saw her eyebrows go up, and her facial expression shift as if to warn me to rethink finishing that sentence.
I kept going anyway. I already thought of her as a smoker, which drastically reduced my interest in any sort of relationship. I really didn’t feel the need to hold back. “I don’t have a Facebook page. I don’t tweet, and I don’t use Snap-gram or Insta-whatever. Call me old fashioned, but I like to use my phone to talk to people with my voice. I’m sure you’re really good at what you do, but are you really happy working with all that stuff? It all seems like such a waste of time and energy. And yes, I’d tell Mark Zuckerberg the exact same thing, to his face.”
“Hmm.” Cassie’s anger had dissipated, but she wasn’t ready to drop the subject. “An equal opportunity Luddite then?”
It was my turn to be defensive. “Hey, I’m not a Luddite. I’m all for curing cancer or going to Mars. I just don’t think we need any more apps and ridiculous internet media companies with equally ridiculous names.”
“You have a problem with what I do? That’s funny,” she said. “You’re the lawyer. Quick, what do you call twenty-five attorneys buried up to their chins in cement?”
“I’ve heard that one. Not enough cement?”
“Not nearly enough cement. There are a hundred times that many lawyers in New York alone. Pot, meet kettle.”
She was glaring at me, but I had the impression she was enjoying the verbal sparring.
I offered her an opening, though I let a bit more sarcasm creep into my voice than I really intended. “Why don’t you tell me more about what you do? How are you working to better humanity?“
Cassie ignored, or at least pretended to ignore, the barb. She eagerly started explaining what she was working on, which is what I expected. Most people like talking about themselves.
Needless to say, I wasn’t impressed. The app for a local food delivery service and the game she was working on seemed just as lame as every other useless thing that came out of Silicon Valley in the last two decades.
Her job seemed a safer topic than her addiction, though. I could nod and pretend to follow her talk about tech, but there was no way I could hide my passionate hatred of tobacco. I didn’t want to inadvertently cause a scene at a restaurant as nice as La Campagna.
Cassie was still talking about her work when our food arrived. She continued throughout dinner as I politely listened and tried to work out how best to explain why I was never going to agree to give her the permission she wanted. At least the veal was exceptional.
As Cassie finished the last of her chicken, she gulped down the last of her wine, practically chugging it. “I think we may have gotten off topic. We were here to talk about my problem, weren’t we?”
Here it was then. “I thought we already had.”
“I still need your permission.”
I sighed. “You’re asking the wrong guy. Go ask someone else.”
“I already explained,” she said, “I can’t. I asked you, so now I need an answer from you.”
“And you already have my answer. I said no.”
“That isn’t—” Cassie didn’t bother finishing the sentence.
“It isn’t the answer you were looking for? Too bad. Not my problem.”
She paused, apprehensive, before replying. “What do you want?”
I was saved from answering immediately, as the waiter came by with the check, which I paid.
The problem was circular: I would never be interested in someone who smoked. If I said yes, that’s exactly what she would be. Yet, she had obviously intended to quit. She was smart, drop-dead gorgeous and the whole tech thing wasn’t really a deal breaker. If I said no, she might be worth seeing again, but the chances she would still be interested under those circumstances were slim. If I said yes, she would become what I hate, and there would be no point in spending time with her.
Given that I couldn’t have it both ways, I decided that turning her down made the most sense. If nothing else, it would be a tiny blow to the tobacco companies. One less customer. That, and this had a slimy sex-for-drugs vibe to it, which didn’t sit well with me. “What I want is to make sure someone as smart and beautiful as you doesn’t fall prey to this. I don’t want something from you, I want this for you. You understand?“
As soon as I said it, I realized how condescending that sounded. Luckily, Cassie didn’t seem offended. She blushed a little, and her voice once again retreated to a whisper. “I—Yes. I understand.”
We walked back to our apartment building in silence, much as we had on the way to the restaurant. She had her eyes cast down toward the pavement the whole way.
When we reached my place, I wished Cassie a good evening and moved to close the door.
