A Story of Jane Ch. 06

I decided to tell her that I would make her my lover on her 18th birthday, two weeks away. Each night, as I touched and petted her, I'd tell her that in the morning, there would be one less day until she became mine, body and soul. She'd never have a reply to that, but in the middle of the night, I'd wake up and find her hugging me like she was sleeping with a teddy bear.

When the big day arrived, Jo and Jan and Jill surprised us by all arriving to have a real birthday party. It was nice to see the whole family together again, but it seemed to go on forever. It was 10:00 at night before we could get away, but as soon as the bedroom door was closed and locked against sibling intruders, Jean stripped off her clothes and surprised me by falling on her knees at my feet and hugging me around the waist.

She was crying, saying "Please, Jane, please make me yours!" and professing her undying love for me. I made her get to her feet and take my clothes off, piece by piece, each at my command, and folding things neatly before stacking them for the hamper in the morning. At long last, I had her put her arms around my neck, and for the first time, we kissed. It was the softest kiss I'd ever had, even though it was also, without a doubt, the most passionate. When it was finally over, I made her stretch out on the bed on her back, and then I lay beside her and kissed her again. Often, in fact. I finally bent down and sucked a nipple into my mouth (another first experience!), and stroked her gently between her legs. She came hard as soon as I touched her. I'd met several guys with an extremely short fuse, but I never imagined a girl could have the same problem. No, I mused, not a problem. Not a problem at all. She came twice more before I finally relented to her pleas and let her touch me. I had to instruct her where to touch, how hard and how fast. She'd never even done this to herself before, and the orgasms I had given her were her first, other than a confusing wet dream or two. As we held each other and waited for sleep, she cooed over and over again, "I'm yours now! I'm really yours!"

My problem, of course, was that I had become just as hooked on her as she was on me. I knew I could never give her up; never give up the sheer thrill of uncompromising power I felt whenever I was with her. She would do ANYTHING for me. What a rush! I not only loved her, I loved what I could do with her.

The next year, she returned home every weekend from college. We would stay in our room almost constantly, laughing and talking and loving. The year after that, she had already found an off-campus apartment for us, and we were "roomies" for the next four years. When she graduated a semester early, I insisted she stay and earn her Masters, which she did, of course. I only let her leave school when I graduated, and then we moved in together in a Chicago apartment. I dated around, just as I had in high school and college, had sex with guys once or twice a week, and my submissive lover would still be there, waiting patiently, when I got home. She still thrilled to hear of my escapades with my men, but I always figured that was just another aspect of her subservient personality.

We would have lived like that forever if it hadn't been for Herman. I knew just as soon as I saw him, working with a spade in a huge hole in the ground, that I had to have him; had to make him mine. The idea of taking a common laborer home to meet Mama was especially intoxicating (I hadn't realized at the time that he actually owned the business and was just getting a little exercise). I went after him as if I was one of Arthur's knights and he was the holy grail. He was my mission. My goal. And finally, my one true love. My one true male love, that is.

In Mama's library there have to be literally thousands of spells covering just about every emotion, situation, and natural occurrence you can think of. But more than half of those are love spells. Definitely the most popular recipes in the old cookbook. I've studied an awful lot of them, and I've come to the conclusion that the most powerful of these were the joint spells that my sisters used on Herman and me (as Molly). This was the one that I chose last year after I knew, in my heart, that he was the man for me. The problem, of course, was that I had to get someone else to cast half of the spell on me. Jean was my obvious choice, and you can imagine how she must have felt when I commanded her to do it; but do it she did. I promised her, on my honor, that I wouldn't forsake her after Herman and I were married. But she'd have done it anyway. Her love for me was that strong. The spell was consummated the next time Herman and I had sex, and my love for him soared. We were married the following month.

