Teaching Carol Ch. 03byzenmackie©
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Part 01 - click Here to listen. (6.5 min/mp3)
Part 02 - click Here to listen. (6.5 min/mp3)
Part 03 - click Here to listen. (6.5 min/mp3)
Part 04 - click Here to listen. (6.5 min/mp3)
Part 05 - click Here to listen. (6.5 min/mp3)
Part 06 - click Here to listen. (6.5 min/mp3)
Part 07 - click Here to listen. (6.5 min/mp3)
Part 08 - click Here to listen. (5 min/mp3)
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The next time I saw Carol was at lunchtime the next day. We were both heading from different directions towards the entrance to the dining-hall next to her dormitory. I had been thinking about something else and so looked right past her at first. She saw me, however, and thought I was ignoring her, and that she was the victim of a one-night stand.
I noticed her just as her face turned sad and she began to walk away from me with her head down. I understood immediately what she was thinking and called out to her. When she turned back to me I ran up and gave her a quick hug and a kiss on the side of the head, and asked her how she was doing, whether she'd slept all right, and so forth. She brightened immediately, and we walked into the building with our arms around each other's waists.
We sat together and ate and talked, but made no mention of the night before. We parted without making any plans to see each other, but we both knew it would be soon.
I arrived at her room in the later part of the evening that night, when I figured she would be done with her schoolwork (she was a student teacher). When she let me in, we hugged for a while. I used it as an excuse to massage her spine, starting at the top and working my way down. She relaxed against me and purred. When I reached the bottom of her spine I allowed my hands to continue on to her behind, massaging her cheeks with the palms of my hands. She was wearing light corduroy pants, and the texture of the fabric was pleasing to touch.
After some time we broke off and went to sit on her bed. We sat cross-legged, facing each other, and she immediately began talking about how she thought we shouldn't be physically involved because we weren't in a serious relationship. I thought, sure...but listened and nodded in the right places. I was sure she believed what she was saying. But I was equally sure she would do what I wanted.
When she finished, I kissed her lightly on the lips, and said, "I understand. I'll try to keep my hands to myself." She smiled at my acquiescence, and I continued, "It won't be easy, of course, 'cause as I told you last night, I just love touching you." I kissed her again. "But I also love just looking at you. Is that alright?"
She blushed a little and looked down and made a small laugh, looking up from under her eyebrows at me. "Oh, of course," she said.
"Do you like it when I look at you?"
"Well..." She wasn't sure how to respond.
I made a teasing face and said, "Come on, admit it...."
Her blush deepened and she looked down again before saying, quietly, "...Yes."
"Yes, but I want to hear you say it."
"Oh, you...alright. I like it when you look at me."
"Good. Does it make you feel pretty?"
"Ohhh...yes, it makes me feel pretty." She gave the last word a self-deprecating twist.
"Well, I don't know...yes, it...it makes me feel...attractive."
"Okay, okay...sexy!" She made a face at my insistence on the word.
"You really like it?"
"Alright then—stand up and let me look at you."
"Come on, stand up. I mean it." I took her by one shoulder and nudged her toward the edge of the bed.
"Oh, all right..." She unfolded her legs and stood, facing me, looking very self-conscious. She was wearing a light green sweater over her tan corduroys and tan socks on her feet.
At first I only looked at her eyes—they were dark brown, and at the moment a little distrustful. I said, "You really are very pretty..." She allowed herself to smile. After a moment, I continued, "You have a cute figure, too—it's alright if I look at it?" She blushed again and looked down without replying, so I added, "Put your hands behind your head, if you would, and look at me."
She hesitated for a moment, then did what I'd asked. Her eyes met mine, though timidly. I could tell she was feeling vulnerable, and said, "Oh, that's nice—that really shows off your figure." I let her watch me as I deliberately allowed my gaze to drop to her small breasts and boyish hips, and linger there long enough for her to feel it. Then I looked back up and smiled at her and said, "But I can't really see you like this."
She looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"
I held her gaze as I said, "Well, for instance, I'm pretty sure you have nice legs, but I can't see them. Would you pull down your pants, please?"
