The Secret Life of Rica 8: Inevitable

(story continues from The Secret Life of Rica 7: An Unexpected Visitor)

Chapter 8: Inevitable

Erica took her time studying Bea, her face, her hair, her legs, her waist, the swell of her bust. Bea had let her down badly with Ee-Zee. She was blushing but was that a sign of guilt? Or something else?

Bea’s impish pout dissolved into a smile. “I know. I know. I was very naughty.”

Erica refused to look her in the eye. “Yes you were. It’s time for your punishment.” She kept her voice even.

Bea’s eyes twinkled. “Ooh.”

“Take your jeans off, and your shirt.” Erica pulled open Bea’s toy drawer and started searching. “I realised something today Bea. Something important.”

“What? What?” Bea let the baggy flannel shirt fall onto the floor. Underneath she was wearing a sports bra, exactly like Erica used to wear, brand-name emblazoned in big white letters.

Erica held up Bea’s other ball-gag, the smaller one. “Words won’t do. I’ll have to show you.” She pushed the gag into Bea’s mouth and buckled it tight.

Bea nuzzled against her. “Mumfl, mumfly,” she said. Whatever she wanted to communicate, Erica couldn’t understand it, though the gag made little difference. Bea was equally incomprehensible without a gag.

“You still don’t have your jeans off. Stop stalling or it will be worse for you.” Erica turned her voice hard. It sounded fake, but she really was angry, wasn’t she? She returned to the drawer again. In a single movement, she pulled it out and tumbled its contents across the floor.

She looked around, Bea was hurriedly pulling off her jeans. They fit Bea better than they ever fit her. On Bea they showed smooth curves. On her they’d been wrong, somehow.

She pulled Bea’s arms behind her back and cuffed her wrists. She closed another pair of cuffs above Bea’s elbows, pulling her arms together. “How does that feel? Just how you like it, I expect. Well… I don’t like that feeling at all.”

She pushed Bea face down on the bed, grabbed a handful of her hair and forced her into an awkward kneeling position. With one hand she pulled down Bea’s panties, leaving them caught around her knees.

“You probably even like having your hair pulled? Can’t say I enjoy it myself.” She twisted her hand in Bea’s hair, making her grunt into the gag. “And I don’t enjoy it one bit when somebody tells some crazy stalker bitch that I need to be taught a lesson and sets me up for her own bondage amusement.”

Erica pulled the belt from Bea’s discarded Jeans. “You keep telling me how you like this game. How you need to be punished…”

She’d spanked Bea before, even whipped her, but never seriously. Could she really do this? Did Bea really deserve it? But she’d promised her she’d do this, back when she was helpless on the bed, terrified, wondering how long Ee-Zee intended to keep her there. She sought out a memory, the pain of her hair being torn out. She could remember perfectly the shock of having the gag shoved into her mouth, the feeling of not being able to breathe with the too-tight collar around her neck, the aching in her limbs. Her wrists and ankles were still sore from the chains.

“For once I agree.” Erica gritted her teeth. Her vision went white. An animal snarl came from her throat and she whipped the belt across Bea’s bare bottom with all her strength.

Bea let out a muffled shriek. Her whole body shrieked. It was if every sinew had been wound up tight in an instant then loosed again.

Erica put her back into the next stroke. The belt made a solid sound as it met Bea’s behind.

Bea jerked a second time, less dramatically than before. Her eyes were red now, snot pouring from her nose.

Erica landed another stripe, and another. Angry red welts were appearing already, peppered with tiny red spots. She gathered all her strength and snapped the belt as fast as she could, one more time, across Bea’s bare bottom.

Panting with exertion she stared at the belt in her hand. Why was she holding it? What was it for? She let it drop onto the floor.

Bea buried her face in the bed.

Erica put a hand to her mouth. Bit on her knuckle. “Eff it. No… Sorry.” She gave her head a shake, as if that could clear out the confusion. “I’m sorry,” she said. Hastily, she unbuckled the gag and pulled it from Bea’s mouth. A dangling trail of drool stayed connected to it. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Bea gave a deep groan, a powerful sigh of relief. “Oh Mistress. This is the first time you’ve ever done it right. It’s supposed to hurt. Thank-you. Thank-you.”

Rica gave her own deep sigh of relief. All the pent up rage and frustration over Ee-Zee and Rimkoff was gone. She was exhausted. Her arms were shaking from the exertion of delivering just five quick blows. She collapsed backwards onto the bed, gasped noisily at the impact.

She laughed at her own absurdity. Was she going mad? What was so funny? When at last she was able to stop, she lifted herself up on an elbow.

Bea was still kneeling at the side of the bed, her panties round her knees, her face a snotty mess, and her arms cuffed behind her back. She had the widest stupidest smile on her face Erica had ever seen.

Erica gave another groan of relief. “Find your own bloody keys and unlock yourself. When you’re done, come back here and stick that stupid grin of yours in my crotch.”

“Thank-you Mistress,” said Bea.

