PROLOGUE: Spring, 1965
She’d begun to think of herself as the Invisible Girl.
She’d had friends: kids she’d grown up with, stumbling through the grades together in the Boston suburb of Ridgeton, connected by the endless and complex threads of shared experiences in their small world. And many of them had continued on to the local two-year community college, just as she had. But somehow between grade-school and this, her first year of college, it was as though some spell, working so slowly as to be unnoticeable, had pulled them all away from each other, or at least from her, the threads become as fragile as a spider’s web.
She still saw them at school, sat in the same classes, had small conversations with them in the hall or at lunch, but they seemed like strangers—strangers who somehow had many of the same memories she did. She no longer knew what they were feeling just by looking at them, no longer had the knowledge of their likes and dislikes at her fingertips, and she could tell that she had become impenetrable to them. They recognized her. They spoke to her. But they didn’t see her.
And certainly she was invisible to everyone else there. She was an average student, quiet, who did her homework and answered when called upon, but did nothing that would draw a teacher’s particular attention.
Her looks too, she felt, made her as close to invisible as she could be and still have a face. She wore her brown hair in long bangs that came down on either side of her face, and she figured that anyone looking past them would see only her glasses. Or, if by chance she should smile, her braces—an embarrassment at her age. She had no clothing sense, tending towards shapeless dresses in no particular color. She was still diminutive in height and slim of figure. She belonged to no clubs or volunteer organizations. She went to school, she went home.
She had begun to feel invisible there as well. Her parents loved her, she supposed, but were preoccupied. Her father, once a successful member of a top Boston law firm, had been fired when his drinking problems caught up with him and now eked out a living locally doing real estate law, wills or whatever came to hand. When home he was introspective, as if seeking to hold on to something inside himself. He was with Alcoholics Anonymous now, sober well into his second year, but had done a great deal of emotional damage to his wife and daughter beforehand. He had once taken a drunken dislike to his daughter’s bangs and forced her to sit in a chair while he cut them off with scissors, his wavering hand leaving a ragged, ugly fringe across her forehead. She had had to be forced to go to school the next day; and from then on had walked with her face down, her shoulders slumped.
Her mother had stuck by her husband, barely. She now attended his A.A. meetings with him, and they also went to a marriage counselor twice a month, down from once a week at the beginning of his sobriety. But during the bad times she had felt the need to make a life for herself and had taken a secretarial job, which turned out to be a good thing when her husband’s income suddenly dwindled to a small percentage of what it had been. They were making ends meet, just, but there was little money left over for luxuries. She was also socially active, helping out at her church group and local Democratic Party functions. She looked after her daughter as best she could, but she still seemed to feel a lingering discomfort when she was home, a holdover from the bad times that made her restless, want to be somewhere else. Before something happened.
To her daughter her mother’s attentions seemed well meant but somehow superficial, as if her daughter was an item on a checklist. She would ask about her day at school and seem to pay attention to her answer, and yet also not, as if in some part of her mind she was reviewing the day’s agenda, not really seeing the girl in front of her.
The Invisible Girl.
But being invisible was not without advantages, she had found. The little things she wanted that there was no money for could be made to vanish from a store shelf and reappear outside.
And she found ways of procuring money for things she wanted which were too big or well protected to steal. She began attending the school functions she had heretofore avoided, the dances and sports events. Her parents, to the extent that they had noticed, were probably relieved that their daughter was beginning to be interested in having a social life, little realizing that the Invisible Girl was only interested in unattended purses and coat pockets.
The school authorities eventually began to talk about a ‘crime wave’ and to remind students to look after their things at public events. But by then she had honed her invisibility until even the wary and cautious were no match for her powers. The money simply disappeared from their pockets and reappeared in hers. In fact, after a while she stopped buying things much and just stored the money inside the torn seam of an old stuffed toy in her closet. But the Invisible Girl continued her predations.
Weeks went by. One Saturday night in late spring she was at a school dance, working her way through the coatroom. There was supposed to be a teacher on duty but the Invisible Girl knew which ones took cigarette breaks when things were slow and merely hung around, invisibly, until she saw the teacher heading for the exit, then reached over the ledge of the dutch door and let herself in. And even if the teacher did come back a little sooner than expected, well, she had just forgotten where she’d hung her coat. Happen to anyone.
The pickings were somewhat slimmer than before but still a lot of the girls simply could not be bothered to keep their purses with them while they danced. She made her way along the walls, checking purses and feeling coats for potentially interesting lumps. There was Mira Barnstable’s coat, a flashy red, satiny-looking thing as befit the richest girl at the school. There was only one coat like that in town. Had she left her purse? No. Too bad. But those pockets were worth investigating. She slipped her hand into one, finding it surprisingly deep...but empty.
She had just reached into the other, the pocket reaching nearly halfway up her arm, when something in the corner of her eye made her whirl around toward the door. There was a boy there; she knew him, knew he was a second-year student though she couldn’t remember his name. He was leaning his elbows on the door-ledge, looking in.
At her. She thought she was standing so that he couldn’t see her hand in Mira’s pocket, but she wasn’t sure.
They looked at each other in silence for a moment. Then without a word he straightened, took his arms off the ledge and walked away.
Was he going to get a teacher? Had he seen? Or was she still the Invisible Girl? She waited, tensely, to see if he would return.
After a few excruciating minutes, when nothing happened, she left.
But she didn’t feel as invisible as before.
He had seen her; she knew it as soon she saw him waiting outside her last class of the day, leaning with apparent casualness against the wall. How had he known where she would be? He gave her the merest flick of a glance as she passed, certainly no more than a second-year boy would normally have given to a mousy little freshman girl with glasses, braces and bad clothes, but there was knowledge in that look that confirmed it.
