Just Say No
— 3 —
That following morning I woke up, and couldn’t help but wonder if it had all been a dream. But no, there was the receipt for La Campagna sitting on an end table, and over there was where I’d pushed some books aside on the dining table so that Cassie could better grip it. It hadn’t imagined it, which meant there was a very good chance she would reappear again that evening.
Reappear. I couldn’t help but compare it to some bizarre scenario out of a fantasy novel: And lo, it came to pass that on the third night the beautiful maiden did reappear unto him once more. Except that this was real life, and Cassie was no maiden, at least not in the strictest sense of the word.
She did show up though, right on time. When I opened the door she gestured to the interior of my apartment just as she had the first night. She had a gleam in her eye. “May I?”
With a strong sense of déjà vu, I paraphrased my original response: “Enter,” then followed it up. “I have food. You like Yu Hsiang eggplant?
As it happened, she did. The problem was that she didn’t seem to want to talk. At least, she didn’t want to talk about anything that mattered.
I asked about her day, hoping that she would bring up her feelings about the previous evening, an opening into the conversation I wanted to have. Instead, she talked about her frustrations with a particular client that she had to deal with all day.
“So, I have the game mechanics working, and that’s the hard part. But then he goes off on the color scheme. First, it’s make it red. Sure, simple. Then, it’s make it darker. Fine, but then he says it’s too dark. I tell him to give me a hex code, and he flips, telling me that it’s my job to figure it out! What the hell?”
I didn’t quite follow all of her technical jargon, but I got the idea. “Hey,” I told her, " I know a little bit about that. You wouldn’t believe how often I have to explain that I don’t make the law. Some people think just because I’m explaining the problem, I’m responsible. Then I’ll tell them that if they don’t like it they should write their Congressmen. That usually doesn’t go over so well.”
Cassie laughed. It was a beautiful sound. “Yes! That’s it, exactly. That’s what I have to deal with. It’s like, some people just can’t deal with reality.”
I resisted the urge to ask: So, maybe you could explain the reality here, between us? I can deal, I promise. I just want to understand, because I’m confused.
Instead, I merely nodded. “It’s a problem.”
After dinner she stood up, and put one hand on the table. It was the same table I made her grab the previous night. She was standing up straight, but she’d put her hand in the exact same spot it had been when I was spanking her. “So, tonight, I’ve decided that you are going to give me what I want.“
In spite of where she’d put her hand, she wasn’t acting at all submissive, quite the reverse. She was haughty, arrogant, demanding. I suspected that she was intentionally pushing me to bring out my dominant attitude, but I couldn’t be sure.
That was the million-dollar question, though, wasn’t it? How much of Cassie’s behavior could be attributed to her desire to be dominated, and how much of it was because she was genuinely desperate for a smoke? Smokers got really desperate for their habit, sure, but this desperate after a full six weeks? Didn’t the cravings get better after a time?
Even then, it was possible I was asking the wrong question. Maybe there was something else she wasn’t telling me.
I stood up as well and folded my arms across my chest. “Would you mind explaining how you came to this conclusion?”
“You got a boner just staring at my tits. It’s okay, don’t deny it. It’s cute, really. You want me, and you can have me. All of me. All you have to do is just say yes.”
“And if I say no? I said no last night, and you’re still here.”
“Oh really?” she said. “That’s not what I remember. I think you might have been trying to say something on the subject, but you weren’t being very clear. Either way, you’re going to say yes tonight.”
Yup, she was pushing me. She seemed insistent on receiving further “instruction.” It seemed a bit soon after the previous evening and I suspected her ass would still show some bruising, but if that’s what she wanted, that’s what she would get.
I picked up a thin metal ruler that I had placed at the edge of my table, on top of a pile of books. I flicked it through the air a few times, experimentally. The ruler made a high-pitched noise as it sliced through the air.
“In that case, it is once again time for your lesson. I don’t suppose you’ve had an epiphany in the last ten seconds? All you need to do is tell me that you won’t give in to this temptation again. Last chance, before we start. So what will it be?”
“I—I don’t understand, sir.”
“Right. You remember the drill from last night.” I gestured at the table. “Strip, then assume the position.”
I couldn’t tell if her cries were a bit louder that evening because I used the ruler instead of my hand or because she was still sensitive from the previous evening. Probably both.
It was more or less a repeat of the night before. If anything, I was able to enjoy it a bit more this time because the ruler spared my hand such rough treatment. It wasn’t particularly merciful to Cassie, of course, but that was the point.
This time, after I came down her throat, I held her head in place for a full forty-five seconds. She clearly wanted me to push her limits, and I had no problem with that.
When she’d finished gasping for air, and finally caught her breath, she looked me straight in the eye. “Well, sir? Were we going to cover something new tonight, or is that it?”
“That depends on how well you’ve learned the old material,” I told her. “Tell me, what have you learned?”
“Well, you have a surprisingly strong wrist, and a very good aim. Also, judging by how much of your cum I just swallowed, I think you’ve been a little backed up, lately. Having a dry spell? I can help with that. Anytime you want, just say the word.”
Again, she had dropped the ‘sir’ and was pushing back. I had no doubt that the word she had in mind, was ‘yes.’
“The word I’m thinking of right now doesn’t start with ‘Y,’” I told her. “Quite the opposite. Have you figured out what it is? I think we could count that as progress.”
