The Good Slavegirl

Part 1

Published by J.L. Summers

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2016 J.L. Summers

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All characters are 18.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

The Awakening

The Hunger

The Awakening

Standing behind the counter in the empty coffee shop, I found myself mindlessly wiping the same span of stainless steel again and again. Funny, I had only applied for the job because I was bored at home, and here I was, doing tasks that most people would consider mind numbing. It didn’t much matter. I was far happier being bored in the coffee shop than being bored at home.

As I cleaned, it occurred to me that most women my age were in college. They were out having fun with their friends. Most of them were probably dating. Not me, though. I had done what my family and the church expected me to do. Six months ago, at just twenty-one years of age, I had married Owen.

When I stood in front of God and everyone who loved us and vowed to love and honor him for the rest of my days, I had truly believed that I would. In fact, I had believed with all of my heart that my sole purpose in life was to be a good wife and mother. It was what I had been raised to believe, and I had never had any other aspiration. In elementary school we would often be given writing prompts having to do with our future, and mine had never, not even once, deviated from this theme. A wife and a mother; it was all that I had ever hoped for.

As it turned out, my fantasies about what it would be like to be a wife and the reality of actually being one were miles apart. It wasn’t that I didn’t love Owen at all. I did love him. He was a good man. I admired him for his honesty and kindness, his hard work and willingness to provide, and his complete and total devotion to church and family. Unfortunately, the love I felt for him bore little difference from the love I felt for my father and brothers. While there was love, there was no passion. I never got butterflies in my stomach when he kissed me. I didn’t feel anything at all when he touched me. I had never even had an orgasm. Hell, I wasn’t sure if I would know it was if I did.

On our wedding night, the first time a man had ever touched my virgin body, I wasn’t nervous at all. In fact, I couldn’t wait to have sex with my husband. I didn’t know what to expect, but I knew it was supposed to be the single event that sealed our commitment to each other and made us wish to never stray. I knew it was supposed to feel good. It was ok to like it, as long as I only liked it with him; on that night and for the rest of my life.

Instead, my experience had been a big disappointment. For me, that is. Owen certainly seemed pleased. I was the only woman he had ever kissed, and we had never gone any farther than that, so he was full of anticipation but no ability to lead me, to guide me to the breathtaking experience I felt it should be with a cherished husband. He had clumsily undressed, tripping over his pant legs and stood awkwardly in front of me, his erection prominently displayed through his underwear.

Shaking and looking as though he might pass out, he had held out his arms, and when I let him enfold me into his, our naked bodies pressing together, he had gasped. He kissed me tenderly and reached for my breasts. Clearly, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them, because he had pressed his palms against my nipples, curled his fingers around the top and given them a series of quick squeezes before releasing his grasp on them and gently pulling me to the bed.

Lying flat on my back, I separated my legs enough for him to slip in between them and lower himself down to his elbows over me. He kissed me again and said, “So, um. This is ok?”

I nodded, and he aimed his penis between my labia. He missed. Face aflame, grabbed ahold of his cock and poked around until he had the tip of it inside me. He groaned as he eased it in. The first thrust, gentle and slow as he was, was uncomfortable. However, the second time he pulled back and pressed forward, it felt kind of good. The third time, I was beginning to relax and enjoy this new sensation. On his fourth thrust, he was a bit faster, more aggressive, and suddenly his eyes scrunched closed, and he looked like he was convulsing. Then he made a high pitched screaming noise.

He stopped moving, and panting heavily, looked at me with eyes shining with adoration. He gasped, “That was amazing. You’re so amazing, Zara. I’ve waited so long.” He looked down at my breasts again, and then he said, “What did you think?”

I was totally ok. As far as liking it, I wasn’t sure what to say. I hadn’t disliked it. It had started to feel nice. It’s just that it was over so quickly, and I could tell that whatever he had felt was a lot stronger than what I had experienced. Still, his eyes were so sincere, so hopeful. So I had smiled up at him and said, “I love you, too. I’m ok. I liked it.”

The sex over the next six months was not much different. The routine never varied. Now he would kiss me a bit longer, he might stroke my breasts with more tenderness, and I didn’t have discomfort on the first thrust. Other than that it was the same. I would lie, unmoving, on my back. He would lower himself on top of me and thrust three to five times, climax, and when he was pleased with the experience, he would roll over and go to sleep while I stared at the ceiling wondering if it was supposed to be this way.

Suddenly, the bell on the handle of the coffee shop door jingled, and I jumped, forced back into the moment. I tossed down the rag and looked up. The customer walking towards the counter was not a regular. Had I ever seen him before, I would have remembered his face. His eyes were penetrating. I felt shy, naked almost, as he looked directly into my eyes and smiled.

I returned his smile, and could feel my neck growing hot, though I wasn’t sure why. “Hi,” i said. Um, what can I get for you?”

His voice was deep and crisp, “Hmmm. I think I’ll have a large Americano and a piece of blueberry crumb cake.”

As I started pulling shots for his drink and getting his plate, I noticed my hands were shaking uncontrollably. I tried to steady them without much luck, and tried to hide it when I splashed the counter with his drink. I sat them in front of him and said, “Here.”

