The Rule of Three Pt. 01-02

THE RULE OF THREE

Please read the Standard Disclaimer on Alextasy's biography page

PART 1 - A VISIT FROM MY EX'S LITTLE SISTER

A distant sound roused me from slumber. The glowing red numbers on the clock came into focus. 12:22. Was that knocking only a vestige of a dream?

No, there it was again. Like someone tapping on my front door. Adrenaline brought me fully alert. Who the fuck would be coming to my house at this time on a Friday night? Or Saturday morning? Whatever...

I looked out the second-story bedroom window of my traditional brick townhome, remodeled from it's pre-Civil War origins, a few blocks off Richmond's denuded Monument Ave. Nothing seemed out of place outside. No strange cars, and the neighboring houses were mostly dark, buttoned up for the night as usual. Below the window, the copper roof of the narrow porch kept me from seeing anyone there.

Rap-rap-rap. Whoever it was knocked harder.

After slipping into a robe, I pulled my Colt 1911 from between the mattresses and padded quietly down the hardwood stairs, taking care to miss the squeaky fifth step. I peeked through a gap in the thick curtains in the front parlor. A slender woman in a short red skirt and a stylish light-colored jacket stood at the door with her back to me, looking out on the street. Rolling through the possibilities in my head, I couldn't come up with a close match to anyone who would be here this time of night.

I hadn't been on a date in over a month, so the arrival of this obviously female, early-morning visitor had me curious. After two years, the chaotic end of my marriage still stung, and women who shared my eccentric interests were difficult to find. Most of those who agreed to my expectations were nothing more than teases, full of sexual come-ons and bravado born of those soft-core romantic fantasies they read, with no clue about just how intense the connection between a woman and a man could be. Once I got them to the point of put-up or shut up--preferably both at the same time--they couldn't get out the door fast enough.

The most logical guess as to my mystery guest was my ex, but the dark hair and slender shape were all wrong. Holding the cocked pistol at the small of my back--just in case--I turned on the porch light, unlocked the deadbolt, and opened the door.

"Hey, Jesse." Two of the prettiest eyes I'd ever known flickered up at me before turning down in that shy way young girls do. But this wasn't a young girl, not like that last time I'd seen her.

"Rachel? What are you doing here? You know what time it is?"

My ex-wife's little sister said, "Um, can I come in?"

"Yeah. Sure." I opened the door wider. The night was cooler than usual for a late May in Richmond, and the rain clouds of the last two days were breaking up. I searched up and down the empty street as she passed. "How did you get here?"

"Took a cab. Dinna' want anybody else to know." Her words were slurred, but they sounded odd somehow.

"Is everything okay? Are you in trouble?"

"No. I mean, yeah, I'm okay. No trouble."

I turned on the foyer's bright chandelier. She squinted, then looked around. The last time she was here was several years ago. Since then, Anne had taken most of the pictures that hung on the walls of the circular entrance hall and up the carpeted stairs to the left, along with the best furniture. Nothing else had changed much, except the dusty surfaces and the fast-food trash and dirty clothes lying around wherever they got tossed, the entropy of a man living alone.

"So, what's going on, Rachel?" I was generally known as a patient man, but this mid-morning guessing game annoyed me.

"I'm getting married next week."

"Oh! Congratulations! Wow. Who's the lucky guy?"

I wasn't too surprised my ex hadn't said something about her little sister when we talked, but an invitation would have been nice. At least I could buy a gift. I thought I was on good terms with Rachel and their mom.

"S'name's Brian." Her breath carried a hint of alcohol, but something seemed off. "Met him at college. Sweet guy. He'll do anything for me. Well almost." A momentary sour look passed over her face.

Would she do anything for him? Images popped into my head, but I whisked them away. She had been another tease, but that was years ago. She had a more mature look about her, now. I'd never said anything to her about the way things worked between me and her sister, and I'd sidestepped the telling words she dropped into conversations that had made me think she knew more about my marriage than she was willing to say. Early on, she tried to get my attention by irritating me, the way adolescents do. As she got older, we were amiable, but nothing more intimate than friendly hugs and playful double-entendres. Then came that one night at the beach where her flirting had set off the beginning of the end for my marriage.

Was she still a virgin, I mused? I doubted it. She had to be nineteen or twenty, and she was always aggressive around boys. Well, at least this boy.

She said, "Ya' got anything to drink?"

"Are you old enough now?"

"Almost. Got a fake ID. Wanna see it?" Her perfect teeth shined in the bright light.

"I think you've probably had enough. How about some coffee?"

She shrugged. "Sure."

I led her to the large kitchen designed by a chef-friend of her sister, but was rarely used these days, except the microwave. Dirty dishes were stacked on the table and the counters, and piled in the sink. Secretively, I released the hammer on the pistol and set it in a drawer, then turned the gas stove on high, poured filtered water into the pot, and set it on the flame before grinding some dark beans for the French press sitting on the marble countertop. I'm a coffee snob. Some things in life have to be a certain way. Okay, yeah--a lot of things in my life have to be a certain way. Coffee is just one of them.

Rachel stood by the cluttered, carved oak kitchen table, one of the few things I'd kept from Anne's clutches. She seemed nervous. Timid. It was the sort of look in a woman that aroused certain, indelicate instincts. Something told me, if I played my cards right, I could have her. That would be sweet revenge on my ex, but the fallout from molesting my former sister-in-law the week before her wedding could be even more traumatic than my divorce. I couldn't do that to Rachel, or to her mother.

Viewed in the light, her figure had firmed up since I last saw her. Her face no longer had that little girl softness. The distinct, well-defined angles of her cheeks and jaw were the look of a woman. The short skirt and kitten heels showed off her toned legs. Apparently, those ran in the family--her sister Anne and their mother both had killer legs. That was one of the features that first attracted me to my wife. That, and her enthusiastic willingness to do as she was told. Or not, depending on her desires at the time.

One of Rachel's hands was balled up. It looked like she was holding something white, smaller than a baseball, gripped tight enough to whiten her knuckles.

Taking a chair at the table, I left her standing. I was pleased that she didn't presume to seat herself. She shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, holding the balled hand inside the other one at her waist. She was so charmingly meek. Inside my boxers, my penis coiled and stiffened, eager to strike. Mentally, I forced the savage beast back into his cage. It was far too soon to contemplate those sort of festivities. I still didn't have a clue what she was doing here.

"Okay, Rachel. You want to explain why you showed up drunk at my house at twelve thirty in the morning?"

My tone was intentionally disapproving.

"I'm sorry I woke you, Jesse. It's just, the girls took me out for my bachelorette thing tonight. We had a bunch of drinks, an' I started thinking about things. I'm scared, and I decided I really needed to talk to you."

"What are you afraid of?"

She wouldn't meet my eyes. "I'm supposed to be married next week. Brian's a great guy, and he loves me to death. But..."

She paused, nibbling anxiously on her lower lip, the same as her sister did when she got anxious. Or aroused. Which one applied to Rachel?

I finished her thought for her. "But you're not sure you're ready to be tied down. Is that it?"

She nodded.

I chuckled. "That's completely normal. Don't worry about it. Everybody gets the jitters a few days before. Trust me, it's okay. So long as you are both committed to loving each other and sometimes agree to disagree, you can make it work."

But my little pep talk was a lie. It didn't matter how much you loved each other. It didn't matter if you could get past the disagreements. It didn't matter if the sex was blistering. Over the years, the dynamics of a marriage evolved in strange and unpredictable ways.

"What if things don't, y'know..." She raised her eyes slowly, giving me a lustful stare. "What if things don't work out in bed?"

My instant vision of Rachel's naked body tied to my bed was interrupted by the whimper, then the whine of the whistle on the kettle. To give myself time to calm the action hidden in my robe, I got up and poured the hot water over the grounds in my usual spiral pattern, then set the timer and returned to my seat.

"Is Brian giving you what you need?" I recognized the dangerous course this late-night visit was taking, but at the same time, I was intensely curious about my former sister-in-law's sex life. Well, one particular part of me was interested.

She shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, he's super nice, and all. Before we do it, he always makes sure I, you know..."

"He makes you come before he fucks you."

She nibbled her lower lip again and nodded, grinning bashfully. Her left hip was cocked toward me, angled to the side, and her right hand was fingering the inner edge of her neckline to draw my gaze to her breasts. I ignored the subtle, feminine ploy.

"So, what's the problem?" I said.

"Well, um, girls talk, y'know? I heard some things from the cupid stunt, and she--"

"Cupid stunt?"

"It's a Spoonerism. You know, switch the first sound between two words? Stupid cunt becomes--"

I chuckled. "Yeah, I get it. Cupid stunt. Did you come up with that?"

"Mom started it."

I'd always liked their sophisticated, yet plain-spoken mother.

Rachel said, "Anyway, the cupid stunt told me some things about you and--"

"What did she tell you?" My tone was harsh.

Rachel drew a sharp breath, and quickly answered.

"Nothing bad. She said nobody ever made her feel so utterly satisfied the way you do. Not before, or since."

My ego shot up like a Saturn-5 lifting off the launch pad. That helped to explain why Anne had been calling me lately. We'd even been out for a couple of coffee dates. So far, everything was friendly--no sex, no suggestive come-ons, not even innuendo. Our divorce was relatively benign as those things go, but I was still devastated, unable to make sense of how and why it happened. When we got together, I'd seen that look in her eyes and knew she wanted back in, but I wasn't willing to deal with her fickle moods again.