But why hadn’t he said something at the dance? If he told anyone, oh god, she’d be suspended at least, or maybe arrested! Her knees felt like jelly as she continued down the hall, imagining the shame of it: walking down the halls, sitting in class, knowing that everyone knew what she was. If she were ever allowed to come back, that is.
As she turned the corner she looked back. And saw him. Now he was looking directly at her—he was walking towards her!
She panicked, hurried down the hall and ducked into the bathroom to catch her breath. Fortunately it was empty, everyone having rushed out after school on this sunny afternoon.
She stood at one of the sinks, looking at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were wide behind her glasses, her breathing too fast. She tried to calm herself. Maybe he wouldn’t tell; he seemed like a nice enough boy, as near as she could tell, considering that they lived in different universes, practically. She was positive he’d never noticed her before...before he saw... But if he wasn’t going to tell, why had he been waiting for her, why had he looked at her like that? Oh god, she was in such trouble.
She leaned forward, letting her forehead rest against the coolness of the mirror. She closed her eyes.
She had no idea how long she’d been standing there like that when she heard the bathroom door open. She quickly pulled herself upright and opened her eyes. And felt her heart stop.
In the mirror, behind her: it was him. She turned, gasping.
He seemed not to notice as he stopped and simply stood there looking at her, his hands in his pockets, a good-looking boy she’d occasionally admired from a distance. He seemed relaxed, as if he wasn’t committing a serious violation of the rules by his mere presence. A boy in the girls’ bathroom! But there was no one around, and he obviously knew she was in no position to tell on him.
He looked at her for a long moment to let her know he understood the situation, then said, “Hello, Jane.” He knew her name! “You certainly like to play hide and seek, don’t you?”
He waited for her to reply. Then, when it was apparent that she was speechless, continued. “I mean, you’re always hiding, aren’t you? If it’s not the bathroom, you’re hiding in the back of the class. Or in the back of the bus. Or...” He raised his eyebrows slightly and seemed to smile. “...in the coatroom.” She gasped. “You spend a lot of time in the coatroom. Don’t you, Jane?”
She still didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. Her face had gone totally white, and she leaned back against the sink, steadying herself with both hands.
“So, now we know who the legendary thief is.” He began walking slowly toward her. “And so far the only two people who know are you and me—right?”
She managed to nod as he stopped in front of her, looking down into her face with an expression that was partially amusement and partially...she didn’t know what, but it sent a shiver up her spine.
“Take off your glasses.”
What? Why? She did so, holding them awkwardly in her hands as he gazed at her for what must have only been a few seconds but seemed to go on for hours. It was hard to meet his gaze.
How blue his eyes were.
He seemed to nod slightly to himself, then continued. “Hmm. I guess that means we both have decisions to make.”
She had no idea what he meant and he knew it. She started to put her glasses back on but he said, “No. Leave them off.” She fumbled with them for a moment, then slipped them into her dress pocket as he continued. “My decision is simple: do I turn you in...or not? And I’m guessing,” he said with an ironic lift of his eyebrows, “that you’d like it better if I didn’t. I don’t think you’d get along very well with the other kids in prison,” he added dryly.
She was so terrified that her teeth were almost chattering, but managed to find enough voice to stammer out a tiny, “...no...please...”
He continued to look down at her, and now an intense, considering look began to appear in his eyes, as he went on. “Well then, you’ll be glad to know that my decision will depend on your decision.”
What decision? She stared at him, numb.
“Well,” he said, as if she asked the question out loud, “since you’re a thief, you should be punished, right?”
She hesitated, then gave the barest of nods, hardly breathing, unable to guess where he was leading.
He nodded back, slightly. “So would you rather be punished by the school, and your parents, and maybe the police...” He deliberately left it unfinished for a moment, knowing she was hooked. The weighing look became concentrated, a laser beam, as he finished, “Or...by me?”
At first she couldn’t take it in. Punished by him? She thought her heart had stopped but now it was going like a rabbit’s. She opened her mouth, but at first nothing came out. Then: “...H-how...wh-what...”
He smiled a tight smile. “That’s right, you have no idea what I’d do—and I’m not going to tell you. On the other hand, whatever punishment you get from me will be just between us, I promise. No one else will ever know. So what’ll it be, Jane? Do you want to be punished by them?” He jerked a thumb back over his shoulder to indicate her parents, the school, the police, and the rest of the world. “Or by me?”
His gaze seemed to be burning straight through her. And yet, terrified as she was, she saw something unexpected in his eyes: for just an instant she sensed that his aggressiveness was a pretense; that behind it he was almost as afraid as she was. Then it was gone—and she was still trapped.
She was almost as afraid of him as of the alternative. But what choice did she really have? Nothing he could do would be as bad as having her crimes made public.
She looked down and barely whispered, “You.”
“Oh, no,” he exclaimed. “You’ll have to do better than that. Look at me.”
He reached out and placed two fingers under her chin, the sudden touch a small electric shock. Then he tilted her chin up so that she was again looking directly into his eyes. Blue. Hypnotic.
“Now say, ‘I deserve to be punished.’”
She couldn’t tear her eyes away. It was as if someone else was speaking as the words came out: “I…I deserve to be p-punished.”
He held her with his gaze. “I want you to punish me.”
“I w-want you…to punish me.” It was as if she were disappearing into his eyes.
“Any way you want to.”
“Any way you want to.”
“I’ll do whatever you tell me.”