She thought I was kidding, and guffawed. I said, "Seriously...pull down your pants."
She was incredulous. "Oh jeez, Jonathan! No."
"Carol, I promised I wouldn't touch you, and I won't. But I want to look at you. You like having me look at you, right"
"Alright then." She started to say something else, but I held up my hand to forestall her, and held her in my gaze as I said, "Carol, I want to look at you. Pull...down...your pants."
She couldn't take my gaze for long. She looked down. I heard her mumble "Oh, jeez..." to herself. Although her short black hair curtained her face somewhat I could still see that it was beet-red. I held my breath. This was the turning point. Finally, she took a sharp breath, hooked her thumbs into the elastic waistband of her pants, and pulled them quickly down around her ankles. Then she straightened up again, but wouldn't look at me.
"There, that didn't hurt a bit, did it," I said lightly. "Come on, hands behind your head. Look up." She did so, still not looking at me, her face still red. I smiled and said, "C'mon, Carol, don't be embarrassed. I want you to enjoy this too. Stop thinking about it so much—just watch me looking at you—enjoy how sexy you are. Look at me."
She finally raised her eyes to mine. I said, "That's better. Mmmmm... I really like that. Do you feel sexy like that, with me looking at you?"
Her knit her brows together as she looked at me, her expression perturbed. Finally she said, doubtfully, "Well....kind of...but I..."
"Good," I jumped right in. I think you just need to reassure yourself that it's okay." She looked unsure, but nodded, hesitantly. "All right," I said, with a playful smile, "Repeat after me: 'I like having you look at me.'"
Her expression was doubtful, but she went along. "I like having you look at me."
"Good," I replied. "Now let's take it a little farther: 'I'm not ashamed of my body.'"
"I'm...not ashamed of my body. But Jonathan..."
"Nope. Let's keep going with what you just did: 'I like pulling my pants down for you."
She hesitated, looked down.
"Nope. Keep looking at me..."
She returned her gaze to me. "I like..." her gaze wavered, looked away, came back to mine. She blushed furiously and quickly gabbled out the rest: "...pulling my pants down for you." She gasped slightly. Her eyes kept darting away, then returning to mine.
I tried to soothe her. "Well, it's true, I think. The problem is that you don't think it should be true—am I right?" She nodded. "You think it makes you a bad person, somehow." Again, she nodded. "Well, it doesn't. It doesn't hurt anyone, least of all yourself, and we both enjoy it—how is that a bad thing?" She still looked unconvinced, but possibly less so, so I went on. "Alright, let's try it again. But only repeat what I say if it's really true for you, okay?" She nodded and said, "Alright."
I stood up and got close to her, looking deeply into her eyes, and repeated, "I like pulling my pants down for you."
I was so close that she couldn't look away. She stood there, hands still locked behind her head, looking up at me. I felt her resistance melt away. She said, as if hypnotized, "I like pulling my pants down for you."
I continued, " I like having you look at me like this."
"I like having you look at me like this."
"I like being sexy for you."
"I like being...sexy...for you."
I sat down again, still holding her gaze. "Good. Now, stand with you feet apart and let me look at you." Without taking her eyes from mine she moved her feet as far apart as the pants around her ankles would allow.
I sat back down on the bed and looked at her for a while in silence. Her face still had a worried expression, as if she had no idea how she'd gotten into such a situation, but she stayed in her position. I stayed quiet a little longer to let her get used to being looked at. Then I said, "I like your panties."
She looked down at them. They were pink and embroidered in front with lots of flowers in lighter and darker shades of pink. She looked back up at me and smiled hesitantly, not sure if I was serious.
"Really. They're very pretty," I reassured her. Then I added, "Is your bra the same?"
She thought a moment, then nodded. And of course I immediately said, "Show me."
She made an outraged face, and said, in a tone meant to convey that I'd gone too far, "Jon-athan...!" But she stayed in her position. I mocked her facial expression and her voice, saying, "Ca-rol...!".
Unable to help herself, she laughed. I said, "Carol, we just went through this: You like having me look at you—remember?"
"And you like being sexy for me, right?"
"Carol...is it true or not?"