“Wait.” Her hand pushed the door open again.
I knew what she wanted and had half expected this. “I’m not going to change my mind.”
“Listen, it’s not a game.”
I crossed my arms cross my chest. “Of course it isn’t a game.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“It’s been over six weeks,” she told me. “There was this nice, old guy, Barry, that was always at the coffee shop where I take my laptop to work. Whenever I sat down next to him, I would ask, ‘May I?’ and then he would say ‘Of course.’ It was so easy. But he stopped showing up. Now it’s been six weeks, do you understand? That’s why I took a chance on you. Six weeks! I’m going crazy!”
I nodded, even though I didn’t sympathize with her plight one bit. “The first six weeks of the rest of your life. Did Barry know what he was agreeing to?”
“That’s beside the point.”
“No, it isn’t,” I told her. “That’s exactly the point. You want permission to debase yourself. I don’t approve, and while I don’t know Barry, I’d be willing to wager he wouldn’t approve either. He only thought you were asking permission to sit down, am I right?”
“Yes, alright, but you seemed to enjoy my visit last night, didn’t you? At least, before you decided to take a nap.”
Hadn’t we been over this? “I’m not going to give my permission just because you show a little skin.”
“How about a lot of skin?”
“Remember what you said before?” I asked her. “You told me about how you work remotely because you can’t stand the sleazy guys in the tech industry. Listen to yourself. You’re willing to throw yourself at me just to get your fix? Where’s that self-righteous indignation I heard earlier?”
“Don’t.” Her voice was harsh, but the intensity faded as she went on. “Just don’t. It’s different. There’s work, and then there’s personal. This is personal. And besides, what I said was that guys wouldn’t take me seriously, didn’t respect my work. It sucks when you do everything right and your boss still treats you like you’re incompetent because you don’t have a dick. I didn’t say anything about sleaze. Maybe I like sleaze. Did you ever think of that?“
“Actually, that fits. You want my permission to be filthy, after all.”
I expected Cassie to flinch at that language, but she didn’t. Instead, she took two steps closer to where I stood. She was now fully in my apartment instead of the hallway, and she closed the door behind her. “Oh? And what are you going to do about it?”
“Do?” The question seemed out of place in the conversation. “Nothing. I’m going to keep saying no until you figure out that I mean it.”
“So you just plan on repeating that, over and over for the next hour and a half, or what? It’s only eight, and your bed-time isn’t until nine-thirty, is it?”
“Sounds like you’re a slow learner, so I’ll slow this down for you: Nooooo.” I drew out the word. “I think that brings us back to where we started, doesn’t it?”
“Convince me, then,” she said.
“What?”
“Convince me that you mean it. I think, deep down, you want to give me what I want. Most guys would. You’re just playing hard to get.”
“I’m not most guys. What is it going to take to convince you?” I asked.
“You tell me. Be creative. We have an hour and a half before you turn into a pumpkin.”
So that was how it was. Cassie was so desperate for her fix, she would put out anyway. No strings attached. She was gambling that I would feel be feeling magnanimous afterwards, which was a terrible bet.
I spoke slowly, deliberately. “You need to understand, really understand: if you stay, I’m still not going to say yes.”
“Nope, not getting it.” Her voice was playful. “You’re going to have to be more persuasive than that.” She was the one who had insisted her situation wasn’t a game, and now she seemed to be treating it like one.
In that case, I could play that game. As soon as she decided to leave, I won. So long as I gave her the opportunity to leave and she refused, I could do whatever I wanted. I had her consent. She was literally asking for it. My house, my rules.
I had no intention of holding back. I intended to take the opportunity to indulge my own darker fantasies, of which I had many. There were things I would never admit turned me on, let alone try, in a real, equal relationship. In real life, I thought of women as friends and equals, but my fantasies ventured into much less socially acceptable territory. These unconventional circumstances provided a unique opportunity to explore them.
