I watched something forgettable on the flat screen. I thought it was once of the later Die Hards. I hadn’t been paying much attention to what I’d snagged off the DVD shelf. Right now, my brain was in the mood to souse itself with PBR on top of the half-bottle of wine I’d had with Miss Tess. Thinking was not my top priority. I’d brought the rest of the takeout back to my room, stopping the fidget-spinner to bring Bethany out of trance. I’d told her to head for bed after dinner. I was not up to dealing with the insanity that had become my life.
I was not going to do more amateur-hour psychic surgery.
I was not going to think about the implications of doing jobs for Miss Tess.
I was just going to sit my ass on the couch and drink beer.
The last of the first can of PBR was at my lips when Bethany walked into view with a tinkle of bells. Some suds poured down the front of my shirt when I sputtered at what she was wearing. Or rather, not wearing to very good effect. Oh, right. I had asked her to wear something nice for tonight. Such an obedient girl. Bethany seemed to have gone for a homemade harem slave costume rather than store-bought. A filmy red scarf had been wound around her breasts and neck as a halter top. Another had ben slipped through the back and front of slim gold belly chain as a slavegirl loincloth; the ends fell to just above her knees. Spherical bells on gold-chain anklets chimed as she knelt before me.
Her red hair had been tied up into a high ponytail. Her neck was bare save for links of bright steel snugged around it. It was a dog’s choke collar. A padlock clipped through a chain link and the noose-ring stopped it from going tighter. Keys dangled from the leash ring swaying on the short length of chain dangling down. Dark eyeshadow rimmed her eyes. The effect was a lot more sultry than the gothlette look she’d had when she had broken in. Lips painted crimson arched in a teasing smile. Kneeling down, she bent her head submissively towards me. Behind her back, crossed wrists twisted in a third red scarf binding them together. Bracelets matching her anklets rang as she fidgeted against her bondage.
Very carefully, I set aside my beer and shut off the DVD player. The witticisms of John McClean would wait for another night.
“Halloween’s come early, I see,” I said.
“You seemed sort of down, Mr. Nussbaum,” Bethany said. “I felt really bad about zoing out again and making you do all the work.”
“I had someone over to help,” I said. “How’d you—?”
“Oh, this.” Bethany wiggled her hands. “I tied them in front. Then I kind’ve stepped through until they were behind me.”
“Never let anyone say you’re a clever girl,” I said. Then I reached down, jerking her knees wide. “A submissive opens her legs before her dominant. And she calls her dominant ‘sir’.”
“Sir. Yes, sir. Three bags full, sir,” Bethany said.
“Getting snarky with me?” I shook my head. “You’re on the road to earning a spanking.”
“I did want to cheer you up, sir.” Bethany leaned close, lips close to my right ear. “What does sir want to do with his sexy, beautiful girl—oh!”
I cupped her chin firmly in one hand while hooking the dangling leash ring with a forefinger. Bethany’s impish expression became nervous when I dragged her into my lap. I eased up just a little bit on the pressure. Just a little. One hand held her chin steady as the other guided her folded legs on either side of my hips. Straddling me, only thin silk and the cotton of my shorts seperated us. Nussbaum Jr. hardened when Bethany’s squirming gave it a sexy lap dance. Her green eyes stared at me as a hand shifted from chin to holding her ponytail. She whimpered when my other arm wraped around her waist to pull her very tight.
Thighs clamped tight around me as I kissed her. I took my time with that. Light brushes against herr lips until they parted. Deeper ones with the grip on her ponytail keeping her from pulling away. Not that she seemed reluctant. At all. Her tongue twined with mine. Her hips surged against me. I broke the kiss to whisper a command. Scrumptious harlot could not cum without my permission. A sob of pure need escaped her when the command denied her release. A plea for relief was stilled by a hand clamped over her mouth.
Bethany squealed into the hand-gag when the hand on her ponytail forced her to arch her back. Both hands occupied, I used my teeth to drag aside one of the folds of silk covering a breast. Said teeth very lightly bit an already-stiff nipple into diamond hardness. Tongue and lips went to work kissing a spiral around the full, firm breast. I tasted the salt off her skin. Mmmm. It definitely had been too long. I stopped just before I reached her nipple again. Looking up, I saw her lost in lust and an ever-deepening trance hazing over her eyes. Bethany screamed into my hand as I gently love-bit the nub, then suckled at it for a long time.
I lingered over her other breast. Then I gave the first a return engagement. What the hell, Twin Number Two deserved an encore. Her cunt rubbed frantically against me for a hint of relief. I should be ashamed of myself. Only I wasn’t. There wasn’t any point to angsting over being the guilty nice-guy hero. You break it, you bought it. More importantly, you own it. I owned her. Utterly. I could have locked out her slave-programming with some clever words. But I’d deepened my hold with every chance I could take.