He took his order to a table and pulled a laptop out of his leather messenger bag. He stared intently at the screen, sipping on his Americano and not touching the pastry, until suddenly he sighed loudly and snapped the computer shut. He turned to look at me and said, “Have you ever wondered what the hell you’re doing with your life?”

Without thinking, I spoke the truth, “Every single day.”

He laughed and said, “Yeah? Well at least I’m in good company. Since you’re not exactly bursting at the seams with customers this afternoon, would you care to lend me your company for a moment? Distract me from the nonsense of my own life?”

I knew I shouldn’t. I knew, deep down, that this was wrong. It didn’t stop me though. As I slowly walked to his table and sat down with him, my original shyness evaporated, as his own ease washed over me. He made conversation so easily, asking me questions, listening intently to my answers. I was so entranced that I jumped when I heard the next shift’s barista toss her purse and keys onto the counter. She popped her gum loudly and said, “Hey Zara, how’s it going? Has it been this slow all day?”

I felt guilty, as though I had been caught doing something terribly wrong, even though she looked completely unconcerned about why I was sitting at a table with a customer. I rose out of my seat and grabbed for my bag. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s been really slow,” I mumbled nervously.

“Well, lucky you!” she chirped. “You can go home, and I’ll take over this party.”

I said goodbye and hurried towards the door, the uneasy awareness that I was not leaving alone pouring over me. The man I’d spent the last couple of hours talking with was right behind me, but he was silent until we had rounded the corner and entered the parking lot. We both stopped in between the parked cars and turned to face each other. We just stood there for a moment looking into each other’s eyes. Finally, he broke that deafening silence. Motioning towards what I assumed was his car, he said, “I don’t feel like we’re done. Do you? If you’d like to, you could come to my place for a couple of hours.”

I was stunned. I couldn’t believe he was being so forward. None of the men I knew would ever do such a thing. If I was stunned by his asking, it was nothing compared to how I stunned myself when I replied, “Maybe. Just for a few hours. My husband will be home from work at 11:30.”

His eyes crinkled with merriment, and although his mouth remained serious, I knew that he was trying not to laugh when he said, “No need to worry. I’ll bring you back to your car in plenty of time.”

He unlocked the doors, and without another thought, I got in. Once the car was in motion, he said, “You never asked my name?” He looked over at me with those penetrating eyes as he drove. “Would you like to know?”

I felt shy. How could I have been so rude? For that matter, how could I have been so stupid?

He continued on without waiting for my answer, “It’s David. So, Zara… You mentioned your husband. I’m curious. Usually, a woman who’s planning to have an affair with a stranger wouldn’t bother to mention that she was married. She might even try hard to conceal the fact. You offered it freely.” He threw me an amused glance. “Yet, I assume you know why I was asking you to go back to my house?”

My heart was pounding in my throat. I felt like I might start crying at any moment. Somehow, I managed to get out the words, “I’m really not sure. If you’d rather not…”

David cut me off, “No. I’d rather. I’m not the least bit bothered by the fact that you’re married. I meant it when I said that I was curious. I always say precisely what I mean to say. You said you weren’t sure. We’re always sure; it’s just that we’ve been trained to question our own knowing. So tell me, why are you choosing to have an affair?”

He threw me with that question. I opened and closed my mouth. I then blurted out, “I’ve only ever had sex with my husband. I don’t think it’s going the way it’s supposed to. I need to know... if it can be different. I need to know if it can be better.”

We were pulling into the driveway of a lovely old home, beautifully and meticulously maintained. Parking the car, he turned to me and said, “How exactly is it going? What do you wish were different?”

I was tearful now. I felt ashamed. I whispered, “I don’t know how it should feel, but I never feel much of anything. He loves it, but for me it’s boring. It’s all over nearly the moment we get started. I always thought it would be different.”

He reached over and gently brushed away my tear with his thumb. Then he pulled me towards him and kissed me. There it was – the spark I had been looking for but never felt with Owen. I tingled from head to toe.

When he pulled back he said, “I assure you, it can be different. It should be different. This time you’ll feel something.” His voice was hot and breathy. “You’ll feel everything.”

He got out of the car and opened my door. Such a gentleman! When I stood up he put his hand on the small of my back and guided me towards his house. Once inside, he pulled me towards him again, kissing me long and slow. He said, “Zara, do you know that there can be a fine line between pleasure and pain?”

What? When I shook my head, he continued, “There is. Especially with sex. I’m going to do things with you that will take you back and forth across that line, but I promise you that the pleasure will far outweigh any pain you experience. My goal isn’t to harm you. It’s to intensify the pleasure. I am very, very good about knowing how far to take it and when to stop. If, by some chance, you want me to stop, just say the word, ‘panic’ and I will stop immediately.”

