Catherine

by CruelWhim

 

Author’s background information:

 

If you look into anyone’s life, there’s always something precious and wonderful in it. Something that means more to you than anything else could. Something that doesn’t go into words.

 

In my life, that was Catherine.

 

1** ** **

 

I met her in college – we both played volleyball, and when a coed team formed, we were the first and second to sign up for tryouts. When I first saw her, I remember thinking she had no chance. She was small, barely 5’ 3”, and curvy. Perfect for bikini beach volleyball, but not ideal for real competition. Of course, no one there was exactly a level 2 player, but I just didn’t see her as a contender.

 

In fifteen minutes I’d changed my mind. Granted she couldn’t go “up on the net” to save her life, but she had two things going for her. One, she could smoke her serve a scant quarter inch over the net, every single time, and her first serve dropped past me so neatly that I heard my teammates chuckling behind me.

 

Two… I decided to repay her for embarrassing me, by taking a power shot right from the net, blasting it directly at her feet, as fast as I could. It’s a tough shot to handle.

 

But she got under it and casually, effortlessly, deflected it up. I tried five or six more times, dropping it into her corners, at her feet, at her head. Every single time, the ball went floating up into the air to a teammate. There was nothing in her space she couldn’t reach, and gracefully redirect. And she couldn’t be tempted out of position. By the end of the game, my whole team had learned not to put the ball over to her, and so she stood there, smiling, calmly doing setups for her taller teammates. When she got second tap, I learned to dig in, because she’d put the ball perfectly into position for a power slam by one of her teammates. More than once I caught her grinning at me, as I scrambled to handle some cannon shot she’d helped arrange.

 

After tryouts I walked over to her and put out my hand. “Apologies.”

 

She grinned at me: thick dark hair, bright eyes, an open, pretty smile. “What for?”

 

“For thinking you’d suck.”

 

She looked me over, and then grinned wider. “How do you know I don’t?”

 

I mean, how do you not love a girl like that?

 

We ended up on the A team, and when I was front line, it got to the point that I didn’t have to look back, when the ball went her way. I just went up, and there was the ball, hovering right at arm’s length, waiting for me to ram it down someone’s throat. We didn’t make the state championship that year, but it was only because the other power cannon on the team broke his ankle three weeks before the end of the season.

 

1** ** **

 

We dated. I didn’t kiss her until the third date; her only response was a breathy “About time…”

 

The next date wasn’t as tame. We curled up and watched a movie together, some chick flick I think – she’d seen it already, and I didn’t care. Five minutes in I was unbuttoning her flannel shirt, and discovering she’d decided to skip the bra. I looked at the beautiful rounded fullness, and she looked up at me, her eyes more serious than usual. She whispered in my ear. “Be gentle with them. I’m… sensitive.”

 

I ran a finger over the curve, slowly, mesmerized. When the fingertip reached her rosebud nipple, her head went back and she gave a small, sweet moan. “Kiss?” she whispered.

 

I bent over her and drew her nipple into my mouth. It was hard, and I sucked it, gently, learning what she liked. She gave a soft giggle, and then moaned again, her head falling onto my shoulder. I cupped the breast, and pulled gently with my lips: her moan became a pant. I was already rock hard.

 

I closed my teeth around the nipple, just scraping it lightly, and her hands went into my hair, stroking. “Will… god… so intense. Oh! W-Will – I-“

 

I sucked harder, my free hand moving through her hair, pressing her closer... I wanted to hear every breath. She licked my ear, sliding it in and around gently, and then she moaned again deeply. “Will – have to say something – oh! Oh Will…please…”

 

I raised my head, burning. “Don’t say anything.”

 

“I have to,” she said, softly, still panting. “Will... you need to know. Only fair. I’m saving myself.”

 

Somehow I wasn’t shocked, at least not very. It was like her, somehow.

 

“Catherine,” I said. “That’s… I mean, I wasn’t going to-“

 

“Yes, you were. Don’t be silly.” She brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, her pretty, somber grey eyes. She was still panting. “You had me coming apart from one little suck. I had to say it now, because in ten minutes I wouldn’t have been able to. Please, Will. Can I trust you?”

 

Every guy’s favorite question. I was throbbing, excited, and aching. “I don’t know. What are the limits?”

 

“No penetration. Not even your fingers. I don’t suck cock, either… I’m sorry now that I teased you about that, that first day... please don’t be angry. This is what I am.”

 

Her eyes stared into mine, asking me to understand. I looked down, and slid my hand over her breast again, slowly, lightly, watching my hand move over her skin. She looked down as well, her eyes following my fingers, a little unsteadily.

 

I smiled, grimly. “I’m not a virgin. This is going to be hard.”

 

“I- I know. I’ve lost guys at this part before. And you… you hit me differently than most guys. No kiss until the third date… and just that one, long hot kiss at the end… fuck, I couldn’t sleep all night after that. You make me crazy – I’ve never done just sweats and flannel on the fourth date before. Will...”

