Alan Ch. 15

quiet, but at the expense of some nasty looking bite marks on her palm and the back of her hand. Alan was matching the pace of his fucking to that of his finger moving in and out of her ass.

"You're teasing me, aren't you?" she said quietly.

Alan looked up into the mirror, amused by the smirk on her face. "What are you talking about, Katie?

I'm not teasing you, I'm fucking

you."

She grunted as Alan speeded his attack at her provocation. "Do you know how long it's ugh ugh been since you put that great big dick of yours up my tight little ass?" She punctuated the question by jiggling said ass. "Before the goddamned prom."

Alan hadn't thought about it. "Really? Has it been that long?" He and Kate had been taking it easy of late, well, easy for them. He didn't really dominate her all that much since the night in the hotel room; Kate had broken down and confided in him that she was, at her core, an unhappy person. Alan knew from scanning her mind that she was seeing a therapist, but since she hadn't mentioned it to him he hadn't asked her any questions about it. Peering into her mind now he saw that she missed being used, being dominated. She didn't quite want to go back to how it was, with her being a sex slave, calling him, "Master," and all that, but she liked it when he took control of her.

"Yeah, that long," she moaned. Alan slowed his pace and began plumbing her deeper, and she shuddered in reaction.

"Hmmm. So what are you trying to tell me?"

"F-f-fuck. Eeeergh! My! Ugh! Assssssssss!"

"Well, since this is your show, I guess I will," he replied as he withdrew from her sopping pussy. Needing no further lubrication he placed the head of his dick at her rear entrance and slowly entered her tightest passage.

"Harder, faster, yes," she huffed while he took his time penetrating. She gasped feeling at once his prick bottoming out in her ass and one of his hands on her pussy, fingertips playing across her painfully erect clit, and then moaned as she felt him pull out a bit, then fuck back into her. She began to rhythmically contract and relax her sphincter, sometimes holding his cock so tight she could actually feel the blood flow pulse through his cock.

Kate began to buck wildly, her herky-jerky motions checked only by her need to keep tight hold to the sides of the small basin. Stifling her desire to scream out at the top of her lungs when she climaxed, she let out huge gasps of air, her head shooting back, her long black hair whipping against his face. "Come in me!" she demanded, worried that if he continued to fuck her ass she would pass out. "Come in me, Alan, come in my tight ass!" The tight passage was still spasming wildly around his dick, and he obliged, blasting a prodigious amount into her rectum; Kate relaxed and sighed contentedly. His penis softened and slipped out of her, and she stood upright, pressing her back into his chest, slowly massaging herself against him. He felt that she was a bit unsteady on her feet, so he wrapped his arms around her middle to stabilize her.

A few minutes later they were back at their seats, a few stations from home. Kate called her mom on her cell phone to let her know she didn't need a ride home, that Alan would give her a lift.

"So, what are you doing tonight?" she asked.

"Going to the movies with Pauline."

"What are you seeing?"

"No idea. I always let her pick. She's got better taste in movies than me. What're you doing?"

"I have to be back in the city at 6:30 in the morning. I'll watch a little TV and turn in early."

"Do you like your work at the center?"

"It's challenging. You know, 'There but for the grace of God go I,' and all that. Almost all of the girls there are abuse survivors, and they all have these dead eyes, like they've seen hell, or worse. It's very depressing, but I try to help anyway I can."

"Why do you go in so early?"

"I work in the kitchens, supervising the girls who prepare breakfast.

Sometimes I can even get one or two of them to open up and talk while we're working. I think their defenses aren't so high in the early morning because they're tired. That's why I volunteered for breakfast."

Alan got a flashback from prom night. "You're a good person," he said in all earnestness as he put his arm around her shoulders. Kate looked up and beamed at him.

* * *

"Nothing?" he asked incredulously. "No one in any station recognized him from the photograph?"

Agents had spent the last two weeks

scouring all of the stations, and nothing had turned up. Agent One dreaded making this report to his boss, a man unkind to failure. If it were up to him he would take the lawyer and interrogate him, but his instructions were to the contrary. A team of agents had broken into the lawyer's office, but found nothing much of interest, though they weren't able to penetrate one of the offices within. The only thing they had found was an appointment calendar on the receptionist's desk with that name, Carl Sutherland, entered for the time the mark had shown up. A more thorough search on the name revealed little; the only address listed was the office itself, and the credit report showed lots of cash, but no hints as to its source.

