Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: an109288@anon.penet.fi (Kid Dynamite)
Date: Thu, 16 May 1996 17:18:21 UTC
Subject: (*) SS - 0


Sally's Surrender 0


    * * *
 
I wasn't exactly thrilled when my stepfather announced that we'd be
moving.

I was used to my life.  It was comfortable.  It wasn't perfect, of
course.  There is precious little to do out in cow country, Ohio.
That's where I did most of my growing up.  On a farm, in Ohio.  I
didn't mind it.  But, it could be monotonous.  That was my main
complaint.

Part of the problem might have been that I lived a very sheltered
life.  Home schooling can be kind of isolating.  But that was how Mom
and Jack wanted things.  I'm sure that I have had a better education
than many of the kids I happened to run into.  Public school sounded
like a nightmare compared with home.

Mom and Jack liked home schooling for a number of reasons.  They got
to pick what I learned.  And it let them raise me just the way they
wanted to.  I guess you might say that Mom and Jack figured very
prominently in my upbringing.  They were really all that I had, since
we didn't go into town very often.  And we didn't have TV.

Mom and Jack were very strict about certain things.  Respect, for
instance.  And obedience.  I had always been taught that when Jack or
Mom said "jump", I said "how high?"

I was really disappointed when I found out that we were moving.
Angry, and sad.  I felt like the rug had gotten pulled out from under
me.  Jack said that he wanted me to go to this private school just
outside of the town we were moving to.  I didn't know what to expect.
I liked home school.  It was a known quantity.  I knew that I didn't
want to go to public school, but wasn't sure about this private
school.

I was scared.  I hadn't really experienced much of life.  I didn't
have too many friends.  I had never had a boyfriend.  Heck, I didn't
even know too many boys.  I had never been kissed, or been on a date,
or even gone to a dance.

You're probably shaking your head, saying "No way."  But it's true.
The funny thing is, you can't really miss something until you know
what it is.  I was content with my little slice of life.  Mom and Jack
taught me to be happy with what you get.  I was doing my best.

They told me what to do, and I did it.

The main thing was that moving was a big change.  I liked things the
way they were.  It made me scared, and mad.

I so much wanted to tell Jack off.  I complained to Mom, and she told
me that I should be grateful that we had someone like Jack to take
care of us, and that now that he was my father and her husband, his
wishes were the rule in our house.  The standard stuff that I already
knew.

Sometimes I really wondered what Mom saw in him.  Why had she married
him?  It wasn't like we were desperate for money, or anything.  Mom
had always been quiet about it, but we were pretty well off.  Maybe
even rich.  Mom just never acted like it.  Maybe there was more to
Jack, but he had always seemed a little bit scary to me.  Too intense.

A couple of days before we were going to move, Jack was going to the
grocery store, and I went along, because I needed tampons, and there
was "no fucking way" Jack would buy them himself.

I wasn't too talkative.  Actually, I was sulking.  Both because I
would rather be home watching TV, and because of the whole move thing.
Jack seemed oblivious.  We were listening to the radio, and a really
cool song was on, and Jack got a dirty look on his face, and changed
the channel.  I fumed.

A couple of seconds later, he changed it again.  We drove on, and he
kept switching the station, over and over.  It was driving me nuts.
Finally, I lost my cool.

"Jack, quit changing the channel!" I snapped.

Jack had a hard look.  A look that went right through me.  It said,
without words "You're nothing.  I'm a man - your stepfather - far
superior to you.  You're a woman - weak and emotional.  You need me to
tell you what to do.  Now shut up and obey me."

He used this look on Mom and I.  To this day, I cringe thinking of it.

The words had tumbled out of my mouth, and I instantly regretted them.
His head swiveled around and the look crept into his face.  It made
him look so harsh and unforgiving.  So angry.  It didn't help that as
he looked at me, he leaned towards me, menacingly.  Jack was a big
guy.  Really big.  And strong.  One time, when he was really pissed, I
had seen him punch a hole in the wall, out in the garage.  His huge
hand just pistoned through the drywall like it wasn't there.

His powerful 6'6" frame filled the cabin of the pickup, and as he
glared at me, I could see the tendons in his neck sticking out.  But I
was past it, and I kept going, despite the shiver of fear that he gave
me.

"Can't you just pick one station?!"  My voice was wavering with
emotion.  I don't even remember what I said after that.  I was nearly
hysterical, I think.  I was on automatic pilot, and all of my grief
about moving was spilling out.  But it wasn't until the end of my
tirade that I actually mentioned moving.  I don't know why.