Bea had to get the keys from the case under the bed, which she couldn’t reach without her arms. Eventually she managed to use her legs to push the case out. It took her several minutes to unlock her wrist cuffs. It became obvious that even with the keys, there was no way she could reach the cuffs above her elbows herself.

Erica gave her a calculated sour look. “I’d leave you like that, but I want to feel your hands on my boobs.”

Once Bea was completely free, and completely naked, Erica wanted to dive on her, to kiss her with all the passion that was carrying her away, like a flash flood.

By rights, she ought to be shattered, weeping, broken by the experience of what Ee-Zee and Rimkoff had done to her. Instead, she felt release for the first time in her life. Freedom. It was a sensation she’d never experienced or understood before.

Sometimes she would have to do what other people wanted, but sometimes she would have the chance to do as she liked. Sometimes. When those chances came, she shouldn’t let them slip away.

As long as she could remember, she’d had a monster inside her. A savage thing that had turned on her whenever she had a chance to make a decision or needed to act. It was a cruel thing. It had ripped her apart, time after time, left her savaged and weeping. No wonder she daren’t even move for fear of its attack.

Was it really gone? Or was it simply hiding? Biding its time, waiting for the moment when it could ambush her and do the most damage?

Was it the same monster that had put five angry red stripes on Bea’s behind? Bea didn’t show it, but she was in serious pain. Anyone else would be in tears.

She flipped Bea onto her back, pinning her down with her weight, and slid slowly up her body. She took Bea’s head in her hands, holding it in place for a kiss that was rough and soft at the same time. If only she could make all her feelings show through in one kiss.

Afterwards, Bea gasped for air. “Oh my. Mistress.”

“Stop that Mistress crap Bea. My name is Rica. Use it properly, or you can spend the night taped to a kitchen chair. Sitting on your sore bottom. In just your underwear.”

“Sorry Rica. You’re still my Mistress, right?”

“Absolutely.” She giggled. “Now get me out of this dress. I want to feel what it’s liked to be fucked properly by a soft, squishy, hot, sweaty girl.”

Bea wasted no time, quickly unzipping her.

To begin with, she was passive. She made Bea do all the work, down between her legs, lapping and sucking like a hungry puppy. Erica shuddered. She writhed. She didn’t know where to put herself or how to control the delight that had her at its mercy. She desperately wanted to put her hands on Bea’s head and push her away, just to take back control and feel a moment’s relief.

No. She wouldn’t. She had to feel it all, experience every moment. She grabbed hold of the bed-head to stop herself from interfering with Bea.

The moment where she wanted to stop everything, the moment where she might back down, hesitate or pull away… At that moment, it might feel wonderful to be helpless, to be bound, to be unable to escape or do anything to resist or stop the pleasure. Imagine, being forced to feel it all, even when it’s more than I can bear.

She understood some of Bea’s feelings, but that path wasn’t for her. Better to find the strength inside not to pull away. She would train herself not to flinch, not to hesitate. She wouldn’t rely on props when she should rely on herself.

“Turn around Bea. I want to taste you.”

Bea murmured a purr of agreement and obliged, twisting so that she faced away from Erica, she wriggled her bottom up Erica’s body until her face was back in Erica’s crotch and her large, and sore-looking bum was in Erica’s face.

In response, Erica grabbed hold of Bea’s legs and pulled that soft, glowing hot bottom down to within reach of her mouth. She buried her face in Bea’s dripping wet sex, plunging into the sweet feminine smell of her. Bea was so wet, Erica could drink from her, a soft, salty fountain that kept on flowing.

Afterwards, they lay in each other’s arms, sweating, fevered with shared body heat.

Erica put her mouth close to Bea’s ear. “Do you believe there’s such a thing as a soul?” She whispered, as if that could somehow stave off ridicule.

Bea made a little noise of amusement down in her throat. “My parents never talk about anything else. Something happened to make them that way. Myself, I don’t know what a soul is, so how could I tell if they exist? Why?”

“Because… If you have a soul, maybe there are things, bad things…. Things you could do to make you lose it? What would a person be like without a soul? Could you tell it was missing?”

Bea nuzzled gently. “It doesn’t matter Rica. You haven’t done any bad things.” Her tone became more alert, worried. “You don’t think what we’re doing is wrong, do you?”

“Of course not. How could this be bad? I’m so happy, and who are we hurting?”

“It’s all going to be amazing from now on.”

If only she believed like Bea. If only she had the same confidence. Erica was, after all, intending to do something foul with Rimkoff. A bad thing, but for a good reason. Did that make it alright? What did that matter? There were no souls, just people and the things they did. Probably.

The Price

Erica woke next to Bea. They were side by side, skin to skin. The heat of Bea’s body had woken her. She was sticky and sweaty, especially where her flesh pressed up against the softness of Bea. The heavy odour of Bea’s sleep-breath was inescapable.

Erica rolled out of bed. She was naked and the sweat immediately chilled on her skin. She stood for a while, watching Bea. The girl’s sleeping face was different to her waking one, not as pretty, but younger, simpler, more honest.