In a way, I was doing her a favor. She needed to quit smoking. Not only was she asking for this, she deserved it. She was a smoker who needed to learn her lesson. Reaching for a cigarette meant getting fucked, and not in a fun way. She was also a tech geek—a little payback for the hours of frustration I’d had over the years was only appropriate.
Alright, I was rationalizing this decision to myself. But, really, why not? As far as I could tell, there was no downside.
“You have two options,” I informed her. “Your first option is to leave, right now. Just say, ‘hey Bob I get it. I’ll behave.’ But, if you insist on sticking around, there’s option two. I really don’t think you’ll like option two, but it’s your choice. If you want to stay, then strip. Right now.”
It was a command, not a request. She would leave, or she would obey.
Cassie obeyed.
I watched, enthralled, as her jacket and shirt came off. Those were followed by the skirt and then, one by one, her socks. Next, she unclasped her bra and threw that in a pile with her other clothes, giving me a wonderful view of those firm, cantaloupe-sized breasts for the second time in two days. Finally she let her panties drop, leaving her entirely nude.
She didn’t say anything, but her body language conveyed her unspoken question perfectly. Now what?
I stepped closer, mere inches away from her naked body, inside her comfort zone. Then, very slowly, very lightly I ran a finger down the side of her body. I let my hand trail down from her shoulder to the curve of her hip and then back up as I spoke.
“As I’ve been trying to explain, this isn’t about me. This is about you. I didn’t ask you to remove your clothes for my benefit. I did it because I want to make you uncomfortable. I want you to associate this pathetic attempt to indulge your nasty, dirty habit with nasty, dirty behavior. Maybe then you’ll learn some self-control. Any time you feel you’ve learned your lesson, you are, of course, free to walk out the door.”
I paused and withdrew my hand. She didn’t move and she didn’t say a word. I could only conclude she was really desperate for a smoke, which was all the more reason to keep going.
I walked over to the table on the far side of the room that doubled as my desk. “Come here,” I instructed her, and again she obeyed without question.
“Bend over and grab the edge of the table.”
Cassie complied, and I couldn’t help but admire the view of her perfect, round ass. That ass wouldn’t be quite so perfectly smooth and unblemished by the time I was done.
I addressed her again using her full name, which I only knew from the label on her mailbox downstairs. “Cassandra Dalton, you have repeatedly tried to trick me, as well as others, into condoning your repulsive, unladylike habit. This is unacceptable. You need do be punished. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Again, I waited a few moments. When she continued not to run screaming out the door, I went on. “You will be spanked. If you find that humiliating, consider it part of your punishment. I think twenty-five strokes should be sufficient.“
I ran my fingers over her right butt cheek very lightly, as I had with her side earlier. I wanted her to feel the contrast between that touch and what followed. I pulled my arm back and then brought it down as hard and as fast as I could. My hand connected with Cassie’s bottom with a delightful smacking sound.
She let out a short, brief cry. Her ass rippled and slowly turned red where I had struck. The way her body was bent in front of the table, her breasts hung down from her chest. Cassie’s ‘twins,’ as she had referred to them the previous evening, swung freely as her body reacted to the pain.
I let half a minute pass before breaking the silence. “Three things. First, As I’m sure you can imagine, it’s going to be important to keep track of how many strokes you’ve received. Therefore, you’re going to count them out loud as I deliver them. You may cry out, but afterwards I expect to hear a number. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good. That brings me to point number two: You will address me with respect. I am teaching you a lesson. I am the teacher, you are the pupil. You will therefore address me as ‘sir.’ Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Excellent. Finally, given that I am taking time out of my evening to see to your education, it is only appropriate that you express the appropriate appreciation. After every stroke, you will not only count, but thank me for delivering it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, we will resume. I haven’t heard any numbers yet, so the next number I want to hear is one.”
“Wait, but you already—” Cassie started to protest before I cut her off.
“That was a warm up,” I said icily. “And you just earned yourself an additional five. The next number I want to hear is one. You may stop counting when you get to thirty. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then let’s begin.” My hand was already moving before I had finished the sentence.