I sobbed, "Why are we moving?  I don't want to move!"  I was close to
tears, but couldn't stop myself.  I told him that he was mean, and
couldn't understand what it meant to me to be leaving.  I said that if
he were my real father he wouldn't be making me do this.

That did it.  I had crossed a line that I had never crossed with my
stepfather.

I heard a strangled growl of anger from Jack.  The truck swerved off
of the road with a squeal, and slewed onto the gravel shoulder.
Jack's face was beet red, and his teeth were clenched so tight I
thought they might break.

He leaned over me, breathing hard, his enormous hands clenching and
unclenching.  His face was terrible.  He roared at me, spit flying
from his lips, "You will never speak to me that way again, Sally!  You
are going to go with us, and you will enroll in your new school, and
you will like it!"

I started to cry.

"You will obey me, young woman!  I won't tolerate your whining or
complaining, or your questioning me!  You don't understand that this
move is for your own good!  It isn't your place to make these
decisions!"  He was in a black rage, and it frightened me how angry he
was.  I was crying, sobbing, my head in my hands, shaking.

Eventually he stopped yelling, and pulled back onto the road.  Still
snuffling, I snuck a glance at him.  His jaw was working, and his face
was still wearing the look.  He was seething.

We got to the grocery store, and as we got out of the car, he growled
through his clenched teeth, "Sally, I'll punish you for this outburst
when we get home."

Dread settled into my stomach, knotting it up.

We didn't say a single word in the store.  We walked up and down the
aisles, and I watched him, hoping to see his anger abate.  It didn't.
He didn't even look at me, but I could tell from his face how pissed
he was.  I was in deep shit.

I was thankful that I didn't have to stand in line with him at the
checkout counter.  I plopped down my box of tampons and stared at the
floor.  I knew I must be getting a look from the cashier - my makeup
was probably a smear.  I didn't much care, though.  All I could think
of was what had happened in the car.

In retrospect, I'm kind of surprised that I even blew up at all.
Especially to Jack.  I very, very rarely had talked back to him.  I
guess I learned my lesson early with him that you didn't cross him.
The payback was pure hell.  Also, well, I guess I didn't realize it
then, but I know now that part of my problem was just with men,
period.  I've always had trouble standing up to them.

Saying my mind to a man has always been hard.  I somehow have trouble
with it.  Like they're not going to care.  Or that they know better.
Or that they think I'm dumb, which I'm not.  Especially with men that
are older than me.

I know I'm not the only person in the world with this problem.  I know
for a fact my mother is the same way.  And my friend Alicia says she
feels the same twinge of self-doubt around older men.

I also suppose that I was taught to do as I'm told.  Especially when
it came to men.  Especially when it came to my stepfather.  But the
same thing applied to teachers, police, you name it.  I was taught to
follow the rules.  And I did.

It wasn't as if I never had disagreements with Jack or Mom.  I just
usually didn't let my feelings out.  Occasionally, I did, but nine
times out of ten, I regretted it.  Whenever I talked back, or didn't
do what I was told, it seemed to come back to haunt me, sooner or
later.

To be honest, there's a certain ease with being like I am.  It's
simple.  Rebels have to worry about what's going to happen when they
get caught.  I don't.

Now you might understand the dread and fear that I felt as I waited
for us to return home, and for my punishment.  I had gone against the
grain, and I was going to pay for it.

But, I was still torn both ways.  On the one hand, the last thing I
wanted to do was move away.  On the other hand, it was the decision
that Jack had made, and it wasn't really my place to question it, or
to disagree.

The knot in the pit of my stomach tightened as we neared home, and the
tension in the air between Jack and I grew.  He stormed in the door,
and immediately began yelling for Mom.  I ran upstairs, nearly in
tears.

He slammed the door to their bedroom, downstairs, and they were
yelling.  He sounded more pissed than I've ever heard him.  I knew
what was coming next.

Mom's angry voice shot up the stairs, "Sally, get down here!  Right
now!"

I held back my tears, and came downstairs, staring at the floor.  I
followed her into their bedroom.  That's where they always punished
me.  Jack was sitting in his chair, his face livid.

He lectured me about respecting my elders, honoring my father and
mother, and about obeying.  

The lecture was finally over.  That meant my spanking was about to
begin.  I started to cry.

Mom got up from the bed, and pulled down my jeans, and told me to step
out of them.  I did.  She spun me around to face their bed, and gave
my shoulders a push down towards it.  This was part of the drill, too.
I bent over at the waist, half-lying on the bed, still crying.  This
was how they always spanked me.

But, I wasn't prepared for Mom to grab my underwear and pull it down
around my ankles.  I hadn't been spanked bare-bottom since I could
remember.  The last time had been back in grade school when I had lost
my raffle tickets.

