Jordan

A niche for stories; fiction or non.
Crushing
Trainable
Posts: 74
Joined: Wed Apr 29, 2020 5:34 am

Re: Jordan

Unread post by Crushing » Fri Jan 10, 2025 6:48 pm

J:💃
J: 🌼
J: 😘
J: 😴

"Mister Stark?"

David looked up from his phone, shook his head to clear it of intrusive thoughts, and focused his eyes on the polite, well dressed middle aged dock foreman with the hard hat.

He had not checked his phone in hours, and clearly missed some…developments at home.

"Yes?"

"Are you ready to begin?"

"I am, thank you…and I didn't catch your name."

"It's David…" The foreman flashed a brilliant smile.

"Really? That's my first name too!"

"Yes, we are twins, no?"

David laughed and adjusted his glasses as the Nigerian man slapped him playfully on the back. David (the smaller one with glasses) donned his own hard hat and they walked out of the office building and out toward the docks.

"As you read in our report, our southernmost crane is not operational at the moment, but otherwise we are running at normal capacity."

"Why is the crane down?"

"Some issues were identified during routine maintenance, and we had to cease operations in order to repair some components."

"Is that underway?"

"Currently we're awaiting the arrival of parts. However, as you are aware, much of our port activity involves tankers that do not require cranes in the way crated commodities do. We have simply consolidated crate moving activity to the dock with the working cranes."

"That's certainly sensible. But I noticed in your recent records that the other three cranes had the exact same maintenance schedule and similar issues as the one that went down. Is there any reason to believe these cranes will fail before the southern one goes back up?"

"No reason that I can think of."

"You may lack imagination, David," David smiled. "It's my job to think of the million ways things can go wrong. Would I be stepping on your toes if I had a quick meeting with the maintenance and repair crews?"

"Not at all…" The host gestured toward an outbuilding on the southern side of the port complex. After discussing maintenance procedures with the crew, they returned to the main port offices, chatting as they walked.

"So, you are married? I noticed your ring."

"Yes, actually." David responded amiably.

"Children?"

"Not yet. We've not been married for long."

"And you travel."

"I do. And she studies. Finishing her Ph.D, actually."

"Ah. A power couple, then?"

David smiled. "Something like that."

His phone buzzed again. Opening the display, he found

J: 💃

"A traveling executive and a highly educated wife…" the foreman continued. "I am sure you are admired by your peers…"

David looked up at the smiling dock foreman, a slight flush on his face.

"No need to flatter, friend. So we covered cranes, but what can you tell me about the oil pumps? Are they operating at full efficiency?"

The other David gave the so-so gesture with his hand. "They are regularly maintained, but they still have problems with jamming, and occasional power outages."

David kept half an eye on the notifications populating his phone on the desk. One notification popped up as he listened.

J: I was naughty today, baby…

David coughed slightly, subtly darkening the screen of his phone so his coworker wouldn't see it.

"The power outages–are they limited to individual pumps or do the docks go down all together?"

"Individual. Mostly."

"Regular power outages…I'd like to understand more. Do you have the layout or schematic of your power setup? I'd like to take a look, see if there's a structural flaw in the power flow. We can't have pumps going out at random when tankers are stacking up…"

"Yes…I think we have them here…"

J: I'm with Ricardo, baby.

He quickly darkened the screen as soon as the notification popped up. The other man named David had mercifully turned to pull files out of a drawer.

It seemed like the foreman might be another moment. David quickly opened his messages and typed a quick response.

D: You're with Ricardo baby? Good for you…is he taking good care of you?

"The power layout is in two different schematics. I have one of them here…" The foreman turned around and laid out the blueprint on the table just as David sent the message and blanked the screen.

"Two different schematics? Do you know why?"

"The port expanded several years ago, and the power system was expanded with it. This is the old scheme. Another station was added when they expanded the port. The two are tied together."

"Do you have the new one?"

The other David nodded. "We do, but not just here. I can fetch it if you'd like."

J: Hey baby! So glad you texted me back…and yeah…Ricardo's taking good care of me. So good…oh my gosh…

David grunted again, nodding as he hastily blanked the phone screen. "Could you? I can review these while you get them."

"Of course. Half a moment, please." The foreman stood up and turned to walk out of the room as David leaned over the schematic. As soon as the other man left the room, he quickly opened his phone screen.

D: I'm so glad to hear that, Jo. I love it when you're taken care of. Is he making you feel good?

David heard his helper padding around in the next room, looking for the plans.

He looked back down at the phone and scrolled up and down the text chain, looking at the saucy symbols and texts, waiting for

J: So good, honey. I had a good day today, and I came home kinda excited, so Ricardo took care of me. Then I woke up and I needed Ricardo again. Is that okay? I mean, as long as I tell you about it? Am I being greedy?

David sucked in a breath, hearing a file cabinet drawer close in the next room. He typed quickly.

D: You're not greedy, baby. You get anything you need, anything you want. And I'll love it.

David heard his coworker making his way down the hall when the phone buzzed again.

J: I want Ricardo to make me cum, baby. Is that okay?

"I found the schematic here,Mr. Stark. And it seems very different from the other plans…though I am no expert. What do you think?"

He began pointing out discrepancies between the two plans, as David carefully followed his observations. His phone buzzed again.

Not wanting to be rude, he only glanced sideways to see the notification:

J: Baby? Please?

Without moving from his position leaning over the plans, David subtly opened the text chain without drawing attention to himself and quickly sent a response.

D: ❤️

The phone went silent and dark as David and the foreman–the other David–began to speculate as to problems that may have been overlooked integrating the expanded power panels in the dock as David nodded along.

David struggled to focus, keenly aware that his wife was an ocean away, and the space between her legs was filled with an anatomically plausible prosthetic named RICARDO. He imagined her on her back–flushed cheeks and legs wide, her hand carefully guiding the member in and out of her. Her hips would buck gently as the excitement grew. Her breath would hold silent in deep tension as her pelvic floor began to convulse.

By some miracle, he still followed the power schematic discussion sufficiently well to ask a follow-up question, which was interrupted by a gentle buzz on the desk, just below the schematic.

He glanced at the notification.

J: 💐🏵️🌼

David's hands began to tremble and he set them down on the schematics to steady them as the voice of his coworker seemed to fade into the distance.

The phone buzzed once more.

J: 🫠 😚 😴

"David…" the flustered young husband said, barely controlling the pitch in his voice. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, but I need to excuse myself to the restroom for a moment…"

* * *

"So do you get Friday off since you have overnight duty on Thursday?"

Megan's voice was hopeful, She dreaded every time it was Jared's turn for overnight guard duty. And now that he was an acting platoon sergeant, such duties were more common.

He shook his head. "Not this time. Gunny Davis has a stick up his ass. I might get a nap in the morning or something, but it looks like I'm working straight through."

The young couple had adjusted to a new routine getting ready for bed. They had had to adjust to their new roommate.

Before Mark had taken up an extended residence on the couch in the living room of their one bedroom apartment, they roamed the place freely in various states of undress.

Usually shortly after dinner, pajamas would go on, and Megan's bra invariably found its way into the hamper. This paved the way for casual groping for Jared, which he loved and mildly resented losing access to.

Now that Mark was always in the next room, they stayed dressed until bed for the most part, changing into bed clothes behind the closed door of their bedroom after they said goodnight to Mark.

It was just one of those unintentional constraints on the casual intimacy of a young couple that houseguests never intend, but always impose.

Megan sighed with a mix of relief and exasperation as she unhooked her bra, flinging it toward the hamper, but missing it by more than a foot.

"Nice…" Jared laughed, bending down to pick it up. Megan pulled a faded Pink Floyd T-shirt out of the dresser and pulled it on. As her head popped through the neck of the shirt, she saw Jared's eyes fixed on her, the languid gaze of the smitten man so familiar to bedtime for a couple in their twenties. She smiled at her husband and pulled her hair through with a wave of both hands until it tumbled down around her shoulders.

Jared had on pajama pants and a gray undershirt covering his lean, muscular frame. Gathering the remaining clothes to herd into the hamper, he reached for the light as Megan moved toward the bed.

"Can you keep it on for a sec, honey?" she requested.

"Okay…" he responded, unsure of the reason for the request.

She sat down on the bed and patted the space next to her.

"Come here for a minute."

Jared cocked his head for a moment, then moved to the bed and sat down. Megan's eyes stayed looking down toward the blankets, and the fingers closest to her husband's legs playfully began to spider walk delicately from his knee to his thigh and back.

"So…something happened earlier today."

Jared's eyes widened. "What?"

Megan wouldn't look up, but her eyes moved from the blanket in front of her to her husband's lower half, his legs stretched out on the bed in front of him.

"With Mark…we were, uh…watching some TV."

"Yeah?"

"It was a Star Trek episode, and you know he likes Sci Fi stuff. Nerdy stuff. And we were talking about some sci fi books and stuff…"

Her fingers began to walk closer to his crotch, but she didn't look up. A visible movement in the crotch of Jared's pants made her crack a small smile to herself.

"Okay?" he whispered.

"So we were on the couch, and basically I felt like I should…like…take care of him, you know? Like we talked about?"

"Uh huh…"

Jared's eyes widened. The tension was much more visible now, rising from his pants.

"Wow, honey," Megan joked. "I didn't know Star Trek got you going…"

Jared laughed nervously, with more breath than laughter as her hand slipped under his waistband.

"So do you want to know what happened on the show?"

Jared shook his head.

"You want to know what happened with Mark, then?"

Jared nodded.

"Okay. So I'm sitting there with Mark and I'm kind of just touching his arm and stuff, and then I just kind of give him a little kiss on the cheek, right?"

"Uh huh…" Jared was shocked at how quickly his excitement pushed him toward incoherence.

"So he kind of tries to stop me…" Megan continued, the flat of her hand exploring Jared's furry pubic bone, ebbing and probing toward, but not quite touching his penis.

"He kind of tries to stop me, and I have to tell him that you're cool with it, and we were fine after the last time we fucked. You remember, the last time Mark and I fucked, right honey? That night after Shoneys? Before you deployed?"

Jared's head trembled as he nodded. He remembered perfectly well, and she knew it. She was pushing his buttons, and he loved it.

"So I just kept touching him, kind of like a really light massage, and then I just…went for it, you know?"

Megan's hand slid down and her fingers wrapped around her husband's stiff cock.

"Like this…you know?"

"Uh huh…"

"So…are you mad at me?"

"Uh uh…"

"Okay."

Megan tucked the waistband of his pajama pants down, fully exposing him, and began stroking her husband. For the first time, she looked up into his eyes.

"Are you sure you're not mad?"

Jared shook his head, his eyelids drooping.

"Okay." Megan nodded, then began to stroke faster.

"Are you going to be mad after you finish…this?"

Jared shook his head silently.

"Okay."

Megan stroked him quietly for a moment, then added another thought.

"I took my top off for him, honey. He wanted to see my tits, so I showed him. You want me to take my top off for you too?"

Jared's eyes widened. Megan smiled, let go of him, and pulled her shirt off over her head–the shirt she had put on barely two minutes before. Her plump breasts fell out, followed by her dark hair cascading in jet-black drapery over her front, blanketing her chest. She pulled her hair behind her shoulders to fully expose herself, and looked at her husband again.

His eyes looked different. Excited, but with a sense of novelty. Almost like it was his first time seeing her naked.

She couldn't quite understand it, but his excitement was obvious, and so she allowed herself a little smile while she resumed stroking him.

Quietly, in the full light of their bedroom and over the covers of their shared bed, Megan continued to pleasure her stunned husband with her hand as he drank in the sight of her bare breasts. Amused by his fixation against the backdrop of hasty, gentle fapping sounds, she posed a simple question which was followed by a voluminous spurt.

"Mark touched them. Do you want to?"

* * *

The dildo named Ricardo laid languidly on the nightstand, unwashed and tilting awkwardly at around a 30 degree left roll of its axis.

Right where it had been sleepily flopped just a few hours ago.

Jordan, now awake in a panic, was racing about, having overslept her alarm with only thirty minutes to shower, dress, and run to her Friday morning class.

In the haste to pick out an outfit and dash into the shower, she could only note in passing the absence of the girl in the mirror, relegated in her haste to the back of her mind.

Usually the girl in the mirror would gently mock her for giving in to two non-consecutive rounds of furious masturbation in one night. But she seemed to be otherwise preoccupied by the haste to get ready.

That was the reason.

Probably.

She puffed through the door of her morning class only thirty seconds late, silently congratulating herself on the efficiency that got her in front of the class–almost exactly on time.

"Sorry! Sorry if you were all waiting…" she quickly set her satchel on the podium and hooked up her laptop to the display panel. While it booted up, she unboxed a stick of chalk and walked to the board and wrote BEWARE THE POWER OF THE DARK SIDE in all capital letters, hearing a mild but general chuckle from the class behind her. Noting that the projector was now on, she arranged a powerpoint presentation and opened the spiral notebook with her lecture notes.

"Okay, here we go. Over the last few weeks, we've been exploring the legacy of Freud, especially his contributions to our understanding of how we view or construct identity or personality. As you are no doubt sick of hearing by now, we have to keep in mind that Freud's notions about personality arise from a division of its components–or we might say a balance of power between three components, or we might even say three operations. Whatever they are, there are three of them: the id, or impulses, the ego, or the broad sense of self, and the superego, which we can call the moral identity. Today, we are going to talk a bit about another one of Freud's inheritors, Carl Jung."

Jordan looked up from the podium for the first time, noticing a new presence in the back row.

An older man, thin, with gray, messy hair and matching eyebrows.

Schenk.

He was leaning back in his desk with an open notebook in front of him, a half smile forming at being noticed by the teacher.

Jordan blinked in surprise, then realized that she was standing in a frozen posture. Unwilling to make a fool of herself, she continued speaking as if he weren't there, reverting to her routine of pacing back and forth in front of the class.

"Mr. Jung has since fallen out of favor, at least with practitioners. As has Freud. Such is the way of progress–big thinkers break theoretical barriers and give us interesting insights, then they fall out of favor. Although, if you look, you will still find orthodox Freudian and Jungian psychologists out there, practicing their methods in the old style. But for most of the world of professional psychology, they are certainly not the thought leaders they were for a time.

"Anyway, back to Jung. Jung took Freud's idea of the ego and its satellite functions and changed the tripartite division of id, ego, and superego into just two components of identity."

She turned toward the class, deliberately avoiding eye contact with the visitor in the back.

"On the one hand, we have the ego. It's a nice, familiar term, and its meaning is close enough to Freud's to port over to Jung for our purposes in this…introductory conversation. The ego is exactly what the latin word means. It's the 'I am.' It's the thing that you recognize as yourself. When you look in the mirror, there's you! As a result, it includes the things you see, feel, think, and consciously desire. For the most part, it sees itself as good, or at least trying to be good."

She approached the podium and stepped behind it, nervously looking out again.

Schenk had an eyebrow raised in anticipation.

Jordan found herself annoyed, and slipped in allowing a slight exasperated exhalation to come out before starting again, looking away from the opponent she challenged yesterday.

"The other part of the identity he refers to as the shadow,"

Jordan's eyes bulged dramatically and she wiggled her hands playfully to give a sense of mock mystique to the concept. The class was a mixture of slight smiles and polite laughs.

"The shadow, of course, is something akin to what I wrote on the board here. We might call it the dark side of the self. The deep impulses, the fears, the trauma, really any of the unresolved garbage of life experience that cannot be assimilated into the ego.

"So how do the ego and shadow relate? That's a pretty tricky question, and we could easily spend a whole semester on it. Since we can't do that, we'll have to rely on my interpretation of Jung, more than what he says himself…and since it's my class, we're going to go with it for now. So here's my read on Jung, simplified for a sophomore class: The ego does everything it can to subsume the shadow in a healthy way. You guys know what subsume means?"

A couple hands shot up. Jordan pointed to a young woman in the second row. "Regina. Subsume. Definition. Go."

"It means, like, to integrate, or include something from outside into the primary thing. Like a blob eating a smaller blob."

"Yes!" Jordan snapped her fingers approvingly. "Thank you, Regina. Like a big blob eating a smaller blob. And when that happens, the smaller blob doesn't really exist anymore, it doesn't have a separate existence or identity. So when something from the shadow is subsumed into the ego, it merges with the ego integrating as much as it can out of our life experience and internal desires. Whatever it can't subsume, stays in the shadow."

"So like a good and evil kind of thing?" asked a student with a backward baseball cap in the front row.

"Not so much good and evil, Todd, but you're running parallel to the idea here. What is contained in the shadow could be characterized by the ego in terms of evil. Or whatever way you classify anything that is morally unacceptable. But also whatever is so threatening or confusing that you just sort of reject it out of your personality. But evil is certainly part of it. Or what your ego decides is evil."

He looked confused.

"Let's try an example. Let's say, Todd, that on my way to class, you took my parking spot and made me late."

"Okay," he replied.

"Now, I walk in, late, knowing that your car was in my spot. I see you sitting here in the front row, happy as a clam with your hat on backwards. What do I do?"

"Maybe tell me not to park in your spot?"

"That's certainly what I hope I would do, Todd, or something similarly productive. But part of me, I have to admit, makes me want to pull your hat off and shove it down your throat."

The class laughed as Jordan smiled disarmingly.

"But you shouldn't do that, right? That would be wrong?" Todd observed as the laughter died down.

"Exactly, Todd. My ego wouldn't let me do that, even if my shadow wants to. The desire is there, but the ego refuses to assimilate it as morally acceptable. So it stays in the shadow. Where it belongs, quite frankly."

"And what if it doesn't?" A voice came from the back.

Schenk.

Jordan smiled, tight lipped.

"I'm sure you all noticed we have a guest here today. Class, this is Professor Thomas Schenk, visiting for a conference. And apparently brushing up on sophomore level Jung classes."

The class laughed again. He smiled warmly from his seat in the back.

"So?" he said again when the laughter died down.

"I'm unclear on your question, professor. What if what doesn't?"

"What if that desire doesn't belong in the shadow?"

Jordan's eyebrows raised, and she nodded thoughtfully as she strategized how to field the question.

"Well, I'll admit to putting my thumb on the scale a little there in saying that my impulse to feed Tom–sorry, Todd–his own hat belongs in the shadow. Jung's model doesn't go to great lengths saying what should and shouldn't be assimilated out of the shadow and into the ego. That's the work of moral philosophy, or religion, or survival instinct, or circumstance, or some combination of all of these things. And Jung is more interested in the "what" part of the question than the "should" part of the question.

"The fact of the matter is, there is no reason my ego can't assimilate the destructive, violent, selfish, or antisocial desires that live in my shadow. And people routinely do. To take a particularly egregious example, grandiose narcissistic psychopaths readily and without shame will just murder or otherwise destroy people who get in their way. This is clear evidence that the ego is capable of assimilating much of the worst impulses that live in the shadow."

So whether or not the ego should or should not assimilate this or that shadow impulse is a much more practical question, with a great deal of nuance for each of us. However, I would argue that indulging morally reckless and harmful desires is…untenable. Doing things that either you or your social community views as morally unacceptable simply because you want to do it may lead to an identity crisis–having the effect of pulling your ego in two directions. Maybe even splitting it, leading to what many might call a 'double life.'"

"If it's only in your head, what's the harm?" asked a young woman in the fourth row.

"Well, Tracy," Jordan replied, "the problem is, it so rarely is all in your head. Things we do affect other people. You might think an opioid habit only hurts you, but it doesn't. It has ripple effects that harms the people you love. You might think having sex with someone who isn't your partner doesn't cause physical harm to your partner, so what's the big deal?"

Tracy nodded, understanding and taking notes.

"And I'm not just talking about right and wrong. People who struggle with addiction, who give in too much to what we might identify as shadow desires, if we observe these people, we can actually see the opposite pulls on their sense of self. They have the expectations of their community, their family, their job, all of these on the one hand telling them to be this way and live that way, and on the other end they have the addiction: the things they're ashamed of wanting. If they indulge those desires, they end up having to live two lives–one of them shrouded in shame and secrecy, which is very unhealthy–and they essentially become two people."

She looked back to Schenk, who was smiling and nodding, also taking notes. She took a gamble.

"In some of my own recent work, I explored the problem of what we might call forced moral subsumption. Imagine if you did something that you wanted, but something you knew was wrong. You could never really admit–even to yourself–that you wanted this thing. Not just because it's embarrassing, but because it's just too deep in the shadow. Like actually shooting the neighbor's dog when it barks too much late at night. Sure, the dog is annoying. Sure you fantasize about someone shutting that annoying dog up once and for all.

"But then imagine actually doing it. You might convince yourself that you did something good, but deep down you know it's not good. You essentially force something that belongs in the shadow into the ego. This has the effect of a forced subsumption of a bad impulse that you justify to yourself as good while knowing that you're lying to yourself. That runs roughshod over your sense of moral goodness. No matter how you justify it, you're a dog killer. And if you spend all your time convincing yourself that it was okay, one of two things happens. Either you just become someone who kills dogs and doesn't feel bad, which is hopefully not something anyone wants to be, or you find some way to compartmentalize the thing you did and still call yourself a good person.

"We have a term for that second category of person. We call them hypocrites. Someone who does bad but insists–even truly believes–that they are good. And hypocrites are simply not mentally healthy. Living with cognitive dissonance–especially cognitive dissonance about who you really are as a person–inevitably catches up with you. One way or the other."

The class was silent, digesting her observation, when the voice popped up from the back of the room once again.

"Unless you repent…"

Jordan smirked back as more than half of the students turned to look back at Schenk.

"Well, maybe. Professor Schenk raises one of the functional responses to a moral identity crisis that has been used in various ways by humans throughout history. The religious impulse to confess, express contrition, perhaps work to effect reparation or reconciliation. It's one way to shove the bad thing out of the ego and back into the shadow. Or that's one way we could look at it. But Jung really doesn't use terms like that."

"Do you?"

Again, Schenk from the back of the room.

He was directly challenging her now.

In front of her students.

It was starting to get annoying.

Jordan set her jaw and pursed her lips for a moment. Looking up and away thoughtfully, she parsed the question. Finally, she looked back down at him.

"Yes. But not exclusively. And I'm not a Jungian, of course. We're simply operating hypothetically in the frame of identity he articulated for the purposes of today's class. And getting into my views would be a little far afield of where the course syllabus locates us today."

Schenk nodded amiably, writing more notes. "Fair enough. Thank you."

"Your welcome, Tom."

He smiled, still writing.

Jordan's voice shifted out of controversy mode and back into teaching mode. "Any other questions about ego and shadow?"

No one's hand went up.

"Great. So, moving on…

"Now, if you thought the shadow was a weird concept, we're about to get weirder and talk about the collective unconscious. I'd like to look at a passage on page 14 of your reading packet for today, so if everyone could grab that…"

* * *

"Are these your shoes?"

An anxious looking new marine looked up wide eyed at the tall, thin corporal in the guard belt walking toward his newly assigned barracks room.

"Yeah…I mean…yes corporal. Those are my shoes."

"What are they doing on the deck?" The corporal had weirdly intense eyes. Light blue, but intimidating. Like…icy.

"Dry…uh, drying out, corporal. I'm drying out my shoes. We ran in the swamps this morning, and…"

"I know where we ran, dumbass. I was leading the damn PT."

He picked up the shoes and slapped them into the befuddled hands of the new arrival. "Look. I know this is your first day in the fleet, but holy shit. The balls you gotta have to leave shit on the deck of my barracks building…this is not your mom's back porch. Move them out of sight before I jam them down your throat."

The new private gulped.

How did he not remember who was running at the front of the formation this morning?

This corporal seemed to be in charge, everyone was kind of quiet and nervous around him. But he didn't know who he was…he had met so many new people…

He glanced nervously at the name tape on the corporal's uniform.

Poisson.

Shit. He'd heard the name.

"Sorry, corporal…" he hastily gathered his sneakers and thrust them through the half-open barracks door.

"Don't do it again," he growled, stalking around the corner of the building.

The new private watched him go, then turned to his roommate.

"That's our platoon sergeant?"

"Yep."

"But he's not a sergeant…"

"No shit."

"How does that work?"

The roommate sighed. "He's a replacement. Our old platoon sergeant…he had a rough landing coming back from deployment. He's out of the corps now. Poison's a good dude though. Stay on his good side, he'll get your back. Just don't cross him. Never cross someone who's billeted above their rank like he is."