* * *

The problems began around four years ago. Rachel had just turned sixteen. Anne and I were with her mom and her aunts, uncles, and cousins on their annual family beach trip. Rachel found ways to be near me all the time. Back then, she was fun to be around, playing disc on the beach, and begging me to take her to miniature golf and go on the scary rides with her. In retrospect, the way she wrapped her coltish legs around my waist when we played in the ocean was probably telling.

One afternoon I was on the sofa, watching the Red Sox-Yankees game with Anne's uncle and one of her cousins. Anne and three other women were playing canasta at the table across the big open room. Rachel jumped across my lap in her skimpy bathing suit, begging me to explain baseball. Her tight little butt kept squirming around, and my body did what a man's body does. She kept wiggling, and I knew if I didn't do something, she was going to feel it soon. Innate reactions kicked in, and I popped her butt, telling her to be still. She squealed and giggled.

Anne saw it. She set her jaw, and her eyes were shooting poison darts. Immediately, I dumped Rachel off my lap onto the sofa, but when my wife spied the tent in my bathing suit, she was livid. We had a loud argument in our room.

"What's the goddamn problem?" I said.

Anne shouted. "Did you have to fucking spank her?"

"Spank her?" I was astonished. "I didn't spank her. You know damn well what it's like when I give somebody a spanking. Maybe you need a refresher."

She shrieked, fighting back--though not too strenuously--when I jerked her over my knee, pulled her shorts down and laid into her buns like I usually do. She screamed so loud I was sure everybody heard her. When the fight was out of her, I threw her onto the bed and gave her the fucking she wanted, which brought out a different sort of ear-splitting sounds.

For the rest of the vacation, we got lots of funny looks from the rest of the family, not least from Rachel.

It wasn't that Anne had a problem with jealousy. We sometimes enjoyed the pleasure of particular women for a night or two. For special occasions, I would bring in one or two demanding men of my choice to help me send her to erotic heights. More than once, Anne quipped that my libido was more than any one woman could handle. I simply used the tools available to me.

I thought the matter was settled, but a few months after the incident at the beach, Anne arranged for an acquaintance of hers who I'd never met to spend the night. My jaw dropped to my chest when I saw the woman--a spitting image of Anne's little sister, only several years older. Not too surprisingly, my wife was incensed when I enjoyed her friend so completely. For me, it was a lose-lose situation.

After that, she said she didn't want me fucking any other women. We had another fight--I didn't care whether I ever screwed another woman, but I wouldn't live with her mercurial temper or the unilateral line in the sand. It was downhill from there.

And now, the pebble that started the avalanche that ended my marriage was right here, hinting that she needed one last roll in the hay before she tied the knot. Just as I was starting to make headway with her older sister, who--except for a peculiar weak spot where her little sister was concerned--was the perfect woman for me.

* * *

The temptation to ruin my ex's young waif of a sister got a shot of steroids when she stepped forward and held out her balled hand, dropping a crumpled lump of paper in my lap. I opened it to find it was a doctor's STI testing certificate, dated today, wrapped around a pair of burgundy satin panties with black lace trim.

"This is not a good idea, Rachel."

"Why not? Is there somebody else?" She clapped her hand over her mouth with a shocked expression. "Ohmigod! You have a woman upstairs, don't you? I'm so sorry!"

Chuckling, I said, "Nobody else is here."

"I don't understand," she said. "Why don't you want me?"

"How many lovers have you had?"

Lowering her eyes, she held up three fingers.

"If you're looking for a final fling, I'm not the one you want." I regretted every word. "You have no idea of the sort of things I would expect from you."

"Oh, yes, I do!" she said. "Annie told me everything. She said you were cruel and merciless. She told me you didn't take 'no' for an answer, and how you abused her and forced her to do terrible things. She said she loved every minute of it."

Apparently, not "every minute."

"You think that's what you want, but you've been drinking, and you're not in any shape to make a rational--"

"I didn't drink that much! I know exactly what I'm asking for."

My jaw clenched. Interruptions ranked near the top of my list of cardinal offenses. Number one on the list was deception.

"You were faking the drunk act, weren't you."

She looked at the floor and nodded.

My voice dropped into a low, threatening register.

"You may think you know what you want, but you have no clue. I'm not just cruel, Rachel. I'm a sadist. I would hurt you, and I would enjoy it. I would layer misery on top of misery until you beg me to stop, and that's when I would insult you and laugh at you while I torture you even more painfully. I would make you wish that you'd never heard my name."

That wasn't entirely true. While begging me to stop was indeed my signal to ramp up the punishment, I had a strict rule that would allow her to immediately halt any and all abuse. She didn't need to know about that. At least, not yet.

"Don't patronize me," she said. "I'm not totally naive. All the stuff Annie told me about? I've pinched myself and tied myself up, and put clothespins on my boobies, just like you did to Annie. Those were the most amazing orgasms I ever had!" She fell to her knees, hands clasped under her chin. "Please, Jesse... Before I say 'I do', I gotta know! I can't live the rest of my life regretting I'd missed out on something important."

A woman kneeling before me begging me to mistreat her is a sight that I rarely pass up. The internal struggle was ripping me apart. I needed a moment to collect myself.

The timer dinged.

"Please?" she said.

"Open your mouth."

Rachel cocked her head, scrunching her brow.

Glaring at her, I put on my gruff manner. "Open your fucking mouth!" When she did, I stuffed her panties into it. With a more sedate tone, I said, "Don't move."

I returned to the press and pushed the plunger down. Taking two cups from the cabinet, I re-set the timer, picked up the press, and turned around.

Rachel stood by the table, her panties dangling from a finger. "What the fuck is this all about?"

An incensed frisson shot up my spine. Cooling my temper, I set the cups and the press on the table.

"Go home, Rachel. Go back to your nice, white-bread boy. Put on your pretty white gown and tell him 'I do'. Enjoy those sweet little finger orgasms he gives you, then spread your legs and--"

My head snapped to the side, my cheek stinging from her hand.

Rachel snapped at me. "Don't you fucking tell me--"

I slapped her back. She shrieked, toppling sideways and catching herself on the table.

As she stood upright, I snatched her left wrist, angled it up behind her back, and used it to yank her against my body, chest to chest.

Rachel whined painfully, and her balance shifted ina familiar way. I felt the presence of her left foot sliding around to the side, no doubt preparing to hook my heel and snatch my foot out from underneath me. That reminded me of the real peril. Anne had sometimes used a similar maneuver when we played rough. Their late father was a military man who taught his daughters to defend themselves. More than once, I'd wrestled with my ex, and she fought back skillfully. I was pretty sure the only reason I always won was because she wanted me to.

Her little sister was not bound by such desires. Or, was she?

As if to answer, Rachel moved her foot back in place and submitted to my grip, though not without a pretense at struggling against me. Reassured, I grabbed the hair at her nape to hold her steady while I bent forward, arching her spine over my arm until she was bowed back nearly in half, perched precariously up on her toes in a "Matrix" posture. We were pressed together, bellies to chests, and my forearm across her sacrum was the only thing keeping her from falling.

I narrowed my eyes, inches from her face. "So, you think you're a big girl now, huh? You want to take a walk on the wild side? Do you really want to find out how tough you are, little Rachel?"

A lustful fire burned in her eyes.

"Yes."

: : :

I studied her face, looking for some sign of uncertainty. It wasn't there.

"Anne can never know. Swear to me."

"I'll never say a word to anybody, especially not my cupid stunt of a sister. I promise."

"Not even a hint. None of your clever little double-entendres."

She grinned. "You caught those, huh?"

"Promise she will never find out from you."

"I promise. Even if she--"

Abruptly, I released her, and she squealed and flailed her arms, toppling backwards and barely catching herself on her hands as she tumbled to her butt on the hardwood floor.

"What the fuck did you do that for?" She moved to pick herself up.

I jabbed a finger at her and barked out a command.

"Stay there!" I tossed her panties to her. "Put those in your mouth until I'm satisfied you can speak respectfully."

She sat on the floor. "I'll be respectful." She sounded meek.

"Panties in your mouth anyway," I said. "If I hear your bitchy mouth without permission, I'm tossing your ass out in the front yard. Got it?"

"Yes, sir." She stuffed the panties back in her mouth.

"That's better." I poured a cup of coffee for myself. "You've mastered my two favorite words--'Yes' and 'sir'. Preferably in that order. Do you understand?"

"Mmm-hmmm."

"You may nod 'yes' or shake your head 'no.' Have you ever given a blowjob?"

She nodded.

"Did you let him come in your mouth?"

She hesitated. Then she nodded. Her cheeks flushed. She was embarrassed. How cute.

"Did you hate the taste?"

After gazing off to the side for a couple of seconds, she looked into my eyes and shook her head. That was a definite positive.

"Have you ever swallowed a man's semen?"

With a guarded expression, her head shook side to side.

"Tonight, you will."

Her eyes bulged as I took a calm sip of coffee. She tried to mumble something through the gag. I held my finger to my lips.

"We have two primary rules. They are simple rules." I held up one finger. "The first rule is, 'I make the rules, and you obey them'. Doesn't matter what you think about my rules, you will do as I say, no hesitation, no questions. Got that?"

She nodded. I raised a second finger.

"The other rule is that you can leave any time you want. When you think you've had enough and decide I'm not giving you what you need, you can just walk out the door. But you will never--ever--come back. Is that clear?"

Lowering her gaze, she nodded.

"Would you like some coffee?"

She nodded again.

"Come over here," I beckoned with a finger. When she started to get up, I pointed downward. "Back on the floor, Rachel. Crawl. You haven't earned the privilege of standing."