True to my word, I returned to Jean's apartment once every week or so. Just like old times, I'd make her listen to a recap of all the sexual encounters Herman and I had had most recently. I delighted in making her uncomfortable, and these little orations of mine were extremely graphic. Of course, we'd both be naked and holding each other while I subjected her these talks, so I could keenly observe how she reacted. It surprised me. Before, in high school and college, she would squirm and blush as I told her of my escapades. But when I was talking about Herman, she listened raptly. It also turned her on more than my earlier "talks" with her, though at first I chalked it up to the fact that absence had increased her need for me. But finally I began to wonder if she might be jealous. Was she interested in Herman sexually? Romantically? Of course, we had no secrets, so I just asked her. Her reaction was exactly the same as when I'd asked her seven years before if she was a lesbian. She had to stop and think about it. And finally, she admitted that she didn't really know. She confessed she wondered about heterosexual encounters from time to time. She did really like Herman. He had always treated her like a lady. And while he couldn't help but be attracted to her (as I've said, ALL men are attracted to Jean), he never came on to her, never used innuendo, and always treated her with utmost respect. The idea of my lover being attracted to my husband was a real turn-on.

But before I could give it much more thought, I was killed.

That was what I told my husband, sitting on that bed in that lousy motel on the most momentous night of my life. I fervently hoped that my confessions wouldn't turn him away from me, but now that both of me were one, I found that I simply couldn't go on in my relationship with him without his knowing the truth. But would it drive him away from me? Would this knowledge that his love for me (for BOTH of me) was the result of a witch's spell turn his heart cold?

I looked up at him. His eyes were burning with pure lust. I had never seen him look at me that way. Before I could utter another word, he reached out with both hands and literally ripped the jacket from my body. With a sort of animal roar, he attacked me; that's really the only word for it. My body was thrown back, naked, onto the bed, and he was on me. He kissed me violently, and I wondered if my lips would be bruised in the morning. He pawed my breasts, my sides, my back, then backed off of me for a moment and struggled upright, frantically trying to get his belt undone and his pants down. I tried to help him, but four frantic hands only got in the way with results that seemed, for the moment, comical. I barked a laugh, but suddenly the offending garment was down around his knees, and my mirth was cut short by another overly-aggressive kiss.

He fumbled between us for a moment, lining us up, and slammed into me. I'm afraid I screamed as he did that. I didn't want to make too much noise and disturb others in the motel, but he began pounding into me with a regular rhythm, and certain sounds just seemed to come out of my mouth on their own each time he filled me so violently. My breasts, constantly in the way of almost everything I do, ballooned between us, mashing my nipples into the hair of his chest. He was holding me so tightly I thought I was going to explode.

I was finally getting raped, I thought. But this wasn't rape, of course; it was nothing if not completely consensual. But it was very, very HARD sex. Oh God, I loved it! It was everything my fantasy had been and much, much more. His cock began making a sort of slurping sound as it hammered in and out of my drooling cunt. He would pull out relatively slowly, but then ram into me with such force that it was quite impossible for me not to make some sort of sound.

After a minute or so, I sort of lost interest in the sensitivity of others in the establishment, and quite frankly, the fact that I was in a motel at all seemed to slip out of my consciousness. There was only him, and me, and this wonderful feeling that was bubbling up inside of me. He came first, but he didn't beat me by much. I'm afraid I screamed again. Half of me, you see, has always been a screamer.

We lay together then, holding each other, gasping like two fish out of water. When he'd calmed down enough to speak, he apologized for being so rough, but I kept insisting that I thought it had been wonderful. Herman had very rarely done it to me twice in a day, and I felt a little like I'd just won the triple crown today (though he had actually done it with three different women, if you stop and think about it).

Exhausted, we slept.

The next day was Easter Sunday. We called the front desk to tell them we would be staying another night, then we called room service for breakfast (and later lunch and dinner), put the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door, and spent the whole day in bed. It was necessary. He had to get to know me. I had to get to know myself, as well, and the picture of me that eventually emerged was, I think, pleasing to us both. When I was only Jane, I was definitely the one in charge of our marriage. I was demanding and adventurous, and Herman had his hands full just trying to keep up with me. But now I wanted HIM to be the one to make the decisions, and instead of seeking new adventures, I wanted him to reign me in and control me. It suddenly seemed incredibly romantic to me. The idea of being a "kept woman" thrilled me.