She looked down and said, a little sadly, "Yes." Then, knowing what I was about to say, she looked back up at me and said, reluctantly, "I like being sexy for you."
"Good. Take off your sweater."
She did. She held it in her hands for a moment as if reluctant to let it go, then draped it over a nearby chair. Then she quickly smoothed down her hair, and without waiting to be told, replaced her hands behind her head. Her bra did indeed match her panties.
"Ooo, Carol—you are so pretty!' I exclaimed. "I don't think you have any idea how sexy you are. Look..." I stood up. "See what you do to me?" I gestured toward my zipper, where my erection was obvious. She stared down at it, half-fearful, half-fascinated. "Don't you love being able to do that?"
Unable to take her eyes off it, she nodded once, slowly. Then started to speak. "But Jonathan, you promised you wouldn't..."
"And I won't," I finished for her, sitting back down. I looked at her for a little while, then asked, "How are you doing? Do you feel good? Do you feel sexy?" She nodded, reluctantly, and I sensed she was just agreeing because I wanted her to. I said, "I think you do, but I also think you're still feeling like you're not supposed to. Am I right?"
"Okay, put everything back on." She looked surprised and, I thought, maybe even a little disappointed--though she'd never admit it. I wait until she was dressed, then pulled her over to sit in my lap. I gave her a hug and said, "Alright, maybe this will help—were you ever in a play?"
"Yes, in high school. I wasn't very good at it."
"Doesn't matter. Let me put it another way. When you were a kid, did you ever pretend you were someone else? You know, someone in a story you'd read or somebody on TV..."
She brightened. "Oh yes! I used to pretend I was Nancy Drew, and I'd follow people down the street, pretending they were spies or something."
"Good. And did you ever get so caught up pretending to be Nancy Drew that you kind of believed it?"
"Yes! ...I almost got in trouble for looking in somebody's window because I forgot it wasn't really a hide-out." She laughed as she remembered.
I smiled too. "See? You're a natural. And that's what I want you to do: pretend, okay?"
"Umm...okay, pretend that...you're a secretary..."
"I worked as an office temp for a while..."
"Great. Then this should be easy for you. That's perfect...you're an office temp, and your supervisor...uh...Mr. Black..." I indicated myself and continued to think out loud, "...let's see....saw you stealing something. He calls you into his office...and says if you don't do what he tells you he's going to have you arrested."
"I don't understand. Why are we doing this?"
"Well, I'm just guessing, but I think you'll be able to enjoy yourself more if you pretend that you have to do what we've been doing. That way you don't have to feel like you're being a bad person, because someone's making you do these things. Make sense?"
"Well...maybe... I don't..."
"Look, just try it, okay? And if you don't like it, we'll stop." Carol looked uncertain. I said, "It won't be any different from what we've been doing, but it'll feel different, I promise. Let's try it, okay?"
"Well...okay, but I..."
"Tell you what—have you got any office clothes? You know, white blouse, pleated skirt—like that?"
"Good. Put them on. I'll wait outside. Let me know when you're ready." And before she could reply I stepped outside her room and closed the door.
She took less time that I thought she would—the idea must have appealed to her more than she'd want to admit—and when she opened the door to let me in I saw that she had gone all the way: white blouse with a red and blue bow at the neck, pleated navy-blue skirt with a wide black belt, pantyhose, low-heeled black shoes. She'd even pulled her hair back in clips and put on some gold earrings.
She smiled sheepishly at me as I closed the door behind me and asked, "Is this right?"
I smiled back at her. "That's perfect. You should have been an actress—you really look the part. Let's see...you wear glasses sometimes, don't you?"
"Oh! Yes, they're right here." She went over to her desk, took them out of her case and quickly put them on before turning to face me. They were round horn-rims that covered her eyes up past her eyebrows, and made her look like a cute owl.
"Oh my god, that's just perfect! Come here and look at yourself." I pulled her over to the full-length mirror on the back of her door and stood behind her. She looked at herself...and giggled. "See what I mean?" I said. "You know what? You're not Carol anymore—you're somebody else. Look at her. Who is she?"
