From Jenny to Mei Ch. 03

"Listen, it works for me."

"So what are you going to do when you age and are no longer attractive?"

"I'll be married with kids by then."

"Let's try again. What about your personality are you most proud of?"

She thought, remembered last night, staring into the hole at the center of her being and seeing nothing. Instead of saying, 'I have no redeeming qualities,' she hunted for a lie, but none occurred to her.

"You can't say, 'I care about the weak and the ill'. You can't say, 'I love children'. You can't say, 'I've got a bubbly personality and people like to be near me.'"

"So what can you say?" she retorted.

"Not yet. Don't deflect or I'll spank you."

To Jenny, that wasn't desirable at the moment.

"My point is you have nothing to be proud of. You've lived your life like a completely selfish bitch and have given nothing to anyone. At least not that I've seen. Have you?"

"No."

"So, what we need to do is delaminate all your shitty layers and replace them with kindness, thoughtfulness and dedication to serving others."

She rolled her eyes, but inside felt a rising from somewhere very deep and neglected.

"Goodness is an attitude and a habit. Just like selfishness and being a cunt. Jenny, listen. Yesterday I saw you and you were nice, for the first time in a long time. Didn't it feel good?"

As she was answering, he stopped her. "Just a warning Jenny. If you lie right now I'm going to get my belt and whip your ass red."

She believed him. Any man that would stand by and watch his friends brutally fuck her for an hour would have no problem whipping her with a belt. And she figured he'd know a lie if he heard it. Anyway, she so wanted to have someone to trust, to talk to about all this, about last night. 'But how could it be him?'

She decided the truth would be safest, at least for now.

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, sir."

"No... elaborate."

"Don't you find it ironic that a... May I speak freely without being whipped?"

"Yes."

"That an evil motherfucker like you is trying to turn me into goodie two shoes?"

"You think I'm evil because I am taking your bottle away from you?"

"Huh?"

"It's the alcoholic analogy. Remember?"

"Oh... ."

"You want nothing more than your life back the way it was. Because it was what you knew and what was comfortable. You liked being a slut and a bitch and you're pissed because I'm threatening that. So tell me... did it feel good?"

She looked into those unfortunately handsome green eyes defiantly. "Yes. It felt good."

"More."

"May I curse?"

"Yes, once."

"Yes. It felt good. Asshole!"

He laughed. "Do that again Jenny and you will regret abusing my patience."

She raised her voice, "It felt good to be nice because... because I could see that people liked me and not for my tits and the chance to chat me up and maybe end up fucking me. Ok?"

"Good Jenny. That was very good. That's how I want you to talk with me, with honesty."

She felt she was starting to well up. His praise was so beguiling. A lie, no doubt but it felt like a massage for her insides. The manipulative motherfucker was good at this.

"You've figured out I'm not an honest person, right. That I lie every chance I get if there is something I want."

"Yes."

"And that back in the clinic, the reason I didn't lie to you was I didn't want anything from you. That's why you are doing this."

"Hmm... that's good... that's a very sound theory, but no."

"Then why are you doing this?"

"Call it community service."

"Fu..." she caught herself and changed gears. "So you think this will work? Beating the bitch out of me?"

"Yes. Like I said, humiliation is a powerful solvent."

"Last night," she began without really knowing what she was doing, the words just coming from her. "When I was masturbating, I figured you'd be fucking me soon so I though I'd get mentally prepared, and I heard you say awful things to me and ..." She was about to confess that it turned her on so much that she came like never before, but stopped just in time. "... when I came I had this fucking vision or something." She raised her knees under the sheets, covered her face with her hands and began to weep. Through the sobs she continued, "I saw what a horrible bitch I really am and what a whore I am and it was like I was this stinking ugly thing, not even a woman just this pile of shit and I hated myself." The sobs took over.

He let her cry, waiting.

"I just... I've never felt so bad in my life since meeting you. I am so goddamn bad and everything you said is true. No one can love me and that's why I never wanted anyone to start because I knew they would find out what a terrible bitch I am and..."

He reached out a hand and began to stroke her forearm and she pulled away. Not angrily, just not wanting the touch. Not deserving the touch.