“I’ll d-do…whatever you tell me.”
“I swear it.”
“I swear it.”
He released her chin but continued to look deeply into her eyes, and again for an instant his eyes betrayed him; she thought she saw confusion there, as if he hadn’t really expected her consent and didn’t know what to do next. Then the look was gone, elusive as a fish in the blue depths of his eyes, and the controlling, laser-like gaze returned.
He continued to hold her there for a moment as if sealing their contract. Then he turned away from her and looked around the room for a moment, considering. Then he started toward one of the toilet stalls, saying, “Come in here,” over his shoulder as he went.
She followed him into the gray metal cubicle and watched as he put down the toilet lid and sat on it.
“Close the door.”
She swung the door shut behind her and latched it, then turned to face him. This left her standing almost knee-to-knee with him, his face at the level of her navel.
For a long moment he simply sat there, hands resting on his thighs, looking up at her, his face unreadable. She was recovering from her shock and was beginning to feel very uncomfortable.
How could he punish her in here? Strangely, she found herself wishing she’d worn something nicer than her gray jumper, white ribbed turtleneck sweater and penny loafers with white ankle-socks, though she had no idea why.
The silence continued. She didn’t know what to do with her hands.
More silence. When he finally spoke, she almost jumped.
“All right. Bend down and grab your skirt with both hands.
What in the world?
It doesn’t matter, she told herself—she had to do what he said. She slowly bent forward until she could grasp the hem of her skirt. She found herself looking at his knees.
Now what, she wondered. She soon found out.
“Now straighten up.”
She caught her breath. If she stood up straight, her skirt would come with it. Still, maybe not too high... She did as she’d been told.
She could feel, then see him watching her as she stood upright, his eyes on the rising curtain of her skirt. When she was fully upright her skirt was bunched almost at the tops of her thighs. Oh god, what if somebody came in?
His next words elevated her fear: “Keep going.”
Oh god, he wanted her to lift up her dress! She’d hardly even kissed a boy before, and he wanted...if they got caught... She started to shake her head and lower her skirt.
He was out of his seat in an instant, and stood face to face with her.
“Changing your mind?” he inquired mildly. “Fine. See you around…”
He made as if to reach for the door latch behind her. The threat was unspoken but obvious.
“No!” she gasped, putting a hand on his wrist to stop him. “I’ll do it…but…but…
“But what if somebody comes in, if they see us…” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “They’ll think I’m…some little slut.”
He moved his face even closer, until their noses were almost touching. When he spoke, his voice was oddly gentle, as if he were sorry she was in such an uncomfortable situation.
“Nobody can see us in here.” His look became intense again. “Now make up your mind…are you going to do what I tell you or not?”
She couldn’t hold his gaze. She looked down, and spoke softly. “Do what you tell me.”
“Look at me.”
She raised her eyes to his.
“Even if it means being a little slut?”
She took a quick, gasping breath. “Y-yes.”
“Even if it means...b-being...a little slut.” She swallowed the last words.
“I didn’t hear you. Are you a little slut?”
Her throat was dry. “Yes... I’m a little...ss-slut.” She couldn’t believe she was looking into a boy’s eyes and saying those words.
“Fine.” He released her and sat down again. Looking up at her he said, “Now. You won’t give me any more trouble, will you?
She was able to breathe again, but just barely. “No, I won’t.”
“Good. All right, we’ll start over.” He stared thoughtfully at her, then said, “I’ll make it easier for you this time. I want you to say, ‘Please, may I show you…my panties?’”
Panties. She felt her face turning red. Oh god, what could she do? Nothing. She had no choice. She looked down at her feet as she began, “Please...”
“Look at me.”
She raised her eyes to his. “Please, may I...sh-show you...my p-panties?”
“Yes, you may. Go ahead.”
Her face was still red as she again bent slowly forward and grasped her skirt hem in her hands. Once again she slowly straightened. When she was upright again, she hesitated for a moment, as if trying to think of some last-minute escape from the situation. Finding none, she continued to look at him as she raised her skirt a few more inches.
His gaze slowly moved down from her eyes to where her hands were holding up her skirt.
She looked down and watched her hands, seemingly unbidden, continue to raise her skirt until the slim band of flesh between the bottom of her turtleneck and the top of her panties became visible. Her panties were thin white cotton, patterned with pink and blue flowers, much faded from repeated washings. They were trimmed with tiny bands of lace. Oh god, she was holding up her dress and letting a boy look at her panties. She was so ashamed.
“Stand with your legs apart.”
She did so and immediately felt her shame deepen, because now he could see the bulge between her legs. Maybe he could even make out the outline of her...oh god. How long would he make her stand there like this? She watched him as he stared at her panties, seeming to savor them as if they were something delicious.
At long last he looked up at her again. Maybe they were done, maybe she could go home and pretend this had all been just a bad dream...
She did so, still holding her skirt up.
“Bend down and touch your toes. Feet apart.”
Again she bent forward, until her face was at the level of her knees, and reached down to touch the tips of her shoes. To do that she had had to let go of her skirt, so at least she was covered again, even if her behind was practically in his face.
Her relief was short-lived, however, when she felt her skirt being lifted from behind and raised over her hips. She felt the clammy air of the bathroom on the backs of her legs. He was lifting up her dress! She almost let go and straightened up, but caught herself. There was nothing she could do.
Oh god, now her behind really was almost in his face, not to mention her… Oh god, now he could see it for sure!
She was distracted from her thoughts by a delicate, moth-like touch on the back of her right knee, moving in slow circles. This was joined by another…and then two more. Four little moths, first moving gently down her calf, then slowly back up to her knee. Slowly circling down...then back up, a little higher this time. Down a little...then slowly...a little higher.