 

She took my hand and pressed it tight against her breast. “…I really, really like you. But if you just… can’t, I understand.”

 

I could feel her heart beating under my hand – a quick, light pulse. Our eyes met, and her heart went faster still.

 

“I’ll go crazy,” I said. “You know what we do to each other. It doesn’t turn off with a switch.”

 

“Tell me about it,” she whispered. “but there are ways… I’ll keep you happy. But I have to be able to trust you. Most guys… I can’t trust them.”

 

“We’ll… have to see how it goes,” I said. She was trying to be fair, I knew. She’d told me the first time it had come up, what more could I ask? I looked over her, and answered myself: I could ask for her, naked, her shapely legs opening, her hands wrapped in her hair, her breasts under my hands, her lips wet and red and eager. Someday, some guy was going to get that. Right after the ceremony.

 

I smiled, as best I could, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Trust me for this evening. I’ll behave… After that… I’ll know more after tonight.”

 

That was crude – I was telling her that he’d have a relationship if she showed me a good time this evening, within her limits. But I admitted to myself that that was how it stood, and there was no point in lying about it. If it was going to end, sooner was better than a long dragged out mess. I liked her, and she was undeniably hot, but I wasn’t signing up for a relationship with a hot girl that limited things to a peck on the cheek.

 

She gave an awkward little nod, and a small smile. She understood the ground rules.

 

I kissed her, and it was a hard kiss. She kissed back passionately, and my hands came up over her, cupping her breasts, squeezing, over and over. Again she moaned, her tongue exploring my mouth.

 

My hands stroked lower. I had an urge to drive her crazy with need, to see how hot she’d get and what would happen... My hand slipped into the sweatpants, and she didn’t stop me. There were no panties, nothing but smooth skin, a little tuft of trimmed hair… No penetration, she said… but women can be driven crazy without it.

 

I lowered my mouth to a nipple and pulled, roughly. She gasped, suddenly, and shook, her back arching, her eyes closed. I slid my hand lower and stroked her clit, gently, quickly. She curved her hips, pressing it against my hand.

 

“Oh god yes,” she moaned.

 

I pressed my finger against her slit, not entering, but feeling the wetness. She stiffened for a moment, and then moaned wildly, her body twisting against mine, licking my ear. My slick finger slid upwards again, and I began a quick, light, slippery, up and down massage, sucking her nipple in time to the beat. She wrapped her hands in her hair, and whimpered. She still had her clothing mostly on, and it was still the sexiest thing I’d seen.

 

I bit down again, lightly, and she moaned in my ear, deep and low. “If.. oh god.. if I touch you… can you-“

 

I bit down more firmly, and she cried out, shuddering. I lifted my head and looked her in the eyes, and they were a smoky grey haze of need; her lips were already dry from her panting.

 

“Lick your lips,” I whispered, and she did, unsteadily, her eyes pleading with me. “Will.. if I touch you… can you handle it?”

 

I kissed her mouth, my finger still stroking her, my tongue slipping inside her mouth in a way that conveyed only one thing. Her hands came up and she stroked my arms, lightly. She was shaking. I broke the kiss.

 

“Yes… if you finish what you start.”

 

She hesitated – maybe giving hand jobs wasn’t in her job description. But my finger pressed against her slit again, and then her eyes closed.

 

“I will,” she whispered.

 

“The shirt has to come off.”

 

She wormed out of it, and lay on top of it, naked to the waist. She was stunning – a toned belly and narrow waist, and rounded breasts with erect and deep pink nipples. Her face was a mixture of raw need and that shy, I-hope-you-like-it look that females give when the clothing starts to come off. My eyes told her she didn’t have anything to worry about, and her eyes smoldered in response.

 

I sat up, on the end of the bed, and pulled her against me. I shifted her so that I mostly saw her face and upper torso, so that I didn’t see so much the sweatpants. I wanted the illusion that she was completely naked. Her hair was wild, brushing her shoulders and getting in her eyes. Hot.

 

Her hands slid down my shirt, and then over my jeans, stroking the huge bulge. Then she squeezed it, forcing my cock into the channel between her thumb and forefinger, and began rocking. I felt the familiar blaze of need settle between my legs, throbbing. Oh fuck… I settled an arm around her, and again cupped her breast, squeezing it, rubbing my thumb over it. I wondered if I’d happen to open the jeans for her… but then she got the button and zipped down, and tugged on the jeans, getting them down to my thighs. My hard cock was already pushing out of the top of my shorts. She reached in and began pumping, gasping as her hand settled around me.

 

She wasn’t skilled but it did not matter. Then she stretched upward and kissed my mouth, sweetly, lingeringly, clinging…

 

I’m a guy; I’m human. In ten seconds I was sliding out of control, my mind filling with images of her, spread out on the bed. And then I stood up, pulling up my pants.

