Just Say No

I didn't quite follow all of her technical jargon, but I got the idea. "Hey," I told her, " I know a little bit about that. You wouldn't believe how often I have to explain that I don't make the law. Some people think just because I'm explaining the problem, I'm responsible. Then I'll tell them that if they don't like it they should write their Congressmen. That usually doesn't go over so well."

Cassie laughed. It was a beautiful sound. "Yes! That's it, exactly. That's what I have to deal with. It's like, some people just can't deal with reality."

I resisted the urge to ask: So, maybe you could explain the reality here, between us? I can deal, I promise. I just want to understand, because I'm confused.

Instead, I merely nodded. "It's a problem."

After dinner she stood up, and put one hand on the table. It was the same table I made her grab the previous night. She was standing up straight, but she'd put her hand in the exact same spot it had been when I was spanking her. "So, tonight, I've decided that you are going to give me what I want."

In spite of where she'd put her hand, she wasn't acting at all submissive, quite the reverse. She was haughty, arrogant, demanding. I suspected that she was intentionally pushing me to bring out my dominant attitude, but I couldn't be sure.

That was the million-dollar question, though, wasn't it? How much of Cassie's behavior could be attributed to her desire to be dominated, and how much of it was because she was genuinely desperate for a smoke? Smokers got really desperate for their habit, sure, but this desperate after a full six weeks? Didn't the cravings get better after a time?

Even then, it was possible I was asking the wrong question. Maybe there was something else she wasn't telling me.

I stood up as well and folded my arms across my chest. "Would you mind explaining how you came to this conclusion?"

"You got a boner just staring at my tits. It's okay, don't deny it. It's cute, really. You want me, and you can have me. All of me. All you have to do is just say yes."

"And if I say no? I said no last night, and you're still here."

"Oh really?" she said. "That's not what I remember. I think you might have been trying to say something on the subject, but you weren't being very clear. Either way, you're going to say yes tonight."

Yup, she was pushing me. She seemed insistent on receiving further "instruction." It seemed a bit soon after the previous evening and I suspected her ass would still show some bruising, but if that's what she wanted, that's what she would get.

I picked up a thin metal ruler that I had placed at the edge of my table, on top of a pile of books. I flicked it through the air a few times, experimentally. The ruler made a high-pitched noise as it sliced through the air.

"In that case, it is once again time for your lesson. I don't suppose you've had an epiphany in the last ten seconds? All you need to do is tell me that you won't give in to this temptation again. Last chance, before we start. So what will it be?"

"I— I don't understand, sir."

"Right. You remember the drill from last night." I gestured at the table. "Strip, then assume the position."

I couldn't tell if her cries were a bit louder that evening because I used the ruler instead of my hand or because she was still sensitive from the previous evening. Probably both.

It was more or less a repeat of the night before. If anything, I was able to enjoy it a bit more this time because the ruler spared my hand such rough treatment. It wasn't particularly merciful to Cassie, of course, but that was the point.

This time, after I came down her throat, I held her head in place for a full forty-five seconds. She clearly wanted me to push her limits, and I had no problem with that.

When she'd finished gasping for air, and finally caught her breath, she looked me straight in the eye. "Well, sir? Were we going to cover something new tonight, or is that it?"

"That depends on how well you've learned the old material," I told her. "Tell me, what have you learned?"

"Well, you have a surprisingly strong wrist, and a very good aim. Also, judging by how much of your cum I just swallowed, I think you've been a little backed up, lately. Having a dry spell? I can help with that. Anytime you want, just say the word."

Again, she had dropped the 'sir' and was pushing back. I had no doubt that the word she had in mind, was 'yes.'

"The word I'm thinking of right now doesn't start with 'Y,'" I told her. "Quite the opposite. Have you figured out what it is? I think we could count that as progress."

"Hmm. Maybe it starts with 'O' for orgasm. Is that it?"

I sighed. "It seems you haven't progressed, after all."

Cassie clenched her fists. "Why do you have to be so mean? Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?"

