Are You Tiffani Caine? Ch. 01

"Well, looks like you're enjoying this a little," Man-Bun smirked; she had stopped referring to him in her mind as the Caller, as that was far too ominous a name for the pathetic reality.

"It's 50 degrees in here," she said sharply. "This is what happens when I get cold. It's called physiology, look it up."

"I gotta tell ya girl, those things are amazing. Church girls like you, always worrying about sin -- the sin is not showing that rack of yours off. Everything you own should be tight and low-cut."

Voice tightly controlled, she replied, "I will give your comments all the consideration they are due."

He laughed again, his voice echoing off concrete and steel. "Is that your way of telling me to fuck off?"

"It's my way of telling you how much I value your opinion, on me or on anything else."

He smiled. "I like you, church mouse. You're tougher than you look."

"Whatever."

"Well, I got places to be, so let's get this on the road. Get over here, right here. Get on your knees."

That sense of unreality deepened. Kneel? Right in front of him? That would put her mouth at the level of...that meant that...did he really expect her to do that of all things? In public? With him?

He waited a few seconds, then said, "Well?"

Faced with it, the sense of unreality suddenly vanished, leaving an icy black pit where her stomach should have been. Although she really, really didn't want to cry, Sara felt tears coming to her eyes. She tried to pull her hands away from her face but her arms were frozen in place. After a few moments, she muttered through her fingers, "I can't..."

Man-Bun's eyes narrowed and the corners of his mouth tightened, and Sara knew he had finally run out of patience. "I'm done fucking around, Tiffani. You either do what you're told the first time I tell you, or else we're done here. I honestly don't give a shit which it's gonna be, but I bet you do. You have a big fucking choice to make, so make it right fucking now."

She needed to run. She needed to get away from here, away from this wretched little man, away from this place, away from her past and...

And there was nowhere to run. There was no way to run. There was only one thing she could do.

We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts...

Numbly her feet moved, carrying her forward four short steps, until she was barely a foot away from Man-Bun. Her hands clenched tight around her skirt and she pulled it up as she sank to her knees; she didn't want a pair of dirty marks on her front to show she had knelt. The concrete beneath her was hard and radiated cold up into her thighs. And here she was, her face inches away from the groin of a wicked little man in a damp corner of a public place. For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God...

"You've sucked cock before, Tiffani?"

She could only nod. "Yes. Not for a long time."

"Shit, a hot little number like you should make a career of it. You still remember what to do?"

She did. Her hands were shaking as she lifted them to find the tab of his zipper. It took her four tugs to get it down.

Was she really going to do this? Was she going to abase herself this way? She had sinned, yes, and grievously, but the Lord had forgiven her. Was she now to compound it with more sin? Here, in this awful place, with this horrible man? Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go. But she was afraid. The punishments of this world were as nothing to the punishments of the sinner in the next, but...

But she was so frightened.

Lord, please forgive me for what I am about to do, for I am weak.

She slipped her hand inside his pants and felt him beneath his underwear. It had been seven years since she had touched a man this way, but her fingers remembered the sensations. He was half-hard. She would need to work to bring him the rest of the way, to make him...finish.

She worked him free of his underwear and exposed him to her. His cock was smaller than the one she had touched before, shorter and thinner, and his balls were smaller. There was variation, of course she knew that, and she was glad this one wasn't huge because this was going to be difficult enough as it was. She wrapped her right hand around it, holding it gingerly. It was warm and smelled faintly of Axe Body Spray, and it twitched in her hand and hardened a bit more.

She needed to get through this. She needed to focus and finish and go away, so he would be satisfied and she could go back to her life. The Lord would forgive her -- the Lord would forgive and Isaac never, ever needed to know. She could put it behind her.

But first she had to put it in her mouth. She swallowed the lump in her throat, closed her eyes, and leaned in, mouth open. The head of Man-Bun's cock slid between her lips and onto her tongue, and she had to fight an instant gag reflex -- if she threw up the moment she put her mouth on him, he would probably walk away then and there and all this humiliation would be for nothing. She took a moment and a deep breath and tried again, and this time she managed it.