 

“I’m sorry. I… I’m very sorry. It’s not safe. I thought it might be and I was wrong. I have to leave.”

 

She stared at my cock, her mouth working, until I got it put away, and then she looked up at me. It was a stricken, whipped puppy look. I expected the horrible, “I know I’m not very good” speech, but she didn’t give it, and I was grateful for that.

 

“You’d better,” she said, unsteadily. “And… I’m sorry.”

 

I nodded and left, quickly, while it was still an option.

 

 

 

3** ** **

 

I didn’t sleep much that night, and jerking off didn’t help. At 3am I gave it up, pulled on jeans and a muscle shirt, and went down the stairs, to Sharon’s room.

 

Sharon didn’t do it for me, in general. She was not real bright in my opinion, and that always has been a big black mark in my book. She was into fashion and popular music and shallowness, and while she wasn’t bad looking, the rail thin and wasted look doesn’t quite do it for me. She looked best from behind. She also had the hots for me, and hadn’t had a problem hinting at it. I’d ignored the hints.

 

I knocked, and a minute later, she opened, in too-small boy pajamas. She looked up at me, her sleep filled eyes clearing abruptly. We held the eye contact, and then I pulled a condom out of my pocket and held it up between us, expressionlessly. She licked her lips and nodded, and stepped back. Five minutes later she was bent over her bed, gasping, her hands flat on the mattress, my hands on her hips. I wasn’t rough about it, but I took care of business, and she moaned, thrashing, when I came.

 

And then I stood myself up, panting a little.  She turned to look at me, a question mark in her eyes.

 

I looked down at her, emotionlessly, deliberately not showing what I was feeling, because she didn’t deserve that. “I’m not going to pretend that was anything other than was it was. Thanks, though.”

 

I gathered up my pants. I’d managed to put the damn fire in my brain out, but the whole thing felt wrong, even stupid. She looked at me, wryly, and nodded. “I guess that’s ok. No complaints here, ya know? Come again sometime.”

 

I didn’t think I would. I smiled politely, and left without a word.

 

4** ** **

 

Two days went by, and I thought a lot. Too much, probably. I thought about all our banter over volleyball court last season, the fun first date at the chocolaterie down town, the frustrating second date at the fancy restaurant where we’d made fun of the slow service and the writings of Anne Rice, the third date where my clever plan to romantically kiss her hands and wrists at the end of the date had gone up in sudden smoke – the kiss becoming much, much more “romantic” than I’d expected.

 

I tried not to think about the fourth date, but I did, most of all. And then I kicked myself in the ass and went down to the library to waylay her.

 

She was there, and she looked up the instant I walked in. And looked back down again, just as fast. I walked over and sat across the table from her. “Morning,” I said, quietly.

 

“You don’t have to do this,” she said, softly, still looking down. “And definitely not here.”

 

“Yeah, I do,” I said. She looked up. Not being an exaggerated female heroine of bodice-ripper quality, her eyes did not fill with tears, but it was the most carefully expressionless face I’d ever seen on her. “I need to see you again,” I added.

 

“Why? Nothing’s changed. Same rules. Same… frustration. It won’t work.”

 

“I’ll make it work. Somehow. I want to. If you do too… That’s got to be enough.”

 

Her expression changed, slowly. It turned into a smile, shaky and almost nervous, but real.

 

“Be sure,” she whispered. “Because I don’t want to go through two days like that again. Never again.”

 

“Me either.” I just looked at her.

 

“Tomorrow night?” she offered.

 

“Tonight,” I said. After a moment, she nodded. “I learned something,” she added.

 

“That you like big cocks?”

 

She gave me an acid smile. “I figured that out years ago. I read, you know? And it’s not all just late period old English.” The acid left the smile, and the eyes went back down again. “I learned… that when it comes to what’s important to me, that I can trust you. And that means the world to me.” And then her eyes came back up, and got a little icy. “I also learned you don’t know how to pick up a damn phone and check on a girl. I cried the whole damn night.”

 

“If I kiss you, will you forgive me?”

 

“If you kiss me, I’ll probably come on the spot. Damn you.”

 

“Then I’ll save that for tonight. Seven?”

 

“Yes. Will…?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You’re… alright.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

I found out (years later) that she’d heard about Sharon, just that morning.

 

5** ** **

 

We dated. We took things a lot slower. Some dates we just talked or did things together. Some dates turned volcanic. She learned to give a good handjob, and I learned to take them more gracefully. I’d like to say that I was a noble guy and didn’t fuck around with other women. I was an ok guy; I didn’t fuck around often. When I did, I did it out of town, and I picked girls that looked a little like Catherine, and I was usually sorry afterwards. I realized I was in love with her, but I didn’t tell her.

 

We graduated, and went separate ways. I started my federal agent training, and she got a job evaluating historical artifacts, and teaching literature and volleyball on the side. We emailed weekly. She dated around, but it didn’t last. I had two relationships in six months. One went down in flames because the girl couldn’t hold an intelligent conversation, the other because she tried to tell me how to dress and who to hang out with. Basically, they both failed because the girls weren’t Catherine, and after six months I knew it.