Smack. “Akh!” Again, she let out a sharp burst of noise. “One. Thank you, sir.“
Smack. “Ooh! Two. Thank you, sir.“
Smack. “Guh! Three. Thank you, sir.“
Smack. “Ugh! Four. Thank you, sir.“
Smack. “Gah! Five. Thank you, sir.“
I was thoroughly enjoying myself, though my hand had started to hurt. While the skin on my hand wasn’t as sensitive as her ass, six powerful blows left it rather raw. I hadn’t anticipated that, but having started there was no question that I needed to finish.
Instead of continuing immediately, I let my fingers once again delicately brush Cassie’s ass. This time I reached down further, underneath her, and caressed her intimate folds.
To my shock, she was wet. Very wet.
I hadn’t considered the possibility that she would genuinely enjoy the spanking. This was my dominant fantasy, and I had been assuming I was taking advantage of her situation.
Feeling her pussy that wet, I realized my error. She’d been antagonizing me, hoping for this. Just a minute ago I’d justified my decision to proceed because she’d literally asked for it. Evidently that was even more true than I realized.
“You like this, don’t you slut?” I asked, holding up my fingers, still sticky with her juices. “Your body doesn’t lie.”
“Oh god, yes, sir,” she moaned, confirming my suspicion.
“I want to hear it,” I told her. “I want you to tell me what you want.”
“You know what I want,” she said. “May I, sir?“
Cassie obviously didn’t want to give a straight answer, didn’t want to come out and say she wanted the spanking itself almost as much as a cigarette. She wanted me to continue what I was doing.
“No.” Smack. I timed it so the stroke landed at the exact moment I finished speaking.
“Erk! Six. Thank you, sir.”
As I continued to deliver the punishment I promised, I tuned out Cassie’s increasingly loud squeals, her counting and the throbbing pain in my hand.
I was reminded again just how surreal this situation was.
Here was this amazingly beautiful woman, a perfect ten, who showed up on my doorstep with this crazy story about hypnosis. Women like her usually didn’t give me the time of day. Then, when I refused to give her what she wanted, she goaded me into spanking her, and she seemed to be enjoying it.
Was the hypnosis a ruse? It was so weird, so hard to believe. Why would anyone use that as an excuse? And besides, if she was spouting bullshit, then why did she pick me? Calling it strange was an understatement.
Probably best not to look a gift horse in the mouth, though.
Smack. “AAAGGGH! Oh, ah! Th-Thir-Thirty. Thank you, sir.“
On second thought, now that I was finished spanking her ass, Cassie’s mouth might be well worth examining. She wanted to keep pretending this was about her habit, after all.
“I can assure you that you’re going to be feeling the effects of your lesson throughout the day tomorrow. Every time you sit down for the next few days, in fact. So, I need to ask you: Have you learned your lesson? Or do you require further instruction?”
“Not—” Cassie was panting, breathing in and out heavily. “Not quite getting it, sir”
“Very well. That pretty mouth of yours really seems to be getting you into trouble, so I think it deserves some special attention. I want to get across what a filthy girl you’ve been, so it seems only fair you get a real taste of what that means. And when I say taste, I don’t mean that in a broader sense, I mean your tongue. On your knees.”
She quickly straightened, then got down on her knees and opened her mouth. She had picked up on what I had in mind.
“Before we begin this next part of your lesson, let me add that should you have a burst of inspiration, you may stop. As your mouth will be full, feel free to communicate this by shaking your head from side to side slowly but emphatically, or merely pulling away and standing up.” That head shake was the gesture I’d seen used as a safe word in porn where the girl was gagged.
“However, I continued. “I must warn you that if you continue to prove such a dull and dimwitted student, at the end of this lesson I am going to hold your head in position until I am done. Specifically, you’re going to kiss my pubic bone until I am absolutely convinced you have swallowed every drop. Clear?”
“Yah sah.” Cassie let her mouth remain open when she responded.
“Speak clearly. I didn’t tell you to open wide, yet.”
“Yes sir.”
