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Occasionally I heard D laugh as the bobbing orange escaped me. And when I finished the first she silently replaced it with a second. So went the remainder of the day.
With the tedium, my thoughts returned to Eve. Even after the many years, there always came an electric like shock to my hippocampus when I recalled her.
And with the many Saturday morning rendezvous, the one where I first showed her how to make my embarrassingly stiff penis shrink, stood out among all the others.
I had lowered my trousers as stated but only to mid thigh. It was Eve who stepped forward and pulled them down to my ankles.
“It’s warm enough,” she smiled with a shrug, and stared at my tented underpants.
And I said nothing. There wasn’t much she hadn’t seen on previous Saturdays. However, I didn’t like the idea of having my pants tangled around my ankles. Before I could protest, she again stepped forward and pulled down the remaining garment. I stood more exposed to this cute little girl than ever before. The brief ‘peep’ shows of the past were left behind us at that point. For the first time she was free to inspect my scrotum and testicles, which she did. And I remember shuddering with the realization that with each one of our encounters, Eve had taken me just a little further down a path which ended I knew not where. But there was no turning back.
“Show me James. You must be able to make it go back to normal.”
And so I began. My early masturbatory habits involved stroking myself with my right hand and tickling and pulling on my scrotum with my left. I closed my eyes as Eve giggled, watching my hands and fingers very closely. Her childish voice made me even more excited. Unbelievably, as the waves of self pleasure rolled through my mind, I envisioned Eve!
I imagined that it was Eve who was stroking me. With that fantasy and knowing she was in fact nearby and laughing at my humiliation, I soon experienced the ‘dry’ orgasm of youth. I let out a sigh and moments later my penis became flaccid. Eve watched it go limp, then ran off, laughing loudly, with me standing half naked, struggling to pull up my pants.
D
Monday I visited the office and took care of only the absolutely necessary appointments. Many of the week’s patients I called to switch to a colleague. My calendar was clear for the weeks of the planned trip and with James’ new wealth I decided to take off even longer. Perhaps I would never return to my practice, or maybe over time I would resume my practice with only the most amusing clients. Those that I could both help and torment for my own entertainment. I wouldn’t even need to charge a fee...
I sent James home to arrange his affairs. Before leaving I gave him a personal check so he could negotiate the termination of his lease and cut off all utilities and telephone. He returned in the afternoon and I immediately put him into the cage. For the next three days, if he wasn’t in sensory deprivation, he would be either working on an orange or demonstrating his new prowess with his hooded head between my thighs.
On Tuesday I handled some brief appointments in the morning and checked with the bank. The first monthly payment of $100,000 had been wired into our joint checking account. ‘Joint’ in title only. James not only was denied blank checks, he didn’t know the account existed. The statements were mailed to my office address. I suppose at some point in time, he would ponder where his wealth was going, but for the short term, he would have other things to think about.
On Wednesday morning, I sat through my last appointment as a psychologist. Goodbye, Mrs. Jones, and your dreary tales involving low self-esteem and overindulgence. Just lose some weight you cow!
I could not say it, of course. But why do so many seemingly complicated problems have such simple solutions? So I just listened and thought about the prior evening when James had so ardently applied his lips and tongue to my steamy, moist slit. And he didn’t miss a drop, the dear boy. Capturing and sucking the dangling oranges were a most effective form of exercise.
Wednesday afternoon I looked at houses. All large and old, I wanted something dramatic and that I could restore without raising the curiosity of nosey neighbors. Building a large exercise and discipline room in a newly constructed home would draw attention. Gutting a turn of the century mansion was an accepted process. Delivery and installation of equipment, no matter how eccentric, would not give rise to questions.
I found a gem and put in an offer.
James
Is interesting how life and one’s outlook thereon can change so quickly. Having my week planned and knowing where I would be and what I would be doing was an ingrained habit before D began her program.
Since then, I don’t think or plan at all. I just react. Quickly. Humbly. Obediently.
Most times, I don’t know what day it is. And being hooded so much of the day, I judge time by relating it to D. Where she is, what she’s doing and what she wants of me.
But I still dream.
And strangely, most dreams are of the neighborhood girl who’s brash curiosity frightened me more than anything I remember from my youth. Eve always seemed to get what she wanted. A great manipulator, she always had the newest bicycle, the best toys, got the highest grades. She was the benchmark for every parent’s assessment of their own children.
“If you’re good like Eve, you’ll have a nice Christmas present,” I had heard so many parents say.
We all knew better, her friends and acquaintances. And I in particular knew of her duplicity.
But she was the child Queen. And to paraphrase an old adage, if you’re planning to kill the ‘Queen’ make sure you indeed kill her.
Thus, no youngster dared attempt to tarnish Eve’s ‘good girl’ image. Any effort would earn her wrath, the consequences of which could be substantial. Those who crossed her found themselves receiving a good strapping when their parents learned of smoking or skipping school. And it was Eve who always informed the parents of the forbidden conduct, thus further enhancing her ‘good girl’ image and raising her status to that of nearly untouchable within the community of kids.
So, a couple of weeks after Eve watched my ignominious display of masturbation she was waiting outside my back door at a particularly early hour. She had apparently become aware of my early morning escapes and assured herself that I could not vacate my house without her interception.
But there was no avoiding her on this bright, warm Saturday. No, Eve awaited and was holding a camera. Rather expensive for a girl of some 12 years, but it was a recent addition to her ‘good girl’ plunder. Her ingratiating parents had purchased it for her birthday. Instant photography had become easy to use and Eve was eager to demonstrate one of its more useful functions. Accumulating blackmail.
Her words still stung and rattled my mind.