 

6** ** **

 

My agent training included self-defense. After three days of sweating through an introduction to kenpo, my instructor told me to stay after class.

 

“Agent Whim. Floor, center.”

 

I mopped off some sweat, saluted before getting on the mat, and moved to the middle of the dojo.

 

“Neutral bo, Whim.”

 

Easy enough: I’d been doing that for three days. I dropped into the stance, feeling the slight, now-familiar burn in my front leg.

 

“Forward bo. Reverse bo. Upward block. Right straight punch. Downward block.”

 

All moves we’d done for three days. Fundamental white-belt basics, the only awkward one was reverse bo. I wondered what he was after.

 

“You ever train kenpo before, Whim? Any martial arts?”

 

“No sir.” I decided volleyball didn’t qualify, though the forward bo reminded me a lot of digging in for a cannonball.

 

He picked up a padded stick, and I raised an eyebrow. You don’t do live exercises in kenpo with white belts. I knew that much.  He looked at me and set his jaw.

 

“I’m going to swing this over and down at your head, Whim, and then I’m going to snap it around towards the side of your head, from your left. Do blocks. Ready… go.” He whipped the stick down toward my skull.

 

I snapped off an upward block, and the padded stick stopped. He whipped it around sideways, very fast, and I converted the upward block over to an inward block. He dropped the stick and suddenly punched me in the face. My inward block snapped over to an outward block, and his fist went past my ear, harmlessly. He stepped back, grunting.

 

“Mr. Whim. Do you know what you are? You are a fucking natural, with form I’d be happy to see in a brown belt. We’ve got a special program for people like you, run out of Hawaii. I’ve recommended two people to it in fifteen years. I’m going to recommend you as my third, and I suggest you take it. I’ve never recommended a white belt before, but frankly I don’t know how to improve your form, and that means I shouldn’t teach you. You’ll train hard, every day, a combination of kenpo and judo. You’ll qualify black in kenpo in two years, if they don’t kill you first. What’s your training concentration?”

 

“Drug enforcement. DEA, eventually.”

 

“The hell with that. Spend the rest of your life inspecting shipping crates and reading manifests? Listen up. Homicide, with a specialty in international studies. We don’t waste fucking black belts on maryjane busts. You get me?”

 

I thought it over, and took his advice. I wrote Catherine and told her the news about Hawaii. Her response was surprisingly subdued. Somehow that hurt, but next week, I got on the plane.

 

Despite the sunshine and pretty skies, disembarking was depressing, somehow, and I walked through the terminal to fetch my luggage.

 

“Got time for a lonely girl, friend?”

 

I turned around. And looked at Catherine.

 

There was about three seconds where we just stared at each other.

 

Then I had her against the wall, and I was kissing her. She licked my mouth and pressed her body up against me, rubbing her breasts against my chest, and giving a soft, continuous sound, a moan or a sob or a purr.

 

I kissed her neck, my hands stroking her sides, and she shivered, trapped against the wall.

 

“Will – I have - cabin- up in the mountains – take me there? I need you – Will-“

 

I didn’t care that it would only be a handjob. It was Catherine. I didn’t even bother with my luggage – it would be safe enough. We stumbled out to her rent-a-wreck, and less than a nearly wordless hour later, we were up Mauna Loa, entering the tiny rustic cabin.

 

She walked in, and then stopped, in the middle of the little cabin. “All I could afford,” she said. She was looking at the floor, blushing. I tilted her head up and looked into her eyes, and she was trembling.

 

“I want you,” she whispered. “I know I do and you know I do. I’m tired of trying to figure out who I want to date. There’s only been one answer, for six months, with no fucking end in sight. You being this far away for two years – something just snapped. There are too many beautiful women here. I thought I’d lose you. I know it’s crazy, I know it’s pathetic, but please – please – don’t tell me that.”

 

I kissed her. No other answer was physically possible. And then her clothes were coming off, and so were mine. Her bra hook got stuck and she moaned and just ripped it off of herself, and then she stood there, naked, looking up at me, eyes impossibly wide.

 

“N-no p-penetrat- oh Will, just touch me-“

 

This is the point where anyone reading this is going to say, No Fucking Way, Whim. To which I say, Fuck You. This is what happened.

 

I got her to the bed, and after a long, frantic kiss, I pinned her hands over her head and against the mattress, and I sucked at her nipples, roughly. My free hand stroked her belly. She writhed, whispering my name, over and over. I bit down, slowly, and she cried out, begging wordlessly, arching. I ran my hand lower, and cupped her mound, my palm grinding against her clit, and she came immediately – a fast, sudden, gasping orgasm, over in just a few seconds.