“Now,” I said, unzipping my pants. “Open wide.”
Delivering her spanking had left me quite aroused, and fully erect. I was surprised at the ease with which Cassie managed to take my entire length down her throat, and the eagerness she displayed as she began slurping at it.
Those of my exes who had been willing to give head had approached the task as if they were sucking on a shit Popsicle. Until that moment I’d never experienced a blow-job from someone who seemed as excited by the experience as I was.
Cassie’s tongue brushed the underside of my shaft, stimulating the sensitive skin. Her head bobbed up and down faster and faster. Every so often she would pull back briefly, swirling her tongue against the very tip before gulping down my entire length again.
The difference between the feeble attempts of my exes and Cassie’s work was the difference between beef jerky and filet mignon. She was fantastic.
I could feel my orgasm building. The way she alternated her deep strokes with those delicate flicks of her tongue guaranteed I wouldn’t last long.
“Take a deep breath,” I warned her. She pulled back to swirl the head of my cock again, and breathed in heavily through her nose.
Fulfilling my earlier promise, I grabbed her by the hair and firmly forced her all the way down onto my shaft. I held her there, her upper lip and nose pressed hard against my pubic bone, her lower lip putting pressure on my balls. I felt myself erupt within her.
I looked straight into her eyes as I came, watching her reaction. Her eyes were wide and I could see her react as my fluid spurted down her throat. She tensed and squirmed, but I could tell it was reflexive, her body’s natural reaction not a genuine attempt to break my hold. Cassie was doing her best to follow my instructions, still willingly submitting to me.
“Swallow.” I instructed her.
I could see her face contort, and felt her lips and tongue move around me as she tried to swallow with her mouth still wrapped around my cock. Her full mouth made swallowing more difficult, but I watched and waited with amusement as she gurgled and gulped, forcing down everything I’d given her.
After about twenty seconds of this, her reflexive squirming became more intense. I could tell she was struggling for air. With my member blocking off her airway, she was quickly running out of oxygen.
I certainly didn’t want her to pass out, but I did want to push her limits. This whole evening she seemed to be daring me to go further. So, I pushed her further. Smoking clogged lungs and airways. She needed to learn the value of fresh air.
I decided that fifteen seconds would be appropriate. Not too long, but enough to push her limits, to teach her that lesson she seemed so insistent on receiving.
I counted slowly to fifteen in my head. One, one-thousand. Two, one-thousand. Three, one-thousand...
While she wasn’t trying to shake her head or pull away I could feel her trembling and gasping, ineffectually trying to breathe. She was starting to panic as she became more and more desperate for air and I showed no sign of relenting.
I think Cassie might have been about to give in and pull away, when I reached my count of fifteen, and eased her head back. I popped out of her mouth trailing a single, thin, sticky strand of semen which fell down over her lips and chin.
She gasped, loudly sucking in a much needed breath. I gave her half a minute to catch her breath, and then reached over to her. I ran my finger upwards, collecting the remaining rivulet of cum that had dribbled down her face.
I held up my finger to her mouth “I told you before: you’re not done until every drop has gone down. Finish it.”
Cassie warily eyed my finger for a few seconds. I thought for a moment that I’d finally hit her limit and now she would finally leave. She didn’t, though. Cassie slowly wrapped her lips around my finger and sucked it clean.
She finished and looked back up at me, straight into my eyes. “Thank you, sir.”
“Good girl.” On impulse, I kissed her lightly on the forehead.
Cassie smiled one of her amazing smiles. “Thank you, sir,” she repeated. “Since I’ve been good, may I now? Please, sir?”
“No.” I frowned as I took a moment to collect my thoughts. She was clearly anxious, but said nothing as I considered.
I’d enjoyed what we just did, and I strongly suspected that she did too. Nevertheless, even though I was nominally calling the shots, I didn’t feel like I was entirely in control of the situation. She’d pushed me to be dominant, so I’d let the beast loose. Who, then, had really been in the driver’s seat?
