Are You Tiffani Caine? Ch. 01

Dinner the night before had been a quiet, minor disaster. Her mood had been dark and snappish, making a fool of her until at last she had tried to explain it away with the tale of losing her client. Kait had been outraged, as a good friend should be, and Chris had immediately blamed institutionalized misogyny for what had happened (and he might well have been correct). Isaac had counseled patience and meekness in the face of injustice, and Sara knew he was right -- he had the Bible verses to prove his point -- but it hadn't helped because that wasn't what she was mostly upset about. She couldn't tell him the truth. She couldn't tell anyone. And so all the sympathy and wise advice had simply served to make her angrier and guiltier.

When Isaac had dropped her off at her house, he insisted on praying with her. Since they'd gotten together he had done that whenever she had gotten upset and it had always worked, but this time when he held her hands her skin recoiled from his touch like a vampire from a crucifix. She made herself stay with it, hoping he could calm her and bring her mind back to righteous paths as he had so often, but it was hopeless. Her guilt was still too near. She eschewed a kiss on the mouth -- she could barely bring herself to sully his cheek with her lips -- and hurried inside, leaving him frowning and worried in his car.

And now she was doing crunches, and far more than she was used to -- she was on her third set of 60, and her anger was pushing her through the pain. She would pay for it later, but that fit her mood exactly. She deserved to suffer for her guilt. The Lord could and did forgive any offense, no matter how trivial or how grave...but she was not the Lord, and she was having a very difficult time forgiving herself of sins both stale and fresh.

She finished her situps and went to the stationary bikes. Normally there was a wait for the bikes, but at this time of day she was almost alone in the gym so she had her pick. She set the resistance to high and the incline to Everest and began to ride. Immediately she felt her body move, glutes and hamstrings and --

Legs like those you could climb a pole without your hands...look at that thing, it's a sweet little bubble-butt...

She pedaled faster. She had brought it on herself. Her wickedness had put her in that garage and her weakness had led her to her knees with a terrible little Man-Bun's thing in her mouth. Why was she so afraid? What did she have to fear in this world?

But she was afraid.

She frowned and increased the resistance.

It was so strange though. Someone had discovered what she had done, something she herself didn't even know, and had gone to the trouble of tracking her down and blackmailing her...for oral sex in a parking garage? It didn't make sense. Why not ask for money? Not that she had any, but wasn't that the standard thing people got blackmailed for? Or at least business secrets -- what she knew about Ingers-Stevens was worth a lot of money to any of their rivals. Not that she'd ever consider giving that kind of information up, but Man-Bun hadn't even asked her for that.

And why had he gone to the trouble of disguising his voice on the phone if he was just going to show her his face (and more) a few minutes later? And then he really hadn't matched the image she had had in her head after the brief telephone conversation; when she'd formed her image of the Caller, she had imagined someone very capable, but when he'd revealed himself to be Man-Bun...well, in person he lacked the same gravitas. It wasn't that she was disappointed; no, quite the opposite. Man-Bun had been a small man manipulating a woman to get his little weenie sucked because he couldn't manage it any other way, nothing more..

It was all so sordid. As she worked out, as her muscles burned and the endorphins flowed, the feeling of rage she had had began to fade. She still felt horrifically violated, but Man-Bun was so...pathetic. All that effort and that's what his imagination could devise as a reward to keep his mouth shut. The whole thing was so absurd that it was almost laughable. Almost.

What a sad waste of a man. Hopefully he would see the error of his ways and let the Lord into his heart, but honestly, his kind seldom did that. One never knew, though; the Lord could move mountains, so he could certainly shine a light into Man-Bun's life. She said a brief prayer for him and immediately felt relief and joy -- a Christian was supposed to forgive those who harmed her; it was a duty of the faith, and it was amazing how much weight lifted off her when she did that one simple thing. She followed it with another (more heartfelt) prayer for him -- one where she didn't name him "Man-Bun" -- and she felt lighter still.

March 28th

Church helped. Church always helped. No matter the burdens, no matter what was on her mind, being in fellowship with her brothers and sisters in faith put light and lightness into her heart. The song, the joy, the sheer power of the service and the congregation as the Holy Spirit moved across them -- there was nothing else like it, nothing else could be like it. Not for her, not for anyone.