He decided to reduce the size of his team; two sets of agents sitting on the office building, and three sets deployed at Grand Central Station in shifts. If the trail picked up again he could always rehire the rest.

* * *

"Dude, your mom's on the phone. Again."

Alan took the receiver from his roommate and had a brief conversation with his mother, centering on whether he had enough pairs of boxer shorts and socks. Mom had just been shopping and bought him some more, and wanted to know if she could come down into the city and drop them off, and perhaps take him to lunch. She worried about him not getting enough to eat. Alan agreed, and he and his mom agreed on a day early next week. He hung up and turned to his smirking roommate.

"She's my mom. She worries about me," he sheepishly explained.

"Yeah, my mom worries about me too, but you don't see her calling every day, do ya?" Soren shot back.

"Hey, for my mom it's a local call, so quit yer bellyaching. You're just worried that she's tying up the phone and your girlfriend wont get through." Soren threw a pillow at him, but it was a glancing blow, and failed to draw blood.

It was a few weeks into the semester, about a month after he came to campus (the first week was taken up by orientation). Alan was having a blast; for the first time in his life he didn't have a curfew, didn't have to tell his parents where and with whom he was going out. It was freeing.

Unlike many--or perhaps most--college freshman, he actually liked his roommate. Classes were tough, but exciting. College was a whole different way of learning, mostly by its rhythms. Instead of having every class every day like in high school, his college courses met two--or in some cases three--times a week. Most of the material covered was not spoon-fed by teachers, but assigned as reading.

The biggest shock came in the last week. On his first essay for his English composition class, a class for some obscure reason known here as "Logic and Rhetoric," he had received a C. Never in his life had a gotten a C on a paper! Sure, a B here or there, but this was unprecedented. The TA had office hours in a few minutes and Alan planned on seeing her and asking her what the problem was.

The campus was swarming with students as he walked along College Walk, the pedestrian path that bisected the grounds. His destination was Philosophy Hall, on the eastern edge of school, easily identified by a cast of Rodin's Thinker out front. His progress was slowed by recent friends coming up and chatting. Mike and Autumn from his biology section stopped him, and they made plans to get together for a study session.

The TA was using an unused seminar room to meet with students; she had

no office of her own. A hand-lettered sign taped to the door read "Miranda Gorman," and listed her office hours. "It's always a pain, giving back the first assignments," Miranda, the TA told him with a sigh as he took a seat across from her.

"How so?" he asked her.

"All you young geniuses," she started, a mocking tone heavy on her voice, "Aren't used to getting bad or average marks. Why, I'll bet you've never gotten a grade less than an A in your whole life, and you're puzzled at--" she glanced at her grade book and found Alan's line in it "-- at why I gave you a C. Huh? Am I right?"

"Well," he replied softly, "I can't lie to you; I did get some B's on some written assignments in high school, but those were lab reports for Chemistry and Physics. But I've never gotten less than an A on English or History papers, and I was editor-in-chief of the school newspaper."

Miranda's eyes twinkled a bit at his admission. The past four freshmen had claimed they'd never received less than an A on anything, ever. "Hmm, an honest man. Where's Diogenes when I need him?" she joked, assuming that the boy sitting across from her wouldn't get the reference.

"I don't know," he rejoindered, "Getting his lantern serviced? It is nearing the end of the month." Miranda broke up in surprised laughter. They got down to business. Alan pulled out his paper and she reread it quickly. The problem turned out to be his newspaper experience. A reporter tends to write in discrete paragraphs, so that if an editor decides to make cuts, whole graphs could be excised without compromising the readability of the piece as a whole. Miranda impressed upon him the need to make his writing more flowing, paragraphs which built upon one another to form one big mountain, rather than a chain of small hills. He thanked her as he stood to leave, making a small joke which she found very funny.

As she stood to walk him out he gave her a once-over, and she him. There were no other kids in the hallway waiting to meet with her, so they walked out the main door of Philosophy Hall together, and then walked down the gargantuan steps of Low Library towards College Walk.