 

I looked her in the eyes, and they were tear filled. She licked her lips. “No penetration,” she whimpered, a little wildly. “Will, I want you so bad. Make me come over and over like that, until I stop thinking about your cock inside me - or j-j-just take m-me, f-fuck my s-stupid ideals out of me, I give up, you’re like a damned avalanche that I’m caught in-“

 

I stroked her clit again, and whispered in her ear. “I love you for your ideals. I can get fucking anywhere. It’s you I’ve wanted.”

 

“You don’t know what it is to want.  You’ve had girls. I’ve had dreams and fantasies. Think of something, Will. Make me show you that I love you. Make me tell you what I feel. All those letters, and I couldn’t say it… so beat it out of me if you have to. Please.”

 

I’ve been over this scene a thousand times in my mind, because this is where everything got decided, and I swear I still don’t know if there was a better answer. I gave the one I could.

 

One hand was busy on her clit, but the other released her hands and took her face, and turned it, positioned it, firmly and carefully, so that she was looking directly at me. I don’t think “intimate gaze” covers it. If you’ve never seen a naked face, if you don’t know what I mean – I hope someday you will.

 

She moaned, her eyes huge, her body shaking.

 

I whispered: “I’ll be doing military training, agent training, coursework, traveling a lot – the next two years are going to be hell. But at the end of them, if I know you’re there waiting, I won’t care if it was hell or not. Promise me you’ll accept my engagement ring, as soon as I buy one. Promise me you’ll marry me.”

 

She looked at me, stunned.

 

“Will?” she whispered. “Will. A two years engagement? No other girls for you? You have to mean this. You have to. If you say it and then don’t mean it, I don’t know what I’ll do. Are you s-sure-“

 

“Just answer the question.”

 

“Yes…? Oh yes, yes! Oh Will… Yes!”

 

Her words merged with a slow, powerful orgasm, and tears. I kissed her mouth and breasts as she came, and then she clung to me, drying her eyes on my chest, her fingers in my hair.

 

When she got her breath back, she looked over me, and gave a small, secret smile, almost shy and child-like.

 

“William… I think this calls for bending a rule, don’t you?”

 

She rolled, and began kissing her way down my belly. I looked over her – the pert ass, the toned legs, long in proportion to her height, the narrow waist, the hair flowing down her back. And then she was kissing my cock, and my eyes closed automatically.

 

“William,” she whispered softly. “Please… watch?”

 

I looked down. Her head was nestled on my thighs, and her eyes sparkled up at me for just a moment. Then she closed her eyes and ran her tongue from the base of my cock to the tip, quickly. She opened her eyes and smiled again, her lips nuzzling against the head of my cock.

 

“When we’re married,” she said, “I don’t want sex to become boring or routine. They say it does. I can’t imagine it. I want you to teach me things. I get very, very aroused picturing that.”

 

Her lips pressed against my shaft and slid downwards, her eyes still looking up at me.

 

“I want to wake up in the mornings and kiss your cock hard. I want to lick your balls. Sometimes because I want to, but sometimes I… picture you making me. Holding my head down, needing my mouth. There’s nothing wrong with my imagination, you know.”

 

She nibbled at my balls, and then licked between them, her eyes closing. Her hand crept over my leg, but then turned, and she cupped her breast, showing me what her fingers were doing to her nipple. I moaned.

 

“After I kiss it hard I want to suck it. Sometimes you let me, or make me, suck, but sometimes you make me masturbate at the same time, or finger me, or play with my breasts. But you make me keep sucking, even if I get distracted.”

 

My leg muscles were tightening, over and over. This was so hot it hurt.

 

She opened her mouth wide, and took the shaft between her lips, sideways. She had a small mouth and I’m large, but she got her mouth half way around and then bit down, lightly. Then she worked the skin of my cock up and down, just a little, with short, quick motions. My hands clenched the sheets tight. “Catherine…”

 

She stopped and smiled. “Mmmm.. you like that. Should I go a little higher…right below the head…?”

 

She repeated the bite and quick, light movement, her tongue lashing right under the head of my cock. Things blurred. Then she stopped, panting a little, her other hand starting to stroke my balls.

 

“…And I get you close, very close. I can feel your cock getting ready to squirt, I know your muscles are all tight, hard, ready. And I stop. Sometimes I quickly mount you, facing you.. or facing away, would you like that? I hear that gives very intense feelings… but sometimes you don’t wait for me to mount you. Sometimes you’re so close it hurts and you just throw me onto my back, and my legs open because I’m so hot I could scream, and…”

 

She moaned. “Will, I’m a little scared. I’m... going to suck you now.  I know I’m not going to be good at this. I’ve read about it and that’s it. And I know that when it comes to sucking cock, it’s not the thought that counts. But I’ll get better. I promise.”

 

“Catherine, when I come-“

 

“Swallow,” she said. “I’ve thought about it. It’s ok. That’s how I want it for you.”