"His name's really Poison?"

"Nah, it's a French name, but nobody can pronounce it. Pretty much everyone calls him Poison."

"Kind of a hardass, isn't he?"

"Actually if you think that's being hard, just wait until someone really pisses him off. He can be a fucking savage. That right there? With the shoes? He was barely annoyed. You got off easy. Trust me. Never, ever fuck with that guy. He will eat your lunch."

"Okay, okay…"

One floor up, Corporal Jared Poisson inspected each barracks room, snapping out orders at marines who were pushing the limits of their liberty pass.

He met no resistance, and no attitude. His reputation from deployment was well known: His Bronze Star, Purple Heart, glowing commendations, and his selection for Presidential Guard was now known as well. After Sergeant Rein, he was the most respected marine in the company. And since Sergeant Rein had…well…

It was a good warning to everyone. About what a rough deployment can do to even the strongest man. While nobody talked about it, everyone had taken note.

Corporal Poisson made it to the duty room on the third floor, checked in with the guards, and sent them back out to their stations before sitting down at the desk.

Now for the mind-numbing reality of a 24 hour guard duty. Staring at the blank walls of a room while nothing happened. Stopping every hour to walk around the barracks and yell at people.

Jared leaned back in the chair and pulled out his phone.

Megan had texted.

M: You okay?

Jared's eyebrow cocked up.

J: Yeah, I'm good. Why?

M: Just checking in.

Jared smiled down at the phone.

He had married a woman who was intensely solicitous of his well being. And of the well being of everyone she loved. Family, friends, really anyone nearby. She had an outgoing personality that compulsively took care of people.

Unless, of course, you crossed her. Or crossed her people. Then she would rip your throat out with her teeth.

She had a natural inclination toward passion that swung in both directions. Just one of the joys–and terrors–of marrying a gorgeous, brilliant Latina.

The force of her personality was what drew Jared to her in the first place. She just had an intensity that she couldn't conceal, no matter what she was doing.

They met in college. Well, when she was in college. She had been attending the University of Vermont while he was bumming around Burlington, aimlessly working dead-end jobs after high school, hopelessly indulged by his upper-middle class, professional parents. The crunchy lifestyle surrounding the college was fertile ground for the young Jared to cruise for girls looking for a Vermont bad-boy.

A Vermont bad-boy. If such a thing existed, Jared was it. And he loved picking up girls, spending time with them, taking some of them to bed, then moving on.

Until Megan walked into the sandwich shop where he worked. There was a confidence about her–just how she carried herself. It was magnetic.

He took her order like he would any customer, but as she sat down at a small table by herself and opened a book, he found himself compulsively looking back over at her. Again and again.

She stood out in Vermont. Darker skin than the average rural New England girl to which he was accustomed. Dark hair. Deep brown eyes. She wore glasses that day–those black rimmed ones that hot girls wore for a while back in the mid 2000's.

She didn't look at him at all. Just ate her lunch, read her book, then headed for the door. when Jared caught her looking back at him.

It was only a fraction of a second. But he caught her sneaking a look out of the corner of her eye. Her deep brown eyes darted to the side, her head held forward, looking back at him.

Normally he played it cool.

But not this time.

He almost had to catch up with himself as he vaulted over the checkout counter, knocking the tip jar onto the floor. He hastily replaced it and bolted out the door to catch her before she crossed the street. Darting awkwardly to the corner where she stood, he stopped awkwardly next to her, then froze.

"Hey."

She had looked up at him, a look of amused curiosity on her face.

"Hi."

He had smiled like a jackass. She had smirked, and the crosswalk signal had turned.

As she stepped into the street, Jared had dithered like an even bigger jackass, until he swallowed his pride and shouted out after her.

"Are you coming back?"

She had looked over her shoulder briefly, then looked forward again, heading toward the opposite curb.

"Yep!"

It was high on the list of his top ten favorite memories.

Jared's phone buzzed again.

M: I got that shirt I talked about.

J: The Star Trek one?

M: Yeah. You think he'll like it?

J: Definitely. How's he doing tonight?

M: Cagey. Seems like he's scared of me now. You talked to him, right?

J: Yeah. He knows.

M: I don't know how I feel about this, J.

Jared leaned forward impatiently. He wasn't sure how to respond without being pushy. Thinking for another minute, he typed in a careful response:

J: What are you feeling about it?

M: I just don't know if I'm helping or hurting. I keep going back and forth.

J: What happened the other night? After the handjob?

M: I hate that word. Sounds like I need to file taxes after doing it or something.

J: Okay, sorry. But do you think that doing that hurt him?

M: I don't know. He seemed to like it, but then he's been weird.

J: Probably not sure where he stands. I did talk to him, but he's just kind of cagey lately. And not just about this. About everything.

M: I know. That's what makes me nervous.

Jared paused and leaned back in his chair again.

J: What about you?

M: What about me?

J: How are you feeling? Do you want to do this?

M: I mean…if it helps.

J: No, I mean you. He definitely doesn't want a pity fuck, I guarantee that. That will definitely backfire. If you're going to help him, you have to want it. Do you want it?

M: I want to help.

J: Really? That's all?

M: I mean, I think I'll like it too and everything. I liked it last time, anyway.
M: Are you sure you're okay with this?

J: Meg, no one is more freaked out than I am at the fact that I'm okay with this. But I am. I'm about to pop a seam in my pants.

M: Okay.

J: Okay what?

M: Okay…I…want this. I want to take Mark to bed.

Jared sucked in his breath, his eyes widening.

J: Okay, I'm gonna jizz my pants here, Meg. I love you. Oh my god, you have no idea.

M: He's still really nervous around me. I'm really scared I'm gonna mess this up.

J: Meg, listen to me. You are the hottest woman in the world. There is no man…well, no straight man…that would say no to you if he was sure you wanted to fuck him. None. You make it clear to Mark, and he will go for it.

M: Okay.

J: Okay?

M: Okay.

J: Are you doing this?

M: Yeah. I'm on my way home now. Mark should be home already. We'll have dinner and hang out and…I'll see what happens. Maybe I'll try on the new shirt for him, see what he thinks.

Jared's heart skipped a beat at the thought of his wife planning to dress in a way that would attract his best friend. He felt his jaw tighten and his breath catch as his free hand instinctively reached down to press against his rising cock.

J: Great idea, baby. I know you'll look great. Just…keep me in the loop? Like when you're about to get started or something? I want to know when it happens.

M: Okay, J. Are you sure you're okay with this?

J: More than okay. I'm so hard right now, Meg, it's almost criminal.

M: Okay. I'm in the car now, heading home.

J: I love you, Meg

M: I love you baby!

Jared scrolled up and down the text chain, savoring the words and digesting their meaning.

He suddenly began to look forward to staying up all night.

Shifting his erection to the side to be less noticeable, Jared stood up for his next hourly patrol, efficiently touring each barracks building, checking each guard post, and returning for his next patrol.

Then, an hour later, his next.

Then, an hour after that, his next.

Then, shortly after returning, his heart began to pound as he felt the phone buzz in his pocket.

His hands shook as he opened the phone to read the message.

M: Just tried on the shirt. Fits pretty well with no bra. It's cute. Gonna go show Mark and then fuck him.

* * *

"Ms. Simms!"

Jordan sighed and turned around in the crowded hall, seeing Professor Schenk walking hastily up to catch her.

"What can I do for you, Tom?"

He smiled broadly. "Thanks for letting me sit in today. You did great in there. Again."

She rolled her eyes. "Thanks, I guess. Do you randomly show up in sophomore classes after a pre-dissertation Ph.D student slaps you around on stage?"

"No, not really. I don't know, actually, it's never happened before. And I remember the exchange differently."

"You would." Jordan smiled and began walking away. He hastened and walked next to her.

"Jordan, I know this is a little strange, but you are rapidly moving out of the student bracket and into the potential colleague bracket. Try to remember that."

Jordan nodded, a little chastened. "Fair enough, Tom. But to that end, I'd like a little notice if a colleague is going to show up in my class."

"Understood," he replied. "Apologies. But now that I've seen your research and the level of debate and presentation skills you have, I wanted to see how you teach before I recommend to every hiring committee that I talk with that they hire you."

Jordan stopped walking, a little taken aback. "You don't have to do that, Tom."

The swirl of students moved past them in both directions as they stood in the middle of the busy hall between classes.

"I know I don't," he half grinned. "You're one of Lukacz' mentees. You can get a tenure track position or a post doctoral position pretty much anywhere. And he's nuts about your work, that much is obvious. Yale, UCLA, hell, even a lectureship at Cambridge if you want. You don't need me."

"No, I don't…I mean, I guess..thank you for thinking of me." Jordan's eyes were genuinely grateful, happy to hear that she'd impressed a senior colleague.

"Well, I'm happy to see what you can do. You're brilliant, you're fearless, and I just found out you know how to teach sophomores."

Jordan laughed shyly.

Dammit. He was charming.

"Well, listen," he said, shifting tone. "I had thought we might chat about career prospects over lunch or something, but I've been asked by Dr. Wu to guest teach his graduate seminar today. So I have to run along."

"Of course. And again, thanks." Jordan shifted the weight of her shoulderbag as they turned to walk away from each other.

Then she thought of one more thing.

"Tom?" She turned around.

"Yeah?"

"This is weird…but I asked you at dinner about a dress code? For the Saturday night thing?"

"Right."

"Well, everyone just kind of laughed it off. But I genuinely don't know what's expected."

"Nothing's expected," he answered easily. "You can come dressed as you are now. People know I'll be there, and I've informed the organizers that I'm bringing a colleague. Nobody will expect you to do anything but observe, and you can dress in whatever way makes you comfortable."

"I won't…ruin the vibe or anything if I just show up in regular clothes?"

"No, the vibe has less to do with clothes than…expectations…and nobody has any expectations for you. You can just observe, talk to whoever you want. Ironically, informed consent is taken care of pretty thoroughly at these events. Any above-board BDSM soiree makes triple sure that all participants are fully informed, fully consenting, and have ample and easy opportunity to opt out at any time with their safe words. So they're ready and easy research subjects if you know how to navigate that world. Just arrive when you want, I'll meet you there, and do whatever questioning or observation you want. We can compare notes after we leave, of course."

Jordan snickered, trying to stifle a laugh.

Schenk cocked his head slightly, curious as to her reaction. "Something funny?"

She shook her head, a little embarrassed.

"No, I'm just chewing on the phrase 'above board BDSM soiree.' It's a funny combination of words. I'm sorry. This is new to me. It's…just a lot to take in."

"Just a lot to take in…You might hear that phrase again on Saturday. In a very different context, of course. Fair warning."

Jordan guffawed and shook her head, smiling. "Okay, Tom. Send me the details, and I'll see you Saturday."

* * *

Mark sat on the couch with a blank stare, another episode of Family Guy running on the TV but barely registering in the background of his mind. The basic cartoon colors, the shape of the characters, they all made it past his eyes but not all the way into his conscious mind.

He was tired.

Physically tired, of course. That was a big part of it, anyway. While the new job was occupying his time and helping him relieve some pent-up frustration through brute force labor. And while he actually did enjoy helping to create structures and walkways out of cut stone, it was quite taxing physically. More so, in some ways, than the rigorous training schedule of the marine corps. Although less rigorous in others, of course.

But there was another fatigue that dulled his senses and held him down. He couldn't quite identify it, and wasn't quite sure how to address it. It was just a sense of…unease. A kind of edginess that was only relieved when he was closed in the four walls of his best friend's apartment.

Being out and about, dealing with coworkers and strangers on the street…It was harder than he remembered it being. He found himself starting each day reasonably pleasant, but struggled to maintain a pleasant or chipper attitude as the day went on. And by the end of each day, he didn't want to talk to anyone.

He would occasionally be invited to get a drink with a coworker, or even invited out for a night on the town at the end of the week. And while he had never been an overly extroverted person, preferring the company of close friends and his reading habit, he would usually go along and have a good time with people.

But now he was just…tired all the time.

The routine was becoming stable, although he knew that was changing soon. He would wake up, Jared having already left for early morning physical training with the platoon he now had full charge of. Megan would get up around the time Mark did, and they often enjoyed a friendly breakfast together. Usually talking through her upcoming day or comparing notes on whatever book they were reading together. Then he would finish breakfast and leave for work with a smile.

Then work all day, finally coming home dusty and tired. Jared would often be there when he returned, and they would chat and hang out, sometimes watching something on TV together. On weekends, the three of them might go out to dinner, rapping along with Beastie Boys on the car stereo as they drove through the military town on the way to a restaurant. Or they would watch movies, or play board or card games. Mark usually drank, and occasionally Megan and Jared would join him, getting obnoxiously drunk and giggling before they tumbled off to bed and left Mark alone on the couch.

Mark's earlier routine–well established by now–of drunkenly looking through the boudoir photos of Molly on his laptop and rubbing one out…that was still a regular way to end his day.

It usually tied up the evening with a nice, comfortable bow. Of sorts. A little period to end the sentence of the day before he went to sleep.

There was always a moment, somewhere during the perusal of images depicting Molly's naked body, that he would be tempted to reach out to her. To answer her texts.

Thankfully, he was never drunk enough to go through with it. He wanted to talk to her. But it was a bad idea. She had dumped him. For perfectly good reasons. He even agreed with her reasoning and her decision. At least in most of his more sober moments.

Still, it cut deep. And the wound ached. And it wasn't the only wound aching.

And then was the baffling development of Megan's sudden handjob on the couch. Sometime last week (Mark had trouble differentiating the days, as a bottle of Jack Daniels each day made the complex recollection of time difficult) Megan had sat down to watch an episode of Star Trek with him and just…pulled his dick out.

Obviously it was awesome. She took her top off, he fondled her, and just…took care of him.

He skipped the Molly-grief jackoff session that night. He'd even fallen asleep smiling.

But he woke up more confused than ever. Megan didn't even mention it during breakfast, and when Jared came home, he'd awkwardly confessed the whole thing to his best friend.

Jared's eyes had gotten wide, but he'd tried to play it cool.

Mark had seen eyes like that before–on Chris Cohen when he was fingering Molly on the picnic table.

Cuck eyes.

Mark couldn't imagine Jared having any single character trait in common with Chris. And Jared hadn't come out and confessed any such leaning. On the contrary, he had attempted an easy sounding explanation that he and Megan had a kind of fluid or physically open relationship, that as long as they told each other stuff, they were cool getting physical with other people…

Mark had been wary, but accepted the explanation at face value. After all, he had fucked Megan that one time. And Jared definitely was into showing her off, he knew that…

And then Jared had quickly disappeared into his bedroom to change before Megan got home. Which was a little unusual. Probably jacking off in there or something, Mark speculated.

Whatever.

Nevertheless, Mark was acutely aware that this little apartment was the last small island of people he could trust, and Jared and Megan were the only two people left in the world who he felt genuinely comfortable–safe, even–interacting with. He didn't want to fuck that up. He couldn't. Molly had left him, the marines had rejected him…

These were the only people left. And shit could go sideways unexpectedly, and fast, as he had learned in Afghanistan.

He was terrified that he'd overstep, that he'd go too far with Meg, and then they'd hate him too. They'd throw him out onto the street, just like his landlord did when his mom died. Just like the marines did when he came back from Afghanistan. Just like everyone in the world did when you stopped being useful…

So he politely made sure that a little physical distance was between him and Megan when they were together. And he made sure to sit on the opposite side of Jared on the couch just to make sure there would be no misunderstandings.

Tonight, however, he had been a little worried. Jared was going to be gone overnight–he was sergeant of the guard again and couldn't leave the base for 24 hours. When Megan had come home after Mark's shower (this time he made sure to get fully dressed again), they had eaten some dinner–Mark cooked this time–and then watched the second half of some artsy movie that Meg liked.

Mark made sure to sit on the opposite end of the couch. Megan seemed to understand, and didn't make a move. Clearly she was picking up on his hesitation, and played it cool, keeping the conversation firmly in the friend zone. After the movie, they chatted about the nerdier aspects of the film with some ice cream (Megan was always delighted by how sensitive Mark could be when they watched art flicks together, given his love of literature). Then she stood up, stretched, washed the bowls and bid him good night, closing her bedroom door behind her.

Mark couldn't help but admire her body when she was stretching. Just a little. Her arms high over her head, her black hair falling down behind her back, the slight exposure of her midriff as the hem of her shirt lifted.

She was hot. No question about it. Curves in all the right places.

Normally, he preferred a slender body type like Molly's, and Megan was ever so slightly thicker than Molly, but she was…incredibly attractive. Not chubby. Curvy, in a strong way. An obvious athlete from her competitive days on the women's soccer team in college.

And she had noticed him noticing her as her body relaxed from the full body stretch, and had briefly smiled, which made him nervous. But then she gathered the bowls and headed straight for the kitchen, continuing their conversation without missing a beat. As the conversation reached a natural pause, she ended it and left.

Which is where we found Mark earlier, and where he found himself, staring emptily at an episode of Family Guy he had already watched, waiting to get tired enough to go to sleep. He hadn't started drinking yet, as the lively conversation with Megan had distracted him from starting that routine early.

But he knew what came next. First the empty stare at the TV, the Jack Daniels dulling his senses steadily. Then something would make its way into his mind. The court martial, or Molly, or Jett, or one of the ambushes, or sometimes even his mom…

Then it was time to really lean in and drink.

He laid down on the couch and sighed.

Then he heard a click behind him and half sat up to look over the back of the couch.

Megan stood timidly in the doorway of her bedroom. Mark could only see her face, as he was only just looking over the back of the couch.

"Um…Mark?"

"Yeah? What's up, Meg?"

"I…got a new shirt. Thought you'd like it."

Mark chuckled. "Yeah?"

"Yeah…" Megan walked toward the couch, and he saw a two tone gray and black T-shirt that fit tightly around her body. The design was a silhouette of Captain Jean-Luc Picard with a stern expression on his face, hovering above the words "MAKE IT SO."

Mark laughed. "That's awesome, Meg…I love it. Where'd you get it?"

She smiled widely. "Off the internet. It came yesterday, and I forgot about it until just now."

Mark's smile lingered as he looked at it. "Well, it's pretty rad. Maybe I should get one."

"Yeah, that'd be cool."

Mark noticed that she had clearly removed her bra before changing into the shirt, as the dim outline of her nipples was apparent on either side of the face of the intrepid captain of the USS Enterprise-D.

"What are you watching?" Megan rested her hands on the back of the couch, leaning forward slightly.

"Oh, just a Family Guy rerun. No big deal. I wasn't even really watching…"

Mark's eyes caught the bottom hem of the shirt and realized there was nothing underneath. Not just the shirt–as he had already established, but looking down he saw her soft copper skin exposed…all the way down.

Reality struck when he noted the thin vertical strip of pubic hair, centered in the slightly paler brown V-shaped tan line where her panties usually were, extending upward from the top of her soft cleft. The remainder of her pubic hair was neatly shaved off, making the line clean and stark.

Catching himself, Mark looked back up to Megan's face, which was now smiling down at him.

"Still scared of me?"

Mark laughed nervously. "Not scared…just, you know, respectful. Of Jared."

Megan nodded, her smile fading. "I appreciate that. I know he appreciates that too. But I'm guessing you'd appreciate a good night's sleep off the couch. Any thoughts on that?"

Mark coughed. "I mean…I really appreciate…"

Megan laughed, rolling her eyes. "For Christ's sake, Mark, come to bed. I don't have a husband tonight, and I want you to take me to bed. Do you want a written invitation or something? I think I've got stationery around here somewhere…"

Mark laughed nervously again. "You…you're sure Jared's okay…"

Before he finished the sentence, Megan held up her phone to an open chain of text messages. Mark read them quickly.

M: Just tried on the shirt. Fits pretty well with no bra. It's cute. Gonna go show Mark and then fuck him.

J: Really? Like, for real?

M: For real. Speak now if you don't want this to happen.

J: I ain't sayin' shit. Go get it, girl. God, Meg…you're so hot…I love you so much…

M: Love you too, JJ. Gotta go, gotta fuck Mark. TTYL.

J: Kisses! Tell me when you're done!

Mark gulped.

"So I'll ask again. Still scared of me?" Megan's eyes were smiling, but her face still showed genuine, indulgent concern for Mark's emotional state.

Mark shook his head. Megan's features softened more, and she extended her hand over the couch.

"Good. Come to bed."

Mark took her hand wordlessly, looking down at her bare, plump buttocks as she led him into his best friend's bedroom.

* * *

Jordan's phone buzzed again, rumbling against the wood of her nightstand as she rummaged in her closet.

It was definitely David. Her heart skipped a beat, unsure of how to talk to him.

The buzzing stopped, followed by a short pause, then one more buzz.

He left a voicemail.

Jordan lifted a dark blue floral print dress in front of her, leaning back slightly in the mirror.

Who was she kidding? A church dress?

She sighed in exasperation, throwing the hook over the dowel in her closet again.

Grimacing, she looked back and forth in her closet as her phone began to buzz again.

She held her eyes closed, grimacing, then walked to the nightstand and picked up the phone.

"Hi baby."

"Hey Jo! Everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. Sorry I missed your call earlier."

She walked back to the closet, the light metallic screech of hangers sliding over the dowel could be heard through the phone as she shifted clothes back and forth.

"What's up, honey? Doing laundry or something?" David asked, curious.

Jordan stopped shuffling in the closet, closing her eyes again.

"Jo? You there?"

"Yeah, I'm here…" she pinched her nose. "I'm trying to get ready for something, but I'm kind of scared to tell you about it."

"Scared…why? What's the matter?"

"I'm trying to figure out what to wear for a thing I said I'd go to tonight."

"Okay…" David's voice seemed to be bracing for the worst. "What's the thing…you're going to?"

Jordan's cheeks puffed out as she exhaled nervously.

"A bondage sex party."

Jordan's eyes scrunched shut.

The line went silent.

"But don't worry baby, it's just for work," she burst out.

The line stayed silent.

"A bondage sex party…for work?" David's voice was flat. Just seeking clarification.

"Yeah. I mean, kinda. But yeah."

The line was silent again.

Jordan's eyes scrunched shut again. "Okay, I know how that sounds, so let me explain…"

The line stayed silent. David said nothing.

"Just let me explain, honey…" she insisted.

"I'm listening, Jo…"

"Okay…so you know I had to give that rebuttal to Schenk, and then I did the dinner thingy afterwards with the faculty and visitors…"

"Yeah, I remember."

"Okay…so we kind of continued the conversation at the dinner, and we were going back and forth, and he asked me about my research methods."

"Okay."

"So I told him that I read his stuff, and then some other researchers in the field, and some stuff online, and then some interviews online."

"Interviews?"

"Yeah, you know what I mean. The videos where they interview the girl, and then she does the…because we…well, you know how I…kind of like them…"

David's voice got husky. "Yeah…"

"So he was like…'hey, porn isn't research'…and I was like 'it's not really porn the way other stuff is porn,' and he was like 'you should talk to real people who do this stuff,' and I was like, 'I don't really know where to find people who do that, and this isn't really my field, so that's not actually an option for me' and he was like, 'hey, I do observations at BDSM sex parties when I travel for academic conferences, cause that's not, like, weird at all,' and I was like, 'okay, good for you Professor Perv,' and he was like, 'well, if you want to talk to real people who are into this stuff you should come to a BDSM sex party with me and observe and interview real people,' and I was like…I mean…I couldn't back down, right? I had just done all this stuff to take down his conclusions, and all the senior faculty and other people from other universities were there. And so I was like, 'okay, fine, I'll go to your stupid weird sex dungeon or whatever and talk to people,' and then he was like, 'cool, I'll see you there,' and I was like, 'only in an academic capacity, obviously, just to observe and talk to people,' and he was like, 'obviously that's fine,' and so now I'm going and I don't know what to wear to bondage sex parties when you're not going to do bondage sex and I should have told you earlier but I was all excited from having a really good day and you were working and didn't answer the phone and so I played with Ricardo and went to sleep and then I played with Ricardo again and you were like…super into it and so I didn't bring it up, and oh my gosh do you hate me right now?"

Jordan's now trembling voice finally ended her run-on sentence. Wiping her eyes, she waited desperately for her husband to respond.

The line stayed silent for more than ten agonizing seconds.

"David?" Jordan's voice trembled.