Erica took herself straight to the shower. She had work ahead of her, and then Rimkoff. Rimkoff, the new axis of her world. She’d have to cry-off a shift she’d booked, but there was no way out of it. She had put herself at Rimkoff’s beck and call, and accommodations would have to be made.

By the time she got back home from work, she didn’t have much time to get ready. Her head ached and her crotch itched. She swallowed the tablets from Belling along with a couple of pain-killers, washing the handful of pills down with a glass of Bea’s ultra-low-fat milk. How could they get away with calling something so grey, thin and flavourless milk?

She still hadn’t looked up her prescription yet. Either it would turn out to be a placebo, in which case she’d rather not know. And if it was genuine, it wouldn’t help at all to find out that her improvements were the product of a sketchily tested Hanley-Muller drug that may, or may not, start making her vomit blood, or cause her to see imaginary dead people.

She rushed through her second shower of the day, washing away the greasy burger stink. Probably she would want another shower after Rimkoff had finished with her.

She strolled into Bea’s room wrapped in towels, and flipped through the hangers in her closet. Bea had other clothes, hidden away in vacuum bags, but these were the best. A noise came from behind her and she glanced round.

Bea was lying in bed, doing something on her phone. “Hey,” she said. How had Erica missed her at first?

“Have you been in bed all day?”

“Of course not. I’ve been to the gym.”

Rica sighed and turned back to the closet. She pulled out a hanger with a strapless white dress. A long fringe of silky tassels dangled from the hem, extending it by about eight inches.

Bea climbed out of bed and sidled up behind her. “You should try the bra from that.”

“You don’t mind me wearing it?”

Bea laughed. “Why would I? Wear what you like.”

Bea had bargained so hard over clothes before, and now this. Incomprehensible.

“Do you have matching shoes?”

“You have to ask? Just a sec though.”

Bea fished a thing like a dead jellyfish from a drawer and wrapped it around Erica’s chest. Bea’s fingers brushed her nipples, bringing them to attention. “It came with that dress but it’s too big for me.”

“Eew. What is it?”

“Backless, strapless, synthetic-rubber bra. It sticks. Like tape. But better.”

Erica chewed on her bottom lip. “Yeah. It does.” The weird bra was completely clear where it stuck to her skin. Bea pressed it into place and it blended invisibly at the edges. It gave her boobs an unreal, gravity defying lift. A person who didn’t know any better would never realise it was there, but Erica could feel its hungry, sticky grip.

She poked it with a finger. Her boob jiggled with impossible elasticity. “Is this thing magic?”

Bea turned to the closet, searching through shoe boxes. “So, why the special dress-up? Got a date with someone? Maybe the gallant knight that saved you from rar-rar-rar woman?”

“What’s that?”

“The sound she makes when she barks orders.”

Erica giggled. The laughter came out of nowhere and hurt her chest. Then she remembered what she had to do with Rimkoff and it stopped. “No. No date for me. This is work. For my course.”

Bea gave a long sigh. “Never mind. You don’t have to explain.”

Spirals not Circles

Erica was almost at Rimkoff’s house. She’d walked the last block. It was convenient for the train, hardly any bother. The heels on Bea’s shoes were lower than she was used to. She looked down at her feet, at another pair of alien shoes. Her old boots had stretched to fit perfectly but the shoes she’d been wearing lately were always new, stiff and sharp. It was doubtful that Bea had worn this pair more than once or twice. They were white, with little black bows on the front. Something about the detailing gnawed at the back of her mind, stoking a formless desire. Was she starting to love shoes? Some huge structure was shifting in her mind, rotating, remote and aglow, like a distant galaxy.

Her dress was short, easy to walk in. The long fringe made it seem as if it fell below her knees, but the fabric stopped well above them. It tickled her legs as she walked, swishing gently against her skin.

It was nice to be walking and not in a rush. Between work and Bea, peace and quiet were hard to come by. She struggled to dig out her feelings, but she couldn’t seem to find any. It was strange, after all the trouble she’d been through, she couldn’t form an opinion about it. She was simply doing what had to be done. Was this the new character she’d become? What would the other girls call her? Something worse than the earlier names no doubt. The whore perhaps? Whatever others thought of her, the whore didn’t seem troubled by it.

From the road, Rimkoff’s house was large and conspicuously modern. The upper-floor had glass doors opening onto a balcony, fenced with smoked-glass panels and populated with orange-trees in pots. That was the part she could see. The lower-level was hidden behind a high wall, eight-feet at least, rendered with white pebbledash that continually shed graffiti resistant flakes. There was an arched door in the wall with a camera and entry-buzzer. She pressed the buzzer without delay.

A few moments later, the door-latch clicked open. She slipped through the archway and found herself in a dim tunnel lined with small and extremely smelly flowers trained over wire trellis-work. Beyond lay bright glimpses of well-manicured garden. She had never imagined Rimkoff interested in anything apart from his work, but apparently he had hidden talents, or deep pockets.

At the end of the tunnel was the door to the house. It opened as she approached, framing Rimkoff in a white polo shirt and baggy cargo-shorts. There were two steps up to the door.