"So now look at me. No one loves me and no one really likes me. And I'm held hostage by this creep who is destroying my life and knows what a filthy whore I am and has his friends fuck me in a utility room but won't dare fuck me himself because I'm such a goddamn dirty whore."

She cried for minutes and he hated it. He wanted to say, 'Good, that's progress' but thought better of it. He moved off the bed and over to her side, kneeling. He placed his hands on her shoulder.

"Why did you massage me? You motherfucker!" she screamed. "Why did you fucking cry when they fucked me like that!"

He moved closer, leaning in towards her, lifting one foot to the floor to raise himself. She backed away, hardly seeing him her eyes so full of tears. She sensed and feared what she thought he was going to do.

She pleaded, "Why?" looking into those eyes, those mesmerizing green eyes.

He brought his lips to hers, laying them gently against her tear wetted lips. She hated him for one last moment, with all her quickly evaporating will, but Mei could not resist. Lips together, her tears ran unchecked and she pressed back against him, feeling another break inside her.

Slowly, her arms wrapped around his neck. She pulled him tight and spread her lips for him and let him close off the world.

##########

They made love without the need for sex. Mouths and hands were the only instruments they used. For ten minutes she moaned, caressed his hair and touched him through his clothing. Occasionally she fought the urge to laugh in confusion.

His kisses enveloped her, pressed on her. His fingers danced over her face and combed her hair. His eyes were warm with the transfer of emotion.

She dug into his mouth with her tongue, searching for more, pulling his head into her with her hand to his neck. She needed. She wasn't quite sure what it was that she needed but felt he was giving it to her and she was impatient for more.

Oddly, she didn't think of sex. Kissing had always been a warm up. Something to get her wet if the guy was good at it and something to be skipped if he wasn't. But now sex was superfluous. This new emotion was enough for the moment.

Over the next hour she opened to him in a way she'd never done. She confessed without regard to dignity. The revelations made her heart bleed but they drained her of the guilt she didn't know was was there.

She told the stories of how she learned to use men for all the good things in her life and how it was so easy. She poured out the contents of her putrid soul and he absolved her with silent caresses of her hair. When they were done and she dried her tears and had emptied his box of tissues she was exhausted but felt better.

"Why did you cry," she asked, this time out of curiosity and concern.

"Because something beautiful was being broken."

That set off a new round of tears, cleansing tears, each one making her lighter and lighter.

She was so emotionally distraught at finding herself so moved by the man destroying her that she didn't know to laugh or cry, so she did both.

'How fucked up is this?' she thought. 'I've never felt this way before and it took this motherfucking blackmailing son of a bitch to make it happen.'

A horrible thought occurred to her, 'I don't even deserve him.'

##########

When she got it together he went to make her another sandwich and get a cold glass of juice. She put on the short black robe he had for her. A nice silk robe and she thought, 'I'm not the only whore that's been here.'

She used the bathroom but was too tired to look around the apartment with fresh eyes, so she went back to the bedroom.

It was a big space, nicely furnished, masculine and clean. That and the big soft bed was all she noticed.

He returned with a smile on his face, looking very pleased, like he was happy he that she had finally broken and in a way she was too. She still felt like a slut, just not such a horrible slut any longer and she could feel the start of something new within her. It was uncomfortable and a bit frightening, like being at the departure lounge on your first international flight.

"Do you need to talk more?" he said, putting the plate and glass on the night stand.

"I'm so confused," she said "I don't know up from down."

She ate the pickle first. Cold, salty, crisp. The glands below her tongue effused saliva. It was the best goddamn pickle ever.

"What did you tell my work?" She winced as she said it, a thrust of garlic essence hitting her sinuses.

"That you got a call that your mother had been in an accident."

"Who did you say you were?"

"Your mother's boyfriend?"

"Did they buy it?"

"No, but you can tell them on Monday that your mother likes younger men."

She took the first bite of the sandwich, a BLT which was even better than the one this afternoon.

"So who's robe is this?"

"What?"

"Who's robe?" She pinched and lifted the shoulder.

"Yours."

"Who's was it before?"

He understood. "I bought it new." Jealously wasn't a big step from selfishness but it was a step.

She thought while she ate.

"So this is the Stockholm syndrome thing I guess."

"Maybe a bit but don't worry about it. You'll bounce between adoring me and loathing me."