She got on all fours, glaring as she crawled to me.

"A bad attitude like that is blatant disobedience," I told her. "I will forgive you this time. One more nasty look, and you will not like what happens. Capiche?"

Rachel nodded.

"Now, you may come up on your knees and beg for your coffee, just like the shitty little bitch you are."

A brief crabby face appeared before she flinched and caught herself. She knelt up, mimicking a dog begging with her hands.

"Good girl," I told her, scratching behind her ears.

I poured a half cup of coffee and handed it to her, then pulled the panties from her mouth.

She said, "Do you have nonfat cream?"

"What have you done to earn any cream at all?"

With a sad expression, she said, "Nothing."

"The correct response is 'Nothing, sir'."

"Nothing, sir."

A touch of peevishness seeped through, so I snatched the coffee from her hand before she could tighten her grip.

"Wait!" she said. "I'm sorry. I mean, I'm sorry, sir. May I have some coffee, please?"

"Take your jacket off."

She rolled the jacket back off her shoulders and down her arms, folded it, and laid it on the chair beside her. Underneath, she wore a satiny, silver halter top with a plunging neckline that showed a teasing glimpse of the ivory curves of her breasts. The halter sash was tied in a bow at her nape. Did she choose that tantalizing outfit knowing where she would end up tonight? Or was she still a fucking tease?

Time to find out.

"Untie your top."

Suddenly apprehensive, she said, "Do you mean...?"

"I mean, I make the rules, and you obey. No questions, No hesitation. I want to see your tits."

That brought a tight smile. Keeping her eyes on me, she reached back with one hand and untied the knot. Immediately, she crossed her arms in front of her chest to hold it up, baiting me.

Slowly, I extended my hand, and with a single finger, I gently pushed down on each wrist, one at a time. The top fell. Her breasts were even more sublime than her sister's. Ripe, full and round, capped with rosy nipples that were already tight and pebbled. Even though I hadn't had a naked subbie here in a long while, I had grown used to keeping the house extra warm for their benefit, so the condition of her nipples wasn't due to the cold.

"Stand up and face the other way," I said. She did as she was directed and peered back at me over her shoulder. I said, "Hands behind your back."

The ends of her halter top sash were dangling from her waist. I pulled those straps to the back and tied her wrists loosely with a pretty bow, leaving the ends dangling where her fingers could find them and untie them, if she wished. Holding her hips, I turned her to face me.

"How does it feel to have your arms tied?" I said. This was a crucial step.

The look on her face was confused. "I don't know... It's weird. I, um..." She jerked at her bounds, not too hard. "I think I'm okay. Yeah. It's cool."

Yes! So many women freaked out at the vulnerability inherent with restraints. It took a special woman to admit bondage was "cool." I imagined some of the ways I might explore the limits of her comfort with more extreme bondage if she were to stick around.

Who was I kidding? I expected her to turn and run any second. How could I get her to stay? I hadn't mentored a newbie in years. I knew a little encouragement went a long way.

I patted my lap. "Sit here. Straddle my legs."

Rachel bowed her legs out and took a seat on my thighs.

"I'm proud of you," I told her, and she responded with a pleased smile from the simple shot of self-esteem. I raised my cup to her lips. "It's not too hot anymore."

She drank slowly as I tipped it up. She pinched her face.

"Is it too bitter?" I asked.

"I prefer it with cream."

"I promise you'll get a mouth full of cream soon enough," I said, and she gaped at me. "I will let you decide which is more bitter--my coffee, or my cream."

Raising the cup to her lips, I gave her another long drink of coffee. She stared at me anxiously.

I said, "The warm coffee will relax your throat. That's important. Have you ever swallowed a whole cock?"

She gasped. "No!" She quickly recovered herself. "I mean, no, sir. You wouldn't... I mean, not seriously. Would you?"

Her last two words sound mysteriously like a request.

"Yes, I will. A throat massage is only one of dozens of ways a good fellatrix can please a man with her mouth and tongue, but it is an essential skill you should know. Your big sister often swallowed my entire length if I was erect."

"Why wouldn't you be erect while she was blowing you?"

"Her favorite time to suck my cock was before it deflated, right after I'd fucked another woman."

Rachel's chin dropped.

Grinning, I said, "Ahh, I guess there are a few things Anne never told you."

Rachel shook her head.

"Remember rule number two? You can leave any time you want."

She laughed. "Oh, I get it. You're just trying to scare me so I'll go."

My expression turned serious. "I have another important rule, Rachel. This is a rule that applies to me. I will never lie to you. Never. Trust is the most important thing between any two people. If I ever break that trust, I don't deserve you."

Her lower lip curled between her teeth. Her eyes were welling. She seemed to be searching my face.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

Rachel said, "Yeah, I'm fine. Better than fine." Before I could react, she leaned forward and kissed me.

: : :

It was a chaste kiss, lasting no more than a couple of heartbeats, but I was unprepared for the warmth that simple touch kindled in my chest.

"Another important rule," I said, trying to push the intensity of her kiss out of my mind. "You are not allowed to touch me without my permission."

"Not ever?" she said.

"Not when it's just the two of us." I explained. "This is all about control. You're handing complete control over to me. Any choices about your body or your behavior are mine, not yours. That makes it easy on you, because it means you're not responsible for anything that happens. Your hands are tied. You're my prisoner. You are simply obeying me. You didn't have a choice. You can go back to your fiancé with a clear conscience. I made you do it. Nothing is your fault."

She snorted. "I wonder if that was his excuse." Then she gasped, apparently realizing she'd said it out loud.

"Is that what this is all about?" My anger flared at being duped. "Did he fuck around on you, and now you're getting him back?"

"No! I mean, yes, he did. But that's not why I'm here. What he did, that was just the kick in the butt I needed to do what I've been wanting to do for a long time."

"Rachel, I expect the same honesty that I give you. Please don't lie to me."

"I swear, Jesse!" she said. "I'm really not mad he screwed around. What pissed me off, the sonofabitch hid it from me. Then he lied when I hinted I knew what happened."

"Will you tell him about tonight?"

"I haven't decided," she said, a smirk on her lips. "I guess that depends on whether there's anything to tell."

Swirling my finger in my coffee, I told her, "Then I suppose I should do my part to give you a night deserving of a confession."

She shivered when I painted each of her rosy nipples with my wet finger, then I lifted her teats to my lips, one at a time, licking and sucking the coffee flavor from them and nipping at them with my teeth, then doing it all again.

"Oh, fuck!" Rachel moaned and shuddered, pushing her stiffened peaks at my mouth.

I wiped coffee across her lips, pinched her nape firmly, and captured her mouth in a demanding kiss. I forced myself on her, sucking at her lips. When my tongue pushed its way through, my ex's little sister opened to me. Her body yielded, relinquishing herself as I invaded her mouth, subduing her little tongue.

While my kiss overwhelmed her, I squeezed her nipples, rolling them and pinching harder and harder. She trembled, whining desperately when I twisted both peaks. Sucking her lower lip between my teeth, I bit down, and didn't stop until I tasted blood.

When I released her, she stared at me, breathing excitedly and sucking on her injured lip. Her gaze held a clear lust, and a tiny smile appeared. She passed the first level of the pain-as-pleasure test.

"Had enough yet?" I showed her a smirk of my own.

"What? That's all you've got?" she said. "I thought you were supposed to be bad."

"Be careful what you ask for."

Her phone dinged.

"Untie me," she said. "That's probably the girls wanting to know where I am."

She started to get up, but I shoved down on her shoulder and picked up her jacket, finding her phone in the pocket.

"C'mon Jesse. Untie me," she said again. "They'll probably call the police if I don't answer."

"I'll answer," I told her. "You can tell me what you want me to type. What's your PIN?"

"Let me do it, Jesse." She sounded anxious.

"What's the PIN?" I insisted. "I won't look at anything private."

Rachel gave me a strange look. I waited, my finger poised over the keypad, ready to type in 2-7-4-2-6, the numbers for "BRIAN." I just wasn't sure whether he spelled it with an 'I' or a 'Y'.

"Your PIN?" I said again.

"5-3-7-7-3." Her head was turned away.

About the time I got to the second '7', I realized why she was so reticent. I looked at her. Her eyes were red. She was about to lose it again. I typed in the remaining two numbers for my name.

Two messages popped up.

CUPIDSTUNT> Where r u?

CUPIDSTUNT> R u ok?

"Anne is asking if you're okay. What do you want me to say?"

"Tell her I needed some time by myself. Type in 'Fine. Need time 2 think'. Use the number two."

I typed it in. Anne replied.

CUPIDSTUNT> Think about what? Calling it off?

I typed as Rachel gave me the words and spelling.

RACHEL> Maybe. Lotsa things on my mind

CUPIDSTUNT> Dont b stupid like me and give up. U cn make it work

I began to think maybe this was a bad idea. I showed Rachel her sister's message.

Rachel said, "She knows she screwed up. She doesn't know how to fix it."

"It starts with honesty. It's a two-way street," I said. "Like how long you've had this thing for your former brother-in-law."

She hung her head. I lifted her chin, giving her a soft kiss.

"It's okay. I'm flattered," I said. "But you shouldn't mess up your life just for one night with me."

"I wasn't kidding before. I love Brian. He's a nice guy, my best friend next to Annie. But he's too nice. The way he touches me is the same every time. I'm tired of being treated like some sort of orgasm video game. Squeeze the boobs, put your finger inside and move it around, then rub the clit until the bells go off, or until I get tired and fake it."