I nodded, and he took me by the hand and led me to his bedroom. We kissed for a long time, and he caressed me, stroking my sides and breasts through my clothing. He unbuttoned my blouse as he kissed my neck. He slowly undressed me, but never removed his own clothing. When I was completely naked, he reached into a trunk at the foot of his bed and pulled out what looked like two bracelets made of leather and metal. He gently attached them to my wrists, and then nodded towards the ceiling. He said, “I’m going to clip these to the chain that is hanging right above you.”

I gasped, but without a word, I raised my hands up above my head, and he attached the clips to the chain. I then saw that he was holding a blindfold, which he promptly slipped over my eyes. He kissed me once more, and then said, “Ok, you’re just going to stand there. I’ll be back in just a moment,” and I heard him walk out of the room and down the hall.

Blindfolded and bound, I found myself in a state of arousal I had never before experienced. I was both terrified and exhilarated, adrenaline coursing through my veins, as I waited for whatever would come next. I had no idea what to expect, but I already knew that it would be unlike anything I had ever before experienced.

His voice broke the silence without warning. I hadn’t heard him enter the room, and jumped when he spoke. His voice was quiet, but authoritative. It had taken on an icy edge that was unfamiliar. He said, “Here are the rules, Zara. I expect that you will be a quick learner. Listen carefully, and if you need me to clarify anything, you may ask me at this time. You will not have the opportunity again.

“When I tell you to do something, it is a command, not a request,” he continued. You will do it the first time, and you will do it exactly to my specifications. If you don’t comply, there will be consequences. Do you understand?”

I nodded. This was not what he was looking for, apparently. Just as quietly and evenly, he said, “Use your voice, Zara. When I ask you a question, I expect a real answer.”

“Yes,” I squeaked.

He continued on, “Good girl. That brings me to the rest of the rules; when you address me, you are to call me ‘sir’. You will not be punished this time, because I had not outlined that expectation. I am harsh, but I am always fair. You are to speak to me only when I have granted permission. If you wish to do anything, and I do mean anything, that I have not told you to do, you are to ask me for permission first. Do you understand all of this?”

“Yes, sir,” I whispered.

He sounded pleased as he said, “That’s better. I can tell that you are going to be a very good girl, Zara. When you are punished for your mistakes, and believe me, you will make mistakes, please remember that it is an act of kindness. If that doesn’t make sense to you now, it will later. Do you have any questions?”

I felt like I should have questions, but I had no idea what they might be. This was foreign territory and I was completely lost. The directions he had given seemed simple, but would I be able to remember them when it mattered? Unable to pull myself together to say anything more, I simply answered, “No, sir.”

He said nothing further. I felt his hands flutter ever so lightly across my shoulder blades before gliding down my spine. I may not have known what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t this. I shivered from the sensation and felt myself growing wet.

He stroked my hair, gently lifting it away from my neck, where his lips touched me almost imperceptibly. He wound my hair like a rope around his hand as the kisses grew firmer and more insistent. I could feel the heat rising from my skin, and I let out a soft moan. Suddenly, he jerked my head back sharply, and I gasped from the unexpected pain. He asked, “Do you know what you did wrong?”

My lip quivered as I fought back tears. “No sir,” I answered.

He reminded me of the rule I had broken, “You moaned. I didn’t give you permission to make noise. I was quite serious when I told you that you were to do nothing without permission.”

I was stunned. It had never occurred to me that something as simple as moaning without permission would be a punishable offense. I was about to apologize when I caught myself. He had not given me permission to speak. If I apologized, he would probably punish me again. It felt odd and out of place to say nothing, but I was catching on. I realized that this was what he expected of me.

He went back to stroking and kissing me, and when he began kissing my breasts, grazing my nipples with his tongue, alternating between gentle little flicks and swirls and hard suckling, it took all of my willpower not to cry out. Unexpectedly, he bit down, and before I could stop myself, I gasped.

The retribution was swift. His hand made contact with the fleshy part of my buttock. I heard the crack moments before I felt the sting. He said, “You owe me an apology.”

I whimpered, “I’m sorry, sir.”

Suddenly he was raining tender kisses over the area he had smacked just moments ago, and I felt him nudging at my inner thighs. He whispered against my hip, “Spread your legs. I want to touch you.”

I complied immediately, and unlike my first sexual encounter with Owen on our wedding night, David was not awkward with my body. He did not fumble or poke. I wondered briefly where he had learned to do these things, but I didn’t have time to wonder much of anything because soon there was no room for thought. There was only sensation. Exquisite, all-consuming pleasure was washing over me as he worked his magic between my legs. I felt this pleasure building, almost like an unbearable pressure, and I was trying with all of my might not to make a peep, when suddenly he said, “Would you like permission to make noise?”

I quaked, “Yes, sir.”

“Permission granted. You can make all the noise you want.” I could hear the sexy smile in his voice.

And with that, I felt his fingers slowly entering me as his tongue took over in the spot he had been rubbing, and he was licking and sucking as his fingers moved harder and faster. I felt myself clenching against them, and as I did this, he moved deeper and faster still.

I was making noises I didn’t know I was capable of making, more animal than human, and the sensation just kept coming and coming for what felt like an eternity. I was in a state of suspended reality, while quite literally, suspended from this chain, as my legs were giving out and I was writhing and twisting, having the first orgasm of my entire life.