 

She wrapped her lips around my head. I knew she wouldn’t be able to take all of me – my first girlfriend in high school and nicknamed me “ear of corn”, and while that was a polite exaggeration, I’ve had girls take one look and then explain that oral sex gave them a headache. I was going to have to stay aware enough to make sure that Catherine didn’t end up trying to go too far. I thought of making her stop… but no, damnit. She was pushing herself to do this for me, because she loved me – I wasn’t going to take that away from her. And anyway, once her pretty, full, little lips began to slide over me, stopping just wasn’t… oh fuck, yes…

 

I stared down. I didn’t need to fantasize – she was the fantasy. Show me a guy who isn’t completely turned on by a woman, kneeling or lying before him, doing his cock with her mouth, working it for him, giving without getting – I’ll show you a guy that doesn’t deserve to have a dick. Her hair moved in waves as she slid herself up and down on me, down a little bit farther each time. She moaned, excited, frightened.

 

“A little harder… it’s not fragile,” I whispered. She complied, and suddenly the fireworks began in my head, the slow build up that tells you that you can come, will come, you have to come…

 

She stopped, panting. “I can’t get any more… I don’t know how. I’m sorry!”

 

I gasped. “Don’t worry, that was enough, just use your hands to grab the rest, don’t stop now, fuck, do that again…” It took a lot of self control not to force her back to it, but this was a First Time and I owed her decency.

 

I wrapped a leg around her, holding her close. She took me in again, adding her hands. “Oh fuck yes… I’m looking at you.. someday I’ll have your legs apart and you’ll take the whole thing – you’ll scream… I’ll hold you down and slap it in and out of you so hard and so - so fast auhhhhhgh!”

 

I gushed. She choked and pulled away, but she kept her hands going, and I gushed again, splattering her gorgeous face as I thrashed. When I was human again, I looked over. She was staring at me.

 

“Yes, I liked that,” I confirmed.

 

“I- I gathered. Do I look like one of those websites, cum-splattered bitches?”

 

“Kinda,” I said. “Look in a mirror.”

 

Panting, she dug one out of her purse. She stared, eyes going wide. “Those kind of sites never did it for me, but somehow… your cum… on my face and mouth…” She touched it with a fingertip, drawing it across her skin, panting faster. “It’s… sexy. Oh fuck it’s sexy, so sexy. Oh god, you… marked me. You…”

 

Turn about is fair play. I pushed her onto her back and got my mouth between her legs, and her legs wrapped around me tight. I licked her, pinning her hands to her sides, and she cried out instantly, pressing her hips up against my face. “Yes, oh fuck, yes!” she screamed. “YES!”

 

I brought her down slowly, and we cuddled. “That was… wild,” she whispered. “I could feel your cum drying on my skin as I came. Oh god.”

 

How do you not love a girl like that?

 

7** ** **

 

She got a job coaching volleyball, and teaching English as a second language. It wasn’t the best use of her talents, but the Hawaiian job market wasn’t easy. I started the training-from-Hell, plus, after my first year, I started working cases for the FBI. There is nothing like a five hour kenpo lesson, five hours of investigative field work, two hours of judo and three hours of classwork, to make you tired.

 

I’m not going to describe that year in detail – it was tough going, and when we got together, sometimes all we had left was curling up to a movie and falling asleep. You’re wondering, so yes, I was faithful. The ear of corn missed warm butter baths very much, and said so, but the rest of me knew what I was doing.

 

My first investigation turned out, by accident, to tie into a big deal case involving a Russian mafia extortion and murder, and I found evidence that eventually lead to Kadamovas. Then I next saw Catherine, I couldn’t wait to tell her the story. She was standing, enthralled, over by the kitchen sink, dishes forgotten, following every word.

 

“So I was on this roof top in an LA suburb, it’s 2am and cold and still, and finally one of the hatchet men comes out. He’s carrying a big bag, and this is six hours after the boy had gone missing. Is he in it? I can’t tell. The bag reads as cold on the night glasses, but they had a reputation for drowning victims in cold water… if I stop him and the bag is his laundry, the stakeout is ruined, but if I don’t stop him and he gets away with the body… I ease my gun out and line it up. My partner isn’t back yet. I need an answer and all I’ve got is a question and a gun.

 

“Then he opens the trunk and lifts the bag… and it catches on the trunk latch. He yanks, and the bag rips a little… and I can see water dripping out, past the trunk light…

 

“I drop to the ground, and scream,” pointing at Catherine for effect,  “Freeze, fucker! Agent Whim! You get your ass on the ground NOW!”

 

And the oddest thing happened. Catherine went pale, and sat quickly on the floor.

 

And then blushed deeply, looking confused and disoriented. “I--- Will? What…”

 

I walked over to her, quickly, assuming she’d gone dizzy. But she stood back up again, her eyes wide. I put my hand on her face. She was trembling.

 

“Catherine?”

 

“How did you… do that?”

 

“What?”