“Hmm. Maybe it starts with ‘O’ for orgasm. Is that it?”
I sighed. “It seems you haven’t progressed, after all.”
Cassie clenched her fists. “Why do you have to be so mean? Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m keeping you healthy and presentable. Part of what I’m trying to get across to you is that you should want the same thing. You understood that when you asked your ex for help, I think. It’s like the old saying: catch a fish for a girl, and she’ll eat for a night. Teach her to fish and she’ll eat for a lifetime.”
She snorted. “Yeah. Build a girl a fire and she’s warm for a day, but set her on fire, and she’s warm for the rest of her life.“
My mouth fell open in astonishment. I momentarily lost the train of the argument because she’d just quoted one of my favorite authors. “You’ve read Terry Pratchett?”
I don’t watch much television or play video games. Instead, I prefer books.
She tried to conceal it, but it was obvious from the subtle shift in her facial expression that she hadn’t expected me to recognize what she was referring to. “Of course.”
“I’m just surprised, given what you do,” I said. “Pratchett openly mocked technology. If we’re quoting Jingo, you remember the Dis-organiser? That’s pretty much what I think of smartphones.“
“Oh, and what about in Thud?” she countered. “And if we’re going back to this, I’d point out that Mr. Slant isn’t exactly a sympathetic portrayal of the legal profession. He’s a freakin’ zombie!“
Just when I thought things couldn’t get more surreal, I was once more proved wrong. Cassie was still naked, and even now I could see a wet sheen on her chin where my fluids had been a few moments before. We’d gone from kinky sex to literary criticism in just under a minute.
I wasn’t quite prepared to pursue the topic at that moment.
“You do make a point,” I acknowledged. “Why don’t we discuss it further tomorrow?”
It was her turn to sigh. “Six thirty, again?”
And so the pattern was established.
The following evening, instead of her job, we talked about books. It turned out that Cassie and I shared an interest.
Pratchett wrote fantasy, but that really isn’t my preferred genre. I generally enjoy more realistic work, but Pratchett’s pointed satire of the real world is dead on. Cassie insisted I try a grittier fantasy by Joe Abercrombie which she claimed was also a perceptive, if less humorous, commentary on the state of the world.
In turn, I recommended Carl Hiaason, a satirist whose work is set in present day Florida. His work isn’t quite fantasy, but is nonetheless highly improbable.
However, just like the previous two nights, the discussion never got around to clearing up why Cassie was sitting at my table in the first place. The moment dinner was finished, she once again started insisting that I give her the permission that she wanted. This, in turn, inevitably led to the same place as before.
Given that her ass had taken quite a bit of punishment two nights in a row, I moved on to her breasts. First, I placed a metal clip with a strong spring on each of her nipples. She squeaked as I placed each one, just as loudly as when I struck her ass.
Next, I retrieved two small bags full of gravel that I had prepared to serve as weights. I tied one to each of the clips, and delighted in her reaction as the weights dramatically increased the pressure.
Then I ordered her to do fifty jumping jacks, counting each one. If she stopped, I had my ruler out and ready to correct her disobedience. I informed her that every time she slowed down, I would use the ruler as I had before, to add a few more welts to her already tender bottom.
I made her count, but didn’t require her to thank me this time. She was, in a sense, delivering the punishment to herself through my instruction. Besides, the repeated “thank you, sirs” would have broken the rhythm of her jumping jacks.
The makeshift weights swung back and forth with her movement. They pulled cruelly on her breasts to Cassie’s obvious distress. She cried out as she counted, but she didn’t stop. I didn’t even have to use the ruler once.
Naturally, this was followed by yet another delectable blow-job, but the follow-up conversation was more limited than before.
“I don’t suppose third time’s the charm?” she asked.
I didn’t even respond. Instead I stood, silent with my arms crossed, as she got dressed.
“So, same time tomorrow?”
“I look forward to it.”
Every night for the next week was the same. Every night, Cassie would come to my apartment, we would eat and talk about our day, about books, about anything other than us. Then, she would demand permission and I would refuse, necessitating another round of “instruction.“
I made a trip to a local store that specialized in products that could be of some use in preparing her “lessons.” During my nightly sessions with Cassie, a riding crop, a flogger, hot wax, ice cubes, and an enema kit all made an appearance. I always gave her a chance to “learn her lesson,” to say no, but she never took that option.
I watched her squeal and shake as I subjected her to every form of sexual punishment I had ever fantasized about delivering. I was careful never to do anything that would risk permanent harm or put her in any real danger, but everything short of that was fair game.
Nevertheless, every time I brushed my fingers against her sex, she was just as wet as the first time I’d touched her there. On some level, she loved it. She also kept coming back for more.
There was no middle ground, though. We were either sitting over dinner, talking as equals, or adopting the roles of master and slave. I face fucked her, I ass fucked her, but there was no vanilla sex and not even a hint of romance. That wouldn’t have been a problem if I fully understood the situation between us. I didn’t understand it, though, and there was no straightforward way to broach the subject.
In spite of my increasing frustration with the lack of communication, this bizarre arrangement slowly became routine. Through repetition it became expected rather than surprising. My schedule consisted of getting up, going to work, coming home, having dinner with Cassie, tormenting Cassie’s beautiful body with depraved, sexual punishment, and then going to bed.
It lasted until I needed to work late one Thursday night.