As soon as the pulsing waves began to recede, he slowly moved his fingers from the depths of my body and brought them up to my mouth. He ran a finger over my lower lip and said, “I don’t even have to ask. I am sure you have never tasted yourself. Taste it, Zara. You’re delicious.”

I obediently opened my mouth and he teased me, sliding his wet finger across my tongue. Instinctively, I began to lick and suck, and he said, “Mmmm. You are a hungry little thing. Now this will be fun… but not tonight. We’ll save that for another time.

He wrapped his arms around me, and as he pressed his body against mine, I realized for the first time that he was naked. The softest, smoothest skin rippled over the solidity of lean muscle. I was still blindfolded, so I couldn’t see his body, which I desperately wanted to see, but I could feel. Oh, could I feel!

As he held me tightly against him, I felt his hard cock against my belly, and felt myself wanting it like I had never wanted anything before in my life. I wanted to ask for it. I would have begged, but I didn’t know if I was still allowed to make noise, or if that privilege had been revoked when my orgasm had ended.

He released the clip that was keeping my arms bound over my head, and as they dropped, I noticed for the first time how much they ached. I had been so immersed in the sensations in the rest of my body that I had been unaware of them the whole time.

He removed the blindfold, and I blinked. The room was still bright. He had left the light on. I took in the sight of his naked body, mesmerized by his broad shoulders, the visible ripple of muscles in the cut lines of his upper arms. I let my eyes drift down to his cock and could not look away. It was enormous. Longer than Owen’s, and probably twice as thick.

I was wet, wanting, doing with my eyes what I knew I could not with my voice. I was begging with my eyes, and he caught the look and said, “I am going to fuck you like you have never been fucked before.”

He abruptly spun me around and bent me over the edge of the bed. He used his foot to guide my legs apart, and he said, “Just like last time. You can make as much noise as you want.”

I felt him guide his cock until it was pressing against my wetness, rubbing it back and forth without entering me. Slowly and deliberately, he brought it forward and moved it across my clitoris. He waited until I was moaning softly and began moving my hips to meet him, and then he guided the tip to the summit of my anticipation, placed his hands on my hips, and pressed his body, in agonizing slow motion, into me.

I groaned, “Ohhhhh, god.”

He filled me so completely, and I was so completely overcome. He circled his hips and slowly spiraled back and forth, each time a bit deeper than the last. I began thrusting, too, until we were moving in unison. I had never had sex in any position other than flat on my back, and I had certainly never moved my body like this, but it didn’t feel strange or awkward. It didn’t feel like something I was learning how to do. My body had taken over, and it was as natural and automatic as breathing.

He kept one hand on my left hip, and reached the other around to rub my swelling clit. When I slowed, he slowed, the faster I moved, the faster he moved. When he felt the telltale signs of my muscles tightening, the catch in my breath, the noise from my throat reaching a crescendo, his hand moved faster, his thrusts grew harder, and suddenly I felt as though every molecule in my body was exploding in an orchestra of light and color. As I came, not once, but again and again, he played my body like a musician making love to the instrument he has spent countless hours learning to play.

As I was reaching the peak of yet another orgasm, I felt him moving faster, and then stiffening, hands gripping me tightly, squeezing, as he reached his own powerful climax. His groan was as smooth and sexy as his voice when he spoke to me, and I was in love with the sound of his pleasure.

When we had both finished, he gently pulled me backwards, scooped me up, and gracefully deposited me on the bed, before positioning himself beside me. He wrapped his arms around me and gently kissed my forehead, the tip of my nose, my lips, my chin. We laid in silence for a short time, and then he broke the spell by asking, “Was that more like the way you had always hoped it would be?”

I promptly burst into tears, all of the emotions of finally being fucked properly, and realizing what had been missing, what I would never have with my husband, the guilt of cheating, and the desire to do it all again, crashed into me full force.

He held me, saying nothing. When I finally stopped sobbing, I simply said, “Yes.”

He stroked my hair, and whispered, “I’m glad. Get your clothes on. It’s time for me to take you back to your car.”

I did as I was told, as I knew I would from here on out. I got dressed, sat beside him on the silent drive back to the coffee shop parking lot, climbed into my own car, and drove home in time to get Owen’s late-night dinner on the table before he ever had a chance to realize I had not come straight home from work.

The Hunger

Navigating the hours and days that followed my encounter with David were like wandering a rough and unfamiliar terrain without a map or compass. My emotions ricocheted all over the place. I would look at Owen, and waves of guilt would crash into me with unrelenting force. Even on those rare occasions he and I had sex, I felt anger like I had never before experienced. I couldn’t understand what was wrong with him, why he couldn’t get it right. I was also angry with myself for not finding the strength to talk to him about what I wanted, what felt good and what didn’t work. The anger and guilt would whip each other into a cyclone of resentment and shame, and I would alternate between being overly attentive to him, and being aloof and vacant.