I was sore after yesterday's "workouts;" sore between my legs; sore all over. Don't forget, my body hadn't had sex in a couple years, and there were some aspects to romance that I had to get used to again. Even so, I just couldn't tell him no when he began making love to me again after breakfast. He sensed my discomfort and was extremely gentle with me. It made me frustrated. I wanted him to take me like he'd done the night before, and as the coupling progressed and my passion blossomed, I finally wound up thrusting my body up at him frantically. He laughed. I blushed. We both came.

We talked afterwards; talked a long, long time. He told me that he had suspected me of having an affair at about the time of my death, and had hired the private investigator to try to find out who my lover was; but no one had ever imagined that it was Jean.

And now, as he grew to understand the nature of our new relationship, he began to take advantage of it in surprising ways. He announced that we would go back to my little town tomorrow (Monday) just long enough for me to quit my job. Then it would be off to Vegas and a quickie wedding. He wanted me to be his wife before we moved back into our Chicago home together. The only problem I foresaw was how to tell my parents. Mom had always hoped to see me in a big church wedding, and I doubted if I'd ever be able to explain to her that I'd already HAD one (but in the body of another woman). Oh well. She'd get over it. She was absolutely going to LOVE Herman!

Jean! What was I going to do about Jean? She was much more to me than a best friend and sister. I told Herman that I would always be faithful to him now, but oh, I was going to miss loving Jean! That's when Herman hit me with the second surprise of the day. He said that he didn't WANT me to give Jean up; that he could live with the idea of sharing me with her, as long as I was honest with him. We could work up a schedule of some sort, and even let me spend the night with her sometimes. I couldn't believe he was so understanding! I cried (another Molly trait that turned out to be dominant). But talking about Jean had made him hard again, and I couldn't help but wonder if his extreme ardor last night had been a direct result of my telling him of Jean's secret desires.

The third shocker came just after dinner, while we were taking a bath together and he was playing idly with my nipples. Are you on the pill? he asked. I told him about the three I had taken the day before, and the reasons why. For some reason, that gave him yet another erection, but he didn't use it; not just then, at any rate. Instead, he told me that I was not to start taking them again. The implications took a little while to sink in. A baby! He'd told me a year ago that he wanted a family, but I wouldn't even consider it. Not for the next few years, at least, I'd said. But now he was making it a demand, and of course, that meant that he really intended to make me pregnant. Soon. My head spun.

His hard-on didn't seem to be going away by itself, and so he made yet another demand on me.

The next month was a blur. After the wedding, we came back and moved my Molly belongings to Chicago. Herman entered some sort of business deal whereby he sold his business to a corporation that took it public, but somehow he remained as CEO. The result was that he kept the same job, didn't work as hard as before, and we somehow wound up very comfortable financially. I took him to meet my parents in Iowa, and, sure enough, Mom DID just love him! Dad could talk business with him, and he thought that was a great trait for a son-in-law.

The reunion with Mama was different altogether. As soon as we walked in the house I broke down completely, ran to her crying, and threw myself into her arms. She knew all about the merger of souls, of course (Jean had told her the outcome), but this behavior really threw her for a loop. We walked into the library for a little mother-daughter chat that turned out to last two hours. She wanted to know Molly, of course. Everybody wanted to get to know Molly. I had to patiently explain several times that Molly didn't exist anymore, just as Jane did not. She did get to know the real ME better, and she finally, finally seemed to like what she saw.

With Herman's approval, I invited Jean over to our house one night to join us for dinner. She was nervous, overly polite, and horny (I can always tell when Jean is horny - there's just a certain look about her). Over spaghetti and meatballs, I told her that I had confessed to Herman all about the two of us. That REALLY made her nervous, but before she could puke, I went on to explain our little "agreement." She was flabbergasted. It took her a long while (with Herman's help) to really believe it, and then she said that she had to think about it for awhile. But I knew what her answer would be. Like I said, I knew she was really horny.