I lay there, the whole bottom half of my body naked, except for my
socks, sobbing hysterically.

"Twenty," Jack said.

"Twenty?  Nooo." I sobbed out.  I was crying really hard.  I hadn't
been spanked more than a few strokes in a long time.  Twenty was a
lot.  A whole lot.

Mom began spanking me.  I don't know why Jack never did the spankings.
He always just sat in the chair at the end of the bed, counting how
many times Mom smacked my butt.  I suppose it was because if he had
spanked me, I probably wouldn't be able to sit down for a week.

As it was, Mom gave me the spanking of my life.  It hurt like hell.  I
was crying out of control when she was done.  I lay there, crying on
their bed, sobbing, until the fire in my bottom had subsided a little
bit.  Then Jack told me to go to my room.

My whole body was shaking with my crying. I got up and grabbed my
underwear and jeans.  I looked at Jack, letting him see how much I was
crying and hurting, hoping that he felt like shit for punishing me.

It wasn't until I got up to my room that I realized that he'd been
looking at me, too.  At his eighteen year old stepdaughter, naked from
the waist down.  And he hadn't been looking at my face, either.  I
crawled into bed, my butt stinging and aching badly, angry and hurt
and now embarrassed, too.

It wasn't the first time that Jack had looked at me.  I had caught him
leering before.  But, you never really want to admit to yourself
consciously what's going on.  It's like the thought is too gross to
actually make it to the front of your head.  But as I lay there,
crying, I knew that he'd been looking at me.  That way.  As he had
those times before.  But just now, he'd seen me naked - really naked -
from the front - and there was no denying what I'd seen on his face.
To my already chaotic emotions, it added a feeling of embarrassment
and shame, and even more resentment for Jack.  Despite myself, I got a
little thrill from it, too.

I cried into my pillow, knowing that I had been wrong to go off on him
in the truck.  I knew that they had good reasons for moving, and that
I shouldn't have been making it any harder on them.  Their decision
was probably the right one, in the end.  Believe it or not, I was
sorry, and not just because I'd been punished.

    * * *

On the third ring, he picked up.  "Jack?  It's Connie," I said,
listening intently, trying to hear if he was alone in his office.

"Hi, hon.  I can't really talk now."

He wasn't.  Damn.  "Ok, well, I just wanted to let you know that
Sally's gone for the afternoon."

Jack's tone was still guarded, but it switched up a notch with his
obvious excitement.  "Oh!  Great.  That should work out just fine.
Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure.  She said she was going to the library, and then to
the market for me.  We've got at least two hours."  I bit a
fingernail, suddenly nervous.  On the brink.

"Fantastic, honey.  You're gonna love this, I know."

"Jack, I'm not sure about this."  My heart was pounding, just thinking
about it.  My stomach fluttered with growing nervousness, and yet,
excitement.

"Connie, don't worry," was all he said.

"I don't know Jack.  What if - "

He interrupted, brusquely.  "Connie, listen to me.  You are going to
do this.  You want to.  You told me yourself.  Now cut out the crap,
ok?"

Then he hung up.

I sat there for a minute, still holding the phone, as the butterflies
in my stomach flittered around.  I wondered what Jack had in store for
me.

Jack always seemed to have sex on his mind.  It had been that way
since the moment I'd met him.  I guess it was one of the things that
attracted me to him.  He seemed so driven, so intense.  Sometimes just
the fire in his eyes could set me off.

When Andy had died, I had felt like a part of me died, too.  The grief
subsided, but life didn't seem to return to me.  I felt like a visitor
in my own mind.  An alien in my own body.

Then I met Jack.  His fire brought me back.  There was only one word
for Jack - lusty.  His desire for me had filled me up, and rekindled
my own flames.  He was the only person I'd met who lived every moment
of his life on his own terms.  His lust for sex was part of his lust
for life.

I'd done things with Jack that I never thought I was capable of.
Things that I never thought I would want.  He was a sexual predator,
and I was his prey.  He was ruthless with me, crushing my resistance
through force of will, and by stoking my body's own desires.  His
kinks never ceased to shock me, but I knew now that I was helpless to
resist them.  He would command me, and I found myself not only
participating, but reveling in them.

One of Jack's kinks was "swinging".  We had been doing it for a few
years.  But Jack had grown more and more restless with our old club.
The faces were always the same.  The games were boring.  I fully
understood his need for swinging, and I guess my enthusiasm for it
never matched his.  So, I could hardly understand it when it became
apparent that it wasn't enough for him.  It was frustrating.