In the midst of all of this emotional crisis were my feelings about David, about the encounter we had, and those were the hardest of all. I felt shame... but not regret. I found myself thinking about him constantly. In the grocery store, while vacuuming, especially at work. I kept expecting – hoping – he would walk through the door, willing it to happen. But it didn’t.

Four days after the chance encounter that had ended in my first act of infidelity, I was in the bathtub, preparing for my shift at the coffee shop, when I found my mind wandering back to David’s bedroom. As my mind visited that dark and exciting place, so did my hand. I had never masturbated before. Growing up in a prohibitively conservative household, I had been raised to believe that touching oneself for pleasure was a sin. I had always been the good girl, so eager to please and do the right thing, and so, the most sensitive areas of my body had been off limits to even my own hands. I was so repressed that I had never really even found myself desiring the experience.

Now, alone in the hot water, recalling that first orgasm, the way he had brought me to ecstatic release again and again, my hand made its way to that most forbidden destination. Ever so tentatively, I started to gently stroke the soft mound of flesh over my pubic bone. As I closed my eyes and recalled the feeling of his tongue swirling in slow circles, his fingers moving in time with his mouth, pressing deep inside of me, I began to imitate the motions of his tongue with my hand. It felt delicious. I couldn’t believe I had gone my whole life denying myself this intense pleasure.

My mind flashed to the moment he bent me over the bed, and entered me from behind. The throbbing pulse of being filled with him was making me swell. My back arched. Even in the water I could feel my own wetness. The slick trickle inviting me to continue my explorations, for the first time ever, I penetrated myself with a finger. Just one at first, then two, and I curiously moved them in different ways to see how it felt. I was surprised to find that I liked the soft feel of my own vagina. It was tight and warm, and as I moved my fingers, it grew wetter. It was nearly as arousing experiencing this sensation against my fingers as David’s cock had been. I could feel that build-up of pleasurable tension I had experienced with David was occurring, but couldn’t quite bring myself to climax.

With no real education about sexuality or even my body, I was just now figuring out how everything worked. Suddenly, it dawned on me that every time I had an orgasm, David had been stimulating not just the inside, but the outside, too. As I moved back to rubbing my clitoris with increasing pressure and speed, I felt the ripple of electricity and release. As the pulsing aftershocks slowed, I slumped back against the cool surface of the bathtub, my entire body limp, thighs still quaking.

I wanted to see him again. I needed to see him again. I felt bereft, because I had no idea how to reach him. I had been too nervous to really pay attention to where we were going when he had driven me to his house. I didn’t have his phone number. I didn’t even know his last name. The only way I would ever see him again was if he came back to the coffee shop looking for me. I could only pray that he would turn up. If not, it would the continuation of this mundane life just as it had been before his appearance.

Only, it wouldn’t be as it had been before.

Before I met him, I knew that I was not entirely happy with my life, but I thought it was just my own bizarre and unrealistic expectations. Now I knew differently.

I climbed out of the bathtub and stood naked and dripping in front of the mirror. I stared at my body, capable of so much more than I had ever realized. I stared into my own eyes, and there, too, I saw myself in ways that I had never before imagined. If David didn’t come back, would I be chained to a life consisting of an unfulfilling marriage, my only pleasure occurring in rare moments of solitude? Would I have only one amazing sexual encounter to recall for the rest of my life?

No. I knew now that I would never be able to accept such a fate. I didn’t have a clue as to what I would do about it, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to live that way for the decades of life I had yet to live.

I turned away from the mirror, and with a heart full of conflict and hope, I got ready for work. About two hours into my evening shift, the moment I had been waiting for finally occurred. I was cutting a piece of lemon meringue pie for a sweet little elderly woman when I heard him say, “Hello, Zara. Whenever you’re finished with this beautiful lady, I hope we can have a word.”

Charmed, the old lady shot David a broad smile. Her eyes twinkled as she reached across the counter and squeezed my hand. She said, “Here honey, I’ll just take the pie and get out of your way. This handsome fella obviously needs to talk to you without me hovering.”

I smiled appreciatively as she took her plate and hobbled off to a table on the opposite corner of the shop. I turned to David and said, “I’m glad to see you. I wasn’t sure if you’d be back.”

He smiled warmly, and confided, “I’m glad that you’re glad to see me. I wasn’t sure if that would be the case. I knew you’d probably have a lot of feelings to work through, and there’s never any way of telling which direction those feelings will lead.”

I nodded slowly and said, “Yes, it’s been a strange few days.”

“I’m sure it has,” he empathized.

I glanced in the elderly woman’s direction and whispered, “Can I get you anything? Assuming no one else comes in, I can sit down with you for a minute when our company leaves.”

He checked his watch before saying, “Yes. I’ll have a large Americano. I only have half an hour, but that should give us enough time.”

My heart fell. What did he mean by that? If half an hour would be enough time to sort through all this, was this a goodbye conversation? It certainly sounded that way. If that was the case, why come back at all? My heart was hammering in my ears and I felt nauseous as I tried to conceal my emotions. I busied myself with the espresso machine and avoided looking at him as I slid his drink across the counter. I could feel him staring at me, but he was silent as he took the coffee. After a moment of standing there watching me act like a child, he turned and found a seat.

