Chapter 3
Alex hardly remembered the walk back to the bus stop that evening. It had not seemed possible that she had sat for seven hours without breaking the tape. Not one strand had been broken. Mr. Smith had seemed surprised and, she thought, somehow pleased with her. Alex couldn't explain the rush of pride and those other strange emotions that that thought caused her to have. It was almost sexual.
She had seen so much today! The dresses those girls wore seemed to be designed to show off more than they covered up. They were so beautiful, too. And happy. What she really liked, however, were those other pictures, the ones that popped up so suddenly and then disappeared. The ones that showed the women together, or alone and touching themselves. She had never done that, or even thought about doing it by herself or with a girlfriend, but it looked so natural.
Her head was buzzing with new words and ideas. Words like 'cunt' and 'fuck' and 'pussy'. What was that thing they used on each other? Oh, yeah, a dildo. It had been enormous, eight inches long, at least! She couldn't believe that such a thing existed much less that it would fit up inside a woman. Sure, Daddy's stud bull was bigger, but that plastic thing had been so much bigger than Harold. The women had enjoyed it, even when one of them wore it strapped around their waist and fucked the other one. Alex blushed crimson as that naughty word came effortlessly to her mind.
The best word though, the best thing that she had seen was cunt-licking. She had completely soiled the back of her dress with her fluids when that had popped up. She had never been so wet, so excited, so unfulfilled. It was like she was striving for something, needing something, stretching, yearning to get some release, but couldn't quite reach it.
It was going to be another day before Harold came home. A very long day and it wasn't time for him to ravish her. She wished there was some way she could excite him to make him take her more forcefully.
Her mind on other things, Alex didn't notice the quiet little man who followed her at a distance from the club to the bus stop, then copied her transfer at the downtown station and got off with her at her stop near the small apartment. It would have been odd for her to notice him, as he made his living by going unnoticed. Even the neighbors he talked to over the next three days wouldn't remember him. If they did, no two would be able to give the same description of him, should anyone have asked. No one would ask, however, as nothing had happened. Yet.
Harold was surprised when he came in the door late Saturday morning. His wife had taken one of his old undershirts and slit it up the sides almost to her armpits. When he came out of the shower, she was standing there wearing that and a big smile. He supposed she was trying to be sexy, but all he could see was straw coming out of her ears. Not really, but her fucking family were just a bunch of ignorant hicks. But, if she wanted to try to be sexy, he was willing to let her jump around.
She had found a radio station that had some dancy-type music and she was swishing around. Her dancing was pretty bad and Harold had a flashback to the stripper he has fucked last night. Shit, the bazoombas on that bitch had been fucking huge, and could she shake them. Not like Alex. Oh, they were jiggling around, but he liked them to flop around, slapping him in the face. You'd need a vice to titty-fuck Alex and that was just too much fucking work. He laughed out loud at his own pun
Still, she seemed to get the hang of it a bit, and Harold felt that familiar urge. Standing up suddenly, he ripped the fragment of cloth from her body, leaving her barefoot and naked. She squealed in pleasure, smiling up at him, inviting him to do more. He did, and ten seconds later he rolled off her and started snoring.
The buildup and planning for her dance had been exciting for Alex. More than the actual event, but still, he had responded to it. They had never fucked in the morning and never on the living room floor. The tingling between her legs, though not as intense as when she had been with Mr. Smith, lingered for a long time.
Later that evening, Alex had danced for her husband again, only this time, she stripped off his old shirt more quickly. It had been ripped that morning and she had simply tied it together in back. With a hard tug, it had come off in her hand. She had been so excited, as had Harold, at her dancing around naked, that she had touched herself. That seemed to excite him, especially seeing her pinch and pull on her nipples. When she did it hard, it took her breath away, a feeling she didn't understand but loved.
Harold had pitched her over the end of the couch in the middle of her dance and pumped her for a long time. Well, a long time for Harold. Ten, fifteen strokes, at least. Then he grunted, as if he was in pain, and headed for the bedroom.
As she lay in bed next to her snoring spouse later that night, Alex allowed her hand to steal down to that aching place between her thighs. She was still sticky from Harold's cum, another word she had learned, and the slippery fluid aided her fumbling fingers. She had never done this before, had never thought of it until she had seen those pictures, and just touching it lightly felt so good. There was another reason for the dampness, though, and the secret she had discovered about herself tonight had extended her pleasure far longer than the pain in her nipples had lasted. It certainly wasn't Harold's face she was thinking of as she tenderly massaged her vaginal lips and squeezed her breasts.