I don't know how, but Jack had heard of something special.  The
"Society of Silk".  It was apparently a unique club.  Whether it was a
swinger's club, or something else, I didn't really know.  Jack had
told me that after we'd moved, we would join it.  Deep down, I
suspected that it was the real reason we had moved.

I went upstairs and found the key to our toybox.  Really, though, it
was Jack's toybox.  There was no denying it.  He tried to get me to
take the same interest in collecting and using the stuff he kept
inside it, but I had never been able to do it.  So, it remained his.
Opening it, I felt a touch of sadness at the money, time and effort
that he spent on it, and also like an intruder.

The toybox wasn't a box at all.  No, we had grown out of first a
duffle bag, and then a box.  We had graduated to a whole mahogany
wardrobe, full of stuff.  It was always locked, but I was haunted by
the possibility that someday someone, maybe Sally, would find it open,
and see its contents.  Then they'd know about me.  About Jack.  About
our secrets.  About the things I did.

Inside was a handwritten note from Jack.  His scrawl was barely
legible on the raggedy-edged spiral notebook paper, but I made out my
instructions.  They left me breathless.  Once again, I was playing one
of Jack's games, and I shivered with anticipation and dread.

Apparently I would be meeting someone from Jack's new "Society of
Silk".  It didn't say whom, only that this was an introduction, and a
test to prove that we were serious.

I was already tingling.

    * * *

It was a hot, sticky August night.  The kind that closes in on you,
bit by bit, irresistible.

Mom and Dad were downstairs watching the TV too loud, and I couldn't
sleep.  It was just too damn hot.  I tossed and turned, but the pillow
seemed to radiate a heat of its own.

Eventually, I gave up trying to sleep, and turned on the light.  I had
an idea.  I had this book.  A trashy book.  Well, more than that,
really.  It was downright nasty.

I found it in the library, in the romance section.  I had no idea how
it got there, but I had happened across it, breezed through the first
couple of pages, and I was hooked.  There was no way I was going to
pass it up.

After I read it a couple of times, I knew that I wanted to keep it.  I
had never read anything like it before, and when I was reading it, it
gave me that feeling.

So, I told the library that I'd lost it.  The librarian hadn't seemed
too upset.  "Don't worry, honey," she said.  "Happens all the time."
She gave me a kind of affectionate pat on the hand, and let me off
without even the fine.

The book was mine.

I pulled the book from its hiding place on the bookshelf, tucked
behind the dictionary.  I laid back down on my stomach, and began
reading.  Before long, I had begun to forget the heat.  I felt that
feeling growing inside me.

I pulled down my pajama bottoms and lay under the sheet wearing only
my underwear and the pajama top.  I was still reading slowly, savoring
it.  Soon I slipped my hand down the front of my underwear, and
started touching.  The feeling grew.

I was beginning to get to a steamy part.  I wanted the feeling more
and more.  I bunched the crotch of my underwear up, and pulled up on
the waistband.  The bunched-up part began to slide upward.  The
pressure was making that feeling grow more insistent.

In the book, the unconscious heroine was getting "saved" by the dark,
mysterious, and apparently quite horny hero.  It was pretty raunchy.

I started pressing my body, especially my crotch, downwards onto the
sheet.  Then, using my toes and elbows for leverage, I started sliding
up and down a few inches at a time. It made my underwear slip upwards.
Inwards, too.

I was flipping the pages faster and faster, and that feeling was
beginning to engulf me.  I pulled my hand out of my underwear, and
slipped it beneath my pajama top.

I was so involved that I didn't notice that the TV had been turned
off.  Or that my parents had already come upstairs.

Jack knocked on the door to my bedroom, and walked in.  Mom was right
behind him.

Shit!  My heart froze.  Thank God I was underneath the sheet, and face
down!  In a flash, I stuffed the book under my pillow, trying to make
it look like I was fluffing up the pillow.

Jack and Mom hadn't said goodnight to me together in a long time.  Why
did they have to pick tonight?

Mom smiled, and walked up next to the bed.  Jack grunted out a "Pretty
hot, huh?"

I smiled, putting on a good, show, hoping that they'd just make a
quick exit.  "Yeah, it's like an oven up here."

Smiling, Mom squeezed my foot through the sheet.  "Maybe next year
we'll have air conditioning, Sally."

Jack leaned over the bed, and started opening up the window.  "In the
meantime, we have a little natural air conditioning."

As he struggled with the uncooperative window, he jostled my pillow,
and out fell the book.  Fuck!

My heart stopped again.  It seemed like time stopped, too.

He leaned down, and scooped it up.  He started handing it to me.  I
saw it in slow motion.  He looked at the cover.  Disapproval flashed

ss_1.txt

across his face.  He opened it.