"Yes," I said. "I'm keeping you healthy and presentable. Part of what I'm trying to get across to you is that you should want the same thing. You understood that when you asked your ex for help, I think. It's like the old saying: catch a fish for a girl, and she'll eat for a night. Teach her to fish and she'll eat for a lifetime."

She snorted. "Yeah. Build a girl a fire and she's warm for a day, but set her on fire, and she's warm for the rest of her life."

My mouth fell open in astonishment. I momentarily lost the train of the argument because she'd just quoted one of my favorite authors. "You've read Terry Pratchett?"

I don't watch much television or play video games. Instead, I prefer books.

She tried to conceal it, but it was obvious from the subtle shift in her facial expression that she hadn't expected me to recognize what she was referring to. "Of course."

"I'm just surprised, given what you do," I said. "Pratchett openly mocked technology. If we're quoting Jingo, you remember the Dis-organiser? That's pretty much what I think of smartphones."

"Oh, and what about in Thud?" she countered. "And if we're going back to this, I'd point out that Mr. Slant isn't exactly a sympathetic portrayal of the legal profession. He's a freakin' zombie!"

Just when I thought things couldn't get more surreal, I was once more proved wrong. Cassie was still naked, and even now I could see a wet sheen on her chin where my fluids had been a few moments before. We'd gone from kinky sex to literary criticism in just under a minute.

I wasn't quite prepared to pursue the topic at that moment.

"You do make a point," I acknowledged. "Why don't we discuss it further tomorrow?"

It was her turn to sigh. "Six thirty, again?"

And so the pattern was established.

The following evening, instead of her job, we talked about books. It turned out that Cassie and I shared an interest.

Pratchett wrote fantasy, but that really isn't my preferred genre. I generally enjoy more realistic work, but Pratchett's pointed satire of the real world is dead on. Cassie insisted I try a grittier fantasy by Joe Abercrombie which she claimed was also a perceptive, if less humorous, commentary on the state of the world.

In turn, I recommended Carl Hiaason, a satirist whose work is set in present day Florida. His work isn't quite fantasy, but is nonetheless highly improbable.

However, just like the previous two nights, the discussion never got around to clearing up why Cassie was sitting at my table in the first place. The moment dinner was finished, she once again started insisting that I give her the permission that she wanted. This, in turn, inevitably led to the same place as before.

Given that her ass had taken quite a bit of punishment two nights in a row, I moved on to her breasts. First, I placed a metal clip with a strong spring on each of her nipples. She squeaked as I placed each one, just as loudly as when I struck her ass.

Next, I retrieved two small bags full of gravel that I had prepared to serve as weights. I tied one to each of the clips, and delighted in her reaction as the weights dramatically increased the pressure.

Then I ordered her to do fifty jumping jacks, counting each one. If she stopped, I had my ruler out and ready to correct her disobedience. I informed her that every time she slowed down, I would use the ruler as I had before, to add a few more welts to her already tender bottom.

I made her count, but didn't require her to thank me this time. She was, in a sense, delivering the punishment to herself through my instruction. Besides, the repeated "thank you, sirs" would have broken the rhythm of her jumping jacks.

The makeshift weights swung back and forth with her movement. They pulled cruelly on her breasts to Cassie's obvious distress. She cried out as she counted, but she didn't stop. I didn't even have to use the ruler once.

Naturally, this was followed by yet another delectable blow-job, but the follow-up conversation was more limited than before.

"I don't suppose third time's the charm?" she asked.

I didn't even respond. Instead I stood, silent with my arms crossed, as she got dressed.

"So, same time tomorrow?"

"I look forward to it."

Every night for the next week was the same. Every night, Cassie would come to my apartment, we would eat and talk about our day, about books, about anything other than us. Then, she would demand permission and I would refuse, necessitating another round of "instruction."

I made a trip to a local store that specialized in products that could be of some use in preparing her "lessons." During my nightly sessions with Cassie, a riding crop, a flogger, hot wax, ice cubes, and an enema kit all made an appearance. I always gave her a chance to "learn her lesson," to say no, but she never took that option.

I watched her squeal and shake as I subjected her to every form of sexual punishment I had ever fantasized about delivering. I was careful never to do anything that would risk permanent harm or put her in any real danger, but everything short of that was fair game.