More importantly, I still didn’t fully understand her motivations. I had no intention of telling her smoking was acceptable, but this was the first time I’d ever shared my dominant fantasies with anyone. If this was something she enjoyed, I wanted to do it again.
It came down to whether or not to break character. The dominant persona I’d adopted wasn’t really me, or at least, it was only a small part of me. It was a lot of fun being in control like that, but real life wasn’t a sex fantasy.
The healthy, responsible thing would have been to stop and talk about what we just did, how it made her feel, what she wanted, and what was really going on between us. In the more extreme porn I enjoyed, there were often interviews of the participants, debriefing them on what they’d been through and how they felt about it after it was over. That’s what I really wanted to do, but—
But. The evening felt like a dream, a dream that I might easily wake from at any moment. This thing between Cassie and I felt like a soap bubble, likely to burst if I reached up to grasp it too tightly. Forcing Cassie to talk in real, honest terms seemed bound to bring ugly, boring reality crashing down like an avalanche on top of this beautiful, fragile fantasy.
I think part of the reason people kept telling me I needed to relax is because I sometimes pursue topics past the point where whoever I’m talking with feels comfortable. I notice things, and I don’t always let things go when I should. I can be too explicit, too direct. As a lawyer, that can be a useful skill. Off the clock, it’s less so. I wasn’t willing to risk screwing things up this time, as I had so often before.
I needed to be careful. I had repeatedly reminded her that she could leave because I wanted to make it clear that she was participating in this by choice, that she was giving her consent. However, the repeated dismissals were also part of the role I was playing, the arrogant dom who was doing her a favor by seeing to her discipline. This was the role that excited her, and I couldn’t very well turn around and talk realistically without breaking character.
Every time I’d given her a chance to run, she’d turned me down and pushed back. I was taking a chance that would continue, but I was taking a chance either way.
“I had hoped that you might learn your lesson here, tonight,” I told her. “Perhaps I was too optimistic. However, I want you to take some time and think about what I’m trying to teach you. All day tomorrow, I’m sure you’ll get a reminder every time you sit down. If, by tomorrow evening, you still refuse to give up your misguided belief that I will ever approve of your unacceptable behavior, you may present yourself at my door again at six thirty for further instruction.”
“Tomorrow?” I caught a hint of alarm in her voice.
“That’s right, I’ll still be here tomorrow. Now, get dressed and run along.”
She didn’t move. “Seriously? I did mention it’s been over a month, didn’t I? I’m not kidding about that. Six fucking weeks! Please?“
“Language, young lady. I think you mean, ‘please, sir’ don’t you?” I asked, arching an eyebrow.
I was suddenly very glad I’d continued in my dominant role. If she she was still this serious about getting my permission to smoke and wanted to press the issue, it was easier to turn her down this way. Assuming, of course, that this wasn’t merely her way of insisting on further “instruction.” I couldn’t quite tell. However, the shift in her voice to a more assertive tone and the concern apparent on her face suggested her insistence might be real.
“Yes, sir. Please, sir, may I, sir?” There was more than a hint of desperation there.
“No. Absolutely not. While I want you to take tomorrow to let this lesson sink in, I can tell it will take more time to communicate the core concepts properly. Tomorrow evening. Six thirty.”
The aggressive way she was looking at me, made me think she was about to argue, to yell at me, even. She didn’t, though. After a few tense moments Cassie lowered her defiant gaze, and spoke again in that quiet voice of hers. “Yes, sir.”
She got up and started to put her clothes back on. When she finished, and turned to leave, I softened my own voice somewhat, and called out to her. “And Cassie?”
“Sir?”
“Tomorrow, or any other time, really, if you just want to talk, that’s fine too. I’ll be ordering in Chinese, so we can eat and talk here, where no one will overhear.” My intention was to give her an opening to make the first move. If she wanted to talk, we would talk, but I wouldn’t push her.
She nodded, “Yes, sir.”
Then she walked out the door, leaving me to go to bed deeply satisfied, but at the same time even more confused than the previous night.