I laughed.

"It's not funny! I fucking hate it! And then he screws me like he's afraid I'm gonna break into a thousand pieces. Something is missing in our sex. I don't know what it is, but when Annie told me the way you treated her, something clicked inside. I had to find out if that's what I've been looking for."

"You never answered my question. How long have you been holding a torch for me?"

She rolled her eyes. "Gosh, I think it was the first time I met you. I was maybe thirteen? You were older and smarter and hotter than any boy I knew. And you always talked to me like an equal. You never treated me like a kid. Please, Jesse--don't treat me like a kid now. I need to know if I'm about to make a big mistake."

"You really want this."

"More than anything."

"In the interest of full disclosure, any marks on your body will be gone in a few days, but I will fuck with your mind, too. Psychological scars may not heal so quickly."

She grinned up at me. "I'll deal with it. Mom knows the best shrinks."

: : :

"Close your eyes," I told her. "If you open them--or any time you disobey--you should expect to be punished. That's the last time I'll give you that warning. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." She closed her eyes.

I slipped my robe off my shoulders and stepped out of my boxers. My cock had been raring for action almost since she arrived. With a handful of Rachel's thick, auburn hair--so different from her sister's finespun, honey blonde mane--I turned her head up and ran my dick under her nose like a fine cigar.

"Take a deep whiff of your future, Rachel," I said, and she breathed in through her nose. "This is the way my cock smells. Scents are wired straight to the brain to trigger certain responses. While you smell it, I want you to think about all the ways you could bring it pleasure. What do you imagine you could do with this cock?"

"I could fuck it, if you put it inside me." She grinned.

With a well-practiced, diabolical laugh I told her, "Oh, you can bet it will be inside your lovely body. My cock is going to penetrate every hole it can fit. It's going to fuck your hot little cunt. It's going to be stuffed all the way down your beautiful throat. Before I'm done, it will be plumbing the recesses of your tight ass."

"What?" she exclaimed, staring up at me.

In a flash, I hooked my left hand under her armpit, and she screeched when I yanked her upright, aided by my grip on her hair. I bent her over the edge of the table, quickly flipping the back of her skirt up.

Her bare buns were sublime. A delightful feminine shape, more narrow and much more compact than her sister's. The purity of her ivory, heart-shaped cheeks was a blank canvas, awaiting my artistic flair.

She sounded frightened. "What are you doing?"

"I told you, if you opened your eyes, I would punish you."

Pressing at the center of her back, I held her down while I peppered her beautiful buns with pink handprints. Twelve in all, a mere warm-up.

I didn't throw half my energy into it, but she yelled and screamed, squirming and kicking as if I were caning her. By the time I yanked her up off the table by her hair, the sting had just become strong enough to make her eyes red and watery. The beginnings of mascara streaks dripped down her cheeks. She was gorgeous. I couldn't stop myself.

I kissed her. I conquered her mouth as I held her ripe, young half-naked body to me, her firm tits squashed against my bare chest, and my desperate erection making an impression on her belly. She closed her legs around my right thigh and humped her clit on the taut muscle.

When I broke away, she was red-faced and panting. "Take me, Jesse. Right here. Just fuck me, please?"

"You will get the fucking I want to give you, when I'm ready. Not before."

Gaping at me, she said, "What's wrong? Don't you want me? Brian would've been all over me."

With an amused laugh, I told her, "Brian doesn't understand what it takes to control you."

Her jaw tightened, her eyes glaring like narrow blue lasers.

"I don't need anybody to control me."

"That's because somebody else already controls you, Rachel."

She gave me a quizzical look. When I pushed my hand under her dress, stroking her labia with my fingers, her gaze softened and she whimpered, rocking her hips.

I said, "It's her. It's your pussy. She's the problem. That's who's in control of you. She's the one who makes you such a tease. She's not happy with Brian. She wants a real fucking for a change, doesn't she?"

"Yes..." Rachel sighed. "She wants you to fuck her, Jesse. No mercy."

"That's what I thought. It's your pussy who makes you the way you are. Your pussy is the reason you're a slut."

She snapped her head up. "Don't say that! I'm not a slut."

"Oh, really?"

I twisted two crossed fingers into her slickness. She got that heavy-lidded look again and moaned a husky "Fuck...", thrusting her hips to rock against my fingers, grasping at them with her inner muscles, seeking to tug them deeper.

Twisting them in and out, I said, "What do you call a woman who shows up at her sister's ex-husband's house in the middle of the night, begging him to fuck her a week before her wedding? Huh? What sort of woman would rather be taken and used by another man instead of sharing her tender intimacy with the fiancé who loves her?"

"Okay, so I like it a little rough sometimes. That doesn't mean I'm a slut," she said, but the high pitch of her voice belied the wavering confidence in that belief.

I slid my wet finger over her clit, and she gasped, pushing her crotch at me.

With a smirk, I said, "What's the name for a half-naked woman with her hands tied behind her back who wants to come so bad she can't think?"

"Please..." she whimpered.

"Please what? Does your pussy want me to make her come?"

"Yes! Please, Jesse..." she whined, her breaths growing ragged as her hips thrust her clit against my finger.

Abruptly, I withdrew my hand from under her dress.

Rachel's eyes shot open. In her frustration, she groaned. "No..." She jerked at her wrists, trying to free them.

Raising my moist fingers to her lips, I wiped her lust across them. She licked her lips, then opened her mouth and sucked my fingers in, giving me a sultry stare while moving her lips and tongue on them as if they were my cock.

"Your pussy is in control of you. And that's why you need me to own your pussy." I said. "Then, you'll be my slut."

Her eyes brightened. I withdrew my fingers, and she nodded. "Your slut. Yeah, okay."

At the sound of those words, a surge of testosterone poured into my bloodstream. The last time I'd felt so pumped was when Anne was still mine. Now I had Rachel. I wouldn't make the same mistakes this time.

"On your knees, slut. Eyes closed."

Wearing a tight smile, Rachel immediately lowered herself to her knees, taking the opportunity to survey my body and my sexual bits before she shut her eyes. It was enticing enough for her to reflexively lick her lips.

It wasn't because I was a stud. My penis was nothing special. I was no bodybuilder, and truthfully, I was out of shape. Except for swimming daily laps, I'd slacked off my routines for too long. To most people, my strengths as a Dom were not immediately visible. Most important of those was a confidence born of humility--I respected any woman who submitted to me as the stronger of the two of us.

Thanks to a professor back in college who recognized certain qualities in me, I gained an intimate understanding of the science and methods of obedience and pain, both physical and psychological. Professor Pop insisted that the path to domination was through submission. She personally demonstrated the techniques and effects of each device on me, so I respected their power and knew exactly how and where they were most effective before I was ever allowed to practice on her.

She also forced self-control on me at the end of her whips until orgasms ceased to be a reflexive function, vaguely similar to learning to control when you pee with the aid of a shock collar. But thanks to her, I rarely left a woman unsatisfied. Unless it was intentional, of course.

Tonight may be an exception, however, assuming we got that far. No matter how much self-restraint I could wield, control slipped when things got backed up, no different than the urgency of a full bladder. Lately, my interest in anything of a sexual nature had been nearly zero, so I had no need to stay in practice. My balls were heavily laden.

I said, "Open wide, and stretch your tongue out over your lower lip. I'm going to fuck your pretty face."

Smiling, Rachel complied, and the image of the first time I'd done this with her big sister flashed into my head.

Anne had surprised me with her high-threshold gag reflex. Once, as a special treat for her birthday, I invited an impressively-endowed friend to join us. She had no problem swallowing every bit of what he offered. I wondered if that condition ran in the family, too.

As soon as my frenulum slid along the roughness of Rachel's tongue, I knew I was in trouble. It wasn't going to take long for me to pop my cork. I would have to pace myself and work fast.

I withdrew from her welcoming mouth.

"You need to remember three things, Rachel. First, it will help if you completely relax. I'm confident you can do this, but it will be harder on you if you're tense. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Second, breathe through your nose, even when your mouth is open. And third? There is no third thing. Only the two things."

Rachel was a true geek, and she laughed.

"I didn't expect the bloody Spanish Inquisition."

We chanted together. "No-body expects the Spanish Inquisition!"

Hopefully, that helped to loosen her up.

She sighed when I stroked the hair above her ears. "Breathe slow and deep. You'll do fine. Open wide. That's right. Now, stick your tongue out as far as it will go. Yes, good..."

Weaving my fingers into her silky hair, I took hold at the roots. She whimpered and tensed.

"Remember what I said. Relax. Breathe. Ignore everything else but the thought of opening yourself, letting it through." I laid my cock head on the flat of her tongue. Slowly, I pushed myself to the back of her mouth. She tensed, tightening against the violation. Pulling back, I tried again, nudging into the glottis. She choked, gasping for breath. Her body was shaking.

"I can't do it," she said when I withdrew. Tears were running from her closed eyelids.

I suspected it was only fear. She hadn't actually gagged at any point. Kneeling in front of her, I gave her a tender kiss.

"You're a strong woman, Rachel. Believe in yourself. Like Yoda says, 'There is no try. Do, or do not'."

"So, old movie quotes is your idea of torture?" She snickered.

I stroked her hair.

"Take a few deep breaths. Release all the anxiety and let your tension flow out of you with each exhale."

"Now you sound like my yoga instructor."

"Yoga. Yoda. Whatever works."