After what felt like an eternity, the elderly woman finished her pie and waved goodbye as she shuffled out the door. As soon as it closed behind her, David spoke up. He said, “Zara, come sit down. There’s so much that needs to be said. Are you angry with me? I’m feeling a bit confused. First, you said you were happy to see me, and then it felt as if something shifted. I’m not sure what or why, but I would like to know.”

I was willing myself not to get sick. I sat down beside him. He reached across the table and took my hand in his. I breathed deeply and made myself speak. “I am happy to see you. If I looked upset I suppose it is because it took me by surprise when you said that half an hour would be enough time to say what needs to be said. I mean, I know what happened between us was probably just a one-time thing, but I guess I had sort of hoped that maybe…”

He squeezed my hand. He said, “Yes, well I came in here with the hopes that maybe it would be more than just a one-time thing. When I said that half an hour would be enough time to say all that needed to be said, what I meant was that it would be enough time to establish if we both wanted the same thing, or if I should resign myself to saying goodbye and walking away. I do wish that I could stay longer, but unfortunately I have an engagement I can’t get out of. I thought about waiting to stop by until I had more time, but I didn’t want to let any more time pass. I hope you understand.”

I was simultaneously relieved and disappointed. When he had walked in, I had hoped that I would be walking out with him at the end of my shift. However, if this was not to be, at least I could rest in the knowledge that he did, in fact, want to see me again.

“There are so many things I am dying to ask you,” he continued, “but I don’t feel that it would be fair to ask such questions when I’m on such a tight schedule.” He smiled wickedly. “I suppose they’ll have to wait until we have more time together. I scheduled this business dinner weeks ago, and unfortunately I can’t cancel. Do you work tomorrow?”

“No,” I replied, shaking my head.

“Even better. Is there any possible way you can get away for part of the day?”

I twisted my wedding ring nervously on my finger and said, “I can’t get away from the house before noon, but any time after that should work.”

He glanced at my hand as I fidgeted, but seemed unfazed by my nervous gesture. He said, “Why don’t we meet here? In the parking lot at one?”

“Sure.”

H smiled and stood up to leave. But I remained seated; my legs were shaking and I was afraid that they would give out if I tried to stand. He leaned over and gently kissed my cheek. Even this minor contact made me shiver, and I breathed in his scent and closed my eyes.

His eyes crinkled as he gave me a broad smile. “Zara,” he whispered mysteriously. His voice was dark and so sexy. Then, without another word, he walked out the door.

The rest of my shift passed like a slow boat to China, but my excitement was palpable. I was preoccupied with thoughts what the following day would bring, and I still had to go home and make dinner for Owen. Then I somehow had to drag through the evening hours with him until he would leave for work and I would go to meet David. I didn’t want to have to face my husband, to make conversation and pretend that everything was fine between us. After my shift, I drove home on autopilot, surprised when our home came into view, not even completely sure of how I got there.

One of the things that bothered me most about Owen turned out to be the very thing that got me through the hours that followed. He was cheerfully oblivious. He gave no indication that he was the least bit aware of my obviously odd behavior. He didn’t comment on the fact that I was pushing my food around the plate with my fork without ever lifting a bite to my mouth. He was too busy devouring his own. After dinner he chattered mindlessly about work and when I didn’t respond to his inquiries because I was too lost in thought to hear him, he simply resumed his monologue where he had left off.

The next day, I made sure to climb into the shower right before I knew he had to leave for work. He yelled goodbye on his way out the door and I breathed a sigh of relief, the first deep breath of the day. When I finished my shower, I decided I’d try to wear something sexy. The only problem was that I didn’t own anything that sexy. My wardrobe, right down to the cotton Hanes panties, was depressingly dull and matronly. I thought to myself that it was exactly like looking through my mother’s closet. I settled for my usual uniform of jeans and floral rayon blouse and reminded myself that this was how I had been dressed when David first met me, so he was unlikely care now.

He was already waiting when I pulled into the coffee shop parking lot. I parked in the spot next to his car, and he stepped out to open the passenger door. Neither of us said a word as I climbed in. We rode in silence for a while, and his hand found its way to my thigh, which he gave a gentle squeeze. I was already starting to get turned on, and his touch was making me wet. As he slowly caressed me from knee to hip, a pleasant warmth spread across my body.

When we arrived in his driveway I expected that he would say something or lean over and kiss me, but he didn’t. He carried out his chivalrous routine of opening the car door for me without a word. I followed him into the house, and as he shut the door behind him, I stood awkwardly, waiting, unsure what to make of the silence.

He didn’t leave me to my wondering for long. He reached out and grabbed me by the shoulders, pushing me roughly against the wall. He pressed his body into mine and kissed me hard. I was taken aback, but pleased by this turn of events. As he rubbed against me, I felt him growing hard and without thinking I reached out my hand to stroke him through his pants.

He grabbed my wrist roughly and yanked my hand away, but he was smiling. He said, “Oh, so you want that, do you?”