“Come in,” he said amiably. He moved aside as she climbed the steps. She found herself almost touching him in the hallway. Casually, as if she did it all the time, she reached up and caressed his neck, pulling him into a kiss. She parted her lips and his tongue slipped between her teeth. His mouth was minty, with a faintly sour undernote, his kiss firm and unyielding, nothing like Bea’s intolerable, melting softness. His hand felt large and strong as it cupped her butt-cheek.

The kiss and the ass-groping both ended as easily as they began. Rimkoff led the way into a spacious living room, walls lined with bookshelves. A large expressionist painting had pride of place. “Your mood seems much improved.”

“You frightened me before. I’ve had problems with physical contact for years. I’m working on it. Consider yourself part of my therapy if you like.”

“I was sure the shyness was a carefully cultivated act, but when you ran off, I began to doubt my judgement. When I saw you yesterday, I wondered if I was right to begin with.”

She stared straight into those glistening spectacles and noticed for the first time that they were bifocals. “No. You were wrong at first. Still are wrong, about me. It doesn’t matter. We agreed our terms. You hold up your end of the bargain and I’ll be satisfied.”

Rimkoff closed his eyes momentarily. “I can’t speak for what you’ll be satisfied with. But your friend is safe. This is between the two of us.”

The smell of something delicious wafted from another room and Erica’s mouth watered. She hadn’t had anything but salad leaves and carrots for the last couple of weeks, apart from the nearly cold Mongolian beef, which had been a little slimy. It was too much to hope that he’d provide a meal to match the surroundings. Places like this were fantasies, a world beyond her reach.

She made a show of looking around her. “You have a nice house.”

“Why don’t you slip out of that elegant little dress and take a dip in the pool?”

“Pool? I don’t have anything on underneath.” That wasn’t quite true, there was the strange rubbery bra, but it was transparent and hardly counted.

“That’s perfect. I would have asked you to remove your underwear anyway.”

“It was a real pain finding this place without my phone. Are you really that worried about me recording you?”

“No. Bring it along next time. I want to install something on it.”

“Spyware?”

“Naturally.”

“What for?”

“Jealousy, I suppose. I have to be certain that I have you all to myself. You did understand that exclusivity would be part of this, didn’t you? No man but me.”

Erica shivered. The idea was strangely arousing. She unzipped the back of her dress, folded open the discretely boned bodice and slipped it down over her hips. Rimkoff’s eyes were wide behind his spectacles, his mouth slightly open. Her interest drifted down to his crotch where a considerable bulge had appeared.

“You look uncomfortable,” she said. “You need some help with that?”

He blinked. “No. Not yet. You’re a very attractive young woman. Quite… hypnotising.”

She widened her eyes as far as they’d go. “Surely not? I’m the one being hypnotised, aren’t I?”

“Here…” Rimkoff pulled open the glass doors that opened onto the patio area. Beyond lay the sparkling blue of a pleasantly-sized swimming pool lined with tiles.

Erica let herself tip backwards into the water, not with a splash but a subdued swoosh. A salty weight folded around her and she let herself sink. After a few moments she bobbed just below the surface, raised her face from the water and took a breath.

Rimkoff had gone back inside.

Here she was, floating in a pool, like some character from a pop-song. Naked. Decorative. Obedient. It was better than rotting in a nowhere town, listening to her mother explaining all the ways that she was useless and wrong. It was better than being the numb, dumb baby factory for a man she cared so little about he might as well be a ghost. It was better than the life of an African child soldier, and better than toiling in some Thai factory. It wasn’t perfect, but the defects were highly subjective. It would be a waste not to make the best of what she had. Accepting her situation was simply a matter of overlooking a few minor details.

But she had no idea how to do the things that Rimkoff so obviously expected of her. Would she make him angry with her inexperience?

The Worst Mistake

Bea had been so happy that Rica had finally accepted her, she hadn’t been able to think of anything else all day. She’d had to go straight to the gym to stop herself from going crazy with joy. Even an exhausting workout and a terribly sore bottom hadn’t stopped her from masturbating non-stop once she got home. She finally forced herself to stop by going to the supermarket. That place could kill any buzz.

Since Rica had come and gone, Bea had spent a couple of hours lying in bed, mostly on her front, rubbing anaesthetic cream onto her bottom and wondering what Rica was up to. Mitch was downstairs smoking. Andrew was busy at work, supposedly. So who had she dressed up to visit? Logic said it had to be something to do with her professor.

Rica had a private conversation with him. She’d even said that tonight was about her course. Bea had considered the possibilities earlier, then dismissed most of them. After all, Rica wouldn’t be interested in that hairy old man with the monstrous sentient eyebrows. It was impossible. There was no way that she’d go to see him, dressed like that, no way she’d go to his house, to be alone with him. It was unthinkable. Sickening. So where had she gone, and what was she doing?

The camera! Bea reached for her computer. It had been recording all this time. Last night’s conversation would be there, and the incident with the horrible shouty-woman. That might be useful as masturbation material at least. If she couldn’t have Rica right now, she could at least obsess over her.