"Huh. Okay. Well, my day was good. Busy at the dock. We looked at electrical grids and I tried something called Egusi soup. It was…pretty good."

Jordan laugh-sobbed at his deft sidestep. A trademark David Stark way of calming her down. Shift the conversation.

"Okay…" she wiped her eyes and sniffled. "What does eggy soup taste like?"

"Egusi," David said with mock gravity, like a teacher correcting a student. "It's a little creamy, a little kick of spice. You'd probably like it."

"Probably…" Jordan wiped her eyes again.

David paused for another moment, then took a deep breath.

"Just one question, Jo, before I weigh in on this?"

Jordan sniffed again, her shoulders tensing. "Okay…"

"Is that exactly how the conversation went at that dinner? Or are you paraphrasing? In particular the 'whatever, Professor Perv,' part. I…just need to know if academics talk to each other like fourteen year old girls when they interact socially."

Jordan laughed out loud, pushing past her nervous crying.

It felt good, like breaking a deep emotional tension that had been building up in her…

She felt a sudden flood of love for her husband. David was good at this stuff. Really good.

"No…" Jordan answered between giggles. "No, we used bigger words. Although wine was involved."

"I see." David's tone was mock serious. "Well, thank you for clearing that up."

"Of course, Mr. Stark. Anything to help." She sniffled again, still clearing the tension.

"Well…" David pivoted, "that's an interesting development for sure. But I'm not sure what you want me to say. What is it you're worried about?"

Jordan was taken aback at his casual tone. "Worried about? It's a bondage sex party, David!"

"Well, there's that…" David chuckled. "But you're just there to observe, right?"

"Yeah…but I'm observing strangers having weird choke sex and stuff. Probably paddle beatings. Maybe nipple clamps or something."

"That's true. And I'll cop to it, I wasn't expecting this. But it actually sounds above board, even if it's a little weird on its face. I'll ask this, though: Would you feel this way observing other out-of-mainstream behavior and interviewing the people who participate in it?"

Jordan thought for a moment. "Like what?"

"I don't know…what about those people who have strange addictions? Remember that reality show that was on a while back? People who were addicted to coffee enemas, or who are obsessed with cleaning all day, or who have a rock collection they talk to and have tea parties with or something?"

"No…" Jordan replied honestly.

"Well…how is this different?"

"I guess…" Jordan thought for a moment. "I guess it's because I spent the last few days publicly attacking the immorality of BDSM practice, and now I'm going to a sex party. I…I feel like a hypocrite."

"Oh, okay. I see."

David paused again.

"Is that the only reason you feel like a hypocrite?"

"Okay, now you're playing therapist…" Jordan laughed.

"Isn't that what you pay me for?" David laughed back.

"I mean…" Jordan's voice pitched down and quieted awkwardly. "I mean…you know I kind of…like watching that stuff. It's exciting. Sometimes. So I feel bad coming out against it, you know?"

"Yeah, I see that." Now David's voice pitched upward slightly.

Jordan continued quietly. "So it's different this time."

"Yeah, I guess it is. But again, you just accepted the invitation to observe. In like, a professional capacity. Right?"

"Yeah."

"So, don't sweat it. Observe, take notes, revisit your positions, keep the conversation going. That's the job, right?"

"I guess."

The line went silent again, as David waited for Jordan to speak again. Finally, she did.

"What if I like it?"

David cleared his throat.

"Okay, I'm getting my dick out now."

Jordan laughed again. "I knew it!"

"Yeah," he admitted sheepishly. "Let's get that out in the open now, I'm biased. The thought of you at a sex party, even as an observer–I'm…I'm into it. I'm gonna have a pretty intense night."

"Yeah…" Jordan smiled into the phone.

"But if you like it, you like it. Don't worry about it. We can keep it between us, you come home, tell me about it, and we'll have fun with it. Together. No judgments. You indulge my weird fantasies, I can support yours. Think of it like leveling the playing field."

Jordan squinted, sitting with the idea. "Okay…"

"Not that it was an uneven playing field or whatever…just that we both have…unconventional things that we like, and that we love each other enough to be happy supporting each other's desires. Whatever they are. I like that about us, you know?"

Jordan liked that idea better. "Okay…I'm still nervous, baby. And I don't know what to wear."

David cleared his throat. "Ah, a practical question. I'm better at those. What did Schenk tell you?"

"He said wear whatever, since I'm only observing. Which really isn't helpful."

"Okay…how do you want to be seen?"

Jordan squinted. "I guess…professional but not like…a buzzkill."

"Okay…" David paused. "I'm going to say…your tan slacks and either your navy blue or mist gray blouse. Both are straight cut and button up. They're cute, but professional. Disarming but still pretty serious. And…I'm gonna say no ball gags."

Jordan laughed again, reaching for the two blouses in her closet. "Okay, that's helpful. Hair up or down?"

"Down. Don't want to come off as too playful."

"Right. Makeup?"

"Whatever you wore to dinner."

"Okay…"

The line went silent again. Then David:

"You feeling a little better?"

Jordan sighed deeply. "Yeah, I am actually. I'm still nervous, but I'm glad we talked."

"You gonna tell me all about it? Like, when it's done?"

"Of course. You're my husband."

David's voice became husky. "Awesome."

Jordan blushed into the phone. "Okay. I have to get ready. Try not to pull your weiner off thinking about my night."

"No promises."

She giggled again. "Okay, baby. Get some sleep. I love you."

"I love you, Jo. And relax, this will be fine. We'll laugh about it after."

"Okay, baby. Good night."

"Good night."

Jordan ended the call and tossed her phone gently onto her nightstand. She looked down at the clothes she had pulled off their hangers at David's direction.

He was right. They would definitely work. He had a real fashion sense. Somehow. Something about his predilection for how things fit and work together.

She gathered the clothes in her arms and crossed the room to her dresser, opening her underwear drawer to extract a clean bra and a new pair of panties.

She only had one pair left. Usually Saturday was laundry day, but the anxiety of the evening's events had thrown off her routine. She could catch up on laundry tomorrow, she thought as she lifted the last clean pair up to see a tangled mass of black and blue lace nestled under it.

Jordan paused, and reached back into the drawer to pull out the forgotten underthings.

Lacy lingerie. See through patterns with arabesque straps and floral prints.

One black, one navy blue.

They had been bought for Mark.

Well, for her, but to wear for Mark.

It had never happened. She'd never really worn them since that weird and somehow distant experience had ended rather abruptly.

Out of pure curiosity, she untangled the black from the blue and let the black lingerie unfold.

A see-through bra, with arabesques of lace and delicate mesh descending below the cups, a skin tight fit, attached by thin straps to matching see-through panties.

Ridiculous. And impractical.

Still, she lifted the garment in front of her, looking in the full-length mirror out of curiosity.

No words came. But the girl in the mirror narrowed her eyes into a tight smile.

* * *

While she couldn't remember the specific moment, she did remember what spurred her first feelings for him. It had been something about his eyes.

Her time in Vermont had made Megan Rodriguez feel like a fish out of water. Surrounded mostly by the children of crunchy and/or wealthy white New Englanders, she hadn't made a ton of friends outside the soccer team where she played as a starting defender. Especially since all her roommates were also teammates.

And the gangly townie at the sandwich shop was just like everyone else in Burlington. And make no mistake–she had been acutely aware that he was looking at her while she was eating. He was greasy haired, maybe six feet tall, thin set face and a three-day shave. And he looked at her funny while she ordered, which she didn't like. But that was the first time she noticed his eyes.

His creepy stare threatened to ruin her weekly trip to the sandwich shop. It was her once-a-week splurge away from the university meal plan. Her favorite aunt and uncle had given her a hundred dollar bill each semester when she left home to go back to school so she could treat herself once in a while at college. She spread that hundred dollars out over ten sandwiches in ten weeks, which almost amounted to the whole semester if you factored in the time away from Burlington for road games.

So she usually didn't like to be bothered when she got her sandwich. It was Megan time. Special time. And frankly, this skinny white guy looked like every other Phish-following burnout that worked in a Burlington cafe washing dishes or cutting deli meats. He probably just wanted a taste of latina spice, she had thought to herself. Something different than he was used to.

But there was something about his eyes. Bright blue eyes. Icy, even. And just something about the way he looked at things. A casual intensity. And it didn't seem to quite matter what it was he was looking at. Could be the cash register. The sandwich he was making. The door as it opened.

And of course, the way he looked at her. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. What was it?

Maybe he was anxious?

No… that wasn't it. More like…restless.

An intense restlessness.

Like there was a ball of energy inside him that couldn't stop moving–couldn't stop driving forward.

But to what end? What destination? He seemed like a near-perpetual motion machine stuck in a town a thousand miles from anywhere or anything that could match its energy.

Hence the restlessness, she had speculated from her relative position of safety at the table near the window.

So she had been intrigued, but only momentarily. And she had left the sandwich shop on her way back to the library without talking to him.

But then she had felt genuinely scared when he vaulted over the counter and kicked the tip jar onto the floor as he moved toward her. She had hastened out the door and hit the walk signal, trying to avoid eye contact as the signal clicked and buzzed, not yet changing so she could cross the busy street.

When he entered her field of vision–still with his work apron on–she had expected…

Well, she had expected more than just the word, "Hey."

But at least he didn't attack her.

No, he wasn't dangerous, she decided. Just…intense. And now she got a good look at his icy blue eyes. They had jerked up and down her body.

Not lecherously, just curiously. Like he wanted to really figure her out.

He was turning the burning, icy intensity of his eyes toward her. To take her in.

She was surprised at how that made her feel. She liked it.

But the crosswalk signal had turned, and she had felt obliged to walk away, still unsure of what all this meant. Then, halfway across the street, he had called out after her, asking if she would come back to the sandwich shop.

Back in her dorm room, the next crisp ten dollar bill was tucked in her political science textbook.

Her next ticket to meeting him. Maybe learning his name this time.

That next ten dollar bill was earmarked for next week.

It lasted two days. And his eyes lit up when she walked in. And then she talked to him.

His name was Poisson.

A French name. It just meant "fish," he had said, laughing. She learned that many of the old New England families were of French origin, and his family still used the original pronunciation.

Jared was his first name. He was a year older than her, and didn't go to college. His high school grades weren't great. And he didn't really like school.

But he wasn't dumb. He was intensely curious, and the first night they went out, she absolutely drank in the fixed attention of his icy blue eyes as he asked her everything. Absolutely everything he could think of. About soccer, how she got good at it, about her studies, about what hairstyles she liked, about her favorite cartoons as a child…

And he was sweet. And generous. And even funny sometimes.

The date had ended with butterflies as he walked her to her dorm room.

And the next date had ended with passion as the restless intensity poorly concealed by Jared's icy blue eyes continued to find its object in her body.

She had been genuinely shocked at the intensity of their first physical intimacy. He was ravenous. Slam-her-against-the-wall-and-devour-her ravenous. She was so surprised that she felt stupid at her reactions, with flashes of self-consciousness as she showed involuntary facial expressions. Mainly a locked, gape-jaw look she kept defaulting to as Jared made furious, passionate love to her.

Stuck in the shock of unprecedented passion for her body, she had fixed on his icy eyes when they looked down at her, her mouth hanging open awkwardly everytime she forgot to close it.

And then the butterflies in her stomach had met the heat between her legs.

She came with intensity. An Intensity that naturally resonated with her new lover's own natural restlessness.

And it wasn't just the intensity of a first time. She had had a few of those, and new the difference. She wasn't terribly experienced as an admittedly bookish sophomore at the liberal arts school. She had gone on dates, some had ended with sex.

Nothing like this. Nothing close to this. Jared Poisson was a machine. His erection, tightly wrapped in an unremarkable drug store condom, was so hard for her…

It was incredibly exciting. And while the pace was fast, the duration was not brief. He continued without slowing after her first orgasm–her first ever while being penetrated–and brought her, sputtering, to a second just before he grunted and released his own into the condom.

He had then pulled her into a tight embrace, her own arms instinctively closing tightly around his neck in response.

They had a few more dates, but it wasn't much longer after that that she had admitted it to herself.

She was in love with a townie named Jared Poisson. She made him cut his hair though.

It was a sweet memory. It was, however, a strange memory to have as she locked intimate eyes with another man.

Not icy blue eyes of restless intensity. Deep, brown, sad eyes.

Laying on her back wearing a Star Trek T-shirt and no pants or panties, she had played with Mark's scruffy, unkempt hair as he feasted between her legs. Now, with his larger body kneeling between her open legs, with his larger cock filling a larger condom, her husband's best friend prepared to enter her.

Megan, still in a haze, was shocked to find that love and memories of her husband filled her mind at this moment.

There was no accounting for it.

But that coherent train of thought faded in a haze as Mark began to enter her.

Mark stopped as she suddenly squeaked in either pain or protest, putting a hasty hand against his shoulder.

"Everything okay, Meg? You want me to stop?"

She shook her head. "No…just…slow. I forgot what a big boy you were."

"You sure this is okay?"

She could hear a nervous edge in his voice. He wasn't leaning forward anymore, and the pressure of his penetration subsided.

Her grimace turned to an uncertain smile as she looked up at him, unsure of how to respond. Then, remembering her conversation with Jared earlier, she sat up slightly, the tip of Mark's cock slipping out of her.

Mark looked awkwardly down at the silly Star Trek shirt she bought–and wore–for him, and then he felt her soft kisses sensually dotting his cheek. Her fingertips closed around his chin, pulling his face and eyes into alignment with hers. She looked into his eyes and leaned up to kiss his lips slowly and gently.

"Mark…please? I want you. For real. Okay?"

Clearly encouraged, he nodded, reaching with one hand behind her shoulder blades and letting her down onto her back gently. Her legs fell open again, and he set his thick cock to meet her welcome, finding its way bit by bit into her body until…

"Oh…god. Hhhhhyes…" Megan whispered.

Mark looked down at his best friend's wife, her eyes closed and her chin tilting up in the tension of pleasure.

Slowly, he withdrew halfway, then back in, noting that her second sigh matched the traction of his gentle thrust.

"Okay, Meg…you want more?"

She nodded urgently, her eyes still closed.

"Yes…please…"

* * *

The GPS screen in Jordan's still-shiny new Rav-4 indicated that she had arrived at her destination. A nice house with a long driveway about 15 miles from the nearest town. Other than the stack of cars lining the long driveway–more than a dozen from the look of it–there was nothing particularly remarkable about it.

It wasn't a gothic mansion with towers, or a fancy chalet with multiple outbuildings. It was nice, it had an attractive facade and a well landscaped yard–more than a hundred yards back from the road. A light blue exterior with new-ish square windows and what appeared to be a solid oak door behind a full glass storm door.

Not the property of a baron or duke, befitting the mystique of a sex dungeon. Probably the regular home of an upper-middle class local. Maybe a doctor, or a successful businessman.

Jordan took a deep breath and let it out slowly after she turned her car off. Adjusting the mirror to check her makeup, she took off her glasses, made some quick adjustments, replaced her glasses and then unbuckled her seatbelt and exited the car with a spiral notebook and pen in hand.

The night air was cool, but not cold. Pleasant, even.

Walking toward the front door, she became suddenly aware of the clothes nearest her skin.

She had expected the lingerie ensemble to feel scratchy and unpleasant with regular clothes over it. She had regretted the uncanny sensation of wearing lingerie under normal clothes as soon as she walked out her apartment door, having used the undergarment to make a bargain with the girl in the mirror to stay out of her way for the evening.

The deal between them was simple. The real Jordan would conceal a saucy secret throughout the evening, one that only the two of them knew about. Nobody at the party, not Dr. Schenk, not even David would know. Just Jordan and the girl in the mirror. That seemed to satisfy the girl in the mirror enough to extract the promise that she would stay out of the way tonight.

But the garment was surprisingly comfortable. Which was a pleasant surprise. The lace and mesh were soft, delicately manufactured despite looking–otherwise. She made a mental note that David would probably like it if she came to bed wearing this. Maybe keep it on overnight now and then. She could fall asleep in this. And her husband would love it.

Her distracted reverie found her prematurely at the storm door. Noting the camera above the doorbell, she briefly began to practice her explanation before pressing it.

"Hi…my name is Jordan Stark-Simms, and I'm here with Dr. Schenk, as I believe he informed the organizers. I'm only here to observe and not participate. If you could tell me the best way I can be unobtrusive throughout the event, I'm sure that…"

Her whisper to herself was interrupted by the sudden opening of the door. Panic seized her as she felt unready to greet a giant man in a gimp suit with a zipper mouth holding some kind of truncheon while he…

But it was just a nice looking middle aged man in a polo shirt and slacks. He opened the storm door, smiling, and waved her in.

"Hi…Hello, my name is Jordan Stark-Simms, and I'm here with…"

"With Tom. Or Professor Schenk, I suppose you call him that, right? We're expecting you, come in."

"Oh. Okay, thank you." She stepped nervously through the door into a well-kept entryway, a long but not overly grand staircase leading upward on the right, and a modest hallway on the left. Halfway through the hallway, an open door was emanating the polite, even tempered sounds of an upper-middle class party.

"Just down the hall to the left there. Grab a drink if you'd like, there are snacks on the table you can help yourself to."

"Thank you…I didn't catch your name?"

"I'm Jeff, I'm the homeowner. Go ahead, don't be shy, we're just getting started. We're expecting a few more folks before things really get going. Just relax and enjoy yourself."

"Okay…thank you…" Jordan walked uncertainly down the hall and turned into a fairly modest living room filled with around a dozen people, slightly more women than men, staggered throughout the room, chatting. Most had drinks in their hands, some had hors d'oeuvres, and all had casual clothing on.

"Jordan! So glad you could make it." Schenk appeared from the back of the room and moved toward her. "Were my directions okay?"

"Not sure, actually, but I have a GPS display in my car now, so I just typed in the address. Super handy."

"Excellent. Well, you're right on time, some participants are still arriving. How are you feeling?"

"A little nervous, actually." Jordan grimaced apologetically.

"That's natural. And even handy, if you're a participant. Part of the neurochemical cocktail of the experience. But I assure you, everything here is safe and consensual. We won't start the beatings, as it were, until everyone arrives and gets comfortable. For now, relax and work the crowd. Also…"

Schenk gently pulled her spiral notebook away from her nervous hands. "This kind of kills the vibe. I'm going to just set it under the couch here and…"

Jordan began to protest, but Schenk stood up holding a small, pocket sized notebook with the spiral on the top.

"Here. I brought an extra for you. Just tuck it in a pocket, chat with people or observe, then slip away for a moment and write down what you want to remember. If people see you with a notebook…they don't get mad, but it…kind of throws off the vibe. And without the vibe, there's really nothing to observe at events like this."

Jordan nodded gratefully at the tip, taking the notebook and tucking it in the back pocket of her slacks.

"Thank you! Any other tips?"

Schenk smiled. "These are normal people. Treat them as such. They'll show and tell you whatever you want to know. Honestly, one of the pleasant surprises of my research was just how open the people into BDSM actually are. They're open books when you get them in the right place. Just don't make them feel weird or judged, and this will be an eye-opening night for you. I promise. Now, go work the crowd, get to know everyone before they head downstairs."

"Downstairs?"

"Oh, right…" Schenk's eyes scrunched in brief frustration at having missed a major point of his introduction. "The main event, so to speak, is downstairs. You'll see people start to move down in a while, probably, because that's where the equipment is and such. When you get down there, we actually have a place to kind of be and observe out of the way. The organizer was kind enough to set up a small table on two of the walls so you and I can sit and take notes, see things from multiple angles, that kind of thing. I've already been down there to check it out, and it looks like a good setup."

"Downstairs…that's where it happens."

"Yeah, downstairs. It's part symbolic, part practical. Jeff's a perfectly normal everyday citizen most of the time. Keeping your sex dungeon downstairs…it's an easy way to keep your hobbies away from judgmental eyes, you know?"

"Got it. Downstairs." Jordan nodded.

"Good. Oh, and one other thing…there's a mirror wall down there. They don't always have those at events like this, but this one does. It can throw you off a little if you're not ready for it."

"A mirror wall?" Jordan tried to play it cool, but her eyes bugged slightly.

"Yeah, but don't worry about it. You'll get used to it. And hey, enjoy the party. Tap my shoulder if you need anything."

Jordan nodded as he stepped away to join a conversation. She identified another small cluster of people and began walking toward them.

"Mirror wall…We have a deal…" she whispered sternly to herself as she crossed the room.

I know, honey. I remember.

Jordan politely made her way around and introduced herself to a loose group of surprisingly normal people. Mostly middle aged, some younger. Different professions, as she found out–a plumber, two doctors, an elementary school teacher, and a handful of others. All of them were polite and easygoing, answering her basic demographic and background questions, but all used fake names.

Jordan had just slipped into the hall to quickly write down all she could remember and record her initial impressions when the doorbell rang. Jeff, the host, slipped past her and opened the door to let in a tall, well built black man who appeared to be in his mid forties. He nodded at Jordan as he walked past her in the hall, when she heard the low hum of conversation coming out of the room suddenly lull to silence.

Taking brief note of the development, Jordan quickly finished her notes about each person she spoke with–basic demographics, professions, education levels, other notable attributes that came up in casual conversation, then slipped back into the room.

She was shocked to find all but one of the women and several of the men in the room quietly kneeling with their heads down. The large man who had entered was slowly and wordlessly making his way around, seeming to inspect those who were kneeling.

Jordan looked over to Professor Schenk, who stood off to one side, quietly observing, but who didn't look back at her.

She stepped out of the doorway and against the wall, quickly trying to deduce who was kneeling and who was standing…and more importantly…why.

Before she could fully form the question as to what distinguished the two groups, the large man had gently taken the hand of a petite, middle aged woman–Jordan checked her notes and quickly identified her as "Betty," who worked as a retail manager in town. The woman stood, but kept her head tilted down as the man unbuttoned her blouse and pulled the front halves of it apart, exposing her breasts.

"Betty" neither objected nor resisted, keeping her head silently turned down.

The man silently examined her nakedness for a moment, then casually slipped his hands down the front of Betty's pants and groped her.

Again, Betty neither objected nor resisted.

Jordan was fixed on the interaction, dumbfounded at the casual nature of the man in what was so clearly a formal, almost liturgical ritual. He moved easily from body to body, gently slapping a face here or exposing flesh there for another moment before walking past Jordan to the door.

"Strip."

His first word. His voice was low and loud, almost an effortless bellow that caused an immediate effect as he walked out the door.

Those who had been kneeling quickly and quietly stood and began shucking their clothing, folding each item carefully and setting it in a neat pile in front of their now bare feet. Those who had not been kneeling remained clothed but silent.

Jordan was fixed on the scene. The surreal sight of silent, collective obedience. Most of the now nude participants were women, with one man standing off slightly to the side. She noted a small plastic device clamped around his penis.

A chastity cage. She had encountered the device–along with the practice of male chastity–in her earliest research. When she had initially begun trying to understand her husband's prodding to push her friendship with Mark into sexual territory.

She made a silent note to herself to ask Schenk about the scope and extent of the practice of cuckolding within the umbrella of BDSM.

For now, she didn't have time to think, as the silent room reacted to a door opening somewhere in the house. All attendants–nude and otherwise–began to quietly file out of the room. Schenk held back in a corner, and Jordan tried to press against the wall, invisible, as the participants wordlessly moved past her.

When they were all out, she moved quickly over to Schenk and began rapidly whispering questions. Schenk smiled and put his hands up in defense, whispering back:

"One at a time, please…"

"Okay…" Jordan's mouth moved silently as she tried to form the question, then whispered: "do these events usually start with rituals like that? And do you know what the ritual is?"

"Sometimes and kind of…" Schenk grinned, delighted to have so thoroughly piqued Jordan's curiosity. "Some groups like to signal the beginning of the shared imaginary space with some kind of ritual practice. Others just have a kind of come-when-you-want dungeon scene. But it's not uncommon at all to have some kind of ritual practice, some kind of symbolic social norm that gets people in the mindset and the mood."

"So that man that came in…is he the leader of the group?"

"In a way. This group plays with dominance hierarchy. The men who stayed clothed–and one woman–are the dominants. The ones who took off their clothes are submissives. The man who came in is playing the role of the lead dominant. He'll organize the participants and direct the play. The submissives will defer to him and their individual doms sexually, and the lower dominants will defer to him for direction."

"Fascinating. And the man…the submissive man with the device on his penis. Is he a cuckold?"