Rachel breathed in and out, slow and steady, then stretched her tongue out again. She seemed serene. I slid my cock to the back of her mouth. There was a moment of tension where the broad brim of my crown cleared the tight ring. Then I was through.

Her eyes popped open. I smiled down at her, then pulled back slowly so she didn't toss her cookies--that had happened with novices a couple of times. I desperately wanted this to be a good experience for her.

Even with her arms tied behind her, she vaulted to her feet as soon as her mouth was empty, and she kissed me.

"Ohmigod! I did it! I did it!" She was dancing in place, jumping up and down, hardly able to contain herself.

"Yeah. I knew you could." Then I gave her a hard look. "What was it I said about kissing me without permission?"

"Oopsies..." Her cheeks colored bashfully.

"Back on your knees. I promised you a mouthful of cream. Wherever possible, I keep my promises."

In seconds she was at my feet, her mouth wide open, her tongue extended, and her eyes closed. I lay my cock on her tongue again, and her lips closed around it.

"Look at me," I told her. She opened her eyes, gazing up under her brow. "I suppose you know that most men will do anything for a woman who's sucking his dick, which puts the woman in control."

A momentary downward glance and the flicker at the corners of her lips told me she knew exactly what I was talking about.

I said, "That rule does not work here. I am in control. I will take the pleasure I want from your mouth, and I expect you to focus everything you have toward giving me that pleasure. To do that, I expect you to demonstrate to me that I am the sole object of your attention. I want you to watch my face, see what your mouth does to me, so you will know that you are satisfying me. Blink once if you understand."

She gave me a single long blink.

As I nudged my cock deep into her mouth once again, she concentrated her eyes on mine. They went unfocused for a moment when I felt the head squeeze as it passed into her throat, then she gazed up at me again. It was too much. Those pretty lips caressing my flesh. The lovely, obedient look on her face. The satisfying sensation of taking the throat of my ex-wife's darling little sister--the unwitting catalyst to the dissolution of our marriage. My balls rested against her chin, already seething.

Pulling back then shoving myself in a little faster, a little more ruthlessly, I told her, "I'm going to come. You will hold it all in your mouth. You will not spill a drop."

The corners of Rachel's mouth twitched upward. She gave me another long blink.

Knitting my fingers into the hair on each side of her head, I tugged at the roots with a secure grip. This time she uttered only a small, pained whimper, and I fucked her slowly.

Rachel's throat was indeed as receptive as her big sister's. She fought it at first, choking and sputtering until she caught up with my rhythm and was able to sync her breathing. Her eyes watered, making her mascara run again. With my penis tickling her tonsils, she peered up at me with the same adoring look Anne had given me so many times, but with a charming touch of innocence. She was so goddamned beautiful.

A swarm of sparkles raced up my spine. My balls tightened. Emitting a strained growl, I shoved my cock deep, unloading the first and strongest gush of semen directly into her gullet. Then my hips drew back to let the rest splash onto her tongue.

I'd been saving up for a while. She closed her lips, struggling to keep up with the volume of thick semen when I reminded her, "Don't swallow yet."

With a wicked inward smile, I watched Rachel's discomfort grow as she tried to contain the flood surging into her mouth. Her cheeks puffed out and her face turned red. When I finally saw a trickle of semen escape her lips, roll down her chin, and drip onto the floor, I said, "Swallow it. Now!"

She gulped it down. When I pulled my cock free, she licked her lips.

"Show me you swallowed," I said, and she displayed her empty mouth. Then I slapped her cheek with my sticky, softening penis and demanded, "Clean it off."

Her lips were back around my tender penis in a second, gently sucking and licking away the remnants of my pleasure while I berated her.

"You're a pathetic cocksucker. A fucking vacuum hose full of petroleum jelly would've shown more enthusiasm. If you fuck as poorly as you suck cock, no wonder your fiancé was bored with you."

She looked up penitently. "I'll do better! I swear! Let me try again, please?"

I grumbled, "You're hardly worth my effort. You promised you wouldn't spill a drop. Lick that off the floor."

She didn't hesitate, but simply bent over, obediently licking up the single bead while I pulled my robe back on. I couldn't wait to get hard again. If we were going to have only this one night, I was not about to miss out on fucking Rachel. Her big sister hadn't been nearly this good her first time.

A small sizzle of wicked pleasure tingled at the base of my brain, thinking that someday--not too soon, but in good time--my ex-wife, the Cupid Stunt, would know what I'd done with Rachel, and then she would understand that her destruction of our marriage was all for naught.

Now, it was time to find out just how much my new slut could handle.

: : :

PART 2 - THE RULE OF THREE

With a handful of Rachel's hair, I guided her to her feet, making her shriek painfully. I hauled her behind me down the main hall of my townhome with her wrists still bound at her back. She stumbled and tripped over her own feet, whining for me to slow down. I made sure she didn't fall or bang into anything, since any marks on her should be of my choosing. Otherwise, I ignored her pleas as I dragged her up the stairs to the master bedroom at the front and shoved her through the door ahead of me.

She looked around. My king-size, mahogany, four poster bed hadn't been made in weeks, and the sheets were stained and twisted. I watched her eyes as they took in the pile of dirty clothes on the floor and the empty beer and whisky bottles on the matching wooden desk and chest. For the first time in a while, I registered the musty smells, embarrassed that I'd let myself go. The whole house needed a serious cleaning. Anne and I used to spend a minimum of half a day every weekend getting everything in order. Since she left, I didn't have any reason to give a damn, not even enough to call a maid service.

"What are those for?" she asked, catching sight of the four heavy-duty hooks in the ceiling.

"That's where I tied your sister in a full bondage rope harness and suspended her over the bed, so she could watch me fuck another woman."

After giving me an astonished look, she broke out in a chuckle. "I never know when you're joking."

My expression was dry. "I thought we'd covered that. I won't ever lie to you."

She gaped at me. I didn't think it necessary to reveal that the last time I dangled Anne like that, the woman riding me had looked exactly like Rachel. And that singularly lousy fuck was probably the death knell of our marriage.

"Turn around," I told her.

When she turned her back to me, I pulled the sash ends to untie the bow at her wrists. As soon as my young protégée realized I was releasing her, she whipped back around.

"No!" she said. "I don't want you to--"

Her words were cut off when my hand flew up to her throat, catching her under her jaw and throttling just enough that a little air still flowed.

Inches from her face, I snarled. "You don't fucking get it, do ya', cunt? This is my party. I make the rules. All the rules. You obey them. You think your puny brain can remember that?"

Staring at me, terrified, she nodded.

She mewled when I grabbed firm handholds of her shoulder and her meaty butt, then she shrieked when I lifted her and threw her face down across my bed, her legs hanging over the side. I raised her skirt again. Her sublime buns had turned a darker shade of rose since her earlier spanking.

My hand came down, hard, and she yelped.

"My party," I said.

"Yes, sir!" It came out like a squeak. "It's your--"

She never got to finish. I bombarded her butt, pelting her poor bottom with fierce smacks and making her scream. Her skin was already tenderized from the warm-up downstairs, and by the fifth swat she was bawling like a baby, begging me to stop.

By the count of fifteen, the blood rushing in to cool and heal her butt had also swollen her vulva and her clit to an overwhelming state of arousal. Her legs were spread, displaying the glossy scarlet of her cleft. Her ass was weaving invitingly. The subtle motions almost hid the way she was humping herself against the edge of the mattress.

I laid two more quick slaps on her tortured behind. When I caressed her inflamed labia with my fingertips, she jerked, sucking in her breath with a muttered, "Fuck!" and tucking her head into the mattress.

"Oh, God," she whimpered as my finger teased the syrupy portal to her inner delights. "Please..."

I taunted her. "Does your pussy want to come, Rachel?"

"Yesss..." she hissed. Again, she begged, "Please, Jesse?"

I squeezed together the swollen labial flesh on either side of her clit and wiggled it slowly, as if I were jacking off the tiny nub.

"Ohgod! Ohgod!" she uttered breathlessly, her body shaking and squirming. Her exclamations climbed higher and higher.

She was right at the edge when I yanked my hand away, and she screeched when I slapped her scarlet butt again.

"Your pussy doesn't come until I say she can. I'm her boss now."

Rachel let out a frustrated whine.

I finished freeing her hands from her halter top, and she winced when she rolled onto her back. Lying across my bed, she rubbed her wrists.

Dismay was apparent in her voice when she said, "Is that all?"

I laughed. "I've barely started, Rachel. Don't worry. Before I'm finished with you tonight, I promise you'll have my cum and yours dripping out of my pussy."

That brought an expectant smile to her face.

"Your pussy."

Then I said, "Maybe I'll inject a load of semen in your virgin ass, too."

She gasped, staring at me.

"It is a virgin, isn't it? After Brian was so ignorant about your needs, you couldn't trust him enough to let him back there, am I right?"

Bashfully, she nodded. "Are you seriously...? I mean..."

"We'll see," I said, wearing a cryptic grin.

Maybe not tonight, but definitely before I let her leave.

: : :

Keeping one foot on the floor, I sat sideways on the edge of the bed, my knee cocked across the mattress.

"Sit up. We have something important to discuss."

She rolled up, legs dangling over the side, and winced when her sore butt rubbed on the sheets.

I said, "Unexpected things can happen when you're being abused. You could feel sick, or exhausted, or maybe you've had all you can take. I might do something that triggers some deep fear, or a bad memory that makes you feel uncomfortable. Any of a thousand possible complications where we might need to pause whatever we're doing. The problem is, you could have panties or something else in your mouth, so you can't tell me what's going on. Sometimes, I get pleasure from hearing you tell me 'No,' or begging me to stop, especially when we both know that's not what you really want me to do."