The video files were an hour-long, each named according to time and date. She’d returned from the takeaway around eight. She opened the seven-o-clock file and scrubbed through to the bit where Ee-Zee dragged Rica into the bedroom. She was compelled to watch Rica being stripped and bound to the bed. Several times.

It was all wrong of course. This horrible Ee-Zee had to be the one that Rica had performed for, and there was no doubt who’d been in charge then. The naughty sub had tried to turn the tables on her online Mistress. Unacceptable. Uppity subs must be severely punished to maintain discipline. Bea wagged her finger, as if telling off an imaginary Ee-Zee.

Then came Rica’s rescue. Bea cheered. It was a pity that Mitch had got to see Rica in her undies, but that was the only reward he’d got, wasn’t it? Bea had been the one with Rica last night. As she’d known all along, she would belong to Rica sooner or later. Hopefully sooner now, it not already.

There was a dull stretch where nothing happened. Ee-Zee was mostly hidden by the bed, though her whimpering and gasping was captured by the microphone stuck to the inside of the plasterboard wall.

Bea moved to the next file. Mitch came up and shoved Ee-Zee under the bed, hiding her completely. Oh. That was where she’d got to. She was probably still there. Never mind, she can wait a few more minutes. Bea turned up the volume so she could catch every detail of Rimkoff’s conversation with Rica.

Bea’s blood froze. Bile burned in her stomach. Her throat blocked and her eyes stung. Rica had made a pact with eyebrows-man to save her. No. It was all topsy-turvy. She much rather the video was released, and would happily have taken Rica’s place. She would never have let this go so far if she’d known. How could she have been so stupid? So blind? So careless?

The clock on her computer said seven and some change. Rica had been with that man at least two hours. Maybe there was still time to call and explain, stop things before they got started. No. He’d told Rica to leave her phone at home. There was no way to reach her, and things were undoubtedly well underway.

Bea squeezed one hand with the other in alternation. She had to grab something. She couldn’t sit still. She had to fix things. But if Rica found out about the video… Yet the video was the only thing that could save her from eyebrows-man, the only way to make him back off. He’d been caught admitting his crimes. The coercion was obvious enough to convince anyone.

She couldn’t let Rica know about the video without explaining how she came by it. Once she knew, Rica would hate her, and just when she was starting to warm up… There was no way around it. The alternative was worse. If she had to abandon her destiny with Rica to save her then so be it.

But she didn’t even know where eyebrows-man lived. Wait. Hadn’t he told Rica his address in the video? That was still useless unless she went around there to confront him in person. She needed his phone number, or his email address. She could send him a clip from the video, demand he back-off from harassing Rica. How to get his details? Maybe it would come to her.

Bea rummaged through her bottom drawer until she found a pair of sturdy hinged cuffs. They had a proper lock with a serious key. They weren’t the sort of thing you could open with a hair-pin or a paperclip.

She let herself into Rica’s room and dragged the chubby ginger-haired woman out from under the bed. It was hard work. A pity she wasn’t shorter and skinnier, but then she never would have been able to overpower Rica.

Ee-Zee was limp, sluggish and confused. Bea cut the tape from her purple hands and locked the cuffs around her wrists. With the hog-tie cut, the prisoner flopped her legs out straight. A rough moan escaped the gag.

The woman’s hands were cold despite the warmth of the room. Bea rubbed them, trying to get the blood flowing. She couldn’t resist sliding her hand over the pale body, wound tight with loops of black tape, pale soft fat squeezed between the strips. It would have been erotic if every part of the woman’s body wasn’t so cold to the touch. She moaned plaintively. All her assertiveness and masculinity were gone, drained out of her by humiliation and exhaustion.

Bea ought to be busy sending a video to the professor, but the Ee-Zee woman needed fluids and movement. At least she hadn’t peed herself. Bea ought to have seen to her hours ago, and ought to have thought of the video this morning, back while Rica was at work. It was too late for the video, at least she could help Ee-Zee.

Everything had been perfect before. Now it was all falling apart. All spoiled. Why hadn’t she looked at her computer earlier?

Bea sighed, screwed her eyes tight and wailed quietly to herself. It was no use pretending, it was too late to send the video. Nobody could resist Rica for two hours. The damage was done. No doubt Rica had spent the last two hours on that horrible old man’s cock. To tell her now that it had all been for nothing would be too much. The best thing was to keep the video secret and pretend she had no idea what was going on. If things took a turn for the worse, she might be able to blackmail the professor without Rica’s knowledge.

Who was she kidding? A turn for the worse? What would that look like? And whatever was she going to do with this woman who’d spent the best part of twenty-four hours gagged, drooling and hog-tied with tape? A cautious person would take her to hospital.

Bea peered under the bed. Rica wasn’t very tidy. There was a substantial amount of unironed laundry under there, Rica’s old undies, sports-bras, horrible woolly socks and such. Ee-Zee was dusted with lint.

There was nothing else for it. She unbuckled the straps of the gag and prepared herself for the torrent of unintelligible abuse that was sure to be forthcoming.