Of course, it fell open to the most well-worn section.  The really,
really raunchy section.  He began reading.

My mouth went dry.

He seemed stunned.  He looked at me, and jabbed a finger into the
book.  "What is this garbage!?"

I was speechless.  He looked back into the book, and read for a moment
longer.  His face grew redder and angrier by the second.  "What in
Hell is this?!" he thundered.

He handed the book to Mom, and bellowed at me again.  "I asked you a
question, Sally!  What the Hell is this piece of garbage?!"

I was in deep, deep trouble.  Probably worse trouble than I'd ever
been in, in my whole life.  I instantly regretted ever having laid
eyes on the damn book.  I looked down at the sheets in remorse, unable
to say a word.

Jack got very, very quiet.

Mom started reading, and after a couple of seconds, gave a little
gasp, and covered her mouth with her hand.

Jack turned to Mom, his voice suddenly quiet, but deadly.  "I told
you, Connie."

Mom looked at me, her eyes wounded and accusing.  "Sally, what is
this?"

"Mom, it's nothing, it's just a library book."

She shook her head, as if in disbelief, and looked at the book like it
was a dead fish.

Jack said again, "I told you Connie.  I knew it.  Turn over and look
at us when we're speaking to you, Sally!"

I suddenly felt completely exposed.  I was half naked under the thin
sheet, and I had the kind of wedgie only a woman can get.  But, I
managed to flip over without letting the sheet fall off of me.  Thank
God.

Jack looked at me, his eyes flashing with fury.  "What have you been
doing, Sally?  What have you been doing with this book?!"

I shot a quick glance at Mom, desperate for some support, but she was
looking at me like I was some kind of alien.

"Nothing, Dad, I told you,"  The second the word 'dad' came out of my
mouth, I knew it sounded like an ass-kiss.  Hell, it was.

Jack opened his mouth to say something, but Mom beat him to the punch.
"I don't believe you.  If you were doing 'nothing', why did you try to
hide this from us?"

Jack offered his huge hand to me.  I looked at him, confused.  His
face was still a mask of anger, but he gestured was like he was making
up.  I put my hand on his.

The next thing that happened will go down as one of the worst moments
of my life.  He pulled my hand up to his face, and smelled my fingers.

My jaw dropped.  I'd been touching myself with - !

He breathed deep, and then announced, "I knew it."

Please let me die, I thought.

Mom realized what he was doing, or maybe what I had done, and gave a
little cry, like she'd been hurt.  Her face was crumbling.  She turned
towards me, her face breaking up like shards.  "Sally, you haven't -
you didn't."  It was less a question than a statement.

"Hell, yes, she has been!  Goddamnit, Connie, smell her fingers."

I tried to pull my hand away, but he held on tight.

I was looking at Mom, hoping, hoping that she'd stand up for me.
Hoping that she'd give me a way out.  She seemed broken.

Jack held up my hand for her, and she sniffed my fingers, her face
falling apart.

There was a flicker of hope, though.  "I don't know, Jack.  I don't
know.  It doesn't smell like..."  Her voice trailed off, leaving the
words unspoken.  But they still hung in the air, which was crackling
with tension.

Jack's face contorted with fury.  His first few words were like
stacatto rifle shots.  "God - damn - it, Connie, I know that smell!
And so do you.  I told you she was plenty old enough.  You kept saying
that she's too young.  Well, Goddamnit, seems like she's old enough,
now!"

Mom shook her head, looking back and forth from his face to mine.

"Connie, if you don't believe it, smell her!"  He jabbed his finger at
me, pointing.

Mom gasped.  "Jack!"

"That's IT!"  Jack exploded.  "DO IT NOW!"

Mom's resistance crumbled.

I watched in horror as she pulled my sheet down to my feet with a
clean jerk.

The pajama-bottom-less lower half of my body was exposed.  My obscene
wedgie, too.  I really would have been better off if I hadn't done
that with my underwear.  It had slid - up, and between, quite snugly.
The effect had been electrifying just moments before, but I felt a
wave of nausea hit me as I looked at myself.

Jack and Mom just stared, stunned, their jaws slack.

Jack was the first to speak.  The growled, through his clenched teeth.
"Smell it, Connie."

The words seemed to set Mom into motion like a robot.  She woodenly
leaned over, her nose a couple of inches from my underwear-parted
crotch.

She sniffed, and then stood up.

Jack hissed, "I told you!  She's not mature enough, huh?  Not old
enough, huh?  She's still just a girl, huh, Connie?"

He dropped my hand.

"Stand up, Sally!"  he was livid.

I felt the muscles in my face flex suddenly, as I swallowed.  I swung
my naked legs off the bed, and stood up.