By the end of April, we were seeing each other twice a week, on Mondays and Thursdays. By the end of May, I was staying all night every Thursday.

The "Jane" in me still had a trick or two up her sleeve, though. When I was with Jean, I would still go into every detail about my lovemaking with Herman. She still hung on my every word, and now demanded to be told even more. You see, before in our relationship I was strongly dominant. But we were now equals in our lovemaking. I think she really missed being forced into submission, and now the closest she could come to it was hearing me tell how I was being dominated at home by my husband. Herman had discovered my love for bondage (through my confessions about my asshole drug-pushing former lover), and talk of that drove Jean toward jealous fantasy. By demanding more and more information, SHE was slowly becoming more dominant in our relationship. And when I went home from my rendezvous with Jean, I made sure to tell my Herman about every little thing we did to each other. In no time at all, I had them drooling over the very idea of one another.

In early July, I started inviting Jean to our house for dinner once a week. Knowing that they knew each other's bedroom secrets was a real turn-on for me. Everybody was turned on. When Jean left, Herman would always take me violently, and Jean could hardly wait for our next little session. Her jealousy only heightened in late July when I found out I was pregnant. Lesbian or not, Jean's biological clock was ticking pretty hard, and while she was delighted, she was also terribly envious.

That's when I started hinting at a permanent solution to Herman. He wanted to build us a huge new house on Lake Geneva, and had, in fact, bought the land and started clearing the construction site. What if I were to invite Jean over for a preliminary heterosexual encounter with Herman? There was no doubt that he liked her, and it was obvious that she liked him more than any MAN she had ever met. He could certainly be gentle if he wanted to be. If things really worked out well, perhaps she could move out to the lake with us. Well, it was like trying to talk a kid into buying the candy store. When he had finally stopped screwing me, he readily agreed that he was certainly willing, if I could talk Jean into it.

It was yet another of those little episodes in which she, not having seriously considered such a thing, said she didn't know if she could do it. She'd think about it, she said. But I knew right away what her answer would be.

The night it happened (another dinner at our house), Jean was almost too nervous to eat. She'd had two weeks to work up her courage for this, but she only seemed to get more anxious as the night approached. The thing that made it all bearable for her, I think was seeing how nervous Herman was. It was almost comical, and we all wound up laughing in the middle of eating our lasagna.

I called a halt to the meal by getting up, making Jean get up, and then kissing her passionately. We'd never actually done that in front of Herman, and suddenly everything seemed to be alright. I motioned to my husband, who walked around to us and sort of took over from me, kissing her gently, then more urgently. He picked her up and carried her into our bedroom, but I only went as far as the doorway, where I stood watching them as she submitted totally to him.

He was infinitely patient and gentle with her. He never stopped kissing her for more than a second or two, as he slowly, slowly undressed her. This kept her completely off balance, which was just the way she longed to be. All of the weeks of frustration with me, seeking earnestly for the dominant-submissive relationship of old, was being swept away; and now she just seemed to give her soul to him. His kisses finally shifted to her throat, her breasts, her tummy, and finally, finally, to her sex.

He was surprised at how quickly she came, and then by how quickly she built to another orgasm, even though I had told him in great detail about that particular trait of hers. After her third orgasm, I watched, weak-kneed and rapt, as he rose above her, positioned himself, and finally began pushing into her sopping cunt. She gasped loudly, threw her arms around his neck, grasped his body with her legs to draw him more fully inside of her, and began whispering little exclamations into his ear, calling him by name, clutching at him, and then throwing her head back and giving a long shrieking orgasmic moan.

He had won her heart completely. And only now did it dawn on me that "lesbian" was not the sexual proclivity that best described Jean at all. "Submissive" was the one word that said it all. It didn't really matter if it was a man or a woman. She simply needed to be dominated by whoever loved her.