"Do you have classes tomorrow?" Miranda asked coyly as they neared the gates on the Broadway side of campus.

"No, I lucked out. No Friday classes," he told her. As he answered he looked at her, and though it was hard to read the expression on her face in the twilight of the hour Alan had other ways of reading her. When he peered into her mind he was almost shocked by the images running through them. Almost.

* * *

A few hours later, back at her apartment.

Alan and Miranda had met a bunch of her friends at a bar and grill of Broadway, sharing finger food and a few pitchers of beer. It was your typical grad student outing, consisting of quaffing intoxicants and complaining about faculty advisors. Alan didn't add much to the conversation, but held his own.

Silently they had walked together to Miranda's building, a small walk-up on Claremont Avenue. She invited him up.

He accepted.

He knew what he was in for, and was looking forward to it. Miranda thought she was going to surprise him, so he decided to play along and not burst her balloon. She led him into her second floor apartment, a small two bedroom, the kitchen table groaning under the weight of papers to correct, books and journals, and research notes. The couch was covered with junk, so she cleared space enough for the two of them and beckoned him to sit next to her.

"You seem--I don't know--older than a freshman," she said quietly as she ran her fingers through his hair.

"Older?"

"Yeah," she half said, half sighed. "You kept up tonight. The conversations in the bar." She leaned forward and kissed him softly on his lips, and he returned the gesture, his hands coming around her, lifting her blouse slowly upwards. She batted his hands away. "Slow down," she hissed, "You're not in high school anymore. Let's take our time." She looked deeply in

his eyes, and they sparkled at him.

She kissed him again, and Alan, after waiting what he deemed to be a requisite amount of time, started to lift of her blouse again. Again, she swatted at his busy hands. "I get it," Miranda chuckled, "You're ready." She stood and took him by the hand and led him into what he assumed to be her bedroom, but once inside yet again she rebuffed his attempt to remove her top. "Patience," she counseled, her forefinger stroking his lips. She guided him to the bed, and gently laid him down upon it, then straddled his waist and bent over to lock her lips to his again. This time it was her hands lifting up his shirt, and he allowed her to remove it. Now stripped to the waist she attacked his nipples with her mouth and teeth, gently nibbling on them, pleased by his soft groans she received in reaction. Keeping his mind focused on his nipples she took one of his wrists in her hand and brought it up over his head so that his hands were hanging off over the end of the futon pad. Working quickly she attached it to the restraint installed to the top of the frame, and a few seconds later both wrists were bound.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Quiet," she half-barked at him. "Do as I say and you'll have a good time. Don't do as I say and you wont. Got it? I'm in charge, and don't you forget it," she snarled. Her eyes were shiny with arousal as she surveyed him prostrate on her bed. She went to her closet and took some things out of it, not letting him see what she was getting, and then disappeared into the bathroom.

She was a different person when she emerged five minutes later. Gone were the khaki pants, Doc Martens and flannel shirt she had before. Now she stood before him as a bitch goddess in heat. Her leather boots were thigh-high and stiff, black and polished to a high gloss. Her panties were black and leather, though matte, softer looking than the boots. The bra holding her generous bust was of the same material as the panties, with holes cut in the cups to allow the nipples to peek through. Her face was almost as shockingly different as her change in attire. Her pale skin was even whiter than before, heavily masked by make up, and her lips were painted a great vivid scarlet. Her wavy light auburn hair, which she had worn loose earlier in the evening, was pulled back into a severe bun, held in place by a clip.

"Oh my god," Alan gasped in feigned surprise, aware of her plans for this encounter as far back as she did, from the time the left office hours together.

The first thing she did was to take off his pants and underwear, shooting an appreciative glance at his large and rapidly expanding erection. "Nice," she remarked as if evaluating a piece of meat at the butcher's shop. Holding his cock with her fingertips she raked her nails up and sown the length until it reached full hardness. "Very nice."

She moved up his body walking on he knees and placed her crotch in his face. Alan could smell her excitement through the heavy material of her leather panties. She reached under herself and popped the snaps at the crotch of her panties and jammed her pussy into his mouth. "Lick it," she hissed, "Lick it good, and if you make me come, maybe I'll let you come."