Touching herself as she had seen those other women touch themselves and each other, Alex felt the tensions within her body building. If something didn't happen soon, she would snap. Gently at first, then with increasing urgency she struggled towards that void in her mind, her fingers stroking and plunging, torturing the newly discovered nubbin of sensitive flesh that had been throbbing non-stop for the past two days. Pushing it back and forth, pinching it, trapping and rolling it between her thumb and forefinger.
Not to be ignored, her other hand joined the first, abandoning her chest, burying first one then two fingers in her throbbing cunt. Her thumbnail grazed across the sensitive area around her anus and she moaned in frustration. It was almost enough, but for what?
Faster and faster her fingers moved. She was lying on her side next to her husband doing what her mother had always taught her was dirty, naughty and nasty. She didn't care. She needed this. She needed something.
Alex was never sure if she reached her decision immediately before she discovered what all the fuss was about, or immediately after. Either way, whether the thought of going back to the club and seeing the mysterious Mr. Smith sent her over the edge, or whether the thundering experience of her very first orgasm convinced her to go back, it didn't matter. All that mattered right then was how she felt. Like she had never felt.
Later, sitting alone on the tattered sofa in the living area of the tiny apartment, Alex thought what Mr. Smith had told her, those delicious words he whispered in her ear as she had watched those beautiful women. He had told her what she was supposed to wear the next time. Next time! He wanted to see her again!
He had also instructed her to practice those moves of the dance she had watched over and over. She grinned to herself as she thought how proud he would be that she had done that. She was even more thrilled that he wanted her to come back. He said he would teach her. He said he would train her to please him. Of course, he had meant to say to please Harold. She was married, after all.
Alex didn't like to admit it, even to herself, but that had been when she had really soiled her dress. The thought of pleasing him made her really wet down there. When she thought of him she tingled. If anything, Alex was a practical girl. She knew she was attracted to Mr. Smith, but it was just sexual. She was married to Harold, and that meant a commitment. They were a team. She was only trying to learn to please him, her husband.
Harold watched football all day Sunday starting as soon as they came back from Mass. Uncharacteristically he splurged on a six-pack on the way home from the neighborhood church and got a little drunk. Alex was disappointed. Sunday afternoon was always such a special time for her parents. During the two weeks they had lived with her parents, Harold had even commented, if somewhat crudely, on the amorous sounds coming from her parent's bedroom on Sunday afternoon. Nothing she did that day, however, could pry his interest from the ball games. He didn't even look twice when she served his beer topless. Or bottomless. She finally felt silly throwing herself at him like that, so she just went to bed. He came to bed late and was gone by the time she got up.
Monday and Tuesday dragged by for Alex. She found if she spent time practicing for Mr. Smith she would become so aroused that she would have to touch herself. If she thought about Harold, she would usually end up sad and cry uncontrollably. She knew she was avoiding the truth about her marriage, even with the interest he had shown in her on Saturday. She was just not pleasing him as she ought to. It had to be her fault.
Wednesday Harold didn't touch her. In fact, she smelled a strange perfume on his shirt when she picked it up off the floor. There was a smudge of red, too. Despite the hole in her stomach, Alex tried to excite him. She had fashioned a new outfit, two pieces that didn't hide hardly anything, but Harold wasn't buying. Worse, he wouldn't even talk to her.
Not one to be so easily discouraged, Alex decided she would simply have to learn more from Mr. Smith about how to be exciting for Harold. Thursday morning, bright and early she prepared for her next visit to the club, to the handsome Mr. Smith. She reviewed what he had told her to wear when she came back. She didn't have many clothes, but the ones he had requested she did have. A simple white blouse and a pleated skirt. They were clean and pressed to a fault. The white blouse she had was old and a little tight through the bust line, but it buttoned down the front like he wanted.
She didn't have to wonder why he had requested those items of clothing. She didn't have to imagine because he had told her what he was going to do to her. In lascivious detail, whispering in her ear, describing the touching, the stroking, the pain and pleasure he would give her if she returned. The whisper had stayed with her all week, teasing her, arousing her in her dreams, making her toss and turn all night in restless slumber.
She had been driven to masturbation several more times since that first time. Her hunger for gratification was increasing, becoming an obsession. She was constantly wet between her thighs, her clit proudly and prominently erect. At times, the slightest pressure on that sensitive tissue would set her off, the electric shocks coursing from her groin to her boobs to her brain, overwhelming her senses.
With giddy schoolgirl excitement she boarded the cross-town bus to the central terminal, then waited impatiently for the next departure on the Main Street bus. After an interminable delay to change a tire, she was headed for the industrial part of town and the club. Alex couldn't recall ever being so happy or excited in her young life. She arrived at the club and was buzzed in.
The second door was locked this time, but Mr. Smith had given her a special code. As she punched in the numbers she blushed. He was teasing her with the code, making fun of her innocence. She suddenly understood why he had said it was an easy one to remember. "6-9-6-9" she entered and the door popped open like magic. Alex gave a little squeal of delight and went in.