"He might be. Not necessarily. Some men–and women, too–engage in chastity play as a way of expressing submission."

"How does it work? How can he get any pleasure like that?"

"Again, classic power exchange. It may be psychological play exclusively. They'll deny him, maybe punish him with pain or humiliation. Some submissive men enjoy having their penises mocked, so they may remove the cage and do that. If he is here with a partner, they may cuckold him, or they may penetrate him. There are all sorts of ways to do it."

"Fascinating…" Jordan scribbled furiously in her little notepad, trying to keep up. "I talked to that guy. He's apparently a pretty successful lawyer…"

"Not uncommon that submissives come from the social ranks of high power and prestige. The stress and success can be alleviated by a total reversal of persona in the play space. He might be penetrated by a woman with a prosthetic penis tonight, and then arguing a multimillion dollar suit in court on Monday. You'd be surprised."

"Fascinating…" Jordan scribbled on, not looking up as she furiously wrote.

"But we need to get downstairs. There's likely some more to this opening ritual before the play starts…I'm sure you want to see that."

"I do, definitely…" Jordan finished up her note and followed Schenk out of the room. He walked down the hall away from the front door, finding the entrance to the kitchen, and then, turning around, an open door with stairs leading down to the basement.

The open door belched out a thick wall of blood red light, betraying the cultivated ambience of the space below. Jordan briefly slipped out of her academic mindset and experienced a flash of real fear.

This is exactly the kind of door she was warned about in Sunday School growing up. This was no Halloween fake-out. While she was satisfied that the activities taking place down those stairs was consensual, she also wasn't kidding herself about the immorality of the activities she would find at the bottom of the stairs.

The naughty videos that had constituted her "research" thus far had been partly fictionalized. True, the participants did seem to be willing, and definitely seemed to enjoy it. Nevertheless, it was a staged production, the participants were paid, and the whole thing had the quality of a commodity to any who looked at it objectively. A prepackaged experience to be enjoyed vicariously.

But effective. She had lost control of herself watching them. The wrenched groans of the dominated women in the videos still invaded her dreams…

But through this door was no commodity. Through this door–this tall, open rectangle of blood-red light–real people were really sinning. She would walk into the middle of a space of unashamed transgressive pleasure, where consenting adults would really use each other for rank sexual pleasure in the most outrageous ways.

Jordan froze. On the one hand, she felt an obligation to honor her academic duty, and her (albeit hasty) answer to Schenk's challenge that she go deeper in her research.

But the room scared her.

Partly because she didn't quite know what she was going to see.

But mostly because she had been told that at the bottom of those stairs, in addition to the accoutrement and activity of wild bondage sex, she would find a mirror that she couldn't escape.

A floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall mirror that would give her nowhere to run from the unflinching truths that the mirror revealed.

She suddenly became aware of the soft silk of her hidden lingerie. A strange tactile complement to the eerie silence emanating from the red light of the door downstairs.

She could leave. Schenk might be disappointed, but he'd understand.

She could leave. Her father would never, ever countenance her walking through a door like that. And she hated the idea of keeping any more secrets from him.

She could leave. This research wasn't even central to her thesis–it was ancillary–an add on adequately addressed by the work she had already done. Professor Lukacz had already signed off on the draft of that chapter.

She could leave. She could go home, facetime her husband, and talk this out. Walking away from this weird and terrifying sexual predilection, and working toward a healthier sexuality with her husband, the way God intended.

She could leave.

Professor Schenk, halfway down the stairs, noted that Jordan was still standing in the doorway looking down. He looked up inquisitively, noting her hesitation. In quick recognition, his questioning eyes gave her permission.

It's okay. It's really okay. You can leave.

Jordan took a deep breath and stepped down into the red light.

Crushing
Trainable
Posts: 74
Joined: Wed Apr 29, 2020 5:34 am

Re: Jordan

Unread post by Crushing » Sat Jan 11, 2025 7:50 am

nnjcpl2002 wrote:
Wed Jan 01, 2025 6:39 am

Have you ever read any of the Patrick O'Brien novels? His prose is complex and slow even to read, but he develops his characters in a way that brings them to life. I see this in your work. High quality, with some food for the intellect. Again, thanks for your hard work and for delivering an excellent product.
I do know Patrick O’Brien’s work, and that’s a high compliment, thanks!

I’m sure that the extreme slow-burn pace can be a bit irritating for some readers, but I’m just really drawn to the psychological complexity of this whole little world. I created Jordan as a character with the intellectual and emotional capacity to really probe that complexity while still experiencing the deep feelings that go with that complexity. That, and to develop a male counterpart to her that’s fully human and sympathetic. Too many “bull” characters are really flat and wooden, I think.

Anyway, I know that many readers prefer the quick-hit approach to the “good stuff,” but I find that a little boring and repetitive after a while. Thanks for the feedback, and I hope you enjoy the new installment!

-C

Fred_Garvin
Trainable
Posts: 73
Joined: Tue Mar 15, 2016 11:12 am

Re: Jordan

Unread post by Fred_Garvin » Sat Jan 11, 2025 9:05 am

Anyway, I know that many readers prefer the quick-hit approach to the “good stuff,” but I find that a little boring and repetitive after a while.
I concur.

subtoall
Pervert
Posts: 665
Joined: Sun Oct 08, 2017 6:12 pm

Re: Jordan

Unread post by subtoall » Sat Jan 11, 2025 11:30 am

Crushing wrote:
Fri Jan 10, 2025 6:48 pm
"Well, I'll admit to putting my thumb on the scale a little there in saying that my impulse to feed Tom–sorry, Todd–his own hat belongs in the shadow.
This sentence!!! Your skill and creativity with the smallest details in your characters, and narrative, is astounding.

"And the 2025 Nobel Prize in literature is awarded to....Crushing."

lkh96
Player
Posts: 261
Joined: Sat Aug 13, 2016 7:21 am

Re: Jordan

Unread post by lkh96 » Sat Jan 11, 2025 12:03 pm

Crushing wrote:
Sat Jan 11, 2025 7:50 am
nnjcpl2002 wrote:
Wed Jan 01, 2025 6:39 am

Have you ever read any of the Patrick O'Brien novels? His prose is complex and slow even to read, but he develops his characters in a way that brings them to life. I see this in your work. High quality, with some food for the intellect. Again, thanks for your hard work and for delivering an excellent product.
I do know Patrick O’Brien’s work, and that’s a high compliment, thanks!

I’m sure that the extreme slow-burn pace can be a bit irritating for some readers, but I’m just really drawn to the psychological complexity of this whole little world. I created Jordan as a character with the intellectual and emotional capacity to really probe that complexity while still experiencing the deep feelings that go with that complexity. That, and to develop a male counterpart to her that’s fully human and sympathetic. Too many “bull” characters are really flat and wooden, I think.

Anyway, I know that many readers prefer the quick-hit approach to the “good stuff,” but I find that a little boring and repetitive after a while. Thanks for the feedback, and I hope you enjoy the new installment!

-C
Can't wait to meet the bull or is the lead dom the bull ??
Whoever he is, Megn and David are in for a wild ride.

I love your story, easily the best here on ohw.

Tire_Kicker
Trainable
Posts: 87
Joined: Tue Oct 10, 2023 8:28 pm

Re: Jordan

Unread post by Tire_Kicker » Sat Jan 11, 2025 6:58 pm

Great chapter Crushing, loving the mind games.

nnjcpl2002
Experienced
Posts: 192
Joined: Mon Jan 25, 2010 7:31 am
Location: Delray Beach, FL
Contact:

Re: Jordan

Unread post by nnjcpl2002 » Sat Jan 11, 2025 9:29 pm

"That, and to develop a male counterpart to her that’s fully human and sympathetic."
Your objective of developing real characters for whom we have empathy and understanding is likely the best feature of your work, C.
And, of course, their credibility adds heat to their love making.

Not a criticism, but it's tough waiting for the next wonderful chapter.

Thanks again!

MustBeDenied2
Experienced
Posts: 109
Joined: Tue Oct 11, 2022 12:55 pm

Re: Jordan

Unread post by MustBeDenied2 » Sun Jan 12, 2025 10:49 am

Another great chapter, Crushing. I'm eagerly awaiting the next chapter.

MBD

Flipflop200
Prepubescent
Posts: 5
Joined: Tue Sep 03, 2024 6:48 pm

Re: Jordan

Unread post by Flipflop200 » Mon Jan 20, 2025 10:44 am

I wanted to show continued support to Crushing. This is simply a fantastic read. Well done.

Deep down in that last chapter I was hoping you would not have started the "party", but you left one hell of a tease for sure.

Fred_Garvin
Trainable
Posts: 73
Joined: Tue Mar 15, 2016 11:12 am

Re: Jordan

Unread post by Fred_Garvin » Mon Jan 27, 2025 6:18 am

It's been over two weeks since the last installment of this wonderful narrative, so my withdrawal symptoms are getting pretty bad.

I am doing my part to speed this along by checking several times a day. Do you think it would help if I checked more often? I've found it doesn't help when boiling water, but I do it anyway.

Thank you for the great story, Crushing.

nnjcpl2002
Experienced
Posts: 192
Joined: Mon Jan 25, 2010 7:31 am
Location: Delray Beach, FL
Contact:

Re: Jordan

Unread post by nnjcpl2002 » Tue Jan 28, 2025 5:25 am

Crushing, your fans are eagerly awaiting the next chapters. Me too!

Crushing
Trainable
Posts: 74
Joined: Wed Apr 29, 2020 5:34 am

Re: Jordan

Unread post by Crushing » Tue Jan 28, 2025 4:08 pm

Hey everyone--

Quick update. Apologies for the delay. I actually am finishing up the last section of the new chapter now, but I might not get all the way through the edit tonight. If I do, it'll be up later tonight. But if not, plan on tomorrow for sure.

I do have some unfortunate news that accounts for my more sporadic posting. Some changes with my day job have made it so I will have quite a bit less free time to write for a while. I do want to continue with the story, and I intend to, but I'm not able to continue doing it at the pace I have in the past.

Thinking through how to keep posting regularly, I've weighed the possibility of just changing things up. Specifically by posting more often but with shorter installments. I could do this one of two ways--either I could just do like...a third or a half of a chapter (trading back and forth between the Jordan and Mark timelines from 2-3 times instead of 5-6 times), or I could go even shorter and just do one timeline per posting, so in each installment the narrative would stay either with Mark (either young Mark or the Captain who occupies Jordan's timeline from a distance) or it stays with Jordan and David.

Anyway, I'm okay with trying out a different pacing and approach, but each of the options have tradeoffs. Longer installments (what I have been doing) mean longer between postings. Shorter installments mean more updates, but it throws off the story-to-smut ratio that I've been so careful to balance thus far. And the single-timeline approach changes the reading experience a bit too. Anyway, let me know what you prefer going forward, and watch the space tomorrow for the next long chapter (I really am finishing it tonight).

I'll do my best to accommodate. I got big plans for Jordan, and I intend to see them through.

-C

subtoall
Pervert
Posts: 665
Joined: Sun Oct 08, 2017 6:12 pm

Re: Jordan

Unread post by subtoall » Tue Jan 28, 2025 7:00 pm

I vote for the 3rd/half chapter postings. But, whatever it takes to keep you posting is paramount!

Johng1953
$2 Ho
Posts: 822
Joined: Sun Apr 24, 2022 1:04 am

Re: Jordan

Unread post by Johng1953 » Wed Jan 29, 2025 1:42 pm

I don't mind shorter posting. I'll still be on the edge of my seat impatiently waiting!

Crushing
Trainable
Posts: 74
Joined: Wed Apr 29, 2020 5:34 am

Re: Jordan

Unread post by Crushing » Wed Jan 29, 2025 5:26 pm

The most prominent aural feature in the otherwise quiet bedroom was heavy breathing in syncopation. An irregular, even erratic syncopation, but a syncopation nonetheless. One breath inhaled while the other exhaled, then the other breathed in inverse. It didn't hold steady, either–the pace of the one was longer than the other, leading the two to sync after a moment, then de-synchronize again into syncopation. As it was the only noise in the room now, its idiosyncrasy seemed strangely significant to both of them.

The odd rhythmic play emanated from two bodies on one bed. One body lay still except for the heaving: a tall, broad, male body extended the full length of the bed, nude except for a pair of white gym socks. His long penis lay back lazily on his stomach, the tight second skin of a prophylactic still snug around its length. The top third of the prophylactic bulged with a viscous white substance, traces of it beginning to diffuse downward toward the base.

The other body lay still with only the odd twitch to accent the exhaustion: a shorter body, slim with curves, female. She held her legs in a loose, broken diamond formation with knees out and heels in. Her lower half was nude, the cleft between her legs showing the dull reflection of moisture and swelling brought about by her arousal and the subsequent sport. Her upper half was covered with a novelty T-shirt, the epigram "Make It So" having new and ironic connotations given the preceding events. Her left arm clutched the narrow corner bedpost tightly in her fist, seemingly involuntarily. Her wedding ring was clearly visible with the curve of her fingers around the furniture. Her right arm lolled, almost dead, in the space between her body and that of the man.

The man spoke first.

"Fuck."

At length, the woman responded.

"Yeah."

More breathing in syncopation.

"You okay, Meg?"

"Yeah."

The deep, syncopated breathing slowed into quiet relaxation. Megan's head lolled sideways to look at Mark. "What about you?"

Mark's head lolled sideways to meet her gaze. "I'm good. Great, even."

"Really?" Megan's face lifted into a hopeful smile.

"Yeah…"

Megan's delight lifted further as she saw something she hadn't genuinely seen since the court martial. Mark's whole face broke into a smile, the hint of a sparkle in his deep brown eyes.

"Good. I'm glad."

"Thanks, Meg. Thanks for everything."

She winked impishly. "Anytime."

Mark sat up and shifted to the side of the bed, then stood up. Leaning forward slightly, he pinched the base of himself and carefully removed the condom, careful not to spill the contents onto the bed or the floor. Tying the end, he tossed it into a corner wastebasket and began to walk toward the door, picking up his clothes on the way.

"Wait…where are you going?"

Mark turned around, confused. "What do you mean? Back to bed."

Megan's confused look stopped him in his tracks.

"I didn't mean, Meg…I just don't want to impose…"

Megan's eyebrow lifted. "Impose? Mark…we just fucked. Where are your manners? Put your damn clothes down and come back to bed."

"But Jared…"

"Jared is not coming home tonight. Which you know."

Megan's voice shifted to a more matter-of-fact tone. She cocked her head to emphasize her point.

Still, Mark hesitated. Megan sighed and, grasping the hem of her novelty t-shirt, she pulled it over her head to expose the rest of her body.

God, she had amazing breasts.

Mark stared at her for a moment. She patted the side of the bed he just vacated.

"Good. Now get back here. And take those socks off. So weird when guys keep their socks on…" she shook her head in mock disbelief and pointed to the laundry hamper. Mark dropped his clothes in, then awkwardly took off his socks, dropped them in the hamper, and sat down on the bed.

Megan's look shifted to mock exasperation. "Still nervous?"

"Meg…I just…"

She put up a finger to stop him and reached for her phone on the nightstand. "I know how to resolve this."

She dialed and set the phone on speaker.

The other side answered after two rings.

"Hey Meggles. What's the latest? You two hook up yet?"

"Yep!" Megan answered brightly. "Your rugged, statuesque BFF just rocked my damn world. And I like to think I nudged his world back a little bit…" she flashed Mark a playful smile.

"Am I on speaker?" Jared asked.

"Yep. He's here. He's still scared you're gonna be mad at him."

"Seriously? Dude…we talked about this."

"Hey Frenchie…" Mark allowed himself a small, sheepish smile. "I just…don't want…"

"...want to impose…" Megan finished the sentence for him. "Hey JJ? Mark's worried about imposing after I jerked him off, and then he was worried about imposing after you said we could fuck, and then he was a little concerned about imposing after we fucked and now he's worried about imposing now that I called you and told you about it and you were stoked that we fucked."

Mark rolled his eyes at her sarcastic assault.

"She has a point, dude." Jared's voice took on a 'matter of fact' tone through the phone's speaker. "I mean…at some point…relax. You know? If I said it's okay, it's okay. Meg obviously is attracted to you, she and I have got an open thing going on, you're my best friend…"

Megan nodded, a cocked eyebrow and a look of mock solemnity on her face as she handed the phone to Mark and stood up by the bed. She walked slowly around the bed as Mark watched her. As his eyes followed her naked form, Jared on the phone tried to explain the situation to him, but he was clearly distracted.

When she arrived in front of him, she cocked her eyebrow again, then kneeled down in front of him, leaning forward to suck him.

"So if I say it's good, and Meg says it's good," Jared concluded through the phone, "then it's good. You know?"

Slurp slorp

Jesus. Her mouth felt amazing.

"Yeah…I get it," Mark replied awkwardly. "I'm just…I don't want to mess anything up between us. You know?"

Hlllurc slrup

"You're not going to mess…Meg…can you tell this oversize dipwad that he's not gonna mess anything up between us?"

"Flerrrmmhmmm!" she responded enthusiastically without taking him out of her mouth.

"What'd she say?" Jared asked.

"She, uh, I think she agreed."

Slurp slrrrup

"But what'd she say? I didn't catch it."

"I didn't either."

Hrrrk slllurp

"What? Why not? You're right there."

Megan paused briefly and looked up at him, cocking her head playfully as if to say:

Yeah Mark. Why not?

"Cause…uh, my dick's in her mouth right now."

Megan gave a brief thumbs up, then continued to bob up and down on him.

"Really?" Jared's tone shifted.

"Yeah…" Mark replied, cringing.

"Awesome. That's so hot, baby…you like it?"

She briefly popped her head up to answer brightly.

"Yeah, I like it. It's big."

"So hot…" Jared's voice was husky.

"I think Mark likes it too, don't you?" Megan's voice was bright and playful before dropping her mouth onto him again.

Mark could hear Jared waiting for the answer. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, it feels…dude, honestly…it feels amazing. You're a lucky man."

Jared took a deep breath. "Yeah, I am." He took a deep breath and added, "And tonight, you are. Look man, what my Meg wants, she gets. If she wants you in bed tonight, she gets you in bed. As long as you're up for it, I'm down with it. Just…use protection, and make sure to take good care of her."

Mark began to relax. "Shit man…yeah. You got it. I'll take care of her…"

Megan lifted her lips off of her lover again to dismiss her husband.

"Bye honey! I'll see you tomorrow!"

"Bye baby…" Jared's voice sounded husky through the phone. "Take good care of him."

Mmmhmmm…. She had begun fellating again as she reached up to push the button to end the call–the phone still in Mark's right hand.

Mark sat stunned, the warm pleasure of Megan's mouth radiating into his body for a moment before a switch flipped. A new confidence seemed to creep into Mark's body, and he felt his heart quicken with the old arousal.

It felt like the time he took Molly away from her family campsite. When he made Chris watch her servicing him, or made Chris watch him pleasuring Molly. He took what he wanted. No explanations. No justifications.

He had forgotten what that felt like.

Now, looking down at Megan's flowing black hair and bare, tan shoulders with the cute tan lines, her face now pointed downward in an earnest effort to give him pleasure with her mouth, Mark reacted.

"Meg."

Her lips plurrped off of him as she looked up.

"Yeah?"

"Get up here."

* * *

It took a few blinks for Jordan's eyes to adjust to the blood-red light. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Jordan's head jerked around in spurts as she tentatively looked around the open basement space filled with what seemed to be very function-specific furniture.

Most of it was foreign to her. Her exposure to the BDSM world had been limited to a few interactions on anonymous social media platforms. That, and the videos she watched. The videos included some accouterments: a few ropes, and in one case a post that served as a mount for the tantalizing fellatio play, and to which the girl was tied for a while later in the video. But the furnishings in the BDSM videos she watched were generally sparse.

The room's organization was clearly meant to arrest the heart and intimidate the participants, with little in the way of visual obstructions between furniture and features. A few waist-high platforms were placed in open spaces, and a small collection of couches and chairs filled one corner. The center of the room was filled with what appeared to be some kind of exercise equipment? It at least resembled some kind of gym. And of course, as she had been warned, the entire back wall was mirrored, floor to ceiling, giving the space an expansive feel.

Schenk was already seated at a small but elegant writing table, placed near the wall opposite the mirrors. He hunched over, scribbling some quick notes on his pad. Jordan moved quietly to sit in an open chair near the table, crossing her legs and looking nervously around her.

If there was some kind of formal ceremony opening the festivities, it appeared to be in progress. The self-identified submissive women were already naked, having been herded down the stairs by their dominant partners. They now kneeled in front of those same men who stood still and quiet, remaining clothed. Those kneeling and those standing were arranged in a straight line facing each other, as the man in charge–the large black man Jordan had seen in the hall earlier–paced between them.

While none of the dominants or submissives moved, the lone naked (presumably submissive) man–the one with the chastity device on his penis–was rushing about on the side of the room, gathering equipment from some drawers along the wall perpendicular to the mirrors. After finding what he was looking for he returned to the line, distributing individual sets of black leather handcuffs to the men standing over the women, then stood quietly off to the side.

Jordan's eyes were drawn to his penis. It was small. Although, she conceded, that may have been an optical illusion created by the device itself, as Schenk had told her that mocking his penis may be a part of the play. But even with the device attached, she caught herself noting, the man's penis seemed to be larger than her husband's.

Are there correlations between penis size and cuckold ideation? She wondered, jotting down her first note of the night. She wondered if there was research published on it.

Everyone stood in silence for an uncomfortable amount of time.

"Present."

The man in charge spoke a single word, and the women shuffled on their knees to turn around and bent forward until their foreheads touched the ground. Their rear ends stuck awkwardly up in the air, and they held that pose in silence.

The man in charge nodded to the others, and they each stepped forward to cuff each woman's wrists behind her. Once cuffed, they faced forward again, kneeling upright.

Jordan noticed a slight change in posture in the women after they were cuffed. Although their faces were held down to look at the ground, it seemed their necks stretched up and their shoulders pulled back, giving an odd air of dignity to their otherwise humble pose. She couldn't decide whether it was part of the routine or not. She leaned over to whisper to Schenk:

"I noticed their posture is straighter now. Is that something they do–like a symbolic part of the ritual?"

Schenk shook his head and leaned in, whispering back.

"Well, part of it is just the handcuffs pulling their shoulders back, but you're right, they do have a shift in posture. As far as the symbolic thing…no. It's not an agreed or symbolic thing, it's an instinctive reaction, their body is just manifesting a change in their self-perception. The cuffs are more symbolic, the posture…is a consequence of their acceptance of the symbol. They've been let into their submissive space."

"Being in this state…submissive space…it gives them better posture?"

"No, confidence does," he whispered back.

"Confidence?" Jordan was confused.

He nodded, still writing. "Many submissives enjoy occupying a relational role within the boundaries of an uncomplicated power structure. When they're in submissive space, or subspace, the ambiguities inherent in more complex social situations resolve into a single binary relationship with clear and constant feedback. Their role in that relationship is explicitly defined and their performance is explicitly evaluated in real time whenever they occupy that mental space. As long as they trust their dom, they're–happy. It's hard to explain, but you're right to notice it. It can be quite a liberating feeling. And it's not limited to the scenario. You'll note that posture correction will likely continue after the leave subspace later tonight. They'll all have square shoulders when they leave, I guarantee it. It's quite remarkable."

"Interesting…" Jordan began writing, but her attention was drawn back to the man in charge as he walked slowly down the line between the standing dominants and kneeling submissives. Stopping near the middle of the row, he extended his thumb casually out toward one of the women, who promptly opened her mouth to receive it, then began to suck it without lifting her eyes off the floor. The man said nothing, but withdrew it and wiped it on her bare shoulder. She shivered at the touch.

Jordan shivered sympathetically, then caught herself, shifting to sit up straight.

Looking back down at her notebook, she realized she had stopped writing in the middle of a word.

She was fixated on that tiny exchange between the man in charge and that young woman. It was so casual. That man…just stuck out his thumb, and…

Why would he do that? It was so inconsequential. So non-sexual. Silly, even.

And more disturbing…why was she so fascinated by it? Maybe even excited by it?

She leaned back over toward Schenk, whispering again. "I'm so sorry Tom, I'm gonna be in your ear a lot. I wasn't anticipating…most of this."