He attacked her pussy with his lips and tongue, his task made a bit awkward by the restraints on his wrists. Miranda began to thrash lightly against his head, small mutterings and moans escaping past her lacquered lips. "The kid's not bad," she thought to herself as her arousal accelerated. "Not bad at all," as her gasps became audible. He was concentrating on her clit, and the sensations were electrifying. She was about to orgasm and her upper body shook in arousal, her nipples pointy through the openings in her bra. She screamed, her cry echoing off the walls of the room. Unable to keep upright her body fell forward, her hands flat against the wall in front of her to hold herself off of him.

"What a find!" she said under her breath after her gasping subsided.

She lifted herself off his face and collapsed on the mattress next to him.

"Are you gonna release me now?"

"Maybe soon," she said, a smile on her lips. She gently took his cock with her fingers again, teasing him anew with her nails.

* * *

The front door of the apartment opened with a squeak.

"Randa? You home? You'll never guess who I saw tonight! Randa?"

"Who was it?" Miranda answered calmly from her bedroom through the half-opened door.

"That fucking creep, Steve Ganske. He tried hitting on me ag--" Laura Drayton froze in the doorway, seeing her roommate, her part-time Mistress, geared up in her dominatrix outfit. On the bed next to her was a guy she'd never seen before, sporting the largest penis she'd ever seen. Laura lowered her eyes respectfully. "I'm sorry, Mistress Randa. I'll shut the door behind me," she said reverently.

"No. Go to your room. Prepare yourself and come back immediately."

"Now we're in for some fun," Miranda said slyly to the bound freshman chained to her bed. "Hmmm," she said languidly, one hand idly tracing patterns on his bare chest, the other still stimulating his manhood with her nails, "I wonder what my little teenager would like now." She considered the cock in her hand. "Make that not so little." An evil look came across her face. "Would you like me to, I don't know, suck your cock?"

"Yessssss," he whispered as she tightened her grip over his erection, the nails digging in slightly.

"I didn't say you could talk!" she barked. "Let's try again. Would you like me to suck your cock?"

He nodded.

"Pity for you. I don't suck cock."

The door to the bedroom opened and Miranda's roommate reentered. Laura was wearing nothing more than stockings, a garter belt, and nipple clips; in addition to a dog collar, a blindfold hung loosely around her neck, waiting for her mistress to blind and bind her.

Miranda gestured to the door, and the shivering girl standing in it. "Like I said before, I don't suck cock. That's her job," she said wickedly. To Laura, "Come here, cocksucker, and show this boy how you suck a nice cock. This is Laura, my cocksucker," she explained with an even voice after turning to face him again.

Alan thought he heard Laura moan, but couldn't be sure; his pulse was beating in his ears, his eyes fixed on his dominatrix teaching assistant. Once Laura had knelt on the bed Miranda look her by the ears and steered her towards his groaning erection. Laura quickly engulfed the helmet. Alan groaned in response; her tongue was a frenzy against his hardness. Miranda ordered him to be silent, and he quieted down.

"That's right baby. Suck him. Suck him hard. Suck him good. Yeah. He's got a nice cock, doesn't he, baby?"

Laura nodded, half his dick swallowed down; Alan almost moaned again, but thought better of it.

"Suck his cock until he comes. He's going to come down your slutty throat, and you're gonna swallow it all. You'll do that, wont you baby? You swallow all of his man cream for me, yes?" Laura nodded again, even more of him filling her throat.

"Don't miss a drop. Ooh yeah, that looks so nasty, your nose buried in his pubes. Good job. Good job, baby. Swallow it all when he comes, or I'll punish you. Yeah, suck it like that. Swallow all his nasty man come, his boy come, and then keep sucking him. Get him hard again. Get him hard again so he can fuck your Mistress. Do it, baby, do it for me, do it for me, do it for me, do it for me."

Alan, with his power to control his own orgasm, could have let this go on all night, and her was tempted to draw it out as Miranda continued her filthy litany of command and encouragement. But all good things must come to an end, so he spewed into Laura's mouth, keeping the volume of his ejaculate low to spare Laura any punishment. Laura pulled her mouth off of him and opened wide, showing Miranda her come, apparently a tradition between the two of them, and then made an