Nevertheless, every time I brushed my fingers against her sex, she was just as wet as the first time I'd touched her there. On some level, she loved it. She also kept coming back for more.

There was no middle ground, though. We were either sitting over dinner, talking as equals, or adopting the roles of master and slave. I face fucked her, I ass fucked her, but there was no vanilla sex and not even a hint of romance. That wouldn't have been a problem if I fully understood the situation between us. I didn't understand it, though, and there was no straightforward way to broach the subject.

In spite of my increasing frustration with the lack of communication, this bizarre arrangement slowly became routine. Through repetition it became expected rather than surprising. My schedule consisted of getting up, going to work, coming home, having dinner with Cassie, tormenting Cassie's beautiful body with depraved, sexual punishment, and then going to bed.

It lasted until I needed to work late one Thursday night.

— 4 —

I was working on a case with another attorney, Denise Malone. We had to finalize an enormous amount of paperwork by the close of business the following day, which meant I wouldn't be going home on time.

Even if I'd wanted to prioritize my situation — could I really call it a relationship? — with Cassie over work, what would I have said? Why do I have to be home by six thirty? That's when my pain slut stops by every night. You know, my pain slut. What, is that unusual? Don't you have one?

Yeah, I wasn't having that conversation.

Instead, I called Cassie and let her know that something had come up at work. I explained that I had to work late, and that we would have to reschedule her "lesson" for the following night. She didn't seem particularly upset, so I assumed everything was fine.

By nine that evening Denise and I were almost done, but we were still in the office and I was fading fast. She suggested we grab our laptops and head down to a local coffee shop for a caffeine boost. There was no reason we couldn't finish up there.

The coffee helped, and by ten thirty we were approaching a good stopping point. That's when Cassie walked into the shop.

The entrance bell chimed as she walked in, alone. I looked up and we saw each other, immediately locking eyes. I realized what she was seeing, just as she took it in. Here I was, supposedly working late, having coffee with an attractive blonde woman. Denise and I had just finished putting our laptops away, so it wasn't obvious that we had been working.

I watched Cassie's face fall as she drew the inevitable, entirely wrong conclusion. Then, in the span of a few heartbeats, she spun around, and ran out of the shop.

It happened so fast, I don't think Denise even noticed. I was already getting ready to leave, so it wasn't difficult to quickly excuse myself and go after Cassie.

She wasn't walking, though. Cassie was flat-out running back towards our building, and she had a head start. I wouldn't say I'm out of shape, but it was at least half a mile, and Cassie wasn't slowing down. I had no idea whether she realized I was following her, but when I tried calling out, she kept going. I couldn't tell whether she was ignoring me, or whether the noise from the street was too loud.

I was huffing and puffing by the time I reached the lobby. When I glanced at my watch, I was surprised to discover that we'd covered the distance in just over three minutes. Unfortunately, I was just in time to see the elevator doors close in front of Cassie as she went up without me.

There was only one elevator in the building, and it was notoriously slow. It was probably a toss-up whether waiting would be faster than the stairs, but I felt the need to do something, to go after her now. I went for the stairs.

Those six floors of stairs were as difficult as the entire run from the coffee shop, but I pushed myself to keep going at full speed. For my efforts, I once again just managed to catch a glimpse of Cassie as she entered her apartment and slammed the door behind her.

In my exhausted state, I had an idle, disconnect thought of reversed roles, of how this would be the first time I was knocking on her door instead of the other way around. I ran to her door and knocked loudly.

"Cassie, it's me, Bob," I spoke to the closed door. I had to pause to take another deep breath, as I was still panting. "Can we talk? Denise is just a coworker. There's nothing there."

It occurred to me I could give her permission to smoke, just this once. Yell it out, through the door, even. The reason I didn't do that was that the whole permission thing was part of our sexual game, and I didn't want to go back there right now. We really needed to finally have that long-overdue talk about whatever the hell it was that we were to each other.

Cassie opened the door a crack. Her face was flushed, and tears were running down her cheeks. She didn't say anything, instead giving me a look as if daring me to say anything further in my defense.