He smirked, nodding while writing. "Not a problem. What's up?"

"The thumb-sucking thing. Is that a signal? Some kind of operational cue that works in the dynamic?"

He nodded. "Yes and no. It doesn't signify anything in particular. It exists in the logic of the power structure. The women know that any appendage offered near their mouths should be taken into their mouths until it's taken away. So it signals that agreement, kind of affirming it to both sides. He's simply asserting that dynamic without an overtly sexual aim."

"I'm confused. I would think things would be…more overtly sexual. Aggressive. To establish dominance."

"No, not always. In fact, that's kind of rare. Usually there's a buildup. Although every scene is its own, and the dynamic can take many forms. But for many, simply waiting for their dom to initiate things has a powerful effect. Their patience is a kind of discipline in its own way. Waiting can be…a kind of foreplay of passive discipline."

Jordan nodded, looking back at the row of kneeling women. Most appeared to be in their thirties and forties, but one woman was closer to her own age, maybe mid twenties, and had a body type that approximated her own. The young woman's hair, tied behind her in a tight bun, was lighter than Jordan's, she had a similar–if shorter–build, and smaller breasts that flattened against her torso since her wrists were cuffed behind her back.

Jordan studied the young woman's face, which tilted down in silent obedience like the rest. Her eyes were open but turned down, and she seemed intensely focused. Her body held still with rigid attention.

The man in charge continued his silent pacing. Jordan caught herself silently hoping he would extend his thumb to the young woman who looked like her. Each time he passed, then passed again, she felt her anticipation rise. He didn't do it. Although at one point he briskly tapped one of her breasts with the riding crop in his hand. She winced, but said nothing, holding her careful posture.

Jordan forced herself to look around the room again, trying to observe the scene with a detached eye, but she found her eyes drawn again and again to her doppelganger.

She was pretty. And clearly trying hard. Perhaps she was new to the group. Trying to prove something.

"How do people get initiated into these groups?" she whispered to Schenk.

He scowled thoughtfully. "Usually initiation is more or less up to the submissives who ask for it. I've studied some groups that have…what you might call a…a training pipeline. But again, it varies by the group and the scene."

"Training pipeline?" Jordan asked, surprised.

"Correct. Submissives are gradually…introduced to various practices, and decide how deep they want to go into submissive play over extended conversations with their dominants. Sometimes that is a one-on-one process, sometimes it's a group thing."

Jordan turned to watch the man in charge walking toward the younger woman again.

"Do you think this group has some kind of initiation protocol?"

"Why, are you thinking of joining?"

Jordan turned to see a half-cocked grin. She shoved him playfully.

"Very funny."

She then turned to see the man in charge standing in front of the young woman with two long, thick fingers extended.His free hand clutched the bun of hair sitting perky on the back of her head, holding her back. The young woman's mouth hung open, her tongue extended slightly.

Jordan swallowed.

The young woman began to strain against the contradictory commands. Jordan could see the slight lift as her hair–held firmly by the man in charge–became the tensile impediment preventing her from attending to her duty to take his other hand into her mouth.

Jordan swallowed again, then sucked in her breath sharply.

With a snap, the man let go of her hair bun and her head fell forward urgently, taking his extended fingers into her mouth and sucking noisily, never looking up.

Unable to resist the flush in her face, Jordan shifted in her chair and turned her head to look away, writing carefully on her notepad and waiting for the sucking noises to stop.

* * *

"Mrs. Poisson, I forgot my book."

"That's okay Jane. You okay sharing with Becky?"

"I guess…"

"Yeah, you guess…" Megan made a funny face as she repeated their words back to them, smiling to defuse the awkward situation as the two ninth grade girls dragged their desks together.

"Alright everyone…we're three chapters deep now. So what do we think of this Jay Gatsby guy?"

"He's kind of mysterious…" someone piped up from the back of the room.

"Good start, Zoey. Mysterious. How so?" Megan asked.

"Well, he's like…he throws parties but he doesn't really come out, and then when he does he doesn't talk about himself at all…"

"Good. Mysterious. Check." Megan mimed a checkmark in the air. "Anything else?"

"He's so romantic…when he filled the house with flowers and cookies for when Daisy came over!" Another girl's voice.

"Okay, Samantha says romantic…do we agree that Jay Gatsby is romantic?"

"Yeah…" the assent was general.

"That was a jerk move, though."

A young male voice.

"Okay Kirk, you say it was a jerk move. Which one, the parties or the flowers?"

"Kinda both, I guess," he admitted, shrugging.

"Okay. Give me more here." Megan pinched her chin thoughtfully.a gesture to encourage her student to go on.

He shrugged uncertainly again. "I don't know…it's like…who can compete with that? He throws these huge parties and lives in this huge mansion…and then he totally walks into the other guy's house and just like…fills it with flowers and candy and stuff. Like, even if that other guy wanted to get with her, like, even a little bit, he'd have no chance. It's not fair."

"Well…" Megan nodded, tilting her head slightly in correction. "The narrator–Nick–he's Daisy's cousin. So we should probably hope that he isn't thinking that way, right?"

Megan cocked a grin as the class broke out in laughter.

"I didn't know they were cousins…" Kirk insisted, red-faced.

"It's okay…" Megan extended her hand to reassure him. "Even so, I think Kirk's point is a good one, right? This guy just rolls in with money and a flashy smile and thinks he can just get Daisy that way. And don't forget, guys, Daisy's married. This isn't like one of your freshman dances where you change boyfriends after every song…"

Some of the girls giggled.

"But yeah, what do we make of that?" Megan continued. "Daisy is married, and it seems like she knows Gatsby wants her. And her husband–Tom–he's rich too, like Gatsby. And handsome. So she's definitely pushing some moral boundaries here. And she and Gatsby seem to have a past…so I guess that's our next question. What do you think of Daisy?"

"I feel bad for her." Samantha said.

"Bad, why?"

"Because her husband's a jerk, and he's cheating on her."

"I see." Megan nodded. "So turnabout is fair play? Is that what we're saying? Since Tom cheats on Daisy, Daisy can cheat with Gatsby?"

The room was silent. Megan, sensing an emerging feeling that real thought was occurring in the classroom–which is especially rare for ninth graders–pushed a little further.

"I'm getting the sense that we sympathize with Daisy. That we want her to get with Gatsby. So do we think her cheating is okay because her husband is mean, or do we think it's okay because Gatsby is charming and mysterious, and we like her and want her to have fun?"

More silence.

"Think about it guys. How you react to the characters in a story can actually teach you a lot about how you see the world. Why are we okay with Daisy cheating? Why are we rooting for her?"

Even more silence. Finally, another girl spoke up. Becky. The one that was sharing her book.

"I just think she isn't happy with her husband, and we want her to be happy."

Megan nodded. "But divorce in the 1920's–that was no joke. Divorce was pretty much impossible back then. It just wasn't done, and even when it was, it was pretty hard to do. A lot of social embarrassment, some serious financial consequences. So since that was the case back then, since divorce was such a big deal…would you guys think it's okay for her to just have Gatsby as a side guy?"

"No…" Becky insisted. "I think she should run away with Gatsby."

Megan nodded. "That might be an option. Is that what you would do?"

Beck blushed and shook her head. Megan laughed.

"Okay, anyone else have a take on this?"

"I still think Gatsby's a jerk," Kirk observed.

The class laughed. Megan smiled.

"That's a fair reading, Kirk. I think we can see some jerk tendencies in Gatsby if we look carefully. But he's certainly not as loud about his jerk tendencies as Tom–Daisy's husband–is. But let me ask you guys this…what if Tom was a good guy? What would you want Daisy to do then?"

Silence for a moment, then Samantha.

"She should still run away with Gatsby. He's so romantic!"

"Okay," Megan said. "So there's a vote for Gatsby even if Tom isn't a jerk. Anyone else?"

"I vote she stays with Tom. If Tom is nice." Kirk said.

"Okay, there's a vote for stay with Tom. Explain your vote, Kirk."

"I mean…she married Tom. It's not fair to him for her to run around with another guy if he's going to be faithful to her and treat her good."

"Fair point, Kirk. What about you, Samantha?"

"I just think he's really romantic, and I think Daisy likes to be treated like that."

"Could be." Megan nodded thoughtfully for a moment. "You know guys, it's funny. When we like a character, we seem to want them to be happy, even if it seems like doing the wrong thing might be the key to their happiness."

A few students nodded.

"Well, I think it's a good thing to want nice things for the people you like. But it can get complicated, and that's not as nice. So in the next few chapters, we're going to see some problematic things that come about from that desire. No spoilers, but look out for consequences of Daisy's attraction to Gatsby. But for now, let's look at a few specific passages and practice spotting metaphors. Let's start on page 19, and…looks like…yeah, third paragraph. Lucas, could you read the first two sentences and see if you can spot the metaphor?"

* * *

The red light seemed more normal now.

The little line of dominants and submissives had broken up, following what appeared to be silent gestures from the man in charge. Jordan was struck by the quiet, efficient, almost businesslike atmosphere as the women, eyes meekly directed down to the ground in front of them, were directed to various sections of the room.

Sensing the momentum, she stopped whispering questions to Schenk and put her head down to write.

Subjects are divided into heterosexual pairs, 5 dominant men with submissive women, 1 submissive man with a dominant woman. Submissives remain unclothed, submissive male with a binding device on his genitals. Dominants remain clothed.

Submissives are directed to individual sections with furniture, most are instructed to kneel on, lay on, or pose near their assigned furniture, some are cuffed to the furniture and fondled….

Jordan paused, looking back out over the scene and catching a distant glimpse of herself in the mirror.

She seemed tense.

She pulled her hair behind her ear and kept writing.

Mirror appears to function as an enhancement for exhibitionist tendencies germane to the bondage scenario. Submissives seem inclined to both be controlled and to watch themselves be controlled. Dominants occasionally instruct submissives to look at themselves while being fondled or performing fellatio, leading to what appears to be an exercise in self-humiliation.

Jordan paused thoughtfully, catching herself in the mirror again. Even though it was across the room, even though the room was drenched in red light, Jordan saw her face flushing.

Shaking her head, she turned back to her notebook.

Query: Self-observation as humiliation…does this support or undercut my asserted paradigm of divided identity in BDSM practice? Have to reconsider given new data…

A sudden clatter made her look up from her writing. All of the submissives were moving quickly toward the center of the room, with the young woman that looked like Jordan unable to move with the others, as she strained against the half-pole she now was bound to. Her partner, seeing his mistake, unclipped her cuffs and she scrambled to where the others were forming a kneeling semi-circle around the man in charge, whose back was to Jordan.

Submissives converge simultaneously around the lead dominant–unclear how or why. Some kind of signal?

Jordan looked up, waiting for something new to happen. Then, in the mirror, she saw that the man had unbuttoned and unzipped his pants.

She inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly, tucking her hair behind her hot ear again.

Signal appears to be that the lead dominant begins to take out his penis. Submissives, both male and female, are looking up at him but nobody is moving.

Jordan looked at the mirror again, seeing her reflection avoiding eye contact, and also trying to view the whole scene, and not just focus on the slow descent of the black man's pants.

They dropped in a heap to the floor. But he wasn't naked yet. He still wore underwear–gray jockeys. A long, thick bulge of stretchy gray fabric curved lazily down one leg.

Jordan looked down at her notebook, keeping her face down like she was writing while still straining her eyes under her lids to watch the man as he unbuttoned and removed his shirt.

She felt her breath begin to chop and stammer quietly as his shirt came off. The heat around her face and ears was spreading around her body.

The man, now revealing a fit, muscular torso as he tossed his shirt aside, began moving to stand directly in front of each submissive woman, cupping his hands around the back of her head and playfully–if a bit roughly–rubbing her face against his penis, which was still distending the fabric of his underwear.

When he got to Jordan's double, he spoke as he rubbed her lips against him.

"Say you want it…" His voice rumbled out in the red silence.

"I want it…" the young woman mumbled.

"Louder."

"I want it." Her voice was louder. Articulate. Almost assertive, in a submissive kind of way, with a small whine to season the mounting desire apparent in her voice.

"If you're a good girl, you'll get some. But you gotta impress me first…"

Jordan took note of the look of pure willingness in her double's eyes as she nodded agreeably up at him.

The young woman kept swallowing…Jordan could see her throat muscles tightening every few seconds, but couldn't figure out why…

Then she realized. The young woman was salivating. A little bit of drool slipped out of the corner of her mouth and, unable to clean herself with her hands cuffed behind her, the small rivulet simply ran down the side of her chin and disappeared under her jaw.

Watching for the drool to become visible on her neck, Jordan noted in passing how hard the young woman's nipples were.

All the while her double's gaze was unbroken, focused on the man in charge. She was literally panting, as if thirsty, watching him as he slipped his thumbs under the waistband of his underwear and revealed himself.

Jordan felt a palpable excitement in the room as his long, thick, dark cock dangled freely in front of six eager, kneeling faces.

It was too much for her. She leaned over to Schenk, whispering quietly.

"Tom, is there a bathroom down here?"

* * *

The engine stammered to a stop as Megan turned the key off and pulled it out of the ignition. Picking up her purse and her lunch bag, she stepped out of the car and jauntily flipped the door shut with her hip. Then, light on her feet, she made her way humming past Mark's parked 4Runner toward the front door of her apartment.

It had been a good day. Her students were responsive, even actively engaged. Even the freshmen. No small victory for a freshman English class. Her energy was high, even bubbly from her first class all the way through to her sixth. Her colleagues had noticed the spring in her step and the glow around her almost too-ready smile at lunch time. Mrs. Piner, the algebra teacher who worked three rooms down from Megan,and who was closest to her in age, had slyly insinuated between classes that things were going well between Mr. and Mrs. Poisson.

And they were, actually. She wasn't wrong about that.

Megan had a row of almost obsessive text messages to prove it, her phone buzzing obnoxiously in her desk drawer throughout the day. Unable to check her phone while teaching, she sneaked a look between classes to find a steady stream of messages from Jared, with sentiments along the lines of

"Holy shit Meg, you are soooo hot…"

"I can't believe I'm married to you. I'm so lucky!"

"Hey baby, I'm a little punchy after being awake for 30 straight hours, but I'm still gonna rock your world when I get home, so get ready"

And of course her favorite one:

"I love how much I love you, Meggles."

But the bubbly glow, which was correctly identified by Mrs. Piner's giggling insinuation, was not composed of one element. Rather, it was a strange new amalgam of–on the one hand–effusive expressions of love and devotion from her husband delivered in the aforementioned text messages, and–on the other hand–the slow burn following the physical escapades of the previous night, and even a little bit this morning.

Yes, a big part of her glow was directly attributable to the excitement of having a new sexual partner in her husband's best friend.

After hanging up the phone call with Jared, Mark hadn't wanted Megan to continue her playful fellatio for long, preferring to lift her bodily into her husband's bed, nudge her legs apart with his knees, and entered her body for the second time that night.

She had grimaced, still a bit sore from the first awkward round, but had quickly settled into the gentle rhythm of Mark's motions.

The contrast between sex with her husband and sex with Mark was stark, but not in the sense that one was good and the other bad. Jared had not waned in his own sexual style–that strange whirlwind of tenderness and restless ferocity that had marked their earliest physical liaisons back in Vermont. For Jared, sex was driven by a voracious appetite that could only be sated by her body. And he still fucked like a tornado.

She loved it. And he was more than able to bring her to consistent–often repeated–climaxes. And she had no trouble satisfying him either. His whirlwind style always culminated in a tight, almost desperate embrace which he held until his legs and hips stopped twitching, a feature she had jokingly deemed the "clutch moment" in the affectionate afterglow of their lovemaking.

Sex with Mark was different. And it wasn't only due to their differences in physicality–Jared was six feet tall, thin, carrying only about 150 pounds against Mark's six feet four inches, broad, muscular frame and more than 215 pounds. No, the difference was a stunning contrast in style. While Jared's passion was frenzied, not unlike being in bed with the cartoon Tasmanian Devil, Mark's passion was marked by slow, steady control. Even when he picked up speed and power, there was something about his almost wordless command of her body that just allowed her to lose herself in their union.

It seemed to be symbolized in the difference between Mark and Jared's eyes. Jared's icy blues, almost shimmering and cracking with intensity, were a strong contrast to the steady, deep, brown, sad eyes of her new lover.

Depth. That was it, Megan realized as she made her way up the stairs to her apartment door. And not just physical depth, although there was that…she was reminded last night of the depth of her own warmth when it was plumbed by Mark's larger and longer manhood. That difference was hard to ignore. But no, it was something more psychological. Mystical even. When she was with Mark, it was like swimming in a bottomless hot spring, all the while being swaddled by someone safe and strong. He would lock eyes with her and they seemed to sink together into a deep, wordless connection.

And it was in and through that connection that Mark would communicate what he couldn't bring himself to say out loud.

He needed her.

And she felt needed.

In that moment of connection, she could see something broken in him. Something that their physical union would fix–if only briefly. There was something about the sex that Mark needed, beyond the normal intensity of testosterone's call. It was deeper, and when he was seated inside her body, her arms draped around his neck or her hands running up his back, Megan felt she could meet that need.

She wasn't sure how Jared would feel about that aspect of it, but then again, all of this was new and scary. He seemed mostly excited by the physical aspect. No need to over-emphasize the emotional. He wouldn't understand that, probably.

And her priority was to make Mark feel safe, given the vulnerability of his mental state lately.

She turned the keys in her lock and opened the door.

Mark had tidied up the living room and kitchen, she noted with a smile. Shutting the door behind her, she heard the shower running. She dropped her purse and keys and moved into the kitchen to clean out the cooler bag with the remnants of her packed lunch. Hearing the shower turn off, her heart skipped a little bit when, subsequently, she heard the bathroom door open.

Megan set her rinsed lunch bag upside down on the dish rack as Mark appeared in the kitchen doorway.

"Hey Meg. How was your day?"

He was naked. Casually drying his hair. His broad frame filling the doorway, his towel ruffling his increasingly scruffy hair before revealing a clean shaven face.

He shaved for her.

Megan smiled to herself as her eyes drifted downward.

Below his strong jaw was the familiar yet powerful V frame of a man who threw stones around for a living all day, tapering down from shoulder, to pectoral, to visible but not obnoxiously toned abdominals, nearing a vertex where a tuft of black hair signaled the base of a long, thick, circumsized cock dangling between his long, sturdy thighs.

"Meg? You okay?"

She snapped out of her stare for a moment.

"Yeah. Fine. Day was good. Gatsby with the ninth graders."

"Oh, you're doing Fitzgerald?"

"Yeah, it's on the ninth grade curriculum."

"Were the students into it?"

"Kinda. Mixed bag, like always."

"Yeah…"

Megan couldn't help but let her eyes be drawn to his naked body again. She felt her face begin to flush.

"Meg? Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Just…"

"Oh…" Mark looked down. "Sorry, I'll get some pants on."

Suddenly, Megan realized it. A small success.

As attractive as his body was, his casual nudity signified something more important.

He felt safe in their home.

She moved forward to touch his arm as he turned around. "No, don't worry about it. I'm just a little burned out from teaching all day. That's all."

"Oh. Okay." Mark shrugged, then began to attach the towel around his waist. "I was wondering if you wanted to talk about, like…last night?"

Megan's flush deepened, but she crossed her arms and shrugged casually. "Sure. What about it?"

"I'm just…checking in, I guess. Are we still cool?"

Megan laughed in spite of herself. The odd insecurities of this man…

"Yeah, Mark. We're cool." She uncrossed her arms and walked over to embrace him, extending her hands around the back of his neck, resting her cheek on his chest.

He responded in kind, lacing his fingers together over the small of her back.

"What about you, big guy?" Megan asked. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good. Great, actually. I had a good day."

"That's good." Megan sighed in his arms, pausing for a moment. "Jared should be home in an hour or so."

"Oh." Mark nodded, releasing the embrace. "So I guess you want to, uh…"

She looked up at him with a cocked eyebrow. "Go ahead. Finish your thought, Mark."

"You want to…make dinner or something? I can help."

Megan shook her head, smirking. "I can't tell if you're this obtuse because you're scared of me still, or if you really don't pick up on hints like this."

"I just don't want to…"

"To impose, yeah…you mentioned that…" Megan nodded in mock exasperation. She patted his bare chest gently with the flat of her hand and began to walk past him out of the kitchen.

Mark watched her go.

Walking to the bathroom door across the living room, Megan turned around with her hand on the doorknob.

"So I'm gonna take a shower, 'cause you smell good and I think it'll help me relax a little."

"Okay…" Mark nodded.

"After that," Megan said pointedly, inflecting her tone as if she were giving crystal clear instructions to a student who simply could not get to the answer on his own, "after that it's up to you, really. But given the arrangement we negotiated last night, I think you should know that when I say 'my husband will be home in an hour,' it really means that I want to take you to bed and see what we can get done in forty five minutes."

She stepped into the bathroom and turned on the light. "What you choose to do with that bit of information…well, it's really up to you, old sport."

Megan stepped into the bathroom, turning around to throw one more cock-eyed smirk in his direction before closing the door between them.

* * *

The bathroom door clicked shut behind Jordan. Almost blinded by the white light of the half-bathroom, a stark shift from the blood-red air she stepped out of, Jordan blinked several times as she turned on the sink and looked into the mirror.

Looking at herself, she was suddenly profoundly grateful that the…sex dungeon or whatever it was…was bathed completely in red light. Her blush was so deep, the scarlet of her pale skin so pronounced it almost looked like she just escaped death by strangulation.

She splashed some cold water on her face.

It just wouldn't do to look like this when she was there in a strictly professional capacity. And she had no makeup-based solution. She didn't plan for her whole head turning the hue of a ripe tomato.

She cupped some more cold, soaking in the contrasting feeling between her palms and the rest of her skin. Then she lifted the water and splashed it into her face. Then, rinsing out her mouth, she splashed her face again. She stood upright, took a deep breath, and tried to compose herself.

Quite the scene down there, isn't it?

Jordan winced at the girl in the mirror.

"We had a deal," she whispered angrily.

Did we?

"Yes! I wear this…thing, and you stay out of it."

I am staying out of it. I didn't bother you once down there. And we both know I had plenty of opportunities to bother you But it doesn't look like you really needed my help to get bothered this time.

"Yeah, well…don't get any ideas."

The girl in the mirror smirked.

Tough talk from the girl who blushed so hard she almost melted like a candle. Is that really our first glimpse of black cock?

"It had nothing to do with his skin color. It was the context of the situation. It was…anthropologically interesting. Kind of a…totemistic ritual."

I couldn't agree more, actually.

"I just wasn't expecting it is all."

Okay. I believe you.

Jordan glared at herself in the mirror.

"What?"

I didn't say anything. I'm perfectly happy to abide by the terms of our deal. So let's do it. Are you ready to get back in there?

Jordan hesitated.

"Yes."

Really?

She hesitated again.

"I don't know."

You do know that I'm just you, right? We're not actually different?

"Yes. No. I mean…I don't know. I wrote a paper on it. Well, a rebuttal to another paper."

I know, honey. I was there. But what are we doing here?

"I don't know."

Some psychologist you are…

"Right?" Jordan allowed herself a little laugh. To her surprise, the girl in the mirror laughed too.

Okay. Since we already agreed to cooperate, let me help you out. You're scared to go back in there because you're afraid something about you is going to leak out. Something you need to stay hidden.

Jordan shook her head. She wanted to disagree, but she had to admit it. But the girl in the mirror was right. She was scared of exactly that.

So what you need to do is just…let it out now. When it's just the two of us here. I won't tell anyone.

"What? How?"

Just tell me the truth. I already know. Say it out loud so you know it for yourself.

"Say what? That I'm…aroused?"

The girl in the mirror rolled her eyes.

God, no. Nothing so basic. Here, let me help you. Unbutton your blouse.

Jordan stared at the mirror. "Why?"

The girl in the mirror stared back.

Jordan sighed and began unbuttoning her blouse. Two buttons down she saw the flush on her chest, deep as a full-day sunburn.

"Is that what you want me to admit? I already told you I'm…"

The girl in the mirror shook her head.

No, that's not it. Keep going.

Jordan began to slowly reveal the lace of her lingerie. Looking back into the mirror for direction, she finally undid the last button.

Open it. All the way.