 

Her eyes were unsteady, and she looked down, licking her lips. I stroked her face, gently, and her eyes closed, and reopened. She swallowed hard. “Your hand… oh god…”

 

She was panting, and under her T shirt, her nipples became very visible. The trembling got worse and she still wasn’t making eye contact.

 

“Catherine, look at me,” I said sharply.

 

She gasped, and her eyes snapped to mine. They were molten with shock and need.

 

“Will... tell me to - make me… make me do something else. Please. Do that again!”

 

“Kiss me?”

 

“No. No!  Make  me! Like before!”

 

“Kiss me, Catherine.  Now.”

 

And then she was in my arms, her mouth moving frantically on mine, whimpering sounds deep in her throat. My mind was reeling. Hypnosis? But no one goes under like that!

 

And then I felt a deep shiver go through me, a feeling of energy and strength like nothing else. I broke the kiss, my cock suddenly rigid, my mind blazing, but not with sexual need. With something else.

 

She was panting wildly, deeply aroused.

 

“What do you feel,” I said, my voice going deep and soft. She shivered visibly.

 

“Trust. I trust you. Peace. Need. I’m so horny! Safe. I feel very safe. Protected. Make me… make me do something I don’t normally do.”

 

I’d never felt a power rush like this.

 

“Don’t move. Just hold still and breathe.”

 

She did, and I got behind her. I slid my hands around her and cupped her breasts though the T shirt, and then ran my fingernails over her nipples, lightly. This always drove her nuts.

 

“Mehhhhhhh,” she said, not moving. I pinched down, slowly. She trembled, helplessly.

 

“What do you feel?”

 

“Oh god,” she whispered. “Everything. Need. And… I’m soaked.”

 

I reached down and unbuttoned her jeans, and I slid my hand into her panties. She was.

 

“Take everything off, Catherine. You’ll be naked for me today. Do it now.”

 

She tore everything off, still facing away. I ran my hands over her ass and hips. It was easy to picture bending her over. So very easy.

 

“Should I… still hold still? Tell me,” she murmured.

 

This wasn’t hypnotism. I knew that much. A hypnotized person would have decided on the spot if the command to hold still was still in force; in a trance, uncertainty is intolerable and the mind makes itself up quickly on questions like that, so it can stay in the dreamworld. Catherine wasn’t as gone as that. She was focused on me, not herself.

 

“Yes, for now,” I said. And then I added, “Tell me, what do you want?”

 

“For you to be happy,” she said, softly. “But that’s not new.”

 

“Good, because I am very happy,” I whispered in her ear.

 

“Me too,” she said, so softly I could barely hear it. “I love you so much, Will.”

 

My head was still spinning. I ran my hands along her hips, and then along her waist. She was warm, yielding…

 

“I’m going to make you do something you wouldn’t normally do. You will obey me, won’t you, Catherine.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You can move… I want you to slide your finger into your pussy, and tease yourself, while I watch.”

 

We’d both masturbated for the other, several times, and we touched each other freely. But she’d never put anything into her slit, in front of me – probably believing that I didn’t need to be tempted down that path.

 

I walked around her, and looked her in the face.

 

“I trust you, Will,” she whispered, and in her face was an expression I’d never seen before. A tear ran down her cheek; and I had never seen her look so… I don’t know how to describe it. She was excited and peaceful and aroused and loving all at once. She was full to the brim with emotion.

 

She slid a finger in, slowly, and her head slipped back as her mouth opened, wider and wider. “Oh… FUCK... Will! Will, I’m going to come so hard!”

 

“Not yet. Do you understand?”

 

The way she gasped and looked at me then, was indescribable. Anyone can yield to another’s authority when the result is pleasant. It wasn’t so easy when a desperate need is denied. She was suddenly pushed a step deeper in her submission, aware of the fact that my sudden, new control over her could take her places she didn’t expect. Her finger moved within her slit, her nipples were erect and dark pink, her skin was flushed, her legs were shaking. A trail of wetness was flowing down her leg.

 

“I love you so much,” she whispered, brokenly, her eyes almost child-like. “So… very… much….”

 

“You will come when I kiss your mouth,” I said. “You will come hard, deeply, you will come until your body is satisfied, and you will know that I am happy with this. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes.. y- ye.. so intense. So intense! God!”

 

I stepped forward and ran my fingernails over her breast, and she cried out in raw, animal need, incoherent. I did it again - but then I stopped myself… I didn’t know what I was doing, I was working with instincts and behaviours I didn’t understand. For all I knew, this could hurt her. I could not let happen.

 

I kissed her hard, and she exploded so wildly I had to catch her, and lower her to the floor gently. She writhed, and I kept kissing her... fifteen minutes later, she put her arms around me and sobbed, hard, kissing my shoulder.