"Look, for once can we be honest, say what we really mean and just talk?" I asked. "No games, no—" I paused. "No other stuff. Just talk?"

In the brief silence that followed she must have finally noticed my heavy breathing and my own flushed appearance. "Did you run all the way here?"

"Yeah."

She seemed miserable and resigned as she opened the door further to let me in, but cracked a small, rueful smile when she spoke. "Enter, then."

I couldn't decide whether I should take her attempt at dry humor in this situation as a good sign.

As I entered and looked around, I realized that this was the first time I'd been in her apartment. A long desk took up one entire side of the room, stretching from one wall to the other. It was filled with monitors and computer equipment. There was a small couch in the center of the room and a coffee table, but no dining table — she probably ate at her desk.

Floor to ceiling book shelves covered almost all of the remaining wall space. Her collection put mine to shame.

I had always thought of paper books as being the opposite of technology. The old, traditional way of communicating versus the crass, impersonal machines, but Cassie's decor seemed to blend the two together.

I sat down on the sofa to gather my thoughts. She sat down next to me.

"You wanted to talk," Cassie said. "So talk."

"What are we? You and me?" I asked. "I mean really, I'm asking. You tell me."

"Human?"

"No, seriously," I said. "I mean us. What are we?"

"No, really," she replied. "I'm pretty sure we're human. We're not perfect. I'm— I'm what I am. I thought you were different, but you're not, are you?"

Cassie's voice was rising, getting angrier, and she continued before I had a chance to respond. "I'm fine on the side, right? But what you want is someone like her. Someone normal."

"No, It's not like that," I insisted. "I told you, we were working late. We needed coffee, and you caught us just as we were calling it quits for the night. If you'd come in two minutes sooner, you would have seen we had our laptops open."

She didn't look mollified. "What, and your office doesn't have a coffee machine?"

"We'd been at the office for over twelve hours. A change of scenery seemed like a good idea. Besides, the coffee from our machine is kind of gross."

"When I walked in, you looked like a deer in headlights, but her? I saw the look on her face. That sure as fuck didn't look platonic. You honestly want to tell me there's nothing there?"

I nodded. "Yes! I'm honestly telling you there's nothing there."

Cassie thought about that for a moment. There was less anger in her voice, when she continued. "Let me guess, she was the one who suggested coffee?"

"She was, but so what?"

"So, this seems like a setup for another lawyer joke. How long does it take a male attorney to realize that a female attorney is hitting on him? Well, I don't know how long it usually takes, but for heaven's sake don't tell him. We wouldn't want to encourage those things to breed."

She paused for dramatic effect. "Oops, too late."

I was not amused, but I had to admire her quick wit. "Very funny."

She looked like she was going to start crying again. "No, it's not funny. So what'll it be? Your hot blonde normie or the freak next door? I know how this goes, just have the decency to say it to my face. At least Jared had that going for him."

It was entirely possible that I was being oblivious to signals Denise had been sending me. I tend to hyper-focus on whatever I'm working on, especially in the office. I hadn't noticed anything, but Cassie could easily have picked up on something I hadn't. That didn't change the situation, though.

"Not only is there nothing between Denise and I, there's never going to be anything there. Yes, we're coworkers, maybe even friends, but that's it. I promise."

"But that's not the point, is it?" Much to my confusion, Cassie seemed more distraught than ever. "You're not listening. You don't go for coworkers, so what? If you want normal, there's lots of that out there."

"Normal? You want to know who's actually normal?" I asked, rhetorically. "No one. Every day, I see the legal disputes families have with each other. That crazy guy I told you about a while back who thinks he's a Greek god is just the tip of the iceberg. Everyone is nuts in one way or another, trust me. Some of them—" I hesitated. "Some of us just hide it better than others."

"A normal relationship, I mean."

"The firm I work for specializes in estate planning and family law. Trust me," I told her, "there's no such thing as a normal relationship."

"Why do you think Jared dumped me? This is why. You wonder why I'm single? It's not like I can't get a date. Lots of shit-heads out there, lots of normals, and that's about it. I thought you were different, I really did. But, well, here we are, aren't we?"