They actually felt very nice, these little moths, even if the position she was in wasn’t very comfortable. But they were getting very close to the edge of her panties! Oh god, they were there! First they traced the lace edge around her hip toward the front of her thigh, then slowly began to drift back. Oh god, they were slipping under the elastic—they were under her panties!
She desperately wanted to move, or to at least cry out to stop, but she didn’t dare, as they traced their way over the lower part of her behind, getting closer and closer to her… He was going to touch her there! Her breath was practically gasping as he...stopped.
His fingers slipped out from under her panties—thank god! They hesitated for a moment, then slowly continued on, up onto her behind. Then she felt his whole hand there, warm, lazily fondling first one mound, then the other, as if smoothing out wrinkles in her panties. She felt a small electric shock as one finger drifted into the valley between her cheeks and pressed there momentarily.
The hand then continued upward, first sliding up and under her turtleneck—again that warmth, now on her lower back, then drifting down again, this time dwindling again to one small moth-touch, now tracing the top of her panties, now slipping—oh god—beneath the elastic. Oh no, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t pull down her panties, would he? She would die of shame.
But no: the finger seemed to be gathering up the material as if he were going to pull her panties up. He was pulling them up, tighter—she could feel them pulling between her cheeks—and tighter! They were beginning to...oh my god, she could feel the pressure on her...oh god, oh god, oh....
The pressure gradually eased off as he removed his hand. She felt her panties loosen slightly. Thank goodness. Now they were done, she was sure.
“All right…stand and face me.”
She did so, relieved to feel her dress falling back into place. She said, “Please, are we done? Can I go home now?”
He shook his head and replied, “Mm-mm,” as casually as if she’d just asked if he knew the time.
He suddenly leaned forward and took her by the wrists, staring into her eyes. “You don’t get it yet, do you? From now on you’re my slave.”
Jane felt a jolt of ice in her stomach and her mouth fell open in dismay.
He released her and sat back. “I think you need a little review. What do you have to do?”
She swallowed, and forced herself to say the words. “W-whatever you tell me.”
He nodded. “Mm-hm. So what are you?”
Oh god, he’s right, she thought.
“I’m…your…slave?” She phrased it as a question, even though she knew it wasn’t.
He nodded again, as if encouraging her. “That’s right…slave. And what else are you?”
Her mind went blank. Then she remembered. “I’m...a little...s-slut.”
“Very good. So that means from now on you’re my little slut, right?”
It seemed to Jane that he was holding his breath as he waited for her answer, but she had no idea why. He knew she had no choice, didn’t he?
Again she forced herself to speak. “Y-yes.” She started to look down in embarrassment but caught herself in time. “I’m your li-little slut.”
There it was again: his eyes went wide, just for an instant. As if he couldn’t believe what was happening any more than she could. Then it was gone.
He nodded a third time. “Good. Don’t forget.”
He held her in his gaze again. “Now, slave, I want you to say, ‘Please, may I...” he watched her face as he concluded, “take off my dress for you?’”
Jane, shocked in spite of everything that had already happened, opened her mouth to argue, to plead
His eyes blazed and he started to rise to his feet. Immediately she fell silent.
After a moment he slowly resumed his seat. “You were about to say something, slave?”
Well, she thought, he’s already seen my panties, what difference can it make now?
She took a slow breath and let it out. “Please…m-may I take off my dress for you?”
“You may.” He leaned back against the wall and looked up at her as if waiting for a movie to begin.
She reached both hands behind her neck to unfasten and begin unzipping her jumper, then reached behind her to complete the job, looking at him all the while. Then she slowly pulled down first one shoulder of the dress, then the other. She pulled her arms out of the sleeve-holes. The front of her dress now hung below her waist. She stopped for a moment, as if considering, then tugged at the waistline of her dress, which slid slowly down over her hips and puddled at her feet. She stood with her arms at her sides.
Even though she wasn’t really any more exposed than she had been before she certainly felt as if she were. Especially since the contours of her small breasts were now plainly visible under her turtleneck, as he had plainly noticed.
He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Very good. Now let’s find out if you’ve learned anything. What do you think your next question should be?”
She didn’t have to think about it for long, and she knew now there was no way to avoid it. “Please, may I take off my sweater for you?”
He gave her a thin smile of approval. “Very good, slave. You may.”
She wasted no time trying to delay the inevitable. She crossed her arms in front of her and pulled the turtleneck over her head in one smooth motion, dropping it on the floor beside her. Her bra matched her panties, and she felt obscurely glad about that fact. No worse than a bathing suit, she told herself desperately, dropping her hands back to her sides.
He looked at her for a long moment without speaking.
She had been too overwhelmed before to notice but now she became aware that his breath, too, was unsteady. And there, again: something in his eyes…what was it?
Then it was gone again as he spoke. “Stand with your feet apart and put your hands behind your head.”
She did so, and instantly became very much aware of how this position made her breasts more prominent, and even more aware that he knew it. He was looking at them now—his gaze almost like a touch as it moved slowly down from her face to her breasts, down her waist to linger on her panties for a moment, then just as slowly back up.
He leaned back again, as if to take in the whole picture.
“Close your eyes.”
She did so. Nothing happened for a moment. In the darkness behind her eyes she became aware of sounds and smells—the low hum of the ventilation system, the gurgling pipes, the disinfectant odor of the bathroom, the growing sense of warmth near her stomach…
When she felt his hand there she started and inadvertently began to open her eyes, then shut them again, hoping he hadn’t noticed.