Feigning distress, she said, "Please. Don't. Stop." She snickered.

"Something like that. If you're ever in trouble, for any reason, you can do anything three times in a row, and that will be my signal to immediately suspend whatever I'm doing and pay attention to your needs. You could say a word, like 'help, help, help', or cough, or stomp your feet." I kicked the bed frame with my heel--bam, bam, bam. "Do anything, three times, and everything comes to a hard stop. Are we clear on that?"

Rachel smirked. "What about 'fuck me, fuck me, fuck me'?"

I glared at her. "We don't play around with the 'Rule of Three.' This is for your safety and protection. Anything you say or do with that pattern will cause me to stop, which may not be the reaction you want."

She nodded. "Got it."

"The Rule of Three has a flip side. Anytime we're in public, you are free to act as you choose."

"Anyway I want?" She had a mischievous grin.

"Within reason," I said, lowering a brow. "Imagine our roles are reversed, and you take charge."

"Seriously?"

"You're the boss, and I'm the one who is there to please you. You can tease me, insult me if you feel like it, and make me do things for you, such as getting you a drink, or even taking off your shoes and rubbing your feet in front of your friends. Anything a strong, confident woman might do in public to show off her obedient, loving man."

She looked away. On occasion, she had witnessed Anne insulting me, although my ex didn't mistreat me around her family nearly as bad as when we were with her friends. I could see Rachel's gears turning as she probably pondered ways she might use that power.

I said, "Of course, that role includes certain responsibilities toward me. For example, you may be flirty, and in fact, I encourage you to flirt with other men."

Rachel gaped at me. "You want me to flirt in front of you?"

"I have my reasons. The key is, you have an obligation to stay within certain limits. For example, you won't take some guy to a bathroom and suck him off."

"I would never do that!"

"That's what Anne said, too."

Her face reddened. "I'm not a cupid stunt."

"No, you're not. But that doesn't mean it couldn't happen. It's easy to get into an arrogant mindset when you have someone under your power. I've seen too many dominant men and women crash and burn because they began to believe in their own omnipotence."

She nodded her understanding. Good. It was important to me that my subbies got a sense of how much work goes into my side of the equation.

I said, "That's why I can call on the Rule of Three, too. No matter where we are, if I do something three times in a row, we immediately revert to the roles we accept in this house, where I'm in absolute control. Usually, I'll snap my fingers."

I snapped them, three times. Over the years, Anne became so attuned to my finger snaps, she could pinpoint that sound across a crowded room, and she would run to me to find out what the problem was.

Rachel thought on it. "So, in here, I'm your bitch. Out there, you're my bitch, but we both have an emergency bitch switch."

"Yeah, something like that." I shook my head, chuckling at the witty description. "If I see trouble brewing, I might give you two snaps as a warning. Even if I don't use the rule, whatever happens outside of this house is still subject to disciplinary action once we get back here."

"So, if I say or do something you don't like..."

"When we get home, I'll do something you don't like." At the sight of her tight little grin, I said, "Or maybe that's what you want."

"Maybe."

: : :

I gave her a peck on the lips. "I'm going to restrain you now. Show me what my bitch does if you want me to stop and you can't use your arms or legs."

She barked "Woof! Woof! Woof!"

I chuckled.

"That'll do. Lie across the bed on your back and stretch both hands out above your head."

While she got into position, I rolled my dusty, wooden toy box out from under the bed. I opened the lid and pulled out a couple of two-foot leather and chain manacles and a long coil of half-inch hemp rope. Moving to the opposite side of the bed, I snapped the leather manacles around Rachel's wrists and clipped the carabiners on the chains onto the metal rings welded to the bed frame. She tugged at them, and the clinking sound made me smile. For me, nothing said "I own you" quite like the rattle of a chain.

I lifted both her legs and held them in the crook of my elbow against my side while I formed a quick bowline in each end of the rope, then I slipped them onto her ankles. Someday, if things worked out, I would enjoy binding her tender young body in a full Shibari vest with a happy knot rubbing her clit. It was well after one in the morning, and I had neither the time nor the patience tonight.

"What are you doing?" she said, checking out all the devices involved.

"You disobeyed me four times."

"Oopsies..." she grinned. Then she got serious. "Wait a second. Four times? I only remember--Ow! Fuck!" She cried out when I slapped her stinging butt.

"I make the rules," I said, using my gruff voice. "I make all the rules. My rules can bend the laws of physics and common sense. If I say two plus two is eight, or red is blue, you will agree with me. Now you've disobeyed me once more. That makes six."

She was about to correct me to "Five," but her sharp mind belayed her sassy mouth.

If this thing with Rachel went further than tonight, I would explain how my rules could shift on a whim. Anne and I both had lots of fun when I declared Purple-Panty-Day on Thursday morning, then switched it to matching black lace panty-and-bra Thursday. As soon as she was in her black lingerie, I changed it again to Naked Thursday. Each of those gave me ample reason to discipline her. I picked that trick up from an old Eastwood movie.

I threw the center of the rope up to catch each of the two widest hooks on the ceiling. I'd done it enough times with her sister lying there that I could nearly make that toss blindfolded. Looping the rope through the powered hoist mounted to the wall above the headboard, I let the ends dangle there. We had a couple of important things to discuss before we took this any further.

She said, "Are you going to hurt me again?"

She sounded afraid. She'd been a good little slut so far. Maybe I was pushing her too hard, but I was increasingly sure she wanted all six, and more. My hope was that she would find her happy place. If she fought it, that could take a while, and my conscience was not going to let me go all out on her until we knew each other a lot better.

I said, "Six more hits. Which may be three, or thirteen, depending on how things go."

She groaned, and I laughed.

"I promise you'll get everything you came for. Or, if you decide you've had enough and want to go home, I'll call you a cab."

"But then I could never come back."

"That's the rule."

She said, "Is that why Annie never came back?"

My heart ached as I recalled the terrible things we shouted at each other and the arguments and insults as our marriage slowly disintegrated. It was like a death spiral, each of us feeding on the other's rage.

"No. That was her choice."

In fact, back then, I wanted her to come home. It was the only time I ever begged her.

Rachel pondered for a moment. "Just six?"

I smiled. She was all-in.

"More or less. We'll see. I have to discover what you can handle, and the only way to determine that is to do it. I've accumulated a lot of experience, and have a good idea what to look for, so I'll usually take you to where you think your limits are. If I feel it's safe, I'll push those limits a little further, so you can know you're stronger than you think you are. If I'm wrong, you always have the Rule of Three. The only downside to that is we stop. Don't be afraid to use it, though. Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

The complete lack of hesitation filled my famished soul with a glorious warmth. I hadn't had a woman willing to put her faith in me like that since... well, since a few months before Anne left.

I slipped my robe off and laid it aside, then climbed on the bed and straddled her hips. I embraced her young breasts and wiggled my fingers, massaging the firm flesh. She moaned sensuously, moving her hips underneath me. Her eyes were narrow with lust, and she licked her lips, eyeing the erection bouncing in the air above her belly.

"Your breasts are gorgeous," I told her, bringing a big smile to her face.

"Brian says they're perfect for him."

"Does he play with them the way you want?"

"He treats me like a fragile Christmas ornament," she said. Her anger surfaced. "I'm a woman, dammit. I need..."

She looked up at me, showing a mix of desire and fear.

"You need this." I smacked the side of her tit.

"Ow! Why in hell did you--ohh, fuck..."

Anne had described the sensation after I slapped her breasts like a hot electric wire zapping from the sting on her boob, straight down to a warm, glowing lamp in her clitoris.

I popped the other tit, then the first, back and forth a few times, enjoying the way her firm, young breasts jiggled. Rachel's lustful look had returned, and she squirmed under me, panting and growing desperate.

Reaching behind myself, I popped her clit with three fingers.

"Ohgod! Yes!" she squealed. "Please, Jesse..."

"Is my pussy going to obey me?"

"She's your pussy. She needs you to... Oh! Fuck!" she cried out when I thwacked her clit rapidly a half-dozen times while slapping the sides of her tits, then pinched and twisted one of her pretty red nipples. She was riding the edge, just out of reach.

I climbed off her, and she whimpered.

"Jesse...?"

Her puffy labia were flushed a deep shade of plum. Once I finally decided to let her go, she was going to blast off into the stratosphere.

We had one more thing to settle first.

Reaching into the toy box, I said, "Are you a strong woman, Rachel?"

"I guess so," she said. "What's that thing?"

I swished the stiff black whip side-to side to make its signature whistling hiss as it sliced through the air. Anne thought it sounded like "Hush!" the way a stern librarian would say it.

"You disappointed me six times, Rachel,"

I fluttered the soft leather flap--what riders called the "keeper"--over the sensitive skin of her exposed underarm. She shivered with the goosebumps dotting her skin.

"I'm sorry, Jesse. I won't do it again."

"Yes, you will," I said. "Because you want more. Lots more. Am I right?"

She blushed. "Maybe."

"Downstairs, why did you slap me?"

Even before she spoke, her smirk gave me the answer I expected.

"Annie told me once in a while, the two of you fought hard. She said those were the best times."

She was right. The bruises, scratches, and bite marks on both of us released a brutal, primitive energy. Once we were exhausted, the lovemaking was like nothing else.