I watched her stare at her reflection as if trying to guess what kind of person she was. I said, "That's definitely somebody else. What do you think her name is?"
She thought a moment. "Maria."
"Maria...I don't know...Smith. No, Maria Santiago. I used to temp with a girl named Santiago, and she even looked like this a little." She smiled at her reflection again.
"Good. Okay, take a good look at her, and remember what she looks like." I waited a beat. "Got it?"
I took her by the shoulders and turned her around to face me. "Okay, you're Maria Santiago. You're an office temp. You're a little shy, you don't talk much at your jobs. You're not a bad person, but you don't make much money and sometimes, if you can, you help yourself to stuff. You've never been caught, but today Mr. Black saw you, though he hasn't said anything yet."
I waved my arm to indicate the room. This is Mr. Black's office. That's his desk," indicating hers. "Okay...who are you?"
"I'm...I'm Maria Santiago," she said, smiling.
"I don't believe you. You sound like that Carol person. Who are you?"
"Maria Santiago." Her face was more serious.
"What do you do?"
"I'm an office temp."
"What else do you do?"
"I...sometimes I...steal things."
"Okay. Mr. Black just told you he wants to see you in his office. How do you feel about that?"
"I... I don't know."
"You don't know why he wants to see you. Are you a little...worried?"
"I guess so..."
"What are you worried about?"
"I'm...afraid he might have seen me take something."
"What did you take?"
Her eyes darted around the room. "A...CD player...from somebody's desk."
I followed her gaze and picked up the one she was looking at. "Like this?"
"Where did you put it?"
"In...in my purse."
She thought a moment, then turned and rooted through her closet, coming up with a fairly large black cloth purse. "This one." I handed her the CD player and she put it into the purse.
"Alright. What's your name?"
Without hesitating she said, "Maria Santiago."
I gave her a smile. "Good. Now, Maria, I want you to go outside." I pointed. "Maria Santiago is going to knock on that door, and when she comes in, this is going to be Mr. Black's office. I wish I was wearing a suit, but you'll just have to pretend. Okay?"
"Okay." She looked a little nervous, but excited.
"And whatever happens in Mr. Black's office happens to Maria Santiago, not to anybody else. Got it?" She nodded, frowning a little with fear or concentration. "Alright. Go outside...but don't knock unless you know why you're knocking."
I took her by the shoulders and turned her around. Without another word she opened the door, stepped outside and closed it behind her. I went and sat down at her desk, and waited.
The knock, when it came, was a timid one. Good, I thought, and called, "Come in."
'Maria' opened the door a little, stuck her head in and said, "You wanted to see me, uh, Mr. Black?"
I turned to her and said, "Ah, Miss...Santiago, is it? Yes, come in." She stepped to just inside the door. "Close the door, please." She did so and stood there clutching her purse in both hands. I was pleased—she was doing a much better job than I expected. Or else she really was afraid.
I looked directly into her eyes—or as directly as I could through her glasses—and said, "I'll come right to the point, Miss Santiago. I saw you take something from someone's desk and put it in your purse."
She made an attempt at appearing shocked. "N-no, I didn't..."
"Well, if I'm mistaken then you won't mind showing me what's in your purse."
"Miss Santiago, let me put it another way. Either I'm going to look in your purse, or the police are." 'Maria' looked blank. "Your choice."
She wasn't good at improvising, obviously, so I gave her a hint by holding out my hand. She looked down and mutely handed over her purse. I opened it and pulled out the CD player. I held it up. "This is a fairly expensive machine. I believe you can go to jail for stealing something like this." I waited for her reaction but 'Maria' was still stuck—so I gave her a lead: "Aren't you even going to apologize?"
She blinked for a moment, then caught on. "...I'm sorry..."
"Sorry you got caught, maybe. Well, you're going to be sorrier..." I put the player and the purse on the floor and picked up the receiver from the telephone on her desk. I was hoping she'd jump in and try to stop me, but she still needed help. I turned to her and said, "Can you think of any reason why I shouldn't turn you over to the police?" Still blank. I made it a little more obvious: "I'd be scared if I were you—jail isn't a very nice place."