Now everything else, the sounds and smells, vanished, leaving only the feel of his hand, warm–hot!–on her stomach.
For a moment it simply rested there, covering her navel. Then it began to move, at first making only the tiniest of circles, which gradually grew wider and wider until his hand was circling her whole abdomen, but slowly…so slowly.
It really felt wonderful, she admitted to herself, even if she really shouldn’t be allowing it. So soothing, after she’d been so scared and upset.
She felt herself relax a little, her head falling back slightly. She had to keep herself from sighing audibly. And it felt almost natural when the slow circle of warmth continued to rise until it covered her left breast, fondling and molding it through the thin cloth of her bra.
Oh god, she really was a little slut, not only letting this boy she hardly knew touch her like that, but enjoying it. Oh, but she shouldn’t be enjoying it, mustn’t let him know. Could he hear how her breath was rasping in and out of her mouth? Mustn’t let him think she was letting him do it for any other reason than because she had to. What was that? There was a tingling, almost bursting sensation in the tip of her breast.
Oh my god, my nipple is getting hard! Maybe he won’t see it through my bra! Don’t let him see it, don’t let him see it…
But when she felt her nipple gently but firmly seized between two fingers, she couldn’t help herself—she gasped. And then she felt his other hand on her right breast, doing the same thing—squeezing it, molding it, circling the nipple until it too popped up, then seizing it, pinching and gently pulling it in time with the other.
Her breasts felt full of heat, like small volcanoes, and she felt as if her nipples must be glowing red-hot. And now she felt another warmth, a different, melting, liquid warmth, somewhere below.
Between her legs. It seemed to be growing, spreading out into her stomach, her hips… Oh god, she could hardly stand, her legs were giving way. A moan escaped her lips…
Immediately, everything stopped. Her breasts felt suddenly cool as his hands were taken away. Her eyes flew open, and she stood, desperately trying to breathe normally, as he leaned back and regarded her, crossing his arms as he did so.
“You really are a bad little girl, aren’t you? You steal things, you take off your clothes in front of a boy…”
As if it had been her idea!
“And now…this.” He slowly unfolded his arms then pointed between her legs.
She looked down, her hands still locked behind her head. There was a dark, wet stain between her legs, extending several inches upward in a semi-circle. She had wet her panties, and right in front of him!
She gasped, “Oh!”
She couldn’t control herself; she pressed her knees together and bent forward, covering her face with her hands, trying not to cry. But even as she collapsed into shame, a tiny part of her mind wondered that she hadn’t noticed herself peeing…and that there was no pee smell! But what else could it be?
He waited for a minute or two until he sensed her beginning to collect herself, then said, “All right, that’s enough. Return to your position.”
Oh, wasn’t he done yet?
“Oh, please, my panties…”
“Are wet. And we’re about to deal with that. Return to your position, slave.”
Sniffling a little as she did so, she slowly complied and stood once again with her hands locked behind her head and her feet apart. She could still sense the cooling wet spot between her legs and felt her face burning with shame, which only got deeper as she saw him continue to look there.
“Oh yes,” he said, nodding as if to himself, “only very bad little girls wet their panties like that.” He looked up at her. “Right?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“So that makes you a very bad little girl, doesn’t it?”
She felt tears starting in her eyes, and shut them tightly as she quavered, “Y-yes.”
“Open your eyes. Look at me.”
She did, still feeling the tears at the corners of her eyes.
He continued, “Yes...what?”
She felt a tear running down one cheek, then a second one on the other. “Yes—I...” She gulped. “I’m...I’m a very bad little girl.” She felt a tear drip from the side of her face and land on her shoulder.
“For wetting my panties,” he prompted her.
“For...w-wetting my, my p-p-panties.” Her lips were quivering so badly that she could hardly speak, and the tears now ran freely down her face.
“Say it again.”
“I’m a...a very...b-bad...little...little...girl.... For...w-w-wetting...” She began to sob, gasping for breath. “Wetting my...wetting my pa-an-an-ties!”, she whimpered.
She could never have imagined such complete humiliation in her worst nightmares. Here she was, standing in a bathroom stall, crying like a baby, standing in front of a boy while wearing nothing but her undies, a big wet stain on her panties plainly visible between her spread legs. She wished the floor would open and swallow her up.
But she stayed in her position.
He watched her in silence for a moment. Then he said, quietly, “Do you know what happens to bad little girls?”
She was speechless, her mind numb with shame. She managed to shake her head slightly as she continued to sob.
“Give me your hands.”
She slowly removed her hands from behind her head and held them out to him. He took one wrist in each of his hands and drew her slowly toward him. He continued to pull her, now past his knees, as if he wanted her to sit next to him, even though there was no way she could do so.
Then he gave her arms a sudden pull and she fell, sprawling face down across his lap, her head almost hitting the wall as her legs slid under the partition in the other direction. He pinned her there with his left arm.
Then he leaned down and whispered into her ear, “This is what happens to bad little girls.”
She hadn’t even recovered from the shock of falling across his lap when the first blow landed on her behind—a heavy, open-handed slap.
Oh god, how it stung! Her tears were forgotten instantly and she opened her mouth to scream, but before she could he covered her mouth with his left hand.
“Shhh”, he said. She heard him unrolling toilet paper with his other hand, and before she knew what was happening he had uncovered her mouth and stuffed in a huge wad of it. Then he pinned her hands behind her back with his left hand.
There was silence. Five seconds. Ten seconds...