I used the tip of the stiff rod to probe Rachel's pretty, plump nipple. She watched intently, shivering as it teased the underside. The nub hardened, and I tapped it lightly with the leather keeper, eliciting a soft whimper. If my former sister-in-law stuck around, I would show her many other excruciating joys my little whip and its friends could produce, starting with a suede flogger flicking across her delightful, tender breasts.

"You're going to keep disobeying me, because you know that gets your pussy the attention she's begging for," I said. "Like your sister, you're a strong woman who sometimes needs to give the reins to someone else who can remind you just how strong you can be."

She looked up at me, but didn't respond. The light coming on behind her eyes was a beautiful sight.

: : :

Rachel's gaze shifted back to the short, braided leather whip. I was grazing the flap down her belly in a serpentine motion. She seemed entranced and couldn't tear her eyes away from it for long. Her breaths had quickened. Somehow, I was sure she knew she should fear this thing, yet it was exciting such innocent pleasures.

"What's that thing called?" she said again.

"This is a riding crop."

Her head popped up, her eyes bugged out. She'd heard that name.

I said, "Did Anne tell you about it?"

Rachel nodded. "I heard her say you were a different person with a crop in your hand, like you were connected to it. Mom told her--"

She caught herself and her mouth clamped shut.

"Your Mom?"

"Never mind..." She looked away.

Their widowed mother, Katherine, was a preview of her daughters in twenty years. She was the source of Rachel's auburn locks and Anne's sapphire-blue eyes and shapely figure. She made an elegant, strong, and independent model for her daughters. At the same time, I had to wonder how deep the submissive masochist gene ran in their family. When the marriage with Anne was breaking down, Katherine had made several discreet offers to help with housework and "fill in" for her stupid daughter until she regained her senses. I had politely declined, mostly to prevent another reason for Anne to go ballistic. She was doing that a lot in those days.

I hit the top button of the remote control on the bedside table. The hoist grumbled to life, slowly cranking its gears to haul the rope through the hooks and pulleys.

She gave me a worried look. "What is that for?"

"You're full of questions. Your answers will come when I'm ready. I have only one question for you, but I don't think you're going to be able to give me a satisfactory answer."

The ropes tightened, and her feet began to rise. Distracted, she said, "What is it you want to know?"

"Can I trust you?"

"I won't tell anybody about this," she said.

I laughed. "Frankly, I don't give a damn who you tell. I expect you to keep your promise about telling your sister, but you're old enough to make your own decisions. I just want you to tell me the truth."

She cocked her head. "About what?"

"I told you before, I will never lie to you. Can you promise me the same?"

Rachel looked into my eyes. I saw anger there.

"Everybody lies."

"I won't. Ask me anything. I reserve the right to privacy in matters I believe don't concern you, but whatever I tell you, I will not lie."

Her supple legs had straightened out at about forty-five degrees above the mattress, and the ropes were stretching them further apart. Her worried eyes registered the beginning of an appreciation for what was coming.

She turned back to me. "Why did you and Annie divorce?"

"I don't know," I told her. "That's the truth. I have my theories. We were both stupid."

"Do you think she was cheating on you?"

I had to pause. The conversation touched a nerve.

"I believe a third party was involved. I don't believe she went that far before we split."

"She didn't."

My vision blurred, and I had to turn away, blinking rapidly.

"Jesse? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have--"

I spun back around and snapped the crop's leather keeper against the hood of her clit three times, and she cried out. "Ohfuck!"

Her head flew back, and while she was caught up in the blissful surprise, I wiped my eyes with my forearm.

"None of this is about me, Rachel," I said. "If you expect to have any sort of real relationship that works, you're going to have to be completely honest with yourself. Why are you here?"

"I told you. I've had this thing for you since I learned what made my body sing 'Hallelujah'. My first two years of orgasms were almost all about you."

Well, that was news...

I hit the middle button on the remote and the winch silenced. Her legs were pointed towards the ceiling in a vee, spread about four feet apart. The ropes had lifted her butt above the mattress about two inches, the perfect height. I had a limited time window before numbness would start setting in. That's the last thing I wanted. I was curious about this crush she had been fostering for years, however.

"What about Brian?" I said. "Do you love him?"

She hesitated. Then she nodded. "He's the greatest guy ever. We're on the same channel. It's like this connection between us that I've never had with another guy."

"Except you're hiding something from him. There's a part of you he doesn't know about."

She turned her eyes away.

"Where do I fit in this picture, Rachel?" I said. "Please give me the same courtesy I gave you. Be honest. Am I just a last fling for you to get the kinks out of your--"

"No!" she screamed. Tears were in her eyes. "I love you too, Jesse. It's just... different. You're older and always so calm and cool, and you know everything. You were always so strong, so single-minded, sort of pushy sometimes, but that didn't change how sensitive and warm you are. And so fucking sexy. How could I not love somebody like you? Please, will you please, please, just fuck me?"

A glint of truth was beginning to shine through the cracks.

I asked her, "Can you think of any other men you've felt that way about? Strong, pushy older men who seemed to know everything?"

"You mean like a teacher or something?" she giggled. "They wish."

"Think back to when you were younger. Anyone you looked up to? A warm and sensitive man who never got ruffled?"

She gazed off and shrugged. "I dunno. Nobody I can think of. I guess there was always Dad, but he..."

Rachel froze. Her mouth dropped open and she stared at me.

Although I never met her father, I'd learned he was a no-nonsense man, a captain in an elite Army outfit. Rachel was an impressionable seven when he was killed in the Mideast.

I swung. The riding crop whistled through the air and snapped across her bottom. A murderous scream burst from her lungs. I paused long enough for the intense, burning pain to bloom and take hold in her neural network.

"Fuck!" she squealed.

That was my cue. The crop sang again, prompting another horrendous scream followed a second later by "Ohgod-ohgod! Please, Jesse! Don't--"

She must have heard the silvery voice of the whip, because her scream began before it made contact. She bawled, wretchedly.

Three narrow, scarlet welts crisscrossed the darker, mottled colors from the tenderizing strokes I hand-painted earlier on her heart-shaped butt. It was a sublime portrait of pain, to be filed away in the most hallowed galleries of my memory.

I struck again. The shriek was ear-splitting, and she jerked against her bounds frantically.

I paused to let her take a breath, gather her wits, and decide if this was what she really wanted. Slowing my breath, I prepared for the possibility she might utter the Rule of Three. Everything hinged on the appetite of her largest and most complex organ, not coincidentally, the organ with the most pain receptors.

Back in college, Professor Pop once showed me a study that spoke of fundamental differences in the way men and women perceived the main function of their skin. For a vast majority of men, we thought of our outer layer as a barrier, a wall to protect us from the ills of the external world. In contrast, the study said a typical woman viewed her skin primarily as a sense organ, with which she savored the broad array of tactile impressions.

The skin was no different from the other senses. It had its own likes and dislikes, and no two women were the same. Some women liked the visual art of Norman Rockwell, and some liked Picasso. Some enjoyed the flavor of avocado, and some went straight for the salsa. On their skin, some preferred a caress, while others begged for the crop.

What was Rachel's inclination?

"Are you alright?" I said.

She sniffled and shuddered with a sob. Then she chuckled, a good sign.

"Alright? Yeah. I think so. I mean, it hurts like hell. But, yeah. That was four, right?"

I was impressed. She counted.

"Shall I go on?" This was the crucial one.

"Please?"

Sweeter words I'd never heard. My grinch heart grew three sizes.

She was ready for the next big step.

I said, "What you want will come faster if you'll relax. Don't fight it. Give in, and let it happen."

Rachel sniffled, and raised her flushed, red-eyed face. "Let what happen? What is it you think I want?"

Her mouth had time to drop open when she saw the arc of my arm, and her body arched up along with a murderous screech.

Low and calm, I said, "Relax. Let it happen."

"Ohgod! Ohgod!"

Over the next few hits, I kept encouraging her to surrender to the pain. Gradually, her cries weakened. She stopped anticipating, and her muscles fell limp. Endorphins and all those other wonderful, natural opioids flooded her body, transporting her to a wonderland she'd likely never known. I hadn't traveled there in years.

While she floated in a cloud of pure joy, disassociated from her physical state, she was unlikely to even consider the Rule of Three, no matter how cruel I got. The more pain I delivered, the deeper she strayed into La-La Land. That put more responsibility on me to pay close attention to her condition. She hadn't yet reached where I wanted her to go.

For the eighth strike I aimed a few inches higher and to the right, shifting from her butt to aim for the higher concentration of pain receptors on the back of the thighs.

She wailed, and that's when she broke.

"Daddy..."

"One more, sweetheart."

She sounded piteous. "I'm sorry, Daddy! I didn't mean to--"

The confession was cut off by a louder wail as the whistling crop sliced into the back of her other thigh, yielding only a weak whimper.

"Daddy! Please..."

"It's all over, sweetheart. You were a good girl. Daddy's going to make you feel all better now."

: : :

Few experiences matched the intense ecstasy of an orgasm while under the masochistic spell. Often, during a session as hot as this, I would slam into my subbie's hyper-stimulated and syrupy cunt, bottoming out with one swift lunge and sending her pain-hormone-addled psyche into immediate, inexpressible rapture. Instead, I eased the plum-colored crown of my penis into Rachel.

Her whole body rocked with shudders, and she whimpered. "Ohmigod..."

After the stirring, erotic workout and breathing in the aromas of her arousal for the last half hour, my engorged penis ached for this woman. Not knowing if I would ever get this chance again, I memorized her inner shape, the scents of her, and the way her lithe body twisted and squirmed on the end of the ropes. I enjoyed the many spirits that played across her face while the brim of my crown explored the newly discovered sensations of her inner sex.