I forced her to rise up off my lap just long enough to unzip. My hand slipped between her legs to find sopping-wet silk. I stroked her pussy through the scarf as her cunt hovered fractions of an inch from relief. Bethany panted when I slowly forced aside the improvised loincloth. The kohl around her glazed eyes made them seem emeralds within black holes. Gritting my teeth, I held on as I carefully lowered her onto my throbbing cock. Wet. Tight. Hot. Any hint of control left me when my hands seized her hips hard enough to leave bruises. Her breasts bounced in front of me as I fucked her with all the desire I’d built up over twenty-four hours.
Bethany clamped tight around me so tight that it became sweet pain. Whispers of need and pleas for release became a meaningless babble. My thrusts slowed as she rode me in rhythm. My arms slid up to cross in the small of her back. Pulling her close, I laid her head on one shoulder. I held her close while the world narrowed down to a single focus of her against me and her cunt spasming on my cock. I couldn’t hold back. I didn’t want to. I hissed a single word into her ear. My hand clamped over her lips one last time to muffle her screams. My own were silenced as I kissed and sucked where neck met shoulder.
I rocked her in my arms when she burst into hiccuping sobs. I found her fingertips cold. Gingerly, I picked at the tight knot that had been jerked into a Gordian mess. I had to force her wrists one by one through the loops of silk to free her. Not too bad. It only took a little gentle massage of her fingers to bring some function back to them. Her freed arms crossed behind my neck. Bethany’s crying became sighs as I worked knots as bad as the discarded scarf-tie out of her shoulders. Within her, my cock slowly stiffened as she rocked back and forth in my lap.
“Sir is so good to his sexy, beautiful girl,” Bethany whispered. “You’re my first, sir. None of the others count.”
“Of course they don’t.” I nibbled one earlobe. “Scrumptious harlot came pure and virgin to her sir. Scrumptious harlot will always come pure and virgin to sir.”
“I’m not filthy with you.” Bethany hugged me even tighter. “N-nuh-not lying under the bleachers, in the dirt, the-their slime all over me, my face, my mouth, in me, oh god, I can feel it again, playing spin the bottle, only I’m the bottle and it hurts—”
“Shhhhh.” I stroked her back. “My Bethany will always be clean and pure. Her submission washes her clean.”
“Yes. Born again. I have to be born again.” Bethany hiccuped. “Um. Sir. I—this is going to sound weird, sir—”
“My girl may ask me anything.”
She whispered it into my ear.
So that’s how I ended up digging out my old tefillin and tallis, reciting the bracha over the wine from long-forgotten Shabbes rituals, and pouring water from a bowl over the face of a barely-legal teenage girl kneeling in the bathroom tub in an improvised harem girl costume.
I definitely needed more beer to deal with this.
I also should have bought a bigger bed.
Not that I was too uncomfortable spooning Bethany in a twin-size that was decidedly snug for an overweight middle-aged man and a curvy teenaged girl. The white metal-framed daybed was at least sturdy enough to hold both of us without the bolts holding it together shearing off. It had been chosen both for not needing a box-spring and the arabesque whirls in the sides and back making it prettier than the alternatives. Above us, the air-conditioner set cold enough that we had to snuggle under the bed-in-a-bag top sheet and blanket. Yeah. Not at all bad. But there was going to be some logistical issues in the future if overnights with her became a regular thing.
Bethany twisted in my arms. She shuddered when the nightmare that had come and gone throughout the night claimed her again. Bastards. I held her close as she panted. In spite of the chilly air in the room, the short-sleeved sleeping shirt she had changed into from her stained harem silks was damp with fear-sweat. Stroking along her slave collar calmed her down. I had unlocked it just enough to loosen it to get two fingers between chain and skin before filling the keyhole with epoxy. Then I had jammed one of the keys inside and snipped it off flush with the bottom with pliers.
She fought her way free of old night-terrors. Fists rubbed the crust from her eyes when she sat up. I silently handed her the glasses on the night stand just on the other side of the bed railing over our heads. I couldn’t help grinning. A Bethany with bed-hair and face scrubbed free of make-up was just as nice as her as Slavegirl Leia. She slowly turned her head as she took in her new home. I think it was the first time she had really seen it. The Lucite panel i’d had cut to cover over the broken glass let in enough sunlight so that she could see clearly. It wasn’t much: the daybed; a sturdy desk and office chair on the opposite wall; some cheap bookshelves, a nightstand with a digital clock-radio telling us that is was almost noon. I’d picked out a cheap green Persian style carpet to soften the concrete floor.