Middle-Class Villainy

Erica leaned forward, letting her boobs fall into her hands. She looked up at Rimkoff. The LED floods were dazzling her. His big camera made the paparazzi ker-shlick sound again. It was the sound her phone faked when she took pictures. Rimkoff’s camera made the real noise, it wasn’t just pretending.

“Now reach down and spread your lips with the fingers of one hand, not too wide.”

Erica followed his instructions. She was under no illusions about what he was up to. No doubt, she was supposed to understand that if she stepped out of line, these pictures could end up on the internet. Sure, Rimkoff might want them for masturbation purposes, but he could have put-off taking them for another day if that was all he wanted.

Or perhaps it was just about getting her used to following his instructions without hesitation. The shutter-noise sounded over and over. “Turn around and bend lower, reach through and spread those lips again.”

She was naked from the pool, water beaded and dripping from her skin, making pools on the flagstones of the patio. Her wet hair fell into her eyes.

“Look at me over your shoulder… Yes. Lift your head a bit more. Very good.”

The shutter noise repeated again. It didn’t matter. Let him take all the pictures he wanted. She had no intention of giving him a reason to publish them. Besides, if he did post them, he’d lose her. Without his leverage she would be free to hurl accusations. No, he wouldn’t publish those pictures unless she forced his hand.

Rimkoff shook his head. His eyebrows had a confused look. “Incredible. The camera loves you. Some people, no matter what, they always come out pulling odd faces. They turn into different people. With you it’s the opposite.” He put down the camera and unplugged the lights.

“Are we done? I’m cold from the pool.”

“Here.” He threw her a towel and picked up his camera again, a creased look of intense concentration on his face. Was he reviewing the shots again?

“Can I see?”

“Are your hands dry?”

She made a noise, indicating confirmation, and he passed her the camera. He turned and went back inside. She followed slowly, distracted by the images on the little screen. Nobody would ever believe these pictures were her. She could show them to her mother, she wouldn’t realise who it was.

Inside, Rimkoff passed her a silk robe with a Japanese pattern and she handed the camera back to him.

Later, they sat in the dining room, cool under the air-conditioning, eating an incredibly delicious meal that seemed at first glance to simply be artistically-arranged meat and vegetables. Pure deception! Some secret skill, mystic technique, or arcane process had rendered them impossibly flavoursome. The meat had probably been expensive. It melted in her mouth, umami and blood.

Rica arranged her cutlery on her empty plate. “You cook like this all the time?”

“No. Once a week perhaps. I was thinking we’d make Saturday evening a regular fixture. I promise you won’t starve.”

“It would help me a lot if you can plan the times we meet in advance. I have to book shifts for work.”

Rimkoff pushed his plate away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t do anything for desert. At my age, you have to watch the calories.”

“You think I don’t?”

“It’s not the same when you’re young. But yes, meeting times… I want to see you in my office after lectures are over on Tuesdays and Thursdays. We’ll write it up as project work. There will be another project meeting during the day, to be arranged, but that will be an actual project meeting.”

“How long will you want me?”

“We said a year, didn’t we? After that you’ll be headed elsewhere, I imagine?”

“I meant after lectures.”

He chuckled at his mistake. “At most, an hour.” He turned his head, looked at her sideways. “I can’t believe you’re the same person. What happened to the little mouse who was stammering and sweating through her tutorial questions?”

“I don’t know. Clinical drugs. Or something just flipped over in my head. Do you prefer me the way I was before?”

“It was as if there was something false, artificially interposed. Some kind of mask. Well now… You seem more plausible now.”

“Plausible?” Erica let her thoughts wander.

Rimkoff kept on talking, but what had he meant by plausible? If only she could talk this over with Belling, but she couldn’t let Belling know about any of this.

She returned to reality, caught the tail end of Rimkoff’s creepy wish-list.

“You’ll have to dress provocatively on campus, and try to flirt with me in public. I’ll ignore it, scrupulously. You understand why, don’t you?”

“What about the old way? I make myself so undesirable that nobody would believe you’d touch me?”

“Undesirable?” He gave a deep chuckle. “You can’t pretend that anyone would ever swallow such a preposterous conceit?”

“I don’t understand.” She hesitated. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Should she say it? It was more likely to annoy him than anything. “Doesn’t it sicken you?”

Rimkoff frowned, so briefly she might have missed it if she’d been less attentive. “You agreed to do anything I asked, so please don’t argue. It doesn’t become you to be peevish.”

She began to explain she wasn’t arguing, then realised that would be arguing. She swallowed her words. “Sorry,” she said. It was strange, having to restrain herself from speaking. Previously, she’d had to fight to get the words out, now she had to struggle to keep them in.

 “I know what I’m doing. I make no excuses for it. I don’t demand you convince yourself you want to do this, but I do prefer you to act as if you enjoy it.”

“I won’t joke like that again.”

“Joke?” He sniffed. “If you can’t bring yourself to put up sufficient pretence, I’ll have to resort to the sordid pleasure of confirming my power over you. A second-rate solution, which will be less pleasant for both of us.”