She had bent her hands to allow her white-knuckled fingers to tug at the chains, and I felt the rattle in my soul. Between tremors, her hips gyrated and swayed side-to-side, but her range of motion was limited. She squeaked with each breath, the tone of her voice climbing higher and higher.

I was in control, taking it slow, in and back, a little at a time. I wasn't yet buried all the way inside when her head snapped back and her body arched upward. She froze, every tensed muscle vibrating. Convulsions in her vagina clenched at me.

I moved into her with more determination, and her climax seemed to go on and on. When my pelvic bone finally touched her pubes, I leaned over between her raised legs and placed a kiss on each of her nipples. She let out a weak, moaned, "Ohhh..." as she wallowed in the mystical joy of subbie Nirvana. A soft smile curled her lips, and her drowsy eyes looked on me with pure lust while I rocked in and out of her, slow and easy, touching and kissing her wherever I could reach.

For Rachel's first time under the crop, I'd only barely pushed her over the border to her happy place, so I didn't expect her journey to last much longer. Some of the tingly sensations would go on for a while. I had a grip on my self-control again, so I wasn't in any hurry. Gradually, I watched the signs of her return to the real world where the awareness of real suffering awaited her--a quickening of her breaths, a sharper focus to her eyes, the cringing and pained winces as she moved underneath me.

"What the hell did you do to me?" The words faltered as she panted for air. "It was like I was floating outside my own body. I could feel everything, but it didn't hurt anymore. And that orgasm. Jesus... Is this what Annie used to get?"

"Usually once or twice a week, sometimes more. It wasn't always like this. Sometimes better, sometimes not."

The full-ride subbie vacations I sent her on involved a boat-load of pain, and usually lasted much longer, an hour or more. The loving, intimate connection I felt with my wife during those times were like nothing I'd experienced with anyone else, and we both glowed from the after-effects, sometimes for days.

"What a cupid stunt," Rachel said.

A warning was due. "Marriage is more than just sex and kink."

"Yeah, I get it. But it's like money. It never hurts to have more, especially when the kink is pure heaven, and the sex blows the back of my fucking head off."

We both chuckled, sharing the internal contractions it caused. I couldn't recall the last time I'd felt the unique pleasure of laughing during sex.

She raised her head and stared straight into my eyes. Her voice was low and husky.

"Fuck me, Daddy. Fuck your little girl like she's dreamed about ever since she learned what her pussy was made for."

That lecherous plea inspired a fresh flood of animal lust pouring through my veins. I hit the bottom button on the remote, then grabbed her hips and yanked my new lover's body onto my erection as the humming motor lowered her legs.

It took only a dozen or so hard lunges, banging my pubic bone against her bottom, before her breaths turned squeaky again. Once more, she threw her head back and thrust her breasts up into the air, taut and shaking in the clutches of another climax.

When the ropes slackened and she could move her legs freely, she locked her ankles around my butt, pulling me into herself with her head lolling from one side to the other while she muttered, "Fuck me, Daddy! Fuck me harder! Fuck your little girl like a nasty slut. God, I love my Daddy so much."

Many things were said in the throes of sexual bliss. I'd heard and uttered the full run of senseless expressions, from the erotic, to the filthy and ridiculous, and even the humiliating--which could be arousing when properly applied. The most common words were loving, which I always assumed to be true in the euphoric moment, but not able to survive the humdrum of real love.

Rachel's assertion of love held a different tenor. This was not a momentary, frenzied loss of rational thought. The intensity of our sexual connection absorbed nearly all of my senses, but I hung onto enough wits to recognize that there was more to this night for her than a last fling or a one-time walk on the wild side.

And I had no idea what I should do with that.

: : :

She came on my cock once more. Her feminine ejaculate tickled as it dripped off my balls. I was amazed I'd been able to hold out so long. Before Rachel's superb blowjob in the kitchen, it had been nearly a month since my last fuck with a date, and a week or so since I'd submitted to the self-humiliation of a five-finger tryst. My self-control was in better shape than I expected.

But it was time. I relaxed, let my body tell me what it wanted, then gave it up. A rush of tingles flew up my spine and slammed into my brain. I lunged deep into her vagina and roared as semen gushed through my cock.

Rachel whimpered, "Oh, yes, yes..."

Once my senses returned, I untied her ankles, released the manacles, and loosened the ropes to pull them off her feet. After rolling her onto her belly and moving her lengthwise onto the pillows, I gently rubbed a soothing arnica and aloe balm over her tormented butt and thighs, then lay beside her and pulled the sheets and a comforter over us. We held each other and shared a deep, sensuous kiss that kept going and going.

Rachel pulled back. "Thank you, Jesse."

"You're okay?"

Giggling, she said, "Yeah, I'm ten light years past okay. That was way more than I ever dreamed it could be. I've never felt so... free, but still connected to you, like a lifeline, you know? Thanks for not throwing me out."

"Your butt and legs are going to look pretty rough tomorrow, but everything should be gone before the wedding."

Her brows knitted together.

"I wasn't kidding. There's not gonna be a wedding. I love you, Jesse. I always knew you were everything I wanted, and after what you just did for me? No way I'm leaving you, not like my cupid stunt of a sister did." Her voice grew quiet. "Unless you want me to go."

There it was. She was so innocent, so pure, I wanted to pull her into my arms and protect my little girl, to show her so many more pleasures she never imagined. But I knew better. That innocence would mature, grow older and forgetful of promises made in times like these, and the raw, tedious mechanisms of a long-term relationship would grind her down. I didn't know if I would survive another collapse.

That didn't mean I was done with her.

I placed a tiny kiss on her lips. "If you really want to stay, I'm not running you off any time soon. I want you to make the right decisions. I can tell you love this guy, Brian."

"He doesn't love me. If he did, he would treat me like a woman instead of a damned China teacup. He wouldn't lie to me after he fucked another woman."

"Did you ever tell him what you wanted him to do?"

She lowered her eyes. "No..." Then she looked up, angry again. "I shouldn't have to tell him. Hell, you didn't ask. You just did it. You took what you wanted like a real man, not like some lying momma's boy."

"A half a lifetime ago, I was a lying momma's boy." I didn't hide my irritation. As little as men understood about what women had to put up with, women could be equally ignorant about the societal pressures on men. "From about the age of three, the mantra that boys hear over and over is 'don't hurt the girls'. It's so deep-rooted in our psyche that by the time we start dating, we're terrified of you. Our dicks are telling us 'Go! Go! Go!' but our mother's voice is in our head, wagging her finger and saying, 'don't hurt the girls'."

With a smirk, Rachel said, "You don't seem to have that problem."

"I got lucky. I was a sophomore in college when I met a woman who wasn't shy about her desires." My chest warmed with fond memories of Dr. Anna Popashvily, my middle-aged, Georgian, Psychology 101 professor who first recognized potential in me. "I run across a lot of women who wish their man would just take charge, in every way, but wouldn't dare ask for it. Know anybody like that?"

Her eyes lowered.

I said, "You should talk to him."

Rachel raised her eyes, and I saw lust in them. Her arms came up around my neck.

"Can I stay the weekend? I get the feeling I've seen only the tip of the iceberg. I need to know how deep it goes. You did a lot more with Annie, didn't you?"

"It's different when you live in that world every day with someone. A couple of nights is not going to tell you what you want to know."

"Then I'll stay longer," she said.

"You owe it to Brian to talk to him."

"Yeah, you're probably right," she said. "I'll send him a text tomorrow and call him on Sunday."

"Something like this has to be face-to-face."

"I don't know if I can--ow! Fuck!" she hollered when I smacked her tormented butt.

"My rules," I growled. "You will make arrangements to meet him someplace neutral by Monday."

"Yes, sir." She gave me a peck on the lips, then drew back with an impish smile. "I hate you when you don't let me get away with shit."

I ignored her violation of my "no touch" rule, but I often relaxed the rules in the aftermath of intimacy. As I reached back and turned out the bedside lamp, I had a sneaking suspicion that my most painful playtoys were going to get a much-needed workout over the next couple of days.

We cuddled with our arms around each other. She felt so natural like this, though different from Anne. Her sweaty hair smelled of vanilla and some sort of flower, maybe jasmine. It was all too good. One way or another, the karma credit card bill for this encounter would come due, no doubt with tons of interest. In the meantime, I planned to enjoy myself. Who knows--maybe she could be the woman her sister wasn't. Then again, Anne hadn't been much older when we met.

"Jesse?" she said in the dark.

"Yeah?"

"Is it okay if I call you 'Daddy'?"

"Only when it's just the two of us."

"Okay, Daddy." I could hear the glee in her voice.

I let it sit for about half a minute.

"What happened between you and your father? Did he lie to you?"

She didn't say anything. I felt her body shaking. She sniffled and wiped her nose.

"He... promised he was coming home." The shaking got stronger, and I pulled her to my chest. "He promised, Jesse! He promised..."

: : :

Preview: PART 3 - THE CUPID STUNT RETURNS

My ex-wife said, "I swear I hate the bitch sometimes, but she's my little sister. If I find out some guy is fucking around with her, I'm gonna kick him in the nuts before I cut his worthless dick off."

We both heard the familiar squeak on the fifth step at the same time. Anne's head jerked up. I didn't bother.

Rachel said, "Do you want me to get rid of this cupid stunt?"

I closed my eyes and steeled myself for the eruption of Mount Anne. I pictured her grabbing my scrotum and yanking as hard as she could. Then she would really start hurting me...