The second blow fell even harder than the first. Her behind felt as if it had been stung simultaneously by a hundred bees. She writhed in his lap and tried again to scream, but all that came out was a muffled, “Nnnnnn!’
A third blow. An agonizing pause. Another blow. Each time, her back would arch, and she would kick her feet and try to scream, but to no avail.
Waiting for the next blow was worse than receiving it—never knowing when it would arrive until it exploded on her backside.
Her behind was on fire, it was burning! And with each blow the fire seemed to burn its way a little deeper inside her. In fact the blows really weren’t as bad as the waiting; the heat inside felt almost...pleasant. Almost like the warmth she had felt earlier, that melting, liquid....
By the time the tenth blow had landed, her tears were gone, as she needed every bit of concentration just to breathe. Then she felt her hands being released, and he helped her to her feet.
“Stand over there and take that stuff out of your mouth.”
She stood in front of him again and removed the paper from her mouth, wiping her face and nose before dropping it on the floor beside her. Without being told she raised her hands behind her head.
Her behind felt as if it received a ferocious sunburn. She looked at him and saw that he was now sweating profusely as well as breathing heavily as he looked up at her and spoke.
“Now. Are you sorry you were such a bad little girl?”
“Yes. I-I’m sorry I was such a bad little girl.”
“Good. Of course, you still have a lot to make up for—that was just for wetting your panties.”
She didn’t dare look down, but somehow it seemed as though her panties were even wetter than they were before—almost dripping...
No! Don’t think about it!
He continued, “There’s something I want you to do.” He looked at her carefully, as if trying to judge her response. “If you do as you’re told…then you’ll be done.”
Done! Jane started to take a deep breath, imagining the nightmare almost over, but then he added, “For today.”
Her face fell, but only slightly. She would be free for the rest of the day, and the weekend! Visions of a hot bath rose up in her mind. Then to bed with a book…and lots of pillows, to sit on as well as put behind her. Heaven!
She nodded and whispered, “All right. What do you want me to do?”
“For starters, get down on your knees.”
By now, any thought of disobeying him was impossible. She sank to the floor amid her cast-off clothing, her knees immediately cold on the tiles. She sat back on her heels, but he said, “You’ll need to be upright for this, slave.”
She rose again to her knees. As she was doing so, he stood up—and she found herself with her nose almost touching his belt-buckle. She looked up at him, questioningly.
He met her gaze, and said, “Now I want you to say, “Please, may I undo your belt?”
Was he going to show her his underwear? Why? No matter.
“Please, may I undo your belt?”
“Yes, you may.”
She reached up and held on to his braided leather belt with her left hand as she pulled the end through the loop and freed it from the buckle so that they both hung loosely. She let her hands drop again to her sides and looked up at him.
“Now say, “Please, may I unbutton your pants?”
“Please, may I unbutton your pants?”
“Yes, you may.”
Again she reached up, using both hands to unbutton the top of his brown corduroys. Again she dropped her hands back to her sides and looked up.
He seemed to be smiling a little as he continued. “Now you’re going to have to work a little harder. I want you to say, “Please, may I unzip your pants?”
Well, that didn’t seem any harder. “Please, may I unzip your pants?”
“Yes, you may unzip my pants...with your teeth.”
With her teeth? Impossible! Plus, she’d have to put her face right up against the front of his pants, with him watching!
No choice. She had to try it. Leaving her hands at her sides she leaned forward, nuzzling her way past the hanging belt-buckle and attempting to nudge her way past the fabric that covered his fly. But she kept wobbling as she did so, almost losing her balance more than once.
“Use your hands to steady yourself.”
She placed her hands on his hips. There, that was better! Now she was able to get under the fabric with her nose, and finally, after several attempts, seize the tiny silver toggle firmly between her front teeth. She began to pull downward, breathing through her nose and praying that her braces wouldn’t get caught.
At first it was difficult, as the bulge in his pants was pressing so tightly against the zipper that it was hard to get the toggle to move. But once she had gotten it over the little hill at the top it seemed to move more smoothly. The flaps of his pants moved aside somewhat as she pulled the toggle lower, which meant that sometimes her nose brushed against his underwear, and she could smell...what? She didn’t know: sweat and something else, a warm, almost mushroomy smell. But she didn’t find it unpleasant.
As she continued to tug, and more of what was underneath became visible, she couldn’t help but be aware of the mysterious bulge, now more clearly defined as it strained against the white fabric of his underwear. It tapered slightly as it neared the top then expanded into a kind of flattened knob.
At long last she had pulled the little toggle as far down as it would go. Her neck and her jaw both ached slightly. Still holding on to his hips, she raised her head to look at him.
He was looking down at her. He said, “Good. Pull my pants the rest of the way down. With your hands.”
She did so, and now the outline of the bulge was fully revealed, standing out between his blue shirttails. She saw two smaller bulges at the bottom, one on each side. The size of the whole thing frightened her, and yet...
As if reading her thoughts, he said, “You’d like to know what’s under there, wouldn’t you?”
There was no point in denying it. She nodded, barely moving her head.
“Give me your hand.”
She did so and watched, hypnotized, as he drew it to him and pressed the palm against the middle part of the bulge, gently curling her fingers around it. It was so warm! After a moment, he began slowly moving her hand, first upward to the top of the shaft, then just as slowly down, until her hand was cupping the two smaller bulges. He squeezed her hand gently there so that her hand in turn lightly squeezed the two bulges, which seemed to move under her fingers. They felt like tiny eggs. Again he drew her hand slowly up the shaft, then down again. And again. Now they were both breathing through their mouths, quickly.
Oh god, she was kneeling there in her underwear with her hand right on his...