Damon was not displeased to see Alex' code show up on the security alert. After the reports he had gotten back about Harold's activities of the last week, he was a little surprised she had shown up, but not totally.
Damon knew a lot more about Mrs. Alisson Wilson and her deadbeat husband now. He knew about her family and that Harold didn't have any living relatives. He knew Harold was on his last chance at his job, having cost the company more money than he could hope to repay. And, if things went as planned, he also knew Harold's luck was going to turn for the better. For a while, anyway. He knew Alex had stripped for Harold and that he had fucked her. He knew she had masturbated afterwards and then several times after that. He even knew what brand of beer Harold had had and the name of the stripper he had screwed on Wednesday. The same one he screwed every Wednesday before he came home to his little wife.
In fact, there was very little of significance that Damon didn't know about these two or their families. He wondered what Alex would say if she knew there had been four other Mrs. Wilsons before her, all destitute now and all glad to be rid of the SOB, even without the alimony. 'Life was too short to live it with a big prick with a little dick, ' one of them had told his agent.
"Come in," he answered to the soft knocking at his office door.
Alex barely opened the door enough to slip through, then closed it quietly behind her. Following Mr. Smith's pointing finger that directed her to his side, she shyly stood, waiting for him.
He started inspecting her from the top down. His first touch was on her cheek, turning her head to see the unblemished purity of her face into the glaring light of his desk lamp. She wore no make up and he was surprised at her ability to arouse him. Normally he like painted ladies, tastefully and artfully made up. It was something about the artificiality that attracted him, he supposed. This girl, beguiling as she was, would be devastating when she learned the cosmetic arts.
Apparently satisfied she was pretty, he continued his inspection. At least, that's what if felt like to her.
"I see you're wearing the blouse and the skirt I suggested," he stated.
"Yes." She didn't know what else to say.
"And you're wearing pantyhose and a brassiere?" he continued.
"Yes." Somehow, it seemed she should be saying something more.
"And just exactly what was it I suggested you wear today?" he asked, his voice suddenly menacing.
"A- a blouse that buttoned down the front and a pleated skirt," Alex responded.
"Did I say anything about pantyhose and a bra?" he queried her.
"No. But I thought --"
His hand moved so fast she didn't even have time to flinch. After a couple of seconds she wondered why she hadn't felt the pain from his slap. Or heard the sound of it echoing off the walls of the spacious room. Then she realized that his hand had stopped so that just the barest touch of his fingertips on her lips halted her words. Just that barest touch excited her, yet she wasn't embarrassed.
"I don't' need you to think, my Pet. You are here to learn, right?"
Not trusting herself to speak, she simply nodded.
"You may take them off."
"Here?" she asked. "But I'd be naked and you'd see me."
"Does the thought of me seeing you naked bother you, Alex?"
"No. I mean, Yes. Oh, No. Yes. I don't know!" she answered.
Grinning at her obvious discomfort, Damon pushed a button on the bottom of his desk and a door in the wall hissed open. Behind it was a bathroom. "You may change in there, Alex, if you wish to stay."
Grateful for the privacy, Alex slipped off her heavy duty bra and her new pantyhose. She had been saving this pair for a special occasion and now Mr. Smith was upset with her. It seemed nothing was going right for her today. Carrying her clothing she stepped back into the room barefoot. He hadn't said anything about shoes, either, and she just wanted to be safe.
Damon noticed the shoes in her hands. A very good sign. He hadn't told her not to wear them, but she looked good barefoot. Primitive and innocent. Unspoiled. Well, that was about to change.
He was pretty sure this young woman was what she claimed to be. Either that or the Feds had gotten a lot better very fast. Still, he liked the challenge Alex Wilson presented him. She was intelligent and able to think, even when she thought he was upset with her. Which he wasn't. In fact, he was extremely pleased with her at the moment, but she would probably never know that. He had found that it was best to keep them guessing. That way he could stay in control. And control was what it was all about.
He took the clothing she had removed and her shoes and, folding the clothes neatly, placed them in a drawer in his desk. The shoes were on the bottom, thoughtfully placed there so as not to get the other cloths dirty. Alex watched him handle her undergarments, still warm from her body heat. He didn't show any of the usual male phobias for touching the delicate garments, like her father and Harold did. Like most men she knew, in fact.
When he stood up and moved to her, her breath caught in her throat. With only the slightest touch on her elbow, he guided her over to the chair in front of the screens.
"Dance for me, my Pet. Show me what you have learned."