“What do you mean?”

That momentary frown again. “I’m quite serious.”

She leaned forward, letting the table push her boobs up. “Don’t worry. It doesn’t trouble me at all if you want to put your cock in my mouth, or elsewhere. In fact, I can’t wait to get you inside me. I have to warn you though, I have no experience at this. I may be a disappointment to begin with, but I really want to get better.”

“A year from now, I promise you will have learned something more valuable than how to give an expert blow-job.”

“But in this case, what are you expecting?”

“Be careful with your teeth. You’ll have plenty of chances to practice in future.”

“I’ll do my best, but you understand, don’t you? I may be twenty, but I’m still technically a virgin, and I’m very curious.”

Rimkoff’s eyebrows elevated in full display. “Technically?”

“I have put things up there. But I’ve never touched a penis.”

Rimkoff smiled beatifically, as if about to grant her some transcendental blessing.

There was no point putting it off any longer. She slid off her chair and down onto her knees. The carpet was soft. There wasn’t much room under the table and it was hard to see. She unzipped his fly and felt inside. He used his hand to help her, flipping out his already erect member. She was kneeling in front of a cock.

She pressed the foreskin down with her lips, fully exposing the mushroom head. The feel of the skin was remarkably soft, as soft as Bea’s lips. He was very clean and there was no sweaty smell. She rubbed it with her tongue, teasing at first, then more rhythmic. Already, she could feel the tension building. She bobbed her head down further, pressing the head against the roof of her mouth. She held still and let him move against her.

In a few seconds he was done. Her mouth filled with thick, bitter-sweet stuff. She swallowed thoughtlessly, cleaned him up with her lips and her tongue.

The whole business hadn’t taken as much as five minutes.

She pulled herself back out from under the table and back up onto her seat. The taste lingered in her mouth, and there was the impression of a smell too, chemical somehow. It was distinctive, but she lacked the words for it, similar to her own juices, but thicker and more pungent.

She reached for her half-full wine glass and took a sip, then a larger gulp.

“There’s no need to swallow it if you don’t like it.”

“If it’s you, I’m sure I can grow to like the taste.” A half truth. There was a thrill that she was taking something from him when she swallowed, a perverse sense of pride at how far she was prepared to go to massage his ego.

“You said you hadn’t done this before.”

“I haven’t. Was it alright?”

“Yes. But next time I want to see your face while you do it. I want you to look up into my eyes.”

“Can we go outside? The air-con doesn’t agree with me.”

Rimkoff topped off the wine glasses. The bottle was empty. Erica had drunk quite a bit already. Normally, she never touched a drop. She cradled her glass. It was undoubtedly expensive wine and it was easy to drink.

Outside, it was almost dark. The photographic lights were still there, flimsy towers, dark and unplugged. A few stars were visible and what was possibly a planet. Erica looked over at the pool. The water was dark. Were there underwater lights in it that he could turn on? It would be pretty if there were. She’d ask him later. The taste was gone, but the smell of his cum still lingered. She took another gulp from the glass, but the wine couldn’t wash it away.

He moved in behind her, his body pressing against hers through the silk robe. His bulk made her feel small and soft, and yet she was unafraid. Where had the Erica from before gone? Perhaps, she’d sold her soul and now she was just an empty body? A zombie who did things that were convenient, taking the quick and easy way to a dead, painless existence.

Up in the sky, two little circles of light appeared, vanished again. A few seconds later a loud crack broke the suburban silence.

She twisted, looked up at him. “What was that?”

“Bloody nuisance, that’s what. Started flying out of the private airport a few months ago. Those new repulsor planes. There’s a boom when they go supersonic. Played havoc with the house prices around here. Is there any consultation or compensation? Of course not.”

“The circles are pretty.”

“They don’t leave a regular trail in the daylight, just a series of rings. No exhaust, pure ionisation, but I prefer a clear sky and some bloody peace and quiet.”

Erica made an indistinct noise of agreement.

“Take off your robe and make yourself wet. I don’t want you dry when I put it in you.”

“Already?”

“You have an effect.”

“What about condoms?”

“You didn’t use one before.”

She was so stupid. Of course, she had forgotten the most important thing. She should have used one, even for oral. Why hadn’t she thought of it? Now she’d set a precedent, given him an excuse. She couldn’t argue so instead she tried a hopeful voice. “Don’t you want one?”

“I’m not infected with anything, and the only person I’ll be touching this year is you. I’ll take your word that you haven’t done this before. Call it trust. But I don’t want you doing it with another man. You’re mine. Understand?”

“Perfectly.”

“Don’t worry about pregnancy. I had the snip years ago. Back while I was still married.”

“You were married?”

“Let’s focus on you.”

Erica drained her glass and put it down on the glass-topped outdoor table. She let the robe slide off her shoulders. It caught on her hips. She pushed it down. The belt came undone and it fell to her feet.

A Few Weeks Later

Andrew navigated to his favourite story site. There weren’t any new posts, but one of the adverts caught his eye.