“Tell me what it is,” he said, stopping his movement but continuing to hold her hand against him.
Her mind was reeling. “It’s...is it...is it your...” What was the word? Oh god. “P-penis?”
He smiled, briefly. “That’s right, slave. You’re touching...” He squeezed her hand around it again. “Or, almost touching, my penis. But there’s another word for it that I want you to use. The word is cock. Say it.”
She had overheard boys saying that word and knew it was filthy. Oh god, he was making her say that nasty, dirty word! While she was touching it! It was so shameful. She felt herself reddening again.
Unbidden, the tears sprang into her eyes again. No! She wasn’t going to cry again after what happened last time. She took a breath to calm herself, then spoke, looking up into his eyes.
“Good. Now say, ‘I’m touching your cock.’”
Oh god. She would not cry again. “I’m touching...t-touching your…cock.”
“That’s right, you are. And you know what that makes you?”
Her mind went blank. “N-no.”
He leaned down to her, and, enunciating clearly, said, “A...little...slut.”
She desperately wanted not to cry, but her breath began coming in sobs again.
He continued to press her hand against him and continued, “Say it. Say, ‘I’m a little slut and I’m touching your cock.’”
Oh god, it must be true! “I’m...I’m...a little s-slut, and I’m touching…touching your cock.”
She couldn’t help it—the tears began to flow again.
“Good. Actually, of course, you’re not really touching my
cock yet. But you’d like to, wouldn’t you?”
No, no. No more.
She began to shake her head. Immediately, he let go of her hand and, placing both of his on either side of her head, tilted it back so that she was forced to look up at him.
“I said, wouldn’t you, slave?”
All right, all right...!
He released her and she slumped back onto her heels, covering her face with her hands.
He waited for a moment, then said “Enough. Straighten up.”
She did so, her face still wet.
“Now, slave. Would you like to take out my cock?”
“Yessss....” Her voice was barely a whisper, her throat raw.
“Then you know what to ask.”
She knew. “Please, m-may I take out your cock?”
“Yes, you may. Pull the elastic out before you pull it down.”
She reached up with both hands and, terrified, grasped the elastic and pulled it out and then down, as he’d instructed, running her thumbs back to ease the elastic over his behind, her eyes closed, not daring to look. She pulled his underwear down to his ankles and remained there, her head down.
“Look at it.”
Slowly, she raised her head and opened her eyes.
The first thing she saw was a dark sack, lightly covered with brown curly hairs, that contained the two egg-like things she had touched earlier. Then above it, rising out of a nest of dark snarly hair, was the shaft, which somehow seemed even bigger now. It was pink and rose, rough and smooth, traced with bluish veins that led upward to where the skin gathered into a kind of mushroom cap.
It seemed so strange just hanging there like that, like a clumsy afterthought to his body, so unlike the way she was down there. It looked so hard, yet the skin seemed slippery and shiny, almost like a snake. She almost wanted to...
Timidly, she reached out, barely grazing the shaft with the tips of two fingers, then pulling back.
She looked up at him, waiting. He merely looked back at her.
Again she reached out, this time laying her fingers against the shaft. After a moment, she began to move them upward, feeling the strange sensation of the skin sliding along the shaft. She touched near the top where the skin gathered, and ran her index finger along the rim of the mushroom cap, looking at the oddly shaped hole in the center.
Finally, she gave into her desire and allowed her hand to circle the shaft. She squeezed it gently, the head peeping out of her fist. What a strange thing boys have!
His voice was soft, as if with wonder. “You like my cock, don’t you?”
Strangely, she did. “Yes,” she whispered. “I like your...cock.”
“Good. You’d like to...kiss it, wouldn’t you?’
Kiss it! Oh no. Kiss his, his thing? If she hadn’t been a slut before, that would certainly do it. Still, what choice did she have, and besides his…his cock really felt kind of warm and snug in her hand. Maybe just once... And she knew what he wanted her to say.
“Please, may I...kiss your cock?”
There. She had surprised him a little, she could tell, by not waiting to be told what to say.
But he simply replied, “Yes, you may.”
So still holding it wrapped in her hand she leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on the place where the rim of the mushroom cap rose toward the top. Then she leaned back, feeling a slight taste of salt on her tongue.
Well, it wasn’t so bad. Again she leaned forward, this time placing her lips gently on the very tip, before leaning back. She thought it had seemed to jump a little as she’d kissed it that time.
“Give me your hand.”
She uncurled her fingers from around his cock and extended her hand to him.
He took it in both of his hands, gently curling down the last two fingers, leaving the first two and the thumb extended. She steadied herself with her left hand on his hip.
“Now, whatever I do with your hand, you will do with my cock. Understand?”
He kissed the tips of her two fingers. She leaned forward and kissed him where she had the first time.
He began slowly kissing his way down her hand towards the base of her thumb. She kissed her way down his shaft, feeling it pulse under her lips.
He kissed the heel of her hand in two places, and she gently kissed the two eggs in their sack.
By this time her response to what he was doing to her hand was automatic. Whatever he did, she did. So when she suddenly felt the tip of his tongue sliding along the base of her hand she didn’t hesitate, running the tip of her own tongue back and forth along the bottom of his sack, lightly at first, then with more pressure, juggling the eggs gently with her tongue, tasting the salty sweat there, the mushroom smell filling up her nose.
Following his lead, she began now to lick her way up his shaft in fast little circles, spending a little time at the top before working her way down again.