"I wasn't talking about me. I meant you. You're acting like a love sick kidnapper."

"Your not kidnapped."

"I know, I can walk out and you'll convince the cops I'm a serial killer."

"No. You can go home if you want."

"I don't. I should flee but I don't want to be alone. I still don't like you, ok. I'm still pissed that you're tormenting me but for some fucking odd reason, I feel comfortable right now and I need, like, twelve hours of shit not happening to me."

"Stay as long as you wish."

"So tell me about the training. Do I have to wear a dog collar and call you 'master'?"

His eyes widened, "That reminds me." He bolted up and left the room.

"I was just kidding!" she yelled after him.

It was in a black box with a fancy textured finish like snakeskin. He handed it to her without a word.

"What is it?" she was beaming against her will.

"Open it."

"You're kidding. I was fucking joking." She had a look of astounded bemusement which transformed into a small mischievous smile. "It's a goddamn dog collar."

She took out the one inch leather ring with stainless steal things on it. The buckle and two rings and studs. The leather was thick and smelled of... leather. New leather.

Her eyes said, 'No way' and 'Yes, please' at the same time.

"You expect me to wear this?"

"You will wear it."

Then she noticed the name plate under her thumb. She figured it would say, 'fido' or something but when she looked closer it said 黃美春 (Huáng Měi Chūn). That's when the tears started again.

On and on they rolled from her eyes until he started worrying. She sobbed like he was performing open heart surgery on her, squeezing the muscle flat and pulling it out of her. 'Fuck it hurt to have him be so nice.'

"How did you..." she feverishly wiped at her eyes with the back of her palms. "...know what my name was?"

"I did some digging."

"That is so goddamn sweet. Fuck!" More sobbing.

"Sailors don't cuss like you."

"Yeah." More wiping.

"I'm going to call you Mei Chun because that's who you are inside. The girl your parents loved when you were new."

"No one has called me that since I was nine. Not even my mother," she sniffled and he dug out some more tissues from the night stand drawer. "She figured we were going to be American so she made a clean break with China." She stuffed a lock of hair behind her ear. "It's really nice that you did that but..." sniffle, "... I don't want to be a dog."

"It's a symbol."

"I don't want to be a symbolic dog."

"It symbolizes your submission."

"Eh... part of the training?"

"Yes. Put it on. You'll find it's not uncomfortable."

She opened the clasp, a few drops still falling from her chin to the sheet over her knees, and kept her eyes on his, because, after all, he did go to a lot of trouble. He might as well get some gratification. She wrapped it around her neck and turned her hips so her back faced him and let him cinch it together.

She was thinking, while he did, that it really wasn't uncomfortable and if he got a kick out of seeing her around his apartment with this on it was ok. Kind of a fashion accessory.

That made two things he'd bought for her, the robe and the collar. 'Hmm,' she wondered 'what else has he gotten for me?'

"Stand up."

She stood, retied the robe and looked at him.

He was beaming.

She spun slowly, reaching back to lift her hair. Seeing the grin on his face, she said, "Philip, you're one sick bastard."

She never called him Phil again.

"Let's go. I'll show you the place."

##########

He led her on a tour of the loft, telling her about his father and his failed dreams.

She was impressed. It was a bit like an apartment she'd been to for a party on the other side of the bay, but much bigger, much more elegantly furnished. She noticed there were no windows.

Apparently Philip had money and she saw that he had masculine tastes. The ambiance that surrounded her was one that spoke in a confident voice. The colors, browns, blacks and earth tones; the furniture solid and simple. The lighting was soft and indirect, but area lighting from small floods in the ceiling shone tight beams of light on a book case, the kitchen counters and his work area.

When he showed her his work space, she pointed to his computer. "Is that where you fuck up my life?" She didn't sound completely bitter, mostly curious.

"Yeah," was his answer.

"Do you fuck up many peoples lives?"

"Nope, just yours."

She felt a strange sensation undulate around her, and realized with a shock that it was pride. Like a wave, it lifted her and set her down like a rowboat raised by the wake of a supertanker.

"In fact, I spend most of my time making sure that no one fucks up my client's lives."

"What do you do?"

"I'm a consultant to defense contractors and electrical utilities mostly. I design defenses against hackers and run mock attacks against their systems."