“Live webcam girls! Hot lesbian action! Bondage, fetish, latex and more! Chat live with Victoria and her obedient slave-slut Brandy. See them obey your commands in real-time. Free previews, image-gallery and more. Who is the mysterious Victoria? She could be the girl next door!”

Andrew didn’t normally visit pay-sites, but there were free previews. Free malware more likely. Was that the mysterious part, what Trojan they’d install? He put his faith in his browser plugins and clicked the link anyway.

Wow. The site had a decent design for a change. Mobile friendly. No minuscule curly writing or primary-colour horror. The first image was impactful, soft focus, two masked women kissing in over-exposed pastel colours, the obligatory slideshow, a series of similar, arty, images. The girls were wearing old-fashioned masquerade masks. It was a little different to the usual thing where the actresses usually had links to social media profiles that seemed to catalogue their entire fake lives in tedious intimacy, desperately begging for more followers to prove their financial value.

Below the hipster slideshow was a video gallery with snippets from recent live sessions, and below that, galleries of still images. A link hinted at text transcripts of sessions. He might skim them later.

Andrew clicked on the image galleries section, prepared to be disappointed. There only seemed to be two girls in the pictures, but they were dressed up every-which-way and they knew how to push his buttons. In most of the pictures, Brandy wore a white-leather bondage mask that covered her face except her eyes, with a zipper for her mouth. Victoria, who seemed to be the top, usually had more clothes on – rubber dresses, or at least some underwear – and wore a variety of masquerade masks. Sometimes her glistening red lips were visible, sometimes they weren’t.

Was there something familiar about Victoria’s mouth? Maybe she resembled a celebrity he’d forgotten the name of, or perhaps it was just déjà vu. The stills were well-chosen, but it was easy to find thousands of latex-bondage still images. Were the video clips as good? Or better?

In the first clip Victoria was spanking the other girl, and scratching her ass with her nails. Andrew wouldn’t mind seeing more of that scene. A little link at the bottom of the page told him that he could enable a single video for a trivial sum, or he could buy a full live package. The internet had plenty of free porn, so he moved on to the other clips.

Most of them showed action between the two girls. It was all spicy BDSM stuff that Andrew loved. It looked like they were genuinely into it. Yes, he wanted to get that bossy Victoria into his chains. Did they do requests like that? If he got his hands on her, he’d soon see what was underneath that mask and change her butter-wouldn’t-melt attitude.

He kept looking. Yes. Some of the later clips showed Victoria doing submissive stuff in response to chat requests. It seemed to be a common theme. Great minds think alike. What could he ask her to do? In one short clip, she struggled against heavy, hinged, wrist-cuffs. In another she fucked herself with a huge black dildo, weighted clover-clamps dangling from her nipples. In others, Brandy inflicted the indignities on her.

He couldn’t say why, but the clip that stuck most firmly in his memory showed her lasciviously licking a big pink-gel vibrator while she talked about whether she should stick it in her pussy or in her ass. There was something uncannily authentic about it, not the unconvincing fantasy-land of most porn.

The voice… he could swear he’d heard that voice before. It was deep, sultry, with a sexy buzz down in the throat. Maybe he’d heard it on some other porn videos or something? Yes, that had to be where he’d seen the girl’s face too. It was the only logical explanation. She was definitely a porno professional. There was so much amateur stuff around, but usually it felt like different girls were grafted into the same scenes over and over again. Forgettable, they all blended into one. This was different, individual.

Andrew hesitated. Should he? He had a card he’d bought in a store for this purpose, pre-loaded with cash, so he could only get ripped-off for so much. His hands tingled with excitement as he registered for the full package. It was a forbidden thrill. Not the porn, that was a normal, everyday thing, but paying for it had an exotic transgressive feel. He refreshed his email over and over until the confirmation and access codes came through.

He logged into the main feed right away. He was in luck. A live session had just started. The requests scrolled along the bottom of the screen as they came in. Victoria squeezed a huge plug into Brandy’s ass, then asked the viewers what they wanted to see next.

Andrew’s hands shook as he typed his request. It was the first thing that had popped into his head. Maybe he should have taken the time to come up with something better? No. It didn’t matter. They would have pre-recorded requests that they could conveniently respond to, so they could stick to pre-planned scenes. His request would remain unchosen.

His jaw dropped as Victoria read his words aloud to the camera. “Have Brandy put clamps on your nips and fuck you with a strap-on. I like the sound of that, Andy419.” She gave the camera a wicked smile. Unbelievable. They were really going to do it, just as he’d asked. There were no tricks. It was all real.

He sighed. Not quite real. They were only acting after all, however convincing it seemed. If only he could meet girls like them in real life. It was impossible of course. No point moping over what would never happen. He’d paid for this. He may as well enjoy it. Brandy had already fastened the clamps to Victoria’s nipples. In return, Victoria was fastening her into the strap-on, the plug still trapped in her arse. It might be fantasy, but it still had him rock hard.

The End of “Good Intentions”.
Will Rica, Bea and the rest return?

 

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05.12.15