A stranger's cock was in her mouth.

Don't think. You've done this before -- not to a stranger and not in public, but you've done it. It won't kill you. It won't even hurt. It's just unpleasant, humiliating, disgusting, and vile. You will survive and the Lord will forgive.

She curled her tongue around the shaft, taking it a little deeper into her mouth. It was hard now, she thought, at something less than six inches. She wasn't used to anything that long in her mouth and it was going to be a problem keeping herself from gagging despite her best intentions. But she didn't need to put it all in, did she? Some of it, yes, but the end was the sensitive bit. She could focus mostly on that and just use her hand on the shaft and she would make him finish. Closing her thumb and first two fingers around his girth, she began moving her tongue over the tip, around the tip, under the tip --

His cock jumped in her mouth when she did that. It was surprising and she almost pulled back, but she held on. That meant he was feeling good, and while she didn't want to make him feel good, she needed to make him feel good or this nightmare would never end. So she did it again, curling her tongue and running the tip under the edge of the crown. The soft grunt she heard from above her told him that he liked it.

"Little church mouse," he said, stroking her hair like she was a dog. "If your priest could see you now, on your knees like a twenty dollar whore."

SHUT UP! She was not a whore! She was doing this because he was forcing her, not for any other reason. She was a rape victim, not a prostitute! She looked up and glared at him, eyes blazing with hurt and anger, even as she kept her tongue moving.

"Oh, look at those eyes," he said with a nasty grin, running a finger down over her cheek and onto her jaw. He can feel what I'm doing inside my mouth with his finger. "You're so pissed at me. Bet you'd love to just bite down, wouldn't you? But you aren't going to. And you know why?" Yes she knew why, because then she would go to prison! "Because you're a slut, born to suck cock. You're just doing what you're supposed to be doing."

Rage, hot and impotent, boiled up inside her. Her cheeks were red with it. She felt it behind her eyes, a seething heat that churned in her brain and threatened to come out as tears. No! I will not give this sinner my tears. He doesn't deserve anything but my scorn and my pity. I'll pray for him...later. But the tears were coming anyway unless she did something, so she closed her eyes tightly. Maybe she could pretend that Man-Bun wasn't even attached to the thing in her mouth. Maybe that would help get her through.

"You know what sluts do," he told her again, voice taunting and cruel. "Sluts take it in the throat. Come on, get it all in there. I want to feel you gag on it like a good cumwhore."

So very loathsome. But she tried to do as she was told to speed things along, pushing her lips down along his cock. It seemed alright, he wasn't big, she could handle it --

Except she couldn't. She barely got the tip back to her soft palate before her throat suddenly rebelled and closed. She hhhrked and gasped and hrrrked again and fought the need to close her teeth as she pulled away, coughing and with watering eyes.

"Shit, is that all you can take?" came his disdainful voice. "You seriously think I believe that?"

She looked up at him, mascara streaks beginning to crawl down her cheeks. "I'm --" She broke off into a cough."I'm doing the best I can! I'm not used to this!"

He sneered. "Try it again, bitch. I don't have all day."

In this world, you will have tribulation. Sara took a deep breath and put her mouth on it again, but this time she couldn't even get as far as before without her throat spasming shut. She took her mouth off it again and coughed. "I'm...I'm sorry, I can't..."

"Fuck, you gotta work on that shit, girl. You can't be a slut if you can't deep throat a cock."

"I am not a slut!" she hissed, her humiliation making her even angrier. "I don't want to be a slut! I want to finish with you and finish with this and go back to my life and never see you again!"

His expression was one of disgust, a feeling which was mutual. "Just go back to what you were doing before. Finish me up that way."

She didn't need to be told again. Getting him finished was all she cared about at the moment. She closed her mouth around the head of his cock again and worked it the best way she remembered, laving it with her tongue as she stroked the shaft with her hand, faster now, needing it to end. And his expression was so bored!