"I want to see just how much of a child Sally is, Connie," Jack said.

"Take off your pajamas," he snarled.  "And, that, too," as he pointed
at my underwear.

"Mom," I pleaded, looking at her.  But my voice felt so small, and now
she just looked angry, too.

"Shut up, Sally," she said.  The words were like a slap.  "He has a
right to know.  He's your father."

Step-father, I said in my head.  Step-father.  I hesitated, my hands
shaking.

Mom commanded, "Now, Sally!  Jack asked you to do something!"

I unbuttoned my pajama top, but I stopped when I got to the last
button.  I couldn't help it.  I was eighteen years old.  Nobody, but
nobody, had seen me like this.  Least of all Jack.  I closed my eyes
and pulled the top open.  Then I pulled it off, and let it fall to the
floor.  Then I slid my hands down my sides, under the waistband of my
underwear.  I pushed my hands and the waistband out, away from my
body, and pulled down.  The crotch stayed wedged where it was as I
pulled down, until my hands got to my knees.  Then the crotch pulled
free.  I stepped out of it.

As I did, Jack said, "Give it to me."

I held my twisted and bunched-up underwear out to him, not daring to
look up.  He took it, and I covered my chest with one hand, and my
crotch with the other.  I stared at the floor.

"They're wet.  Soaking."  I heard Jack sniff them.  "I knew it,
Connie."

I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

"Put your hands down, Goddamnit!"  Jack snarled.

I did.

There was a long, long moment.  I stared at the floor.  They were
staring at me.  It seemed like minutes passed.  There wasn't a sound,
except the pounding of my heart in my own ears.

I realized that I'd been holding my breath, and I suddenly gasped for
air, trying to be quiet.  But I couldn't control my breathing.  I felt
strangled.  I gasped again and again, struggling to catch my breath.

Finally, Jack said, "Turn around."

I did.

There was another long pause.

Jack picked up my pajama top.  He walked to the end of the bed, and
pulled the matching bottoms from under the sheet.  He slowly walked to
the door.  His big feet sounded so loud.

I snuck a look up at him.  He was standing in the doorway, looking
back at me, his face furious.  He was holding my pajamas in one hand,
and my white undies were balled up in his other fist.  He turned and
walked out.

Mom followed him, shutting my door behind her.

I burst into tears.

    * * *

"Allison Pierce, please.  I have a private room reserved."

The maitre d' looked up at me indifferently.  God, these yuppie places
were awful.

He led me through the main dining room, which was nearly full.  The
delicate clink of silverware and glasses mixed with a murmur of
conversation, the trill of laughter, and some subtle chamber music.
It was too perfect.

Still, it was policy to conduct initial interviews in a public place.
And we couldn't use the same restaurant too often, so a member had
recommended this place.  It was fine, really.  Just not my style.

The reserved room was quiet, shadowy, and intimate.  Just right.  I
ordered a glass of wine, and waited.

There had only been one other case like theirs.  Mark and Antonia had
dropped out of a clear blue sky, much like these two.  Eventually I
decided that they were Society material, and we had accepted them.  My
judgment of their character had been 100% correct, and they had
quickly become a very valuable and interesting part of the Society.

The man had contacted us through the usual means, and they had already
passed the first test.  Or, at least the woman had.  From Alec's
report, and the video, the stranger's wife had proven that they were
already well acquainted with the activities the Society existed to
support.  "Delicious," Alec had said.

Yet, I was hesitant about these unknowns, as I had been with Mark and
Antonia.  There were few people like us, and we tended to gravitate to
one another.  The circle was really quite small, and everyone knew
nearly everyone, from coast to coast.  So, it was with justified, but,
of course, hidden suspicion that I greeted Jack and Connie.

I had to admit, they were a striking couple.

He was a big man, powerfully built, like what one imagines a John
Henry would look like.  She was petite, and beautiful.  I appraised
their clothes, their carriage, their demeanor, and their faces as they
approached.

We made introductions, and they sat down.  Now much closer, my
appraisal became more subtle, more focused.

She was made up exquisitely, and obviously had endeavored to enhance
her eyes.  The effect was not lost on me.  She had accented her
natural beauty and mannerisms quite well.  Her eyes flashed, dark and
inviting.  Her sidelong and shy glances were enticing.  I was
impressed with her show.

She was also dressed appropriately.  The statement her black dress
made was the right mix of understated revelation.  The kind that made
the beholder think they were seeing more than they were.  The kind of
dress that didn't stand out too much, but did invite further interest.

We ordered drinks, and I sized up the man.