Jordan revealed her torso, flushed and elegantly yet provocatively adorned with soft, sheer lace and delicate straps that stretched over her toned stomach and disappeared into the top of her pants.

"Okay," she said into the mirror. "Now what?"

Say it.

"Say what?"

The girl in the mirror rolled her eyes.

Honestly. Do I have to do everything? You want to show this to that man down there. That's why you wore it.

Jordan's eyes widened.

The girl in the mirror's eyebrow cocked up.

Am I wrong?

Jordan's hands, still clutching the button line of her blouse held wide open, began to shake. Her eyes dropped, and she finally allowed her head to shake.

"No. You're not wrong."

Okay. Good start. Keep going. You wish you were on your knees with those girls, don't you?

Jordan nodded gravely.

But do you really?

Jordan started, her head jerking back in surprise.

"What's your game? Isn't your whole thing like…to get me to do sex things that my sober moral self would never do in a million years?"

No honey, that's not my game. I actually don't have a game. Just accept it. I'm you. And you don't want to fuck that guy. At least not right now. You don't know him. You just got caught up in that situation. And that's okay. It's okay to let yourself go sometimes. But you don't want to do it here. Not this way. We need to keep our head on our shoulders. And I'm with you. I got your back girl!

"Really?" Jordan let go of her blouse's button line. It fell half closed, covering most of the front of her torso.

Yes. Really. Now button up your blouse and get back in there. You're missing some good stuff.

Jordan quickly began buttoning up her blouse, surprised at the sudden turn of temperament from her interlocutor.

"You're right. I don't want to…be with that guy. Not really. It's just a fantasy."

See? I told you I was on your side. Trust me.

"Okay."

Now if it was Mark down there in the dungeon…

Jordan smirked at herself, shaking her head and quickly washing her hands before heading out the bathroom door.

* * *

Megan's gentle whimpering descended once again into the toneless, heavy, syncopated breathing, effecting a kind of glow in the minimal space between her skin and Mark's. Megan's eyes flitted briefly as Mark pushed his torso up off of hers. Their eyes met as she looked up at him from her pillow with her hands still laced behind his neck. The surprised face of orgasm was still fading, leaving breathy satisfaction, the brief flash dimming steadily before the rich afterglow.

Mark's softening cock remained seated deep inside her body, his pelvis nestled into her open thighs as his back slackened into the upward slope of a curve.

"You okay?" He asked between heavy breaths.

Mark's eyes were solicitous. Concerned. A noteworthy shift from the look of deep connection they had shared while he was still thrusting into her.

"You keep asking that, Mark. I'm fine. More than fine, actually." She chuckled. "I mean, I just got laid."

Mark's head dropped with a grin and a snuffed chuckle before rising again to meet her gaze. "I didn't hurt you?"

"I might be a little sore…but it was worth it." Her smile was soft, her face trying to convey her acceptance of his physical intrusion in her body. Yet another effort to calm his angst.

During their coupling, she had made a point to hold wordless eye contact with her lover as much as she could. Their erotic connection deepened the pleasure of the experience for her, but she also felt his body sink into a relaxed flow whenever she gave him visual cue of welcome on her face. Whatever deep emotional need it seemed that he needed from the sex, it seemed to bet met when she looked right at him. Now that he had ejaculated into yet another spent condom, she could see the erratic edges of his angst and sadness pressing again into the gold-brown of his eyes.

Megan tightened her grip behind his neck and lifted herself up to kiss him.

"It was great. You were great."

"You sure this is okay?"

Megan's smile tightened. "I don't know what else to tell you, Mark. Jared's coming home soon. He knows what we've been doing. You can ask him if you don't believe me."

Mark's eyes dropped in shame and uncertainty. Megan tried to kiss him again, but he lifted his body off of hers before she could. Her eyelids flitted upward as she felt his manhood withdraw and then drop out of her. Silently, she watched him as he sat up on the side of the bed, pulled off the condom, and threw it in the trash next to Jared's nightstand. He then grabbed his towel and wrapped it around his waist, leaving the room.

Megan took another deep breath and laid back, looking up at the texture patterns on her bedroom ceiling.

Suddenly, Mark reappeared in the doorway, fully clothed. He hastily made his way to the trash can and pulled out the liner that contained the small handful of his used prophylactics before quietly replacing it with a fresh liner.

Megan didn't say a word. Just watched him come in, change the trash bag, and leave. She could hear him fumbling around in the front room, clearly busying himself with preparations for her husband to come home.

For her part, she just luxuriated in the warm, deep bodily relaxation that followed her afternoon tryst. Sex with Mark after a hard day of work…she could get used to this. Her breath returned to a normal rate, but deeper. Slower. She felt herself drifting toward a sleepy end when she heard the front door open.

"Hey man…"

Mark's voice.

"Hey."

"So…Davis wouldn't let you take a nap, huh? What a dick."

"Yeah. So…long day. Long couple days, actually. You know how it is."

"Yep. Anything happen on watch?"

"Nah. Just sitting around jacking off, you know."

Megan briefly wondered if Jared's description of his activities the night before were more figurative or literal.

"So…" she heard Jared say.

"Yeah." Mark. He sounded sheepish.

"You guys…"

"Yep."

"How many times?"

"3. And a half."

"Half? What do you count as half?"

"It was when we woke up…we went for a little while but then she was late for work, so…"

"Oh. That's half a fuck?"

Megan squeezed her eyes shut in the next room, stifling a laugh as she imagined Mark shrugging dismissively.

"Okay. So three fucks and a half-fuck."

"Yeah. So…"

Mark's voice.

"Are, we like, cool and everything?"

"Yeah, for sure. I told you, man. If she's down, I'm down. Was she good?"

"Oh, man. Incredible."

Megan felt the dimple spots in her cheeks deepen as a smile spread across her face. She pulled the sheet up to her mouth, her body betraying her shy delight at the compliment.

"Awesome. Glad to hear it. Yeah…I'm a lucky man."

"Yeah you are."

"You leave any leftovers? Or is she just like…destroyed in there?"

Megan's shoulders wiggled up and down, her hips twitching involuntarily as she reacted with unanticipated excitement to being discussed by her husband and lover as if she weren't even there. As if she were an object they were sharing.

"Yeah, plenty left. She said she was a little sore, but she's probably good to go.

"Cool. I'mma get in there, then."

"Yeah, man. Get your dick wet. She's definitely, uh, she's definitely warmed up."

On the other side of the open door, Megan rearranged the sheets quickly to look more nonchalant as she heard footsteps making their way toward the doorway. Jared appeared presently, sporting icy eyes of deep blue fire. Without a word, he quickly began unbuttoning his uniform, removing each item of clothing with cold efficiency, exposing his lean body to his wife's gaze.

Megan's heart jumped when she saw it.

There it was. The look. That look of intense hunger. He often wore an expression resembling that hunger when they made love, but this was…so much more intense. Like it used to be…

She recognized it as the look he gave her the first time they went to bed together in Vermont.

Megan's breath caught in her throat as her husband, making his way over the warm spot on the bed so recently occupied by his best friend, and silently slipped between her legs and desperately inserted his rigid cock into her swollen, wet warmth.

Fireworks.

From outside the bedroom, Mark smiled to himself as he began to hear the rapid squeaking of bed springs, which was peppered and punctuated by occasional exclamations from Megan.

"Oh, baby…"

"Oh shit…oh, SHIT…."

"Oh, Jesus, JJ…"

The squeaking began to couple with the jackhammer sounds of their bedposts knocking rhythmically against the far bedroom wall. Mark heard Megan's breathing quickening audibly. Then, within a few moments, Mark heard her breathing sputter into a few choking, sobbing exhalations, then held silent for a disturbing amount of time.

Finally, she was heard again, the stammer in her breath tearing the air in the apartment with a shriek.

"Fuck! FUCK! YEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSS!"

Clearly surprised by the intensity of her husband's desire, and her own body's explosive reaction to it, Megan screamed with wild abandon at the top of her lungs.

Mark silently laughed to himself, imagining Jared's jackrabbit intensity as Megan, wild eyed with shock, absolutely exploded underneath him.

Megan was clearly on a new sexual plane, having taken her second lover in two days, having her fifth round of sex in the same stretch of time, and now reveling in the physical evidence that her husband fully accepted and even embraced her consensual indiscretions.

Mark's grinning realization was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Startled, he quickly and quietly shut the bedroom door to give Jared and Megan some privacy, then gingerly opened the door to see Mrs. Schatz, the elderly next door neighbor with a look of concern on her face.

"I'm sorry…do I know you?" the old woman asked, squinting up at Mark.

"I'm sorry ma'am, no you don't, we haven't been introduced yet. I'm Mark Rein. I'm staying with Megan and Jared for a few weeks. I'm a friend…we–Jared and I–we're friends in the service."

"Oh. I see. I just didn't know you, and then I heard…I thought I heard Megan screaming and I was just a little worried. Did something happen? Is she okay?"

Mark nodded seriously, stumbling with a response. The jackrabbit thumps against the wall continued, then increased in tempo, and Megan's scream came from the bedroom door again, only slightly muffled by the closed door.

"OHHHOHHH, FUCK! FUCK…ME! OH MY FUCKING GOD, BABY! OH… FUCK! I'M COMING AGAIN!"

Mark turned to Mrs. Schatz and shrugged. "I'm gonna say…yeah. Yeah, I think she's okay."

* * *

Jordan sat down near Professor Schenk again, her face cooler with the water recently dried from it.

He seemed to have hit a lull in his note taking, and now sat casually observing what appeared to be a half dozen distinct scenes of sexual torture play scattered around the room.

Refreshed, Jordan cheerfully leaned in once more, whispering

"What'd I miss?"

Schenk grinned.

"Not much. Looks like the group activity is over."

"So that little…gathering a little while ago. Did any of them actually…do anything?"

Schenk shook his head. "No. It seems like this dom is big on teasing…slow-burn teasing. He's actually dressed again, but he's got his leather on now.

Jordan looked over, and indeed, he was. Hunched attentively over Betty, the middle aged woman that Jordan had chatted with earlier. Betty was restrained against an elevated seat with a high backrest. The man in charge was massaging her open thighs–having her feet bound apart in adjustable stirrups.

His large hands moved up and down her calves, her upper and inner thighs, her lower stomach and breasts, and then casually and lightly over her iliac region and lower on her pubic bone. Always approaching, but never touching the center.

Betty's eyes appeared distant. Vacant even. Her body lay slack, with occasional small hip thrusts, impertinently demanding his touch.

"Do people go into trances?" Jordan whispered to Schenk again.

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "You might call it that. People occupy roles at various depths of consciousness, and occupying a deep psychological space is frequently the appeal. And it's often a main source of the most intense pleasure."

Jordan nodded, scribbling in her notebook as she heard Betty gasp. Her head jutted up to catch the man in charge resting the pad of one middle finger near the top of her vagina, casually resting on the spot.

Jordan strained to see if his hand moved on her, but couldn't tell for sure. But it appeared that he was just holding still, holding his finger out casually, as if resting lightly on a button but never actually pressing it.

Betty began to tense, all of her limbs straining against her restraints, her face turning deep red as veins became apparent in her neck.

The man grunted his disapproval, his head shaking menacingly as Betty's eyes scrunched shut and she began to breathe loudly, heaving in a controlled rhythm.

"What's happening with Betty?"

Schenk didn't look over, as he had his eyes on an unrelated sexual horsewhipping in a different corner of the room.

"Orgasm denial. She wants to have an orgasm, and he's not allowing her to."

"How does he stop her?"

"He doesn't. He tells her, and she stops herself. If she doesn't, she's punished."

Jordan shuddered. Her memory shot back to a similar disorientation she experienced with Mark before he left. She had been bent over his kitchen counter, worked up by the skillful use of his fingers, and…

She shook off the memory, turning to Schenk again.

"Is it more common for the dominants to force inaction–something like resisting an orgasm–or is it more common to compel action like compliance with a sexual demand?"

Schenk stopped writing. "Interesting question. I'm not sure if it's the kind of thing that can be quantified. But I haven't thought of analyzing it from that angle before. Very impressive, Ms. Simms."

Jordan felt a small thrill at having impressed the senior professor, an emotional response that was an unearthed relic of her eager undergraduate years. She began to relax a little more, then, still riding the high of his praise, she blurted out her next words without thinking.

"I was kinda hoping to see something a little more artistic tonight."

Schenk paused. "Artistic? How do you mean?"

Jordan froze.

"I'm sorry," she hastened. "I don't mean to imply that I had…expectations for the evening or anything, just as an observer and all…"

"No, no…" Schenk's eyebrow raised. "What did you hope to see? What kind of…art do you mean?"

Jordan cleared her throat. "I just…I saw some more artistic ways of binding in some of the videos I saw. I found it intriguing, the incorporation of artisanship into the bondage ritual at all."

"Artistic ways of binding?"

"Well, um…there were colored ropes, and they were arranged in geometric patterns around the women's bodies…"

"Oh, you mean Shibari." Schenk nodded to himself, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah, that's gaining in popularity lately. What interested you about it?"

Jordan felt herself flush again, once again grateful for the deep red light. Somewhere in the distance, she heard a flat paddle smack flatly against bare skin, and the female grunt and the tinkling sound of jiggling chains as someone twitched in response to the flogging.

Jordan forced herself to focus. "I…think it's an interesting convergence. Of visual, tactile, and symbolic play in the act of restraining. The man sees the shapes, they form a kind of de facto lingerie on the woman's body, and he gets to…create it. He creates her appearance and position at the same time. The woman submits to being both bound and clothed–well, partly clothed. And there's a tactile dimension to the bondage and the binding process itself…it just seemed to be interesting."

"Indeed." Schenk began to nod and smile. "Well, you could always ask for a demonstration."

Jordan's eyes widened. "A demonstration?"

Schenk shrugged. "Sure. You've got five doms in the room. I guarantee one of them does Shibari. Probably more than one."

Jordan swallowed. "Is that…ethical?"

Schenk leaned back in his chair. "Well, it depends. You're not doing publishable research. This is just your…curiosity, right?"

Jordan's eyes fell slightly as she felt her breath deepen. She cleared her throat.

"Yes. Professional curiosity."

Schenk shrugged again. "Then it's fine. But if you step into their space, you have to honor it."

Jordan stopped short. "How do you mean?"

Schenk leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "Nothing you don't consent to. But they'll likely play up your status as an observer. Incorporate your professional interest into their domination dynamic. They won't involve you directly, of course. Just…use you as an audience. So if they want to talk to you, you should play along."

Jordan sat still, thinking.

"Are you okay with that? Is it going to mess up what you're looking at?"

Schenk nodded. "This is actually a pretty unremarkable group. I haven't seen anything here that I think you'd spoil by stepping into the circle."

Jordan's eyes widened. "This is unremarkable?"

He smiled, avoiding an answer.

"Well?" he said. "Shall we ask for a demonstration?"

* * *

Mark met Jared with a low-five and a fist-bump as he walked out of the bedroom and past the couch. Wearing only boxer shorts, Mark's former number-two man flopped down on the couch next to Mark's chair with an air of exhausted confidence, clearly spent and satisfied.

"Sup…" Jared grinned over at him.

Mark jutted his chin up in acknowledgment. "Sup. Good times…"

"Yeah…" Jared let a breathy chuckle slip out of a half grin.

"She okay?" Mark sounded genuinely concerned.

"Not sure. The way she was twitching…I don't know. Maybe give it five minutes and call an ambulance?"

Mark grinned back. "Bet you feel good about yourself."

Jared nodded, smirking. "I could get used to this team-up shit. She was ready to go man. You're a great opening act. Alley-oop with my girl…"

Megan toodled awkwardly into the room, her hair mussed and hanging unevenly between her back and front, her tanned body smooth and bare to the sight of both men–except a clutched fistful of a wadded-up gray T-shirt awkwardly covering her pubis. Mark and Jared turned to watch her walk in, both taking her in as she flopped down next to her husband on the couch, exhausted.

"Heya fellas. How 'bout them Knicks?"

Mark and Jared laughed out loud as she broke into a sleepy grin.

"Meg, you're working overtime…" Mark quipped.

"Well, I'm duly compensated, gentlemen. I tell ya…a girl could get used to this…"

Mark smiled again as Jared leaned over to plant a kiss on his wife's cheek.

"So," he said as Jared settled back into his own exhausted slouch, "we should probably talk about this."

"Yeah, yeah…" Megan smiled, making the yapping gesture with her hand. "Mark wants to talk again…He wants to know where everyone stands…"

"I just…I feel like I'm pushing boundaries as your guest, you know…that's all. I'd feel better if we…"

"You're not a fucking guest, dude." Jared cut him off.

Mark blinked in surprise, unsure how to respond.

"What he means…" Megan added, explaining quietly, still slightly slurred from so much recent euphoria, "is that you're…more welcome here than a regular guest. I'd hope that's clear after…you know…the last day or so."

"No, that's not what I mean." Jared sat up, suddenly serious. "Dude, you're family now. I know you don't got a family left since your mom died before you joined up and Benny died before that. I know the Corps was your backup family, and you feel like they fucked you over. And even though they definitely did, I hope you come back to it when you figure your shit out. For now, we're your family. Me and Meg. You're part of our relationship now. If we have a spare room, you get it. If we don't, you sleep in bed with us. You can go with us to DC if you want, or whatever you want to do. But wherever we are, you can count on a place with us. If you want it."

He paused to look over at his wife, and found a look of shock on her face. "I mean, that's how I feel about it, babe. Is that where you're at?"

Still shocked, Megan shook her head in disbelief, her eyes wide. "I mean…we didn't talk about it, but…yes. Yes Mark, that's how I feel. That's how we feel."

She paused, giving a half-hopeful smile as Mark took in their words.

He stayed silent for a long time. Then, turning to Jared, he asked a blunt question.

"This thing with me and Meg…is that like a fetish for you? It's cool if it is, but I'm not sure how I feel about it."

Jared's face turned red. "It's…kinda hard to explain."

Mark's eyes narrowed. "Try."

As awkward as the conversation was turning, Megan noticed Mark's face beginning to show hints of his former confident, bright personality. He seemed quietly amused at the subtle interrogation of his freshly cuckolded friend.

Jared cleared his throat. "Honestly…I don't really get it myself. Meg and me talked about it alot, and it's just like…I'm super attracted to her, and so when other guys are attracted to her too, it gets me excited. And it's kinda the same when she wants to do more on her own."

Now Mark turned to Megan. "Is this…do you guys do this a lot? I mean, it's none of my business, I just want to…have my eyes open."

Megan shook her head firmly. "No, actually. Just with you…I don't do casual sex. I have to really trust the guy to enjoy it, and JJ doesn't like it unless I really enjoy it. So…so far it's…just been you."

Mark nodded slowly, then sat in silence for a moment. Jared rubbed his hands together uncomfortably, waiting for a response.

"I guess I'm just trying to figure out where I stand. With Molly's husband, he was like…I don't know, it was weird. It kinda creeped me out a little bit. But he wasn't an active part of it. He was always off to the side. I wasn't friends with him."

Jared nodded. "Yeah, I'm not sure how we label it, honestly."

Mark looked over to Megan. "So obviously, he's your husband, you're his wife…what does that make me?"

Megan shrugged. "Whatever you want to be, I guess. Friend, obviously. Sex-buddy, definitely. I don't know. Maybe…whatever you want to be. As long as you're happy here, I don't care what we call it."

Mark squinted thoughtfully. "I've got to think about it."

The trio sat in silence until Jared spoke up.

"Or just don't think about it. I don't think we need anything official, man. Let's just…be together."

Mark shook his head. "No. I can't step into another situation like this. The last one…"

"It's not like Molly," Megan insisted urgently. "We're all friends. And I'm not going to leave Jared. No one's competing. We just want you to feel like you have a place here. Believe me, Mark…we only want you to be happy."

"Totally," Jared added. "Whatever that looks like. You get a better job and want to move? We're cool with that. You want to stay? Cool. You find a nice girl and want to be exclusive with her? We're down with it. We just want to make sure you've got a place to call home, and we want to be that place. And if you just want to be here, if you don't want it to get sexual or whatever, that's fine too. Just say the word."

Megan nodded earnestly, the credibility of the last caveat undercut somewhat by her exposed body.

Mark's gaze held down on the ground, thinking.

"I don't know. Let me think about it."

Jared shrugged. "That's fine. Think all you want, or don't. As long as you're cool, we're cool." He stood up and stretched, his arms straining over his head, nearly touching the ceiling. "But I'm done with the feelings talk. I've been up for 36 straight hours. I'm going to sleep."

Mark looked up and gave a half smile. "I can't believe Gunny Davis wouldn't let you lay down for an hour to take the edge off. Wonder what's up his ass…"

Jared nodded sleepily. "Who knows. If I'm ever a company gunny, I'm gonna get all the bugs out my ass way before…"

Megan broke into a giggle. "Do you hear what you're saying?"

Jared grinned at himself. "I guess not. I don't know what I'm sayin'. I'm tired. Fuck it. I'm goin' to bed. You two crazy kids watch your Spock and Scotty space show, or whatever. I'm out." He leaned down to kiss his wife, then turned back toward the bedroom, disappearing into the fading dark beyond the doorway. Megan stood up and followed him.

Mark watched her firm buttocks out of the corner of his eye as picked up the TV remote and began flipping through channels. The TV screen flitted from picture to picture, and Mark didn't pay real attention to what was on. He was just trying not to think too hard about the mixed emotions of the past two days.

Finding a basketball game on TV, he set down the remote and leaned back in his chair, startled to see Megan standing next to it. He hadn't heard her walk back out.

She was dressed now. Plaid pajama bottoms and a form fitting black tank top with spaghetti straps.

"Whatcha watchin?"

"I don't know," Mark said. "Looks like…Knicks and Pistons."

"Wow. They both suck this year."

"Yeah, they do."

Megan moved over to sit on the couch again, but looked pointedly over at Mark as she sat down. She patted the spot next to her, inviting him to sit next to her.

Mark didn't move.

"What's your endgame, Meg? What do you want out of this?"

She stopped patting the couch and leaned back, tilting her head.

"What do you mean?"

Mark shrugged. "Where is this going?"

Megan tucked her legs up onto the couch and shrugged. "Where do you want it to go?"

Mark shrugged back. "I don't know. But I like to know the risk before I walk into an open field full of IEDs."

She nodded. "I get that."

He waited for her response, but she seemed finished.

"So…what's the endgame here? Where is this going?" He gestured at the space between them with two fingers.

"Honestly, Mark…" she let out a slightly exasperated laugh. "Where is it going? It's already there. What I want…is what I…what we already have. I have a great marriage to a man I love, and I have you."

"Just an extra cock to have around?"

"No," Megan answered patiently. "But also yes, I guess. I mean, I'm not gonna turn down more great sex. I'm a red-blooded American girl in my twenties."

Mark shrugged, looking back at the TV again. "I just don't get it."

She let the game run for a moment while she thought out a response.

"Mark, listen to me."

He looked away from the TV and back over to her.

"I'm going to say something that sounds harsh, but you need to hear it. And I'm saying it because I…we deeply care about you. And you can't see what I'm about to say because you're kind of stuck inside it right now. And also, for what it's worth, you're a man, and it seems like there's something about having a dick that makes you incapable of naming or understanding your own emotional needs. So I'm gonna do it for you. You ready?"

Mark shrugged.

Megan cleared her throat, and took a deep breath.

"Since you got back from Afghanistan, you have been a shell of yourself."

He rolled his eyes, annoyed.

"Don't dismiss that…" Megan's brow furrowed, her voice suddenly sharp. Mark lazily looked back toward her, waiting for her to continue.

She felt angry all of the sudden. A little defensive.

"You have been a shell of what you were before you deployed. I don't know what actually caused it, or if it's a combination of things. And that bullshit court martial…and that Macintosh mother fucker…" she clenched her teeth for a moment before catching herself. "It all just added up. And Molly was kind of propping you up, which was great for a while, but even she knew you were deep in the shit. When you two ended things, and you started spiraling, I got scared. Real scared, Mark. And I want to help."

"So what, you're gonna fuck me back to my old self?"

Mark immediately regretted it as flames appeared behind the dark brown irises of Megan's eyes.

Then tears followed as her face dropped down and she fell into helpless silence.

"Meg…I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I…I'm just really confused."

She nodded, wiping her tears. Then, composing herself, she looked up again.