The texture of his skin was unlike anything she’d ever felt before, especially with her tongue. So smooth and slick and full and warm. Maybe like a tomato, picked warm from the vine. The image almost made her want to bite into it. She knew she couldn’t, but turned her head to the side and allowed herself to nibble it ever so slightly while her tongue continued...
And felt it jump. It twitched away from her mouth for a moment, in a short jerky movement, as if it had a life of its own. At the same time, she heard him gasp, softly. At first she thought maybe she’d hurt him, but he said nothing. So she continued to nibble as she continued up his shaft.
As she was nearing the top, he took her two fingers into his mouth, sliding them in and out, moistening them with his tongue. It felt wonderful, but...put his cock in her mouth? The thing he pees with?
She raised her head and again kissed it on the very top, then slowly began to open her lips, taking just the tip in and moistening it with her tongue, letting it slide out again, taking it a little farther, slowly, slowly letting it slide out across her lips, instinctively careful not to touch it with her teeth. Or her braces. She took a deep breath in through her nose. Then, opening her jaws as wide as she could, she slid the whole mushroom cap into her mouth...
And heard him groan, a soft exhalation of breath. And she knew it was from pleasure, not pain.
And it thrilled her. She had made him do that! She wanted to do it again. So she let the cap slide slowly, even more slowly, out through her moistened lips, this time massaging it with the tip of her tongue...
And this time he groaned out loud, a drawn-out, “Ohhhh!”
And Jane knew that she was no longer the slave.
The sudden knowledge of her power made her heart race. She felt her nipples harden and tingle once more, and a rush of sensation between her legs.
She was going to make him squirm.
She took just the tip back into her mouth, and began teasing it with her tongue, making slow circles around it and probing the slit in the top, then suddenly opening wide and taking as much of him into her mouth as she could, this time quickly letting him slip out again.
It sounded almost reverent.
She took her mouth off him and raised her head to look at him. His eyes were closed and he was breathing through his mouth. She waited until he opened his eyes and looked at her. Then she gently pulled her hand away from his. She smiled at him and knew he could tell that the power had changed hands.
Then she plunged her mouth down on him again, taking him in and slowly letting him out again, her tongue traveling down his shaft and up. She did it again, a little faster.
By now he was groaning non-stop, and she found it so exciting that she began to groan too as she toyed with him, the sound muffled in her mouth, more like an “Uhhhhhhnnn!”
This excited her even more and she began to work faster, closing her eyes and wishing she could stop long enough to take off the rest of her clothes, as her nipples were burning inside her bra, and her panties… Oh god, her panties were soaked!
And between her legs something was throbbing, the way his cock was beginning to throb in her mouth! It was almost bucking like a horse, and it seemed even bigger, if that was possible.
His groans were getting faster “Ahh!...Ahh!...Ah!” And so were hers: “Uh!...Uh!...Uh!”
She used one hand to hold his cock steady, then completely gave herself up to the rhythm, her head bobbing up and down, her tongue flickering faster and faster, the throbbing between her legs growing more and more intense.
Then suddenly his groaning cut off in mid-breath, and she felt his whole body stiffen. Without knowing why, and without stopping what she was doing, she moved her other hand between his legs, cupping his sack...and squeezed.
His hands flew up to cover his mouth as he cried out. At the same time, she felt something hot and salty and slimy spurting into her mouth as the throbbing between her legs crescendoed and sent a warm explosion traveling in wave after wave through her body until she thought she would faint.
She began to remove her mouth from him, but he held her head there with his hands, saying, in a hoarse whisper, “Please… Oh god, please don’t stop!”
She let the slimy liquid trickle down her throat, the action of swallowing stimulating another couple of short spurts, which she also swallowed, continuing to gently lick him and hold him in her mouth for a while, until she felt him beginning to slide out from between her lips.
She didn’t want to open her eyes; she wanted to just kneel there and feel the waves still reverberating through her. She felt as though she’d been picked up by a tornado and dropped somewhere completely different. She didn’t know who she was anymore.
She opened her eyes and just caught a glimpse of his cock, now looking softer and kind of fragile, as he pulled up his underwear, then pulled up and fastened his pants and belt.
She wanted to talk to him about what had just happened, ask him how it had felt for him—ask him a thousand questions!
But before she could, he looked down at her, still kneeling on the floor, and said, neutrally, “You can go home now.”
He reached past her to unlatch the door, then carefully eased past her and walked out, his footsteps echoing on the tiles. She heard the bathroom door open and slowly sigh shut.
She was stunned. Was that all? Was she suddenly invisible again? She didn’t know what to think.
Now the waves of pleasure had faded away and she felt empty. And sad.
But no matter what she was feeling she couldn’t stay here. She clambered painfully to her feet, noticing, with a distant amusement, that she still had her socks and one of her penny loafers on. She gathered up her clothing and carried it out of the cubicle, draping her dress over the sink while she untangled her turtleneck. She suddenly remembered her glasses and was relieved to discover them unbroken in her dress pocket—she was afraid she had knelt on them. She placed them carefully on the edge of the sink.
She was just about to put her arms into her sweater prior to slipping it over her head, when she heard the bathroom door open. Oh god, she was going to get caught after all, standing in the bathroom in her bra and panties. Her sopping wet panties. Instinctively she turned away from the door, covering herself with her turtleneck as best she could.
Quick footsteps. A hand on her shoulder, turning her around to face...him.
Her eyes widened with shock.
He pulled the sweater out of her hands and tossed it onto the sink with her dress.
Then he put his arms around her, pulled her to him, and kissed her--deeply, tenderly.
Then he pulled away and looked into her eyes with an expression that she couldn’t read.
Then he released her and, without a word, was gone again.