After a minute or so she "earned" a flavor in her mouth -- salty, bitter, watery. I remember this...pre-cum. And like a madeleine, that brief taste brought a flood: his heartbeat felt through the skin of his cock, hammering harder as he comes closer to release; the faint taste of soap as I kneel before him in the shower and take him into my mouth; his hands twist in my hair, holding me still as he tenses and gasps; his grateful moan as I bring him to the edge and then over; his cock leaps in my mouth as his balls tense and the seed starts to flow; his cum, thick, glutinous, coating my tongue and filling my throat; his cock lays on my face as I suck his balls --

And then her mouth was off Man-Bun's cock and onto his balls, a tender orb gliding past her lips into her damp heat, suckling gently as her tongue danced. He gave a shocked "Holy fuck" and a moan of actual pleasure while her hand flew along his shaft, pulling foreskin over the head and then back again. Maybe it was the surprise of it or maybe it genuinely felt good, but in a heartbeat his manner had gone from apathetic to pleased, from impatient to the kind of tense she now remembered.

He was going to ejaculate.

Sara felt an irritating surge of triumph at the realization. Yes, making him come was the only way this would get finished, but for an instant she actually felt like it was an accomplishment in the way she used to, when she was with someone she cared about, someone whom she wanted to feel good. Man-Bun was nothing like that, and it was sullying the memory of her long-ago man to even compare them.

So why did she do it?

"Fuck, Tiffani, I'm gonna come..."

She didn't draw it out a second longer than it needed to last. She shifted to the left and aimed his cock to the right, jerking it hard. She felt his balls contract against her tongue and pull up against his body, and a moment later the first pearly string of his seed flew from his cock and spattered against the floor, getting on her hand, hot and sticky. Another joined it and another, all big, and then a fourth and a fifth that were smaller. She kept hand and mouth moving, again feeling nothing as he panted and she milked the last drops of his release from him.

It was done.

"Whew. You surprised me there at the end, church mouse. Seems like you've got more of the slut in you than you want to admit. Not that it was good or anything like that, but you met the minimum requirements." She said nothing, made no response at all to his taunt or his grin, and after a minute he said, "Clean me up like a good girl."

He was already softening in her hand, but he was slick with his own cum from where she had smeared it on his length. She was too weary to worry about it now. She put him back in her mouth and sucked for a few moments, cleaning his cock of his discharge, then carefully tucked his genitals back in his pants and zipped him up.

The taste stuck in her mouth.

She felt completely and utterly filthy, as though a hundred showers wouldn't clean her -- and maybe they wouldn't. But prayer would, and she would be clean again.

Still kneeling before him, she asked, "Are we done?"

"We're done. Get out of here."

She stood, brushing the grime from her knees and adjusting her skirt before reaching for her coat. She took two steps away before he said, "You can't wear those panties."

She sighed, rolled her eyes, turned. "What?"

"The granny panties. They don't belong on a body like yours. Leave them here."

She didn't even care anymore. She reached up under her skirt and pulled them down over her hips, showing him nothing but the same legs he'd already seen as she stepped out of them. She tossed them at his feet and walked away.

She'd made it thirty feet before he called out loudly, "Thanks for the blowjob, Tiffani." His words echoed in the cement structure.

There was a group of three women twenty feet away from her and heading her way; all three stared at her. A gaggle of besuited men fifty feet ahead turned to look at her with unpleasant grins. She ignored them all. As she passed the men, one of them, a man in his 40s with a wedding ring, asked, "Are you giving them out or do I need to make an appointment?" The other men laughed, and she ignored that too.

She made eye contact with no one as she started back. When she was a block and a half away from her building, she suddenly staggered, took three steps to the curb, grabbed hold of a lamppost, and vomited violently into the street, her stomach seizing so painfully that she almost dropped to her knees again. She heard passersby making noises of disgust, of dismay, but her head was swirling and it was all she could do to hold onto the post and not pitch into traffic.

What have I done? Oh no, oh no, oh no, what have I done...

A hand touched her shoulder, and a woman's voice asked, "Are you alright, Miss?"