His physical presence was arresting.  He seemed to fill up a larger
volume of space than he physically occupied.  He projected a field
around him.  A circle of intimidation.

It wasn't attributable solely to his stature.  His bearing bespoke
unassailable confidence.  A total assuredness.  Our eyes locked
briefly, and I wasn't surprised to find him appraising me, as well.
In him I saw drive and intensity.  Perhaps something more, as well.

He was attractive, too.  In a rugged, cut-from-stone way.  I imagined
him being a rough lover, perhaps even brutal.

It was clear that her wore the pants.  More than that.  Connie was
quite obviously submissive, and Jack her dominant.

The drinks arrived, and our waiter departed, leaving us in peace.

"It's nice to meet you, Jack," I said.

He smiled at me.

"And it's nice to see you, again, Connie.  Face to face."  I
emphasized 'again'.

The first time I had seen Connie, it had been on videotape.  She had
been wearing considerably less then she was this evening.  And, quite
contrary to her charming, demure manner at the moment, she had been
engaged in some activities that one could only describe as very
"base".  The kind that I delighted in as Mistress.

Her eyes fluttered wide, and she drew a small, surprised breath as she
realized the implications of my greeting.  I could almost see the
thoughts forming in her mind: 'Again.'  That means she saw before,
when I was - !

"Oh!" she said, a bit surprised.  A tiny blush crept into her face.
Evidently Jack hadn't told her that her first "performance" for the
Society had been videotaped.  Interesting.  "It's nice to meet you,
too, Mrs.  Pierce," she said, her eyes flashing from mine to her
husband's.

I smiled, not acknowledging my observation, as I told her "Please,
Connie, call me Allison."

Dinner went well.  By mutual, unspoken agreement, we avoided any
direct discussion of the Society.  Instead, I interviewed them, as
subtly as I knew how, wringing as much information from them as I
could.  I learned about his job, their daughter, her first husband's
death, how they met, a bit about their political views, their previous
association with a swinger's club, and more.

Throughout, I was constantly reassessing my mental picture of them
both, and of their relationship.  My initial impression of power
dynamic between them seemed to be correct.  He held the power in their
relationship.  She obeyed him.  Evidently they had tried to instill
similar values into their daughter, through home schooling, their rural
isolation, and what I sense was a draconian strictness.  Whether this
lifestyle and upbringing was consciously chosen, or not, I couldn't
yet say.

They were an interesting couple.  I didn't reject them out of hand.
In fact, I sensed  my own strong attraction to Jack, and believed that
some of our members would feel the same way.

Connie was lovely creature, as well, although I didn't really find her
personally attractive.  Too petite for me.  And I didn't particularly
care for brunettes.  During our conversation, I had gently probed her,
trying to elicit more from her.  I was worried that she was
one-dimensional, and I was rewarded with the spark of something more
beginning to light in her eyes, but I felt her holding back in the
presence of Jack.

It was easy to see why.  Jack was commanding.  His air of
self-confidence was almost too much.  It set off a small alarm in my
head.  He might be reckless.  Self-doubt was not always a bad thing.
It made one careful.  I felt sure that Jack possessed little in the way
of self-doubt.  The question of his ability to be circumspect thus
came to my mind.

There was also another issue.  It was obvious that Jack was motivating
their request to join the Society.  Connie was along for the ride, as
it were.  At least, that's what I gleaned initially.  If it were true,
it might well have been grounds to refuse to admit them.

So, we concluded dinner with a round of liquors.  Naturally, I picked
up the tab.

"I've enjoyed meeting you both very much," I said.

Jack grinned back at me.  "Me too."

Connie only smiled and nodded at me, twirling the stem of her glass.

I explained that it was uncommon for strangers to ask to become one of
us, and people with interests like ours generally knew one another.
It was a small world.

"So, I hope you'll understand that I would like to move forward
slowly," I told Jack.

He nodded, his big hands folded carefully on the table, revealing his
Rolex.

"First, I'll need to check your references, of course.  And I'll
discuss things with some of my advisors in the Society.  We'll
contact you shortly."

Jack broke into a small smile of triumph.  Connie seemed relieved.

"I must warn you, though.  There will probably be a period of, well,
testing.  You have to understand that we know nothing about you.  We
want, as I'm sure you do, to have a compatible match.  We may ask you
to do some things, so we can get to know you better.  So we can see if
we think that your interests match ours."

So we can see what your limits are, too.  So we can find out just if,
and where, you'll fit in.  So we can see if you're reckless, Jack.  So
we can see if you have too many doubts, Connie.  Marriages break over
things like this, and broken hearts often want revenge.  The Society
would have none of that.