This was what Alex had been dreading and hoping for all at the same time. He had told her, whispering in her ear, to watch the videos carefully and to practice them at home. He had told her to stand in front of the mirror, naked, and to move as sexily as she could, as she would for him.
Her first awkward attempts in front of the bathroom mirror had ended in tears. Her arms didn't move right and her hips wouldn't wiggle that way. Besides, the jiggling and bouncing of the other parts of her anatomy aroused her too much and she usually ended up jerking off on the cold tiles. But the dance for Harold had been OK. At first, anyway, then he had lost interest.
Now Mr. Smith was waiting. Waiting to see her move. Waiting for her sexy dance. Closing her eyes she tried to imagine the girls in the videos. She managed to get one hand motion sort of, but the other just flopped around on the end of her arm. It wasn't a bad attempt, but nothing like what she could see in her mind. Even with all her practicing she felt clumsy
Suddenly, she felt him behind her, guiding her movements. A touch here, a tug there and her arms and hips were moving in a semi-coordinated manner. He was whispering naughty things in her ear and she was wet between her thighs.
When he moved away, she continued to dance for several minutes, gently swaying with her eyes closed. She could still smell his scent, hear his whisper, feel his touch. Her heart pounding, she slowed and stopped dancing, sweat beading up on her skin. When he had her sit down, he made her lift her skirt up and sit bare-assed on the hard chair. It was uncomfortable only in that if felt funny, but she was glad he had suggested it. She couldn't afford to dry clean her good dress yet, much less this skirt, too.
This time he didn't use masking tape to tie her to the chair. He used a light twine, almost a string. He had her test it first to show her she could break it, but again reminded her that if any of them broke she would have to leave and not come back. He was doing this protect himself and his business, he said.
Alex nodded her agreement, even though she didn't follow his logic. She was impatient for the pictures and the videos. She wanted to see more, to learn more. She wasn't disappointed.
Damon had spent the last week preparing for her continued education. Last week had been a slapdash affair, thrown together at a moment's notice. He was surprised at how effective that presentation apparently had been, judging from her eagerness today. But from now on, nothing would be left to chance. Every slide had been reviewed and the insidiously progressive level of debauchery was so gradual as to not be noticed. The videos had been prepared, each step of the intricate striptease dance routine presented in segments, easy to learn, easy to practice on her own.
Alex didn't notice the room lights dimming, accentuating the contrast of the screens. She couldn't look away now. Her eyes were riveted to the glowing images on the screen, one after another after another. They were different this time, hardly in sequence at all. Beautiful girls, hundreds of them, possibly.
The pictures of them touching each other came earlier this time. There were more of them, too. And the costumes they were wearing were more exotic. More leather and shiny latex. More chrome chains and buckles. More dildos and penetrations, once or twice of the anus. It was just a tease. There were corseted ladies and even a gag or two. Ropes and whips were introduced towards the end, but just as a playful hint.
The first penis made its appearance in this session, too. Damon grinned as he heard the audible gasp coming from his mesmerized pupil as she viewed the model's proud and hard cock. She would see many erections in the coming weeks, all of them sizable, particularly when compared with her husband's equipment. Soon she would come to think of anything less than ten inches as small. Harold's four inches would seem totally inadequate.
The videos played continuously to one side, constantly coaching her, teaching her. The dancing seemed simpler this time, the movement clearer, the theme more erotic. She could see now where one movement would flow into the next or a different move could be inserted. The help Mr. Smith had given her earlier had gotten her started and she imagined in her mind the subtle and graceful movement of her body. She could be sexy.
The videos now were not just dancing. Couples were in them and doing things she had never imagined possible. Nor had Harold suggested them. Exciting things, arousing her. Soon she wasn't concerned with Harold anymore, but only with the building need within her loins.
Helping to boost her confidence and undermine any resistance she might have later, Damon had carefully planted hidden messages. It was not just the progressive nature of the photos and videos, but he used subliminal messages as well. He had found that simple commands worked best, mostly to obey her master, but also commands defining her view of herself in a subservient role, playing off the theme in an increasing number of the pictures and videos. He had picked up on her need to please her man. He was simply instructing her that she was there to please him, a message not far from the way she had been raised. It just needed to be twisted a little. It wasn't hard.
At the end of six hours, Alex sat with glazed eyes, watching a blank screen. Her mind still re-played the vivid and exciting images she had seen. The chair was soaked, even some of it running along her thighs and dripping onto the floor. She was puzzled later that she hadn't been more embarrassed with the mess she had made.
The quiet little man followed her home again, though this time he
stayed a little closer to her. Before, he had been there to gather
information. This time, he was there to watch out for her, to make sure
she got home unmolested. She was rather vulnerable after these sessions
and would be until she had an identifiable Master. She never noticed
the quiet man, even though he sat beside her twice.