"I don't really know what to do to help you. But I do know that when you feel safe here, I see flashes of your old self again. And yes, that does include the times when we're…together."

He had no answer.

"Okay." She said, standing up. "I can see you're not ready to talk about this." Agitated, she turned to walk away, then stopped to add a thought.

"I don't want to fuck you back to your old self, Mark. I want to love you into your best self. If it doesn't work, it's okay. Because you're worth it."

Mark let her almost reach her bedroom door before calling after her.

"Meg."

She turned around.

"Do you love me?"

She gave him a tight smile. "Yep."

"Like you love Jared?"

Her eyes looked up and away for a moment before returning. "No. But also yes."

Mark's confused look matched her feelings in admitting it.

"Look," she continued, "I don't really get it. It's not a thing I imagined myself feeling or…uh…a situation I thought I'd find myself in."

"So what is it?"

She walked back to the couch and sat down again. "I don't know. It's like…I don't feel any less love for Jared. I mean, Jesus…you heard what happened when he came home. He really put a cherry on top of your dessert at the end there."

Mark grinned. "Yeah, I heard. So did Mrs. Schatz, by the way."

Megan's hand covered her mouth, her eyes bugging. "Mrs. Schatz? The neighbor?"

Mark nodded. "She came by. She heard you screaming."

Megan began to giggle into the hand over her mouth, mortified.

Mark grinned again, then broke into laughter himself. For a moment the two of them just rollicked, doubled over in laughter.

When it passed, Megan wiped her eyes again. "Well, that's going to be an awkward hallway meeting."

"No shit…" Mark wiped his eyes.

"But seriously…" She returned to her earlier point. "Mark, we've known you since before we got married. You've known Jared almost as long as I have. And Jesus…you saved his life! And then…when I freaked out and told you he still needed you…you basically hijacked a fucking helicopter to take over again and make sure he was safe."

She paused, shaking her head and locking eyes with him before continuing. "You think it's no big deal, because…because that's just who you are. That's the real Mark Rein. A fucking hero who just shrugs it off and keeps being a hero. Now you're a shell of that. So yeah, I want to bring you back. Because again…you're worth it."

Mark felt uncomfortable as she held his gaze.

"See?" she said. "There it is. That…compulsive modesty. All I said is what you did, I didn't exaggerate and you just…can't even accept who you are! God, Mark. You can be so fucking frustrating sometimes. Yeah, I love you. You saved my husband's life. Probably more than once. And he absolutely worships the ground you walk on. So yeah, I'm gonna love you for that. If nothing else."

Mark sat silent, taking it in.

"I don't know where it's going, Mark," she said at last. "I'm just happy with where it is. I'd feel almost the same way if it hadn't gotten sexual, but it has. And JJ's into that, and it makes him happy when I get freaky. That's weird enough, but also pretty good luck. Because you're hot, and I'm good to go. We hit the fucking trifecta by accident. Let's just enjoy it for what it is. And I'll even help you find a girl that makes you happy, if that's what you want. In the meantime…"

She patted the couch again.

Appeased but still uneasy, Mark stood up and sat next to her on the couch. She tucked her legs up again, and hooked her arm through his, resting her head on his shoulder as they turned to watch the game.

* * *

"Immobilization is a better term…"

Jordan stood with arms crossed, solemnly observing as the sturdy, white skinned middle-aged man still in full clothing carefully wrapped soft, red rope around the young woman's arms behind her back, the palms of her hands smashed together with a geometric arrangement of rope: an intricate, symmetrical herringbone.

The young woman who looked like Jordan stood passive but tense, yielding to the drapery and bindings of colorful rope. She kept her eyes down, not speaking as her body was arranged.

This was the closest Jordan had gotten to her–just feet away.

Jordan's faux-double was completely naked, her pubic hair shaved bare, her hair messy and hanging loose after being bound to the post and whipped with a riding crop. Her skin was a matte sheen of recently dried sweat, and her makeup was smudged.

Although she still looked quite well put-together.

"At least for this particular practice, I don't prefer the term bondage. Sounds too involuntary," the dom continued. "The girl, if she's good, will get the privilege of rope holding her posture. And it accents the better features of her body in a way I like. So she wins all around. In contrast, if she's in training, or if she needs to be punished, she gets no rope. No pretty assistance. She'll need to hold the posture herself. That's much more taxing for her."

Jordan nodded, processing the information. This was one of the lesser doms, delegated to demonstrate for her by the man in charge, who seemed distracted when she asked for the demonstration.

Now, the man in charge seemed to be preparing to engage with another couple…

Jordan glanced around until she saw him on the far side of the room. He was moving slowly behind Betty, who was bent over a padded bench. The man with the small cage on his penis kneeled next to Betty, his body roughly in line with her hips. The man in charge grabbed the caged man's hair, shook his head around as he growled something to him, then let go of it roughly, leaving it messy. Then, he adjusted Betty's hips and…

Was she missing the cuckolding?

There was just too much to take in all at once.

She turned back to see the man with the rope waiting patiently for her attention.

"I'm sorry…" Jordan apologized. "I was just…distracted. Please, continue, this is very…interesting."

"She doesn't find you interesting." The man said to Jordan's doppelganger.

Jordan's double dropped her head in shame.

"You're not holding her attention."

"No…that's not it," Jordan insisted, not wanting to make her feel bad. "It's my fault. I'm…"

The man held up a hand to stop Jordan from talking. He grasped the other woman's chin gruffly and lifted it up to look at him.

He glared into her eyes for several painful seconds, then growled.

"You need to be interesting for the professor. You want to be interesting for the professor, don't you?"

Her eyes seemed to plead into his, her lips pouting. She nodded mournfully.

"Well, make yourself interesting then. Give the professor something to write about in her little notebook."

Jordan didn't know how to react as her double turned with pleading eyes to look at her. Her hands were still bound behind her back, but she inhaled deeply and pulled her shoulders back, causing her small breasts to lift and stick out.

She was presenting her body.

Jordan couldn't help but notice stiff nipples that stuck straight out, signaling a desperate arousal that matched her double's eyes.

"Is that interesting to you, professor?"

"Uh, y…yes." Jordan stammered. "Very…very interesting."

"Good girl." The dom patted her double's cheek, and she smiled wordlessly.

"Is she not allowed to talk?" Jordan asked.

"Allowed?" the man answered. "Of course. But speaking would be inappropriate, as it would put distance between my desires and her body. I'll have her speak when I want to hear her. When she accepts my desire with her body. Then she can vocalize the joy of receiving me. For now, she simply wants what I want, and she does so silently. Speaking would complicate that."

Jordan's face burned. She began writing random letters in her notebook to draw attention away from herself.

The dom continued draping her with the rope, arranging a kind of double diamond frame around her small, perky breasts, then looping the rope behind her back. Then he arranged another large diamond around her stomach, the bottom vertex of which rested at the crest of where her pubic hair would normally be.

Jordan found herself drawn into his movements as the other girl's body was gradually covered.

"That's beautiful work," Jordan said.

He continued, looping around her waist to add dimension to the design.

"Well? My work was complimented. What do you say?" He briskly slapped her bare buttock. She winced and looked up at Jordan.

"I'm glad you like how he presents my body to you…" her eyes locked onto Jordan's.

They were darker. A little green in them.

"Thank you for the compliment of my master's work, professor."

Jordan swallowed again.

Over the shoulder of her doppelganger, she saw the man in charge, his bare buttocks tensing and relaxing as he began to thrust into Betty. Betty's groans were increasingly audible across the room.

Not wanting to be rude, she quickly looked back at the demonstration in time to watch the dom in front of her tap the young woman's right inner thigh.

"Up…"

With no hesitation, Jordan's peer lifted her right right foot up, her knee jutting out to the side, and rested the sole of her foot against the inside of her naked left thigh.

The man began to extend firm but gentle lengths or rope around the triangle of her upper and lower leg.

What followed was a twofold effect as she struggled to stand upright on one leg, while her naked vulva was fully exposed between her now open legs.

She had shaved all of it.

For some reason, Jordan's eyes held on the young woman's vulva, drawn to her grooming choice. She had heard of girls shaving their privates, and she had even asked Mark about it once, but he shrugged it off, and she never took it seriously after that. She had mixed feelings about seeing it, unsure of what it meant, what it symbolized. But thinking on the aesthetics, the likely symbolic value, she had to admit that the young woman definitely seemed…more…naked. Somehow.

Jordan caught herself in a half shiver, swallowing again as the man tied the final knot just above the buttocks of his wobbling sexual submissive. The poor girl, naked, restrained (albeit in an aesthetically arresting arrangement), and exposed, struggled to stay upright. But, although wobbling every few seconds, she seemed rigidly focused and managed to stay upright. She had clearly practiced this before.

"What now?" Jordan was surprised to hear herself ask the question.

The man casually slapped her small, bare breast again and shrugged. "Any number of things. I might just have her hold the position for a while, admiring my property. I might take some photos and send them to people. I might tease or please her if that strikes my fancy. But you wanted to see this,,,what would you like to see done to her?"

Jordan's face flushed again. Her eyes darted briefly toward the man in charge, who was not directing his focus anywhere near her. His back was to her, and he was fucking Betty with wild abandon now, with the cuckold leaning awkwardly in on his knees to get a close view of the penetration.

Then, catching a brief glance at the girl in the mirror, saw herself standing in front of…

For an instant, it really looked like she was standing in front of herself.

She had to look away. It was too much.

She returned her focus back to the man, composing herself. Pulling out her notebook, she tried to be casual.

"Well, what do you usually do?"

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Again, it depends on my mood."

"What does she prefer?"

"That's irrelevant."

Jordan nodded, taking Schenk's advice to accept the logic of the space. It was harder than she thought not to lean in and simply tell him what to do.

The thought surprised her. She pushed it back.

"What's your mood now?"

The dom thought another moment, then cracked his knuckles and reached confidently between the young woman's legs, grasping her privates.

The young woman's eyes rolled upward, a look of solemn discipline spreading over her face.

He appeared to be holding her up with the grip between her legs, but also rubbing her most sensitive area with his broad palm.

Jordan watched her doppelganger twitch, her freestanding left knee moving as if to buckle.

Jordan wondered how she managed to stay standing. It must take incredible focus.

The young woman's breath caught as one of the man's fingers slipped inside her. She began to let out noises. Little squeaks. Surprising, almost…cartoonish noises.

If she wasn't standing right there watching, Jordan would have sworn that the little squeaks made by the young woman were affectations. Little noises made to heighten the man's arousal. Yet these seemed so…organic.

Something about the logic of subspace made her throw her voice in a strange way…unconsciously.

Jordan scribbled a note.

"Hand me that, if you would." The man pointed to a device on a nearby table. Jordan's brow furrowed as she picked it up to examine it. A small white cylinder with a slightly wider but shorter cylinder on the top. The whole thing looked like a distended mechanical mushroom.

She remembered seeing something like that on display at the sex shop when she visited with David, but she didn't know what it was.

She handed it to the man. His left hand moved to steady her posture by holding her hip, then he pushed a button to activate the device, which emitted a low, steady buzz.

A vibrator. Jordan had heard of those too. And seen them used in the videos she watched, although none that looked like that one. Interesting.

The dom cocked an eyebrow to Jordan, who did not tell him to stop. He placed the larger cylinder–the head of the device, between the young woman's legs.

It was like she had been hit with a cattle prod. Her whole body jerked at once, and her squeaks dropped slowly–nearly a full octave into mid-pitched moans as her head rolled back.

Jordan felt her breath shortening and her heart beating faster. The young woman began to lean into the man, who promptly pushed her back upright, but didn't remove the device.

Jordan began to take note of the intimate moment between the two of them, but noticed that one of the ropes appeared to be unraveling behind her waist.

"Ummm…"

Jordan got the man's attention, pointing to the drooping rope end as it slowly started to unravel.

"Oh. Can't have that…" the man put the device back on the table, not letting go of his submissive, and moved behind her to re-establish the tension and secure the knot.

The young woman took the moment of reprieve to look at Jordan.

She seemed so helpless, but there was something about her helplessness. Something powerful. Unashamed. Even proud.

A new kind of desire flaring in her eyes that Jordan couldn't account for.

It was almost like seeing the girl in the mirror. Only this girl genuinely wasn't her. But the connection felt almost as real as Jordan's gunbarrel blue eyes locked with her double's dark greens

It was magnetic.

It was beautiful.

Then it happened.

Before she realized what she was doing.

Jordan tucked her little notebook in her back pocket, picked up the sex toy still buzzing on the table, and swung it delicately until it jammed in between the young woman's legs.

The shock in her doppelganger's eyes was like a summons to Jordan. A call to answer. Something deep in her stirred as she moved her face to be inches from those wide, dark green eyes.

Jordan's own eyes warmed from gun-barrel blue to seeming icy gray as she gripped the young woman's elbow with her free hand, steadying her. The man, surprised by the sudden move, stepped away, then folded his arms and nodded approvingly.

Jordan began moving the vibrating device gently forward and back between the young woman's legs, mimicking her own preference when masturbating.

She wondered what the vibrations felt like. She bet they felt amazing. A small part of her felt like her own moist desire was resonating sympathetically with her twitching, wordless partner.

The young woman's moans began to break into a stammer. Jordan set her jaw and squeezed the young woman's elbow hard as she tilted the device up into her…

Jordan felt a hand on her own right elbow.

She shook it off and pushed harder.

The young woman's eyes squeezed shut, and she wailed in surrender.

As the young woman's elbow–pressed between her thumb and fingers–slowed its twitch and began to relax, Jordan looked down to see the young woman's petite breasts, elegantly framed in red rope, beginning to heave.

Jordan released her double's elbow, realizing what she'd done.

She released the device, and set it back on the table, still buzzing noisily.

The rest of the room had stopped their own activities and gone quiet. All looking at her.

Including Professor Schenk.

* * *

The weeks that followed were like a dream.

Megan had never imagined a life like this. Growing up, she vacillated between two kinds of dreams about her future relationships. On the one hand, she indulged fantasies following a Jane Austen style romantic arc terminating in a happily ever with a handsome and rich man, and on the other hand, occasional angry vows of celibacy whenever she was annoyed, disrespected, or even casually assaulted by the boys in high school.

High school wasn't particularly fun for her, and the boys didn't make it easier. She wasn't one of the popular girls, but she was certainly one of the better-looking ones, which made her a target for popular girls who wanted to fix her (to be more like them) and horny boys who wanted to bed her only to then high-five all of their little bro friends.

She wasn't buying it then. And if there were any nice boys to be found in high school, she never found them. In fact, with the exception of some of her teammates, Megan didn't have much of a social life in high school, but it didn't bother her. In fact, it worked in her favor, since by temperament she was an intensely, perhaps even excessively intense young woman. Her grades were in the stratosphere. Teachers loved her. And while she wasn't making any highlight reels excelling in the thankless position of defender on her soccer team, she was highly valued by her team, and feared by her opponents. She didn't get much credit for the two state championships they won–the lead striker Tasha was far more visible and celebrated–but everyone knew that on the other end of the field, any attempt to slip a ball past Megan Rodriguez would be met with stern ferocity.

She did, however, get some credit from her teachers for her state championship win in solo debate during her junior year. But no one except her parents seemed even to notice that. She got runner-up in her senior year, too, and was invited to the national competition both years. But as the school wouldn't fund the trip, and her family couldn't afford it, she had to decline the invitation.

When the college scouts began talking to her, they were low key. Good defenders are valuable, but not flashy. Nevertheless, there were several attractive offers. Her mother was thrilled when one of them was USC–such prestige! But when Megan toured the colleges that were recruiting her, she didn't like the feel of USC. It seemed more like another high school, just bigger. With the social cliques even more entrenched. And the coach seemed like she would make life miserable.

She eventually settled on the University of Vermont, which surprised everyone. Who would turn down USC? And it was so far from home! But Megan liked the rural feel of the smaller school, and they covered her tuition, dorm, and a meal plan. Her family wouldn't be on the hook for her education at all, and she could just relax and play hard. She did well on the team, too, contributing to a conference championship in her sophomore year.

She lost her virginity in college. More out of curiosity than anything. A tall, skinny boy from her Renaissance Studies class named Trent who took her out for pizza. He was sweet. The sex was bad. She politely moved on. Another short fling followed–a hockey player named Scotty she met at the gym. He was funny, and the sex was better. But after a few dates he began to get controlling and clingy. She parted ways with him shortly after.

Then was the strange flirtation with Rebecca, the goalie on her team. They never did anything physical, but Megan began to notice the way Rebecca looked at her as she paced back anad forth in the space in front of the goal. They hung out a few times after practice, usually shooting pool. Megan was confused about what the relationship was, and she really didn't know how she felt about it, although she did like Rebecca. But the uncertainty eventually led Rebecca to move on after a few months.

Then she met Jared. And the rest of them fell away. He was aimless, but adorably passionate. They fit together like magic, and she couldn't get enough of his goofiness and intensity. And he let her be smart. Hell, he loved how smart she was. Unlike many guys she knew, he supported all of her dreams, even if he wasn't terribly academically inclined. But while it looked like her life was really shaping up to be something, he felt he needed to make something of himself to keep up. So when he decided in her senior year that he would join the Marines, Megan was surprised, but supported him. And she promised to wait for him while he was at boot camp. Four months later, back with a haircut and an even more intense look in his eyes, he asked her to marry him. She agreed.

Now she loved to lay in bed with him every night. She was perfectly happy with their life together. And sex with Jared was incredible–far surpassing anything she had had with previous partners. And he was open about his kinks and desires, and she was as well…which actually led to that first fateful night with Mark.

And then the deployment.

And then the return.

And then Molly's sudden presence and sudden absence in their lives.

And now…here and now, Megan lay in bed with Jared's behind her as the big spoon, clutching her breast and holding her back tightly to his front while she casually rested an idle hand on Mark's broad, bare chest.

Thank god they had a king mattress.

She still had to remind herself that she wasn't dreaming.

It was so surreal to have two men. And to love them both.

The new routine was unreal, and she was shocked at how easily the three of them were settling into it.

Mark still got home first on weekdays, showering the brick dust off before Megan came home from teaching. She would kiss him hello and he would ask about her day. Sometimes they would go to bed then, enjoying some quick afternoon sex to take the edge off a hard day.

Then Jared would come home in his uniform. She would kiss him hello and they would talk about their days. Mark would make dinner sometimes, or help around the house.

She loved it. It felt strangely exciting to have a new man in her life, without the usual pain of loneliness or insecurity that preceded finding a new man. And she really loved being able to give a deep, meaningful kiss to Mark in the kitchen, and then another to Jared in the living room.

And of course, the routine before bed was amazing. Almost transcendent.

Mark usually took her first, his longer, thicker cock filling her in slow, masculine strokes, making her torso and eyelids twitch and her body sweat all over. After he spilled into the condom, he would withdraw, and Jared would take his turn, jackhammering her until she squealed.

Then she slept like a rock. Every night.

She slept so deeply, in fact, that she began missing Jared's early morning departure entirely. He would be gone when she woke up, usually shortly after 6 in the morning, and she would comfortably make her way to Mark's arms for a snuggle. Sometimes she would idly play with his penis, but they both knew there wasn't time for sex before they had to hop in the shower together.

Weekends were much less subtle. Jared began to designate Fridays as "Fuckfest Eve," which was pretty accurate. Megan ran through her entire stock of lube in the first two weekends.

Mark was talking openly about moving with them to the DC area, maybe even helping them get a two bedroom apartment so he could continue living with them. Megan was delighted by the suggestion, but was even more delighted that Mark seemed to smile more easily, that he began exercising again, and that the full bottle of Jack Daniels that returned home with him most days stopped showing up at all. It wasn't all better–he was still jumpy and had periods of intense, withdrawn sadness, but he seemed increasingly open to working with a therapist. Megan even began researching therapists in the DC area, hoping to nudge him in the right direction after they moved.

The world positively shimmered around her. She got the nickname "Mrs. Smiley" at school, as her mood was perpetually sunny–not an easy disposition to maintain in her job.

And Jared was over the moon at the casual intimacies that popped up organically between his best friend and his wife. It was a win-win for him, taking care of his best friend, seeing his wife enjoy herself, and satisfying the weirdly deep desire he had to combine those two impulses. He would stand or sit respectfully apart as Mark enjoyed Megan's body, waiting for them both to finish before taking his turn. But then he was an uncaged cheetah. Sometimes Megan would catch flashes of insecurity in Jared's eyes after he finished in her, but they seemed to fade quickly as she would shower him with as much affection as she could muster, immersed in her own haze of oxytocin.

Then came the Thursday before the move. The young throuple had begun packing the apartment, and Jared was going in early and staying late to hand over his duties to the new platoon sergeant. Mark was smiling a lot now. And they had enjoyed another fulfilling night together.

Megan slept like a rock. As usual. But then she had a dream. She knew she was dreaming this time. You know those dreams where you kind of know you're dreaming? Where you're a character in your own dream, watching yourself as you participate?

It was one of those dreams.

She was in a room she had never seen before. It had soft pillows on smooth leather couches. There was a little bookshelf on the far wall, and a coffee table set between the couches.

Megan looked down at herself. She was wearing her warm-up clothes from her soccer team in college. At least she thought so. The pants were in Vermont colors…but she wore the gag shirt–the one with Captain Picard from Star Trek–under her open training jacket.

She looked around. There were open windows in the room with bright morning light flooding in.

But the surroundings were only dressing for the scene.

What really held her attention in the dream was how she felt.

She felt happy. A deep, soft contentment that unaccountably filled her whole body with joy and sat comfortably in her mind. It made everything feel good. It made everything feel right.

This is right…she said to herself. This is good.

She heard a rustling across the room and looked over to see a toddler–a skinny little boy with scraggly dark hair–near the bookshelf on the other side of the room. He was straining over his head. reaching for something.

He was pulling books off the shelf. After filling his arms with them, he awkwardly turned around and toddled toward her, his arms stuffed with board books and picture books, one or two of them falling haplessly on the floor as he crossed the room. Arriving at where she sat, he dropped the pile of books unceremoniously onto her lap and looked up at her.

His face was sweet, and knew she would know what he wanted without asking. His eyes were brown. Deep brown.

Megan felt her whole body smile, and felt herself begin to laugh in delight.

Then she woke up.

The dawn light was beginning to turn into the morning gold of mid-spring.

Jared was gone.

Megan blinked to herself, then rolled over to see Mark still sleeping. She looked at him for a long time, still processing the deep feelings of her dream. She began to lightly touch his body, then his face, her hand gently lingering on the scar under his jaw.

He began to stir, his eyes flitting open.

"Meg? Everything okay?"

She nodded and smiled.

He took a deep breath, and her hand drifted down his torso, finding his stiff morning erection as her hand slipped under the waistband of his sweatpants.

Mark chuckled and smiled. This wasn't unusual. Megan would frequently tease his penis when they woke up.

But now she gripped it. And began stroking.

"Hmmm…" his voice was low. Inquisitive, but appreciative. He let his head fall back into the pillow, enjoying the attention.

A moment later, she let go of him and reached up to clutch the fabric of his undershirt sleeve. Pulling on it, she sent him a signal.

"Meg…what time is it?"

She pulled harder on his sleeve.

He went along, rolling on top of her.

She began to kiss him. Slowly, and gently.

Pure affection, punctuated by the soft, wet smacks of their lips as they parted, then came together again.

Mark looked at the clock. It was ten minutes to six. She had woken early…

Megan touched his face again, guiding his jaw until he looked at her again.

"Meg…you want to…"

She nodded silently. Mark began to kiss her again, his hand drifting under the waistband of her pajama pants, tracing over the narrow vertical strip of pubic hair, and found her to be quite warm and not a little damp.

Excitedly, he fumbled under the bedcovers to remove her pants and panties as her hands slipped under his undershirt, roving with a light touch over his torso.

As he worked to position himself, Mark caught her gaze.

This was new. This look…it was new.

He had enjoyed Megan's intense looks frequently in a number of different contexts–many of them sexual.

But he had never seen this look before.

Her eyes were a mass of comfortable contradictions. Relaxed yet excited. Hungry yet fulfilled. Passive, yet aggressive. Acquiescent, yet demanding.

The look hit Mark in a deep place and nearly froze him. He broke away from the look only briefly to reach for the nightstand drawer for a condom.

Her hand caught his wrist, stopping him.

He looked back down at her.

That look again.