    * * *

I needed money.  There are just some things you have to have, these
days, especially when your name was James Pierce, III.  Naturally,
these things cost money.  Usually a whole hell of alot of money.
First off, there was the car.  A brand new Saab, loaded with all of
the bells and whistles.  Why not a BWM?  Too trendy - too yuppie.  Why
not a jag?  Too stuffy.  Nope, for me, it was the Saab.  Two of them.
And a Land Rover, for the winter.

Then, of course, there was the "house".  The Pit. Do you know what a
decent 5 bedroom with 3 car garage, hot tub, pool, 5 acres, a few
outbuildings, and a lake view costs these days?  And you couldn't
possibly furnish such a house for less than a quarter million.

The Pit.  The Money Pit.  They just didn't make "real" houses like
this anymore.  You could buy one that looked like it, but it wasn't
the same.  It was new.  Cheap.  And they always built them in the
shittiest locations.  No, you had to find one of these babies on your
own.  Find some rich old bird who was about to kick, and buy it off of
her.  That's what we did.

But what a fucking piece of shit!  The place leaked.  The plumbing had
given out - twice!  There was the maintenance for the grounds.  The
new roof for the carriage house.  The list went on and on.

Then there was the club membership.  Insurance.  The house staff's
salary.  And I had to show up at the right restaurants and stores at
least once in a while.  Gotta be able to piss with the big boys if you
want to play ball, eh?

Of course, there was also that fucking monstrous joke my wife called
her group of "friends".  The Society.  Bunch of fucking intellectual
bullshitters who wanted to make a simple fuck into something it's not.
Christ, that Society was costing us!

What was the bottom line?  Bills.  Lots and lots of 'em.  Mountains of
paper with lots of dollar figures printed in mass quantities and
shipped directly to my door.  Well, to the accountant's door, anyhow.
He tells me about them, so I know that there are mountains of them.

For this, I will always despise my accountant.

"James," he said, leaning over his desk and choking me with his coffee
breath. "James, you have to start trimming."  He gave me a list of
things to consider "trimming."  The house was on the top of the list.
Bastard.  He asked me to come back with "At least five of the things
on the list, ready to be trimmed."

James Pierce didn't "trim".  The little fuck just didn't know that.
No, I wasn't going to trim a goddamn thing.  I just needed to fatten
up accounts receivable for the little bean counter.  Then maybe I'd go
ahead and buy that boat.

That's what I thought for awhile.  I ignored the accountant's whining,
and pretended it was business as usual.  I stopped returning his
phone calls.  A couple of months went by, and I assumed all was well.
Then I got a letter from him.

I was about to default on the mortgage.

I had never had this problem before.  You don't become VP of Sales and
Marketing of Universal Chemical by trimming.  You do it by dragging in
huge massive gigantic sales figures, kicking and screaming.  Even if
you have to resort to dirty tricks on the competition.  I was good at
this.

So why had this year been so bleak?

Why had BCT's orders been so low?  BCT had always been Universal's
biggest customer.  Their orders were so enormous that they literally
made the company.  47% of gross sales were from BCT.  Some years BCT
ordered in two or three huge chunks, and others, there were a dozen or
so small orders through the year, and one whopping one at the end.
That was how this year had been shaping up.  Except that there was no
whopper in sight.

No whopper meant - well, it meant alot of bad things.  Universal would
post a massive loss.  My commission would be pitiful.  My bonus would
probably be laughable, too.  I would lose more face than I could
imagine.  I might even get "reengineered" out the goddamn door.  No
whopper meant I was definitely going to lose the house.

I wasn't about to let this happen.

I sat on the couch in the trophy room, watching the fire die.  The
whiskey was good.

I heard the Saab pulling up the driveway, the gravel crunching under
its tires.  Allison was finally getting in.  I heard her gun it too
hard for 2nd gear, and the sound of flying gravel.  "Christ, still
can't drive it," I muttered to myself.  She had probably fucked a
dozen guys at one of those goddamn meetings.  She didn't even say
hello, just went upstairs to bed.

I poured again, and put another log on the fire.

    * * *
 
It got worse every year.

It was as if Dean Pierce knew exactly how to make my life hell.

First there was the change in the uniform policy.  The students now
had to wear those pleated plaid skirts with hems 4 inches above their
knees.  It was ridiculous!  It was obscene!  And Pierce had insisted
on it, claiming that times had changed, and that the Academy must
change with them.  It was a "modern age," she'd said, and "the girls
will love it".  Baloney!  Of course they'll love it!  But this wasn't
bloody MTV, was it?  It was a school!

The worst part of it was that she was enforcing the new rule
ruthlessly.  She actually had spot inspections of uniforms, and would