She looked up and saw a dark-skinned woman, Hispanic perhaps, well dressed, kind-faced, looking with concern. A moment later she withdrew her hand, reached in her purse, and produced a couple of paper napkins. Sara took them, wiped her mouth, coughed, spat, wiped her mouth again, and then nodded. "Yes. I'm alright. Thank you."

"Do you need me to call an ambulance? Or...the police?"

"No, no, I'm fine. It's...something I ate. It wasn't agreeing with me." The woman was looking at her with concern, but what was a little lie on top of what she'd just done? She thanked her again and went on her way.

When she got back to her building she stopped at the coffee shop, bought an empty cup, and went to the bathroom. She rinsed her mouth a dozen times, then looked in the mirror. Oh, her makeup was ruined. Her lipstick was smeared, her mascara had run...and there was a small dollop of drying cum in her hair, glistening white against her dark brown locks. She made it a toilet before she threw up again, little more than bile, then fixed herself. She rinsed her mouth six times. She was fifteen minutes late getting back to her desk.

Amazingly, the afternoon went both quickly and better than she could have expected. She was very busy getting in touch with her new clients, setting up times to meet with them either via videoconference or, for the two that were local, in person. Josh came to her desk at 3:00 sharp to get more information on the client he had stolen from her, and she obliged him until Natalie passed by and told him to go back to his own desk and get to work; he went with bad grace, but he did go. The tempo kept her occupied, for which she was truly grateful. She didn't have time or energy to sit and fume about what she had done or what had been done to her. She would feel it just as soon as she had a moment to herself, but until then she hurled herself at her work with force. The most distracting thing was how her bare bottom felt in her skirt now that she wasn't wearing panties, and even that wasn't bad, just weird.

When five o'clock came, she was almost the last one on the floor. Most days there would be people at their desks until six or even seven, but on Fridays the place started clearing out by three. Sara knew that as soon as she was done with work she was going to start thinking, which she was not looking forward to, but she couldn't stay later because she and Isaac had a dinner date with Kait and Chris tonight. The very idea of facing Isaac now made her ill, but she couldn't back out, not after blowing him off the night before. If she was going to see the man she loved, she was going to need a shower and some time alone. She grabbed her coat, purse, and work laptop and shut down her desktop --

And of course it all came crashing in just like she knew it would. She burst into tears on the way to the elevator and sobbed all the way home on the bus. She was a corrupt, wicked sinner. What had she done? But she knew exactly what she had done. Every detail was etched into her memory with the acid of her own failure: failure as a Christian, failure as a girlfriend, failure as a dignified woman, failure as a person of character. It was the worst thing she had ever done.

No. The second worst.

Her shower was long and scalding; she emerged bright pink and with skin so sensitive that her clothes were uncomfortable. She took a Bible -- a physical book, not the tablet app that she usually used -- pulled her jacket off the sofa and dropped it to the floor, and sat down to find guidance. Her first readings were aimless, restless, her eyes scanning familiar passages for something to jump out at her; it was always that way with Scripture for her and it always had been: no matter the trouble, no matter the worry or the pain or the conundrum, she could spend a few minutes with the Bible and the Lord would guide her to the passage she needed to see. And so it was that she came to the Gospel of John: There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.

Jesus loved her. She knew this in the marrow of her bones, without question, without doubt. His love was pure and all-encompassing. Before He had shown her the way, she had been in pain, lost, wretched, considering suicide, consumed with guilt for what she had done. For the one and only truly terrible thing she had ever done, before or since, until today.

The Lord's love had enfolded her, lifted her up, borne her to His church, and there she had been purified, annealed, made whole. Behold, I have refined you, but not as silver; I have tried you in the furnace of affliction.

It was time to get ready for dinner.

March 27th

Sara was up before the sun because she didn't sleep. Her thoughts, angry and turbid, and her guilt, aching and relentless, kept her awake in her bed through the dark hours. She finally tired of the charade at about 4:30 and got up to go to the gym; if she couldn't stop thinking, at least she could make herself tired enough that the thoughts might come one at a time so she could make sense of them.