He was unbuttoning my blouse with one hand and using the other to restrain my wrist, which he now had pinned to the wall, but gently. There would be no marks from his hands. He nuzzled my neck and growled, “I asked you a question.”

He was so beautiful. I felt drunk on that rugged beauty. I said, “Yes. I want that. I want you.”

“Hmmm. What is this? I feel like I’m meeting a whole new Zara,” he said as he continued breathing hot and deep on my neck. “Could you have changed that much in just a few days?”

He was right. Never in my life would I have dared to say such a thing before. I had never even stroked my husband’s penis. I was so shy that I had never initiated any form of intimacy. Not even a kiss.

“I guess I have.”

He laughed and suddenly became gentle again as he helped me out my shirt, caressing the soft flesh of my belly. Then I did the unthinkable. I reached out and yanked at his belt. This time when he grabbed my wrist, he jerked me forward, away from the wall, and gave my ass a firm smack. He said, “Don’t touch unless you’ve been given permission. You’re being very disobedient today.” His smirk was so sexy and dark. I felt my eyes grow wide as I listened to his playful rebuke. “It’s going to be a good long while until your pussy gets anything now. Get on your knees.”

I did as he ordered, and he said, “None for your pussy, but if it’s my cock you want, it’s my cock you shall have.”

He undid his pants and brought his cock within millimeters of my face. He said, “Oh, Zara, look what you did. Had you behaved yourself, I was going to fuck you straightaway. Now I think I’ll have to take matters into my own hands and punish you.”

I thought he was going to spank me again, but he didn’t. Instead, he started to slowly jack himself off. He groaned, “Mmm, I like looking at you. You’re so sexy on your knees like that. It’s so deceptive. You look so obedient, like such a good girl.”

I had never seen a man touch himself, and I thought it was both embarrassing and incredibly hot. If I felt shy about masturbation, David clearly did not. He maintained eye contact while he slowly stroked his stiff shaft, rubbing his thumb in circles over the head. As he moved his hand back down, he gripped it at the base and suddenly slapped my cheek with it and said, “Follow me.”

I started to get up, but he stopped me, saying, “No, Zara, you don’t get to walk. You’ll crawl. On your hands and knees. I’ll make you beg, baby.” He walked ahead, and I crawled after him. When we reached the bedroom he pulled me to my feet. Yes, he pulled me close and stripped me out of my bra, kissing my breasts as he rubbed his erection again my bare belly. He spun me around and planted even more kisses on my neck and shoulders as he unbuttoned my jeans. When he had me fully undressed, he ordered me down to my knees again and grabbed what appeared to be a roll of shiny red duct tape. As he would it around my wrists, securing them to the bed’s footboard, I was surprised to find that it was somewhat soft and stretchy. I didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t really duct tape. Once he had me bound to his satisfaction he said, “And now you’re going to get it for real. Aren’t you a lucky girl, getting to suck my cock?”

I nodded, but I felt my stomach flip. He brought the tip of his penis to my lips and I opened my mouth. He rubbed that cock across my lips and I tentatively licked at it. He said, “Mmm, yes. Get my cock nice and wet.” I flicked my tongue over it repeatedly, and then he started to press it into my mouth. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I just closed my lips around it. A moment later he winced and pulled it out. With a mock look of surprise, he said, “Zara, is this the first time you’ve ever given head?”

He could tell. I was mortified. “Yes,” I whispered, a sense of shame flowing over me.

To my surprise, he didn’t seem upset. He actually looked pleased. He said, “I get to be the first to have your virgin mouth. What an unexpected treat.” He flipped his cock around and let it rub against my face. “Don’t put your teeth on it, Zara. Cover them with your lips. Use your tongue. Suck. Play with it. Tease it. Have fun.”

And then he moved back into position and I resumed licking the head of his cock as he held it in front of me. To my surprised delight, I was have the time of my life, and as my licking grew more insistent, I repositioned my head and hungrily pulled it into my mouth. He must have liked what I was doing, because he started to move his hips, ever so slightly, in time with my sucking. I sucked harder and he moved faster, gently grabbing the back of my hair and pulling me toward him. Suddenly the full length of him was in my mouth, filling my throat. I started to gag and he slowed just a bit until I had resumed my composure. The thrusts grew harder again and I could feel the constricting spasms of his impending orgasm, just before he filled my mouth with a long, hard moan.

He loosened his grip on my hair and gently stroked my head as he whispered, “Swallow it down, Zara. Don’t spill a drop, you naughty girl.” He withdrew from my mouth and looked down at me as I looked up at him and did as I was told.

He gazed at me. “Thank you,” he said.

For some reason, I was startled by his tenderness. I felt something inside of me loosen, like a noose falling away from my neck. I glanced shyly at his naked body and said, “You’re welcome.”

He knelt down and undid my bindings. He easily removed the duct tape, and it didn’t hurt at all to come off. Then ordered me to get on the bed, facedown. I did as I was told and felt the smooth palm of his hand caressing my ass. He helped me spread my legs and I felt his fingers slip inside the wet and waiting center of my desire. As he grew more vigorous with his hands, I bit my lip so hard that it surely almost bled. But I was determined not to let even the smallest noise escape.