"Meg? Are you sure?"

She nodded quietly. Gently but powerfully uttering her first words since waking up, her voice deeply calm. Primally feminine. Almost ancestral.

"Mark…this is right. This is good."

Mark was floored by the power of her words. They seemed to throw him in a trance until he felt Megan's hand on his stiff cock, guiding him toward her.

They both groaned involuntarily as a single slow thrust buried him in her. Moving slowly, Mark's skin began to heat as he felt her arms, then her legs slide smoothly around his neck and waist.

He wasn't sure if it was the shock of the morning, the weird look on her face, or just how good to go she was…down there…but…

This was incredible.

He kept gasping as he filled her, withdrew slowly, and then filled her again.

Normally he made it a point to hold off finishing until she came at least once, but she was driving him wild.

For the first time in his sexual memory, Mark began to lose control. He looked into her eyes again.

She held the same look, just…deeper somehow.

His thighs and hips began to twitch uncontrollably. He began to withdraw from her so he wouldn't…

Her hand shot up around his waist, her legs clamping around his back, holding him tightly in place.

"Meg…let go, I'm…"

Her legs tightened.

"Mark…It's okay…it's okay…" she whispered, her eyes sending him into the void of delirium as her hand lightly touched the scar on his trembling jaw again.

hairyhead
Experienced
Posts: 198
Joined: Wed May 08, 2019 1:35 pm

Re: Jordan

Unread post by hairyhead » Thu Jan 30, 2025 4:05 am

Wow! Another fab chapter. Thank you Crushing.

Flipflop200
Prepubescent
Posts: 5
Joined: Tue Sep 03, 2024 6:48 pm

Re: Jordan

Unread post by Flipflop200 » Thu Jan 30, 2025 11:25 am

Yeah this story is intense. Well done!

Crushing
Trainable
Posts: 74
Joined: Wed Apr 29, 2020 5:34 am

Re: Jordan

Unread post by Crushing » Sat Feb 01, 2025 5:52 am

So as I mentioned earlier, I'm switching the format a bit just to try and keep posting regularly with less free time. From this point, I'll post shorter segments, and each post will stay in a single timeline, but I'm aiming to do a shorter post every 2-3 days instead of 1-2 weeks. It was the best compromise I could come up with, although the story to smut ratio is gonna be off. Thankfully, however, many of you seem to be as invested in the character development as the dirty stuff, so hopefully that's okay. Today's post is zero smut but it ties pretty obviously to the final scene of the last post.

Thanks for reading, and for the feedback!

Crushing
Trainable
Posts: 74
Joined: Wed Apr 29, 2020 5:34 am

Re: Jordan

Unread post by Crushing » Sat Feb 01, 2025 5:55 am

The two boys on either side of him sat low and sullen in colorful plastic children's chairs, legs swinging back and forth freely without their feet touching the floor. In the middle chair slumped a gangly eleven year old, black converse sneakers with white ankle socks, knobby brown knees sticking out of khaki shorts, with a striped polo shirt tucked into the waistband. His arms were crossed across his skinny chest, his shoulders pulled forward, and he wore a glum scowl on his light brown face.

"Mark? Come in, the principal wants to talk to you."

The boy stood up and shuffled into the office with his head down. Sitting across a desk from a middle-aged woman whose face tried hard to balance sternness with kindness, the boy tried hard to squeeze his lips together and look serious, avoiding his younger tendency to pout when being scolded.

"Marcus?"

Her voice matched the ambiguity of her facial expression.

The boy looked up, suddenly defiant. "Marcos, actually."

"Marcos. Of course. You know why you're here, obviously. Don't you, Marco?"

He dropped his head again and shrugged.

"Now I know you didn't start the altercation, but we have a zero-tolerance policy here."

He shrugged again.

"Do you not have anything to say for yourself?"

He pursed his lips again, catching a pouting lip before it went too far.

"I didn't even hit him that hard. I just wanted to stop him. And I did stop him. And then I stopped hitting him. What was I supposed to do?"

His voice was indignant and phlegmy. It didn't sound like the clear, clean tenor of a boy's voice, but hinted at nearing the cusp of a drop into man-range any day now.

"I expect you to get the attention of a yard teacher."

The boy lifted up his right hand, showing traces of blood on his knuckles. "I did."

"Not that way, young man, and you know it. And don't get sarcastic with me. We've already contacted your mother."

The boy's eyes dropped again, clearly not looking forward to the fallout when she got to the school.

The principal touched an intercom button on her desk. "Ann, is Marco's mother on her way?"

Another woman's voice crackled on the speaker. "She wasn't able to leave work."

"So is someone coming?"

"A family friend, on the emergency contact list."

The principal sighed, rolling her eyes. "Very well. Let me know when they get here."

They sat in awkward silence for a moment, before the principal spoke again.

"You understand that a suspension is usually appropriate in these situations. However, I know there might be extenuating circumstances…with your home situation…"

The principal suddenly stopped, looking past the boy.

His eyebrow cocked as his head jerked upward.

She caught herself. "I didn't mean to say…I only meant that these kinds of things are…learned at home…"

"I don't care for that insinuation."

The boy sat up quickly and twisted his head to look behind him at the surprising voice.

It was surprising how someone that size could move that quietly. Standing in–filling, really–the open doorway was an exceptionally tall, broad shouldered man dressed in dark green camouflage, the otherwise dark digital swirls of fabric brilliantly accented by two shiny silver bars on the lapels of his collar. In his left hand, he delicately held the uniform hat that he had removed when entering the building. HIs face was stern, his eyes narrow, and his brow was knitted in a critical posture.

The principal was as startled as the boy was at the sudden entry.

"What happened?" The man asked, his voice calm but commanding. A voice that was clearly accustomed to people jumping to answer him.

"I'm sorry sir, and you are..?"

"Mark Rein. Marky's mom sent me to pick him up. What happened?"

"Well, Mister…officer Rein…we have a little situation here."

"Is he alright?"

The principal's head tilted as she thought how to answer the question. "More or less, but there was an altercation, and the other boy…"

Mark nodded. "I get it. I'll pass it along."

"Officer Rein…"

"Captain. But you don't need to address my rank, I'm only here for Marky." His gaze turned to the boy, who sank back down into his chair.

"Hey, Uncle Mark…" the boy vocalized sheepishly.

"Hey buddy. Chill for a second, we'll figure this out, alright?"

"Okay."

"Well, Mister Rein," the principal responded,"I don't anticipate that we can have this conference now, since you're not the boy's father, but I will need to meet with his parents in the near future to discuss next steps. If they're available."

"Of course, I'll pass that along."

He gestured to the boy to stand up and follow him out. The boy slipped through the door past him and Mark turned to follow him, then, thinking for a moment, he stepped back in the office.

"Ma'am, I don't mean to be contrary, I feel you should know that Marky's home life is more than stable. And before you meet with her, you should know that his mother is, in addition to being the best mother of any child I've ever met, is extremely protective of her boys. And she is not someone whose bad side you want to discover."

* * *

The gentle tapping of a pen on a soft, yellow legal pad served as a mild hypnotic. Megan's gaze, transparently shielded behind a set of stylish yet professional horn-rimmed glasses, were fixed on the witness box as the opposing counsel tried to straighten out his witness' contradictory testimony.

To her left sat the senior, supervising attorney for the case. Megan had been called to stand in for the co-counsel on short notice, as she had a good record with these types of cases. But it was only a resume and hearsay from her last position. As far as the North Carolina district office was concerned, she was still the new girl.

"Your witness."

The defense attorney gestured to her table, and she sat up in her chair. Her supervising attorney tapped her shoulder, sliding over a detailed memo filled with their strategy, all the evidence to be submitted, and pre-planned responses to the assumed defense strategy. He whispered a few things in her ear, indicating that she should take the paper with her as a prompt. She nodded courteously, hearing her senior counsel's advice, then stood up with her legal pad and memo in hand, and just looked at the jury for a moment.

She scanned both rows back and forth, then, without turning around, tossed the notebook back onto the table. Holding her head high and her shoulders back, she walked tentatively toward the witness stand, her posture indicating a kind of forced dignity. A stance that said she was trying to hide how nervous she was. Standing in front of the witness box, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see some jury members' features soften sympathetically as she began her questioning.

"Mr. Fawkes?"

"Yes, darlin'." He had an obvious Carolina drawl, and he, too, seemed sympathetic. His questioner's uncertain posture gave him unexpected courage. "Actually, it's Reverend Fawkes."

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry…" Megan fumbled with an apology. "I'm sorry, I left my notes back there, I understand you're a pastor…"

"That's right, honey. First Assembly of God, serving the Outer Banks for three generations."

"Three generations…wow, that's a lot."

"Yep, father to son, father to son. Family affair. I'm sure you'll know when you get a family, darlin. Couple little rugrats to play with. You're young 'n pretty, I'm sure a nice family's in your future."

Megan blushed. "Thank you, Reverend, you're very kind."

"Not 'tall, darlin." He smiled, his corpulent face folding with the widening of his mouth.

"And I understand you're a big fisherman."

"I do like to catch fish, ma'am. It's a hobby."

"That's cool. I've never been deep sea fishing, it sounds fun."

"It is fun. Lots of fun."

"Sounds like. Well, Reverend, I hate to do this, but we…do have to ask you some questions."

"I understand, honey. Just doin' your job. Happy to oblige."

"Oh, thanks. You know, it's just so nice to meet a courteous reverend in the witness box. You've been so helpful."

He smiled and nodded again.

"So, Reverend Fawkes, you also serve as a county commissioner."

"I do, yes."

"Twelve years running?"

"That's right."

"Wow," Megan gushed. "That's a lot. Longer than I've been a lawyer." She turned to the jury, giggling slightly. Some of them smiled back, clearly embarrassed for her at the admission.

The witness smiled deeply again.

"You're doin' fine, darlin."

"Thanks…so you know the case, you're well aware of the charges we're bringing. We're basically just a little worried that you have authority to grant timber contracts, and there's a little irregularity we found–a bunch of them went to a logging company owned by your brother, right?"

"That's right. I don't dispute that."

"It seems like a coincidence, though, right? I mean, you see where we're coming from?"

"I know what it looks like, but I assure you, of all the bids for permits, Jake was just the best fit. The whole county commission agreed."

"Okay, cool." Megan nodded.

"That all?"

Megan walked over toward the jury box, her back to the witness.

"Almost. Just one more little question, if that's alright."

"Of course, darlin'."

"Does the name Marian Ghent sound familiar?"

"Of course it does. Marian was a member of my congregation. Close to 80 years, she went to church when my daddy was pastorin' and then for another twenty years when I took over. God rest her soul."

"So she died?"

"Yes."

"Two years ago?"

"That sounds right."

"She left her entire estate to the church, didn't she?"

"That she did, God bless 'er."

"And as part of her final gift, she asked that a particular stained glass window in the church be fixed. The one with Noah's Ark on it. She said she loved that one when she was a little girl."

"She did, yes. You found that out?"

Megan turned around and shrugged sweetly. "Yeah. It was in the discovery files. I just thought it was sweet. So did you fix the Noah's Ark window?"

"Objection, your honor." The defendant's lawyer stood up.

"Grounds?"

"Relevance?"

The judge looked down at Megan.

"No particular relevance at this point, your honor." Megan shrugged. "I just thought it was sweet."

"Very well then. Objection sustained. Stick to the facts of the case please, Ms. Rodriguez."

Megan nodded. "Sorry your honor. But I do have one more question, if we have to stick to the case."

"Proceed."

Megan nodded, her posture changing. "Reverend Fawkes, I'm wondering if you could explain how your brother Jake's logging company owns no logging equipment."

The witness' brow furrowed. "How do you mean?"

"No logging equipment. None. Not a loader, not a truck and trailer, not a chainsaw, not a pickup truck with a hatchet tucked behind the back seat. Nothing. We have all his business records, and four witness affidavits testifying that there is no tree cutting equipment associated with the business. In fact, there doesn't seem to be much of anything associated with this logging business other than a tax ID number and a set of freshly baked books."

"I think you just need to look a little harder, darlin'..."

"On top of that…" Megan cut him off "In all the permitted cutting areas, there isn't a single downed tree. Not a fresh stump in the lot. Oh, we looked, Reverend. Over five thousand acres permitted for selective harvest, and no cuts. How's that for coincidence?"

"Well, the maps can be tricky to read, you may have looked at the wrong lots…I'm sure if you…"

"It really is astonishing, the confluence of those two facts. Truly amazing."

She now presented a very different posture. Head cocked, feet spread apart, shoulders relaxed, her narrow brown eyes drilling into the witness, who struggled to account for the sudden shift in attitude.

She took two steps toward the witness box.

"It's almost like there is no timber company, Reverend. It's almost like the whole thing is an incredibly obvious money laundering scheme. One that you were so sure of, you and your brother didn't even bother to try and hide. Just pretending to do honest business, harvesting trees, selling timber, then concealing huge amounts of money from…other sources. From eleven different states and jurisdictions. None of them involved a stick of wood sold to anyone. Unless there's something we're missing..?"

"I don't…"

"Don't strain yourself at this point, Reverend. I actually don't need you to fill in any gaps on that front. And as the jury is about to see in exhibit's A, B, C, and D, the transaction records not only show that permits were issued illegally based on no-bid contracts to your brother, but that–in spite of an absolute banner year for your brother's company–there is no record anywhere of anyone selling any wood to anyone. Our amazing two-part coincidence just grew a third part. Truly staggering. But I know you believe in miracles, Reverend. Have we just stumbled onto one? Right here in this courtroom? A business with no problem getting permits, thanks to its impeccable merit over all other competitors, yet that company owns no equipment, has neither harvested nor ever sold a single tree, and yet cleared over 6 million dollars last year? And that's only in this state. He's got one in Tennessee, another one in West Virginia…"

"Now look here miss…"

"Mrs, actually. But it couldn't matter less. And I am sorry to interrupt, Reverend, but the judge ordered me to stick to the case. Now we've established the remarkable–wait, no, I believe 'miraculous' was the word we agreed on–profitability of your brother's unaccountably underequipped and under-inventoried company. On top of that, as we see in exhibit E, we find that you just so happen to be the recipient of a brand new fishing boat. A gift. From your brother. Generous, no?"

"Well, I'm not gonna apologize for a successful businessman givin' a gift.. Jake had a good year, he's a good and generous man, and we like to fish…"

"Actually, I misspoke, Reverend. I apologize. I'm remembering the specifications we found in discovery–the boat is over a hundred feet in length. So your fishing boat is technically a superyacht."

"Is it?"

Megan chuckled. "Yes it is. But don't worry, the jury will soon see photos, features, and pricing details of your…ahem…fishing boat in Exhibit E and F, just so we're clear on the yachting terminology. I'm guessing most of us…just don't really move in yachting circles, so we'll bring everyone up to speed. And then there's Exhibit G, which is a lovely collage of photographs that show two young ladies on your nice new 'fishing boat.' And one of the young ladies is…well…"

Megan turned toward the jury again and scrunched one side of her face in a mock cringe.

"Let's just say, we haven't found her yet, but based on how old she looks in this photograph, I'm getting the sense that my office might soon be in touch with you regarding some…additional charges. Unrelated to the present racketeering charges, of course. When we find her. If we find her."

The witness began to sputter in rage. "Now, look here missy…"

Megan spoke over him. "And you never did get that pretty Noah's Ark window fixed." She leaned on the banister on the front of the witness box and cocked her head down at the witness.

"Did you…Reverend?"

The witness just glared up at her, his eyes boiling and his face turning red.

Megan stepped away and walked toward the jury box, careful not to make eye contact with any of them.

"I'll answer for you, Reverend, since I drove by your church on my way in to court this morning." She squinted one eye half shut, stuck out her right hand and traced a long vertical line down in the air in front of her.

"There's still a big ol' crack down the middle."

"Objection…" The defense lawyer shot up.

"No further questions." Megan put her hands up at the elbows, signalling concession to the objection. She dropped her hands, then turned to look toward the jury. "I'll leave it to you whether you think Marian Ghent and that pretty window with the crack is…relevant."

She turned on her heel and sauntered back to the prosecutor's table and the wide, bugged-out eyes of her co-counsel seated behind the desk.

* * *

The boy sat sullenly in the passenger seat of the ancient 4Runner.

"Uncle Mark?"

"Yeah?"

"Why don't you ever get a new car? Aren't you like…the boss?"

He cracked a smile. "Yeah, I'm technically the boss. I'm sentimental though. I like this old thing. I bought it with my first paycheck when I joined up. And I know how to fix it when it breaks. I don't think I could fix newer cars. Too much computer stuff."

"Did you go to school to fix cars?"

He shook his head. "Nah. Just learned as I went along. I picked up some things in high school, kind of just trial-and-error after that."

"Oh."

They drove along in silence, the noisy clatter of squeaky springs and brittle plastic in the old SUV punctuating the ride.

"Uncle Mark?"

"Yep…"

"Have you ever been to Vermont?"

"Nope."

"Oh."

"I know your dad grew up there," Mark offered. "You like it there?"

"Yeah, we go there for Christmas sometimes. Grandpa P has a big house on the lake there. I guess they're pretty rich. He has a boat and stuff."

"That's cool."

"Yeah. We can't use the boat at Christmas though. 'Cause the lake's frozen."

"Makes sense."

"Are your parents rich?"

Mark smiled to himself. "Nope. My parents are dead, actually."

"Oh yeah. I remember now."

They crackled, squeaked and rattled until stopping at a red light. The interior of the 4Runner got a little quieter as it sat still.

"Hey Uncle Mark?"

"Yeah."

"Is my dad in trouble?"

Mark looked over at the boy, his eyebrow raised. "No. Why would you think that?"

He shrugged. "I know you work together, and you're the boss. I figured if he didn't come get me, he must be in trouble or something."

"No." Mark shook his head. "No, that's not it at all. Your dad's just out in the field. Bravo Company is doing a field exercise today, and Colonel Wolfe said he wanted your dad to go with them."

"Oh. He can't come out of the field?"

"He can, but it messes a bunch of stuff up."

"And mom's busy?"

Mark's brow furrowed, and he pulled into a gas station and parked, sensing the boy had a real concern.

"Your mom's usually okay to come get you, but today was just bad timing. She's in court right now, probably making some bad guy piss his pants. Your dad is probably doing the same, but with some Bravo company noncoms. The school couldn't get ahold of your mom, they called the company office, and your dad was in the field. I was just doing paperwork, your parents put me as an emergency contact with the school, so I just said I'd come pick you up. That's all."

"Oh."

Mark held the boy's eyes.

"Is that okay? Does it make you feel weird if I come to get you?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I just don't know if I'm actually in trouble or not."

Mark's furrowed brow relaxed into a wide grin.

"Well, neither of your parents know yet, if that's what you're asking."

The boy broke into a grin of his own, sensing a conspiracy.

"Tell you what…" Mark leaned to one side to pull out his wallet. "I can't go into public places in this uniform unless I absolutely have to. It's a dumb rule, but it's a rule. But I could really use a soda. Why don't you run in and get me a soda and get one for you too. And you can get a candy bar too, if you want."

"Really?"

"For sure. I'd really appreciate it." Mark extended a ten-dollar bill across to his passenger.

"Okay!" Marky grabbed the money and tumbled out of the 4Runner.

Mark quickly grabbed his cell phone to text Megan.

You'll probably hear from your office when you get your next recess. Marky got in a fight, they sent him home. Couldn't get ahold of you, then called the Company Office. J's in the field with B Co, so I just went and got him. He's with me now.

The reply came quickly.

Is he okay?

Mark typed back

He's fine. Just scared about if he's in trouble.

Another quick reply.

Oh, he is.

Mark smiled., thumbing a response.

I can handle it, if you want.

This time the reply took a little longer.

Are you comfortable with that?

Mark looked up. He could see the boy waiting in line through the glass front of the convenience store.

Yeah, of course.

He felt strangely nervous waiting for the answer. Then it came.

❤️

He smiled to himself, then opened a contact on his phone and dialed.

It rang once.

"Corporal Krell, it's Captain Rein. Transfer me to the executive officer, please."

He saw the boy standing at the counter, holding his hand out for his change and stuffing it into the pocket of his shorts before taking the bag of goodies and heading toward the door.

"Reynolds, it's Cap. I want you to head to the radio room at battalion and contact Bravo comms in the field. Get Gunny P on the line, tell him to roll to a secure channel, and then tell him his son got in a fight at school, but I've got him, and he's okay."

The boy turned around and pushed the door open with his back, both hands clutching soda bottles.

"No, Reynolds, don't send someone, do it yourself. It's not urgent, I just want him to be aware of the situation. Also, who's lifting today–who's doing afternoon PT at the gym? Do you have the schedule in front of you?"

The boy looked both ways and quick-stepped into the parking lot toward the 4Runner.

"Yeah, okay. Got it. Inform 3rd platoon that I'll be joining them for PT in the weight room, and I'm bringing a guest with me."

elvis_is_my_daddy
Virgin
Posts: 15
Joined: Wed Feb 13, 2013 4:34 am

Re: Jordan

Unread post by elvis_is_my_daddy » Sat Feb 01, 2025 6:46 am

Crushing wrote:
Sat Feb 01, 2025 5:52 am
So as I mentioned earlier, I'm switching the format a bit just to try and keep posting regularly with less free time. From this point, I'll post shorter segments, and each post will stay in a single timeline, but I'm aiming to do a shorter post every 2-3 days instead of 1-2 weeks. It was the best compromise I could come up with, although the story to smut ratio is gonna be off. Thankfully, however, many of you seem to be as invested in the character development as the dirty stuff, so hopefully that's okay. Today's post is zero smut but it ties pretty obviously to the final scene of the last post.

Thanks for reading, and for the feedback!
Crushing, who would complain about any method you use to share your talents with us? Thank you for this story in all its parts.

lkh96
Player
Posts: 261
Joined: Sat Aug 13, 2016 7:21 am

Re: Jordan

Unread post by lkh96 » Sat Feb 01, 2025 6:21 pm

So....marky's biological dad is mark ??

MustBeDenied2
Experienced
Posts: 109
Joined: Tue Oct 11, 2022 12:55 pm

Re: Jordan

Unread post by MustBeDenied2 » Sun Feb 02, 2025 3:10 am

Yes, Mark Rein is Marky Poisson’s biological father.

MBD

MustBeDenied2
Experienced
Posts: 109
Joined: Tue Oct 11, 2022 12:55 pm

Re: Jordan

Unread post by MustBeDenied2 » Sun Feb 02, 2025 3:13 am

Crushing,

Whether it is short or long, I look forward to a post from you more than anything else on the internet.

MBD

nnjcpl2002
Experienced
Posts: 192
Joined: Mon Jan 25, 2010 7:31 am
Location: Delray Beach, FL
Contact:

Re: Jordan

Unread post by nnjcpl2002 » Sun Feb 02, 2025 9:11 am

Crushing, Thanks for the great, yet shorter installment. Actually, I think that shorter and more frequent posts are a good idea. Better continuity for your followers (I don't say readers, it's beyond that.) And hopefully, a bit easier for our author.

A couple of gratuitous comments: Old cars are maintainable by their owners. New cars are not. And I can remember schoolboy fights on the playground that were in some respects healthy and part of growing up. Now, schools are required to call the cops over any dust up between boys. I was small and trained never to be bullied. So I got into plenty of fights as a kid, and often the fight led to friendship, as counterintuitive as that may seem!

Tire_Kicker
Trainable
Posts: 87
Joined: Tue Oct 10, 2023 8:28 pm

Re: Jordan

Unread post by Tire_Kicker » Sun Feb 02, 2025 10:12 am

Good stuff Crushing!

Jordan is getting much more interesting as this progresses. I am liking the direction her new persona is taking.

Just gonna throw this out there. David and Jared are two very different situations from many different perspectives. Jared appears to be an alpha with a certain need that he appears comfortable with. David on the other hand, out kicked his coverage from day one.

I can't help but wonder how another woman's interest in their husbands would impact Meg's and Jordan's generosity with their bodies. In Jared's case he's obviously a catch, especially with barracks duty in D.C. in his future. David could easily be put in a situation where his job provides an opportunity or more interesting yet, a small statured foreign beauty finds him irresistible.

Absolutely not trying to steer things, more like trying to find out if anyone else shares my curiosity.

Again, loving this story, Semper Fi!

Post Reply