“You okay?” I asked, kneading her shoulders. “I was rougher than you expected last night, I bet.”
“It was pretty scary, sir.” Bethany knelt spread-thighed in the small space left between us. “It was a safe sort of scary. Because I could tell you would never hurt me, sir.”
“I kind of did.” I cupped one hip, noticing her wince at the touch of my hand on the bruises underneath the cotton.
“I’m not a delicate flower, sir.” Bethany hugged herself. “That wasn’t pain. That was like being sore after riding really hard. I know what guys being really rough is like.”
“What are you, Beth?” I asked.
“Always pure and virgin in your arms.” The brief trance-haze in her eyes hardened me again. “You’re nothing like them. Nothing. Never think that. Sir would never treat me like—like—”
“That’s over now,” I said, cupping one cheek. “You are safe here. This is your room. Sir will not let anyone take her away.”
“It—it was raining and my bike’s chain snapped.” Bethany rocked back and forth. “I knew Brad from church. He seemed so nice. So I didn’t think there was anything wrong with getting into his van. But he went the wrong way, only I was too chicken to call him out on it, and when I told him I wouldn’t suck he smacked me so hard—”
Bethany snuggled close when I curled my arms around her.
“It didn’t used to be so bad sir,” Bethany said. “When I went under the bleachers at night, and saw them waiting for me again. I heard him calling his friends while I blew him. Telling them he had something for the party. I was just a slut. Like they said. Taking it didn’t matter to a slut. But now I’m not a slut. And it hurts, sir.”
“I am going to call my supervisor today and tell him there is a family emergency,” I said. “I haven’t taken any vacation this year. They owe me one or two weeks of it.”
“Thank you, sir.” Bethany drew back, lifiting up her glasses to wipe her eyes. “I’m a shitty sub, aren’t I? I’m all screwed up.”
“You are the best thing to come into my life in a very long time,” I said.
“Oh.” Bethany shifted. “I love you.”
My throat closed up.
“I know, that’s what drives guys off.” Bethany grimaced. “Crazy girl who just says—”
“You deserve to be loved,” I replied. “And never think that you aren’t. I wouldn’t own you if I didn’t care very much for you.”
“Sir owns his sexy, beautiful girl.” Bethany touched her collar. Then she sniffed. “Um. She also really reeks.”
“So do I.” I patted her head. “Go. Ladies first. Just don’t use up all the hot water.”
“Sir doesn’t want to join me?” Bethany smirked.
Well. You just don’t refuse that sort of invite.
We didn’t end up doing a “slippery when wet” sex show. Though we did linger under the showerhead doing touchy things until hot water did run out. Damn. I really had marked her last night. A touch on the hand-shaped black-and-blue patches on her hips had her stiffening. There was also the obvious hickey on her neck, along with love-bite marks on her breasts. Bethany stared into the mirror on the bathroom door, seeing what I had done to her. A tiny smile quirked on her lips while she slipped into a light trance. Moisture not at all from the shower beaded on her folds while she caressed her battle scars. She dressed in skimpy denim cut offs and a T-shirt knotted beneath her breasts to show off the bruises.
We ate our second breakfast together with her kneeling beside my chair. I wasn’t into petplay or serious degradation, so she didn’t eat her bacon and eggs with a bowl. Although she nuzzled my fingertips when I slipped her some sausage—not that kind, by the way—from my own plate. Given that it was close to noon, I had no problem snagging a cold six-pack of PBR to replace the one that had gotten warm overnight. I cocked one eyebrow when Bethany twisted a can of her own out of the plastic. Oh, well, I wasn’t about to enforce silly American drinking-age laws. She settled herself sideways in my lap after I chose Kiki’s Delivery Service to replace the chronicle of John McClane in the DVD player.
Don’t look at me like that. Nothing by Hiyao Miyazaki can ever threaten one’s masculinity. Guy’s a genius. Bethany appeared to agree. Her cuddles drifted off into rapt attention at the heartwarming tale of a witch and her familiar. She didn’t even seem distracted by my choice of subtitles and the original Japanese dialogue track. Look, Phil Hartman did an awesome Jiji. The folks at the Mouse did good when they brought Ghibli’s works over the the pond. I’m just a purist, Seeing her discover the joys of the best animation produced in any nation was a gift as much to myself as her.
The doorbell rang when the end credits were rolling.
A little logy after a few beers, I shifted her off my lap while handing her Porco Rosso.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“Excuse me,” the dark-haired woman said on the doorstep. She handed me a flier with...oh. Bethany. “This girl ran away on Friday night. If you have seen—”
She peered around me at Bethany, who stood frozen like a deer in headlights.
At which point the bitch pepper-sprayed me.