"But you went to jail."

"Yeah, and companies started recruiting me before I was convicted. Minimum security prison is like a fucking job fair for IT criminals."

They looked over the kitchen and he started to explain things like she was his new roommate. She asked questions like she needed to know. How the cappuccino machine worked, where the dishwashing detergent was, that kind of thing.

She got a glass of lemonade while he walked over to the couch. It was awesome fresh lemonade with bits of pulp and it made her mouth pucker. On her way over she impulsively slipped the robe off and draped it over a stool. She put the glass on the coffee table and sat down. "I figure you should get the full effect of the collar."

"Coaster," he said.

She got up, put one knee next to his, reached for a coaster from the table behind him, her breast four inches from his face.

"It took me two hours to pick the right one," he said, staring into the most beautiful, soft, well formed breast God had ever created. "It looks good on you."

She tossed the coaster on the table, near the glass, then sat back in the arm chair with her legs tucked under her, back straight, breasts out, nipples firm if not rock hard. Her ass still hurt from his spanking hours ago.

'My god, she is perfect,' he thought, 'the Platonic ideal of woman.' His breathing caught still for a moment.

She ran her fingers over the top edge of the collar from ear to ear, exploring those eyes of his and imagining him browsing some BDSM outfitter's isles for just the right collar, then taking it somewhere for the engraving.

Phil knew taking off the robe was her reaching for a familiar tool to get back in control and he wasn't going to fall for it. Nevertheless his autonomic nerves did and his penis began to firm.

"Your name means 'beautiful spring'." He disregarded her nakedness as best he could and placed her drink on the coaster.

She knew he was intentionally ignoring her, looking into her eyes and not at her body. 'He'll break when he sees my trim little bush and my hips. They all do,' she thought.

She stood, took one step forward and placed her feet shoulder width apart. She threw in a twist of her hair around her finger at the nape of her neck for good measure.

"Mei Chun is a statement of hope. Like the word 'baby'. All potential with the disappointments of parenthood pushed far into the future."

She stepped closer.

"Kneel." He said firmly.

'Hmmm, it's working,' she thought. But as she did, she noticed he didn't stand and reach for his belt like in he was supposed to in the script. Instead, he leaned forward on the couch, elbows on knees and slowly reached out for the steal loops on either side of her collar. His eyes were like green gibbous moons.

"Tonight is a kind of intermettzo between stages of your training," he jerked her forwarded, bringing her face kissing distance from his.

'What's an intermettzo?' she wondered. Her heart beat in her ears, excitement and fear throbbing her lobes.

He spoke firmly, yet without anger, "I am aware of your delicate state right now. So I won't be as harsh as I will later. But if you act like a fucking filthy whore, I'll treat you like a filthy whore and fuck you like a filthy whore."

He let go, sitting back in the couch. "Is that what you want?"

'Yes, goddamn yes,' that was what she wanted. 'But no, fuck no,' she wanted to be the clean lovely princess he promised her. She was tired of crying, tired of being bounced around in an emotional clothes dryer.

"Really," she looked at him. "Right now I'm so convinced I'm a filthy whore that getting fucked like one sounds pretty good to tell you the truth."

He didn't reply.

"You do want the truth right?"

"Yes,"

"I knew you'd say that. I really suck at the truth." She swirled some hair out of her eyes and sat on the floor, Indian style.

"I'm horny wearing this thing."

"Go on. There is more isn't there?"

"A part of me wants you to fuck me like a crack whore. To beat me black and blue and pull my hair out. To step on my face and call me the worst things your sick mind can come up with and leave me crying on the sidewalk outside." She moved her hair with a finger. "It's a small part... ok. Not a wish but more like an expectation."

She shook her hair, brushed a crumb from under her kneecap.

"I told you about last night but I didn't tell you how turned on I got thinking about you fucking me and insulting me. I don't know why and it just makes me feel like more of a pervert. I mean, like, you wouldn't believe how wet I got and how fucking hard I came. Now it's happening again and I don't understand it. I hate myself as a whore but I'm so turned on being a whore.

"I want to run away and live in the Urals so I never have to see you again and I want to suck your cock and the thought of swallowing your cum doesn't disgust me."