 

8** ** **

 

I had a lot of questions. The internet proved to be useless – there were plenty of stories about D this and s that, but too many of them smelled bogus, and a lot of them involved inflicting pain, which just hadn’t been a part of the equation. Catherine herself could only tell me that her feelings for me had suddenly gone off the scale and into a place she didn’t know existed, and she followed that up with a plea to move up the wedding date.

 

So I found a local BDSM club, and decided to ask stupid questions until I got some insight.

 

I found a couple who seemed sane to me – in their 30’s, polite, no scars, nothing to set off my creep-o-meter. Except for the fact that the woman was naked, on her hands and knees, and the man had his feet up on her, it didn’t look too unnatural. I introduced myself, and sketched out what had happened. They listened carefully.

 

“Sit, marie,” the man said, as I finished. She quickly curled into a sitting position at his feet, and smiled up at me.

 

“I’m Brian,” he said. “Interesting story. What you’re describing is a little unusual. Most subs discover their submissive side by reading stories and identifying with the submissive characters. Most Masters discover their nature by trial and error, being pushy with women until someone or something explains to them what this is really all about. Let me guess – as soon as you realized she was ok, you felt her up. Right?”

 

“I made her look at me, but then, yes. We’ve always been pretty sexual.”

 

“Everyone find it in sex, first. But understand this – D/s isn’t all about sex. Done right it isn’t even mostly about sex. Not one lifestyler in ten understands this, but you should, if you want it to work. For a Master it’s about taking care of the submissive, meeting her needs, giving her a safe place to love you and to be herself. You have to pay attention, all the time. Nothing can be taken for granted. It’s  work.  There are rewards, but treat it as a game and you’re just another phoney. A phoney that can hurt a sub. Deep submission impairs judgment - subs can end up taking risks they shouldn’t. It’s the Master’s job to protect the sub.”

 

The woman, marie, nodded. “The first time Brian dominated me, it was very sexual. For the next six months after that, it wasn’t. He made me give up smoking. My pussy ached for him, but he didn’t give me what I wanted – he gave me what I needed. Only then did he beat my pussy again with his cock. By then I loved him so much that I passed out when he took me. I still do, sometimes,” she said, leaning against his legs and kissing them.

 

I looked at Brian. “How do you know what she needs?”

 

“It’s a heart thing. If you think it’s fucking all the time, you’re not listening to your heart. If you love the girl, you’ll know. And she’ll tell you. Always hear your slave. Don’t give her what she wants all the time - but always listen.”

 

I looked down to marie. “Do you… ever fight his control?”

 

“Yes,” she said, candidly. “And he punishes me when I do. When I’m lucky, it’s a spanking. Sometimes it’s forced masturbation and orgasm denial. A week of that, three times a day, and there’s nothing left of my mind,” she said, wincing. “Sometimes it’s watching him enjoy another girl. Whatever it is, I end up begging soon enough, me makes me crawl to him and kiss his feet, and then… I feel wonderful. There’s such peace in obedience. You can’t know.”

 

I looked up a Brian. “Does she get to make any choices?”

 

“She makes the same one every morning. When she wakes, she asks herself if she is submissive to me today. It’s yes, or no. She’s mine until the first no.”

 

“So you give her that choice?”

 

“It has nothing to do with me. She’s a submissive slave, but she’s human. It’s not right for any human being to abdicate all responsibility for their lives. I take care of her – but only she can decide if it is  right  that I do that. If it’s ever wrong, it must end. I can compel anything from her –  except  her submission. That has to be her gift. Try to take it by force, and you’ll kill a sub inside.”

 

I thought about that. “It was definitely Catherine’s gift. But she seemed very surprised at herself.”

 

Smiling, marie nodded. “It’s a shock. Be gentle at first.”

 

I thanked them and walked away. My hearing is good, so I heard their exchange.

 

Marie: “Will you let me play with him someday? He’s going to be good.”

 

“No,” Brian replied. “You’d corrupt him. I think those two deserve the chance to work it out all by themselves.”

 

9** ** **

 

I don’t know how to write this, and it’s horrible, so I’ll just type the words and try not to reread them. Two months before the wedding, Catherine was gunned down on the way to a city Library. No warning, no chance, just a bullet, arranged by someone who didn’t like the fact that I’d taken out the underpinnings of his crime organization.

 

I wasn’t well for a while, after that. And I still don’t understand how a bullet that weighs less than 10 grams can destroy a world.

 

10** ** **

 

I think Catherine got great joy from the fact that I honored her desire not to be opened. It was my way of showing her respect and admiration for her, and she knew that. Even after we both knew that nothing would change if I took her that way, it made me happy to make her happy, by waiting.

 

But I’d be lying if I said I had no regrets about it.

 

Since then? I’ve fallen into and out of relationships. Some good, some terrible. I have a good, if rather odd, one now. I’m happy in it; after all these years, the regrets and pain have mostly faded.

 

I haven’t done D/s since. I think about it, from time to time. But… I don’t think I’ll find another Catherine.

 

It’s not something you can find by looking, anyway.