Just when I thought I was about to climax, he slowed down the rhythm of his stroking and flipped me over. He was hard again already! He lifted my legs and put them over his shoulders so that I was nearly folded in half. He entered me roughly, this time wasting no energy to be gentle. He knew well that I was ready, dying to be fucked like this. As I let out an involuntary scream of passion and ecstasy, he clamped his hand down hard over my mouth. Almost a smack, but not quite. I came without an escape route for the energetic release of noise, and somehow this seemed to drive the pleasure even deeper into my body. It felt like I was in that state, suspended at the height of everything good that I had ever experienced, for an eternity. He kept fucking me even after the orgasm had ended, but I realized he had not come again. Would he? I knew that I was capable of having many in a row, but I didn’t know if men could do the same. Owen always fell promptly asleep.

David, on the other hand, looked far from tired. It seemed the fire of his passion had ignited an eternal energy, where we could be like this forever and he would never grow tired. He brought my legs down from his shoulders without breaking his rhythm, and ordered me to wrap them around his waist.

I clung to him as though my life depended on it, and he drove into me harder and harder, until I was coming and taking him with me for the ride. At the last minute he grabbed one of my nipples and twisted it roughly. The exquisite mingling of pleasure and pain pushed me over the edge, and he lowered himself onto my trembling body and rested his head against mine. His breath was heavy in my ear as he said, “Don’t let anyone fuck you who won’t fuck you properly, Zara. You’re worth more than that.”

And then he stood up and walked out of the room. He returned a moment later with two bottles of beers. I stammered, “I, uh, I don’t drink alcohol.”

Smiling, he set them down on the bedside table and inquired, “Now would that be because you’re in recovery, because you don’t like the taste, or because you believe you aren’t supposed to?”

I blushed. I felt so revealed. He didn’t know me at all, and yet he seemed to know me better than anyone else in the entire world. I held out my hand, and he placed the cold bottle in it. Tapping his against mine, he said, “To you! Here’s to taking control of your own life. Just like a grown-up woman.”

I raised the bottle to my lips and took a long swallow. It occurred to me that this was the first time I had ever felt like I even had a life to control. I opened my mouth to say something to that effect, and then closed it, unsure if I was allowed to speak. He saw me hesitate and reached over to touch my arm. He said, “Go ahead. Say whatever you want, Zara. You don’t need permission unless we’re having sex. We’re complete equals the rest of the time.”

I was glad to hear that, but had changed my mind about what I wanted to say. “What made you decide to come back?”

He said, “I had no choice, Zara. I just couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

On some level, I had expected him to say something like that, but on another, I couldn’t believe a man would be so interested. I had never considered myself particularly memorable. “I’m glad you did. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, either.”

After a long sip of beer, David said, “So how’s the home life, Zara?” He raised his eyebrows. “How are you doing with all of... this?”

I let out a deep sigh. “My husband doesn’t have a clue. He just goes through the motions of the days, oblivious. I think he’s always been oblivious, even long before you came into the picture.”

As he set down his empty bottle, David muttered, “I figured as much. Had he not been, you wouldn’t have been so inclined to come home with me.”

“He’s not a bad man. He’s actually very good. He’s just… so clueless.”

“I’m sorry,” David replied. Sorry if I overstepped my bounds. I find the cluelessness frustrating, but I realize it’s not really my place to find it anything.” He paused, obviously trying to muster the courage to add something. Then he finally said, “Do you love him?”

“Oh David,” I replied, “I don’t know how to answer that! I mean, yes. I do love him. I’m not sure that it’s a romantic love, though. He just feels like a brother to me. I don’t feel the fire when he kisses me that I do with you. And sex is... well, it isn’t like sex with you. I’m afraid I married someone who would have made a better friend than husband.”

He nodded, “I see. Thank you. That gives me a bit more insight, and I won’t lie, I am a bit relieved.” He glanced at his watch. “Shit. I need to get back to the office in less than an hour. Before you go you should put my number in your phone. I’d rather not be dependent upon dropping into the coffee shop and hoping you’re working.”

I pressed the digits into my phone, noting his name simply as David, and I got dressed. I didn’t know how to define what was happening, but I knew that things had just taken on another dimension. As he was driving me back to my car, my stomach growled. “Still hungry after all of that? I’ll have to feed you better next time,” he said.” He laughed.

“It’s just I’ve never had a taste of anything so delicious before. I may be hungry no matter how much you give me.”

He squeezed the back of my neck and said, “Yeah? I think I can live with that.”

When I got home, I walked in the house and pulled out my credit card to sit down with my laptop for some online shopping. A lot of things were going to have to change in my life, but I decided to start with the easiest. And new underwear was the first order of business. I wanted silk and lace. I wanted to feel sexy and alive. I wanted a new start. I had the feeling it was right around the corner.

The End

TO BE CONTINUED IN BOOK 2 OF THE GOOD SLAVEGIRL

Table of Contents

The Awakening

The Hunger