It was Isaac's day on the pulpit -- it wasn't supposed to be, but he had convinced his father at the last minute to let him take the day. The Spirit was upon him. His voice boomed and pulled people out of the pews and onto their feet. His cadences were measured, forceful, and irresistible, like the coming of the tide, and the congregation was thrilled. When he sang they joined their voices with his to shake the windows, and when he preached they shook on their feet at the presence of God in the church. He had a style all his own, not at all influenced by stereotypical "Southern Preachers." Some of his mannerisms were reminiscent of his father John, who sat in the front row beaming at his son in joy and pride, but no one preached the word of the Lord like her Isaac.

His topic today was Philippians 2. It was an important chapter and worthy of any number of sermons, but she couldn't help but feel that he had chosen it at this time because he felt she needed to hear its message: suffering was not a punishment, but a chance to show and grow your faith; shining your faith like a light in the darkness of the world; and perhaps most importantly for her at this time, living in awe of God's presence and power in the knowledge that the believer is secure in salvation all through their life. It was a brilliant sermon powerfully delivered, and many in the congregation felt the Holy Spirit move through them so powerfully that they began speaking in tongues.

Not Sara. Many, many times she had been so moved, feeling their sheer, breathless exhilaration of the presence of God so powerfully that she could do nothing but speak in the language of the angels. It was a dizzying experience that could not be put into human words. And though she was deeply moved by the word of God, by Isaac's preaching and the effect it had on those around her, one thought kept circling through her mind: would Isaac be preaching this for her if he knew what she had done?

Still, she could not be impassive here, now, not in the presence of such love and joy. If she did not forget her troubles, they at least seemed much smaller and more manageable than they had when she walked in. Be poured out like an offering drink in celebration of your salvation, the chapter said, and do not fear the darkness of this world.

Such was the joy of the service that no one wanted to leave when it was over and the building was slow to empty. She, of course, would wait for Isaac to reappear from the office where he was now discussing his efforts today with his father. She quickly found a group of her friends -- those closest to her age, mostly -- and joined as best she could in their happy talk. They were good, kind people, and after every service they, Isaac, and she went to a local charity kitchen to give food to the poor. It was one of her favorite parts of the week.

As they waited, the group first talked about the service (they all raved about it) but after ten minutes or so began telling jokes. One of the group, a college student named Kyle, told one about a Catholic priest, a Pentecostal minister, and a rabbi who tried to convert a bear to their respective faiths. The laughter he received was only a little scandalized when he delivered the punchline: "' In retrospect,' the rabbi said from his hospital bed, 'starting with circumcision may not have been the wisest choice.'"

Sara laughed with the rest of them. She was about to tell the one about what you got when you crossed a Jehovah's Witness and a Unitarian when she heard her phone ring in her purse. She stepped away, pulled the phone out, glanced at the display -- and froze in place.

Unidentified caller.

She stared for two rings, and then it went to voice mail. She swallowed hard on her suddenly dry throat and steadied herself on her feet. It couldn't have been...him. The Caller. Man-Bun. It must have been a salesman or someone looking for political contributions --

The unidentified caller called again. She closed her eyes, answered, and said, "Hello."

The deep, disguised voice said, "Are you Tiffani Caine?"

"You...I already jumped through your hoops!" she hissed, throwing a look over her shoulder at her friends and stepping a few more feet away.

"You know how I expect that question to be answered. You may say yes or no. So I ask you again, are you Tiffani Caine?"

It hadn't ended. Nothing had ended. She was still caught, and there was still only one answer: a bitter, hissed, "Yes."

"Good. What are you wearing right now?"

Oh how petty. How cliche. How pathetic. Man-Bun was outdoing himself. "A long floral-print dress and a white spring jacket. Does that turn you on?"

"I wasn't asking due to prurient interest --"

"Sure you weren't."

"--but rather for practical reasons, because you will be out in the weather for some time. What you have on will do. Where are you now?"

"I'm in church."

"Holy Light Church near Cedar and Washington, yes?"

Of course anyone who went to all the trouble of blackmailing her would know where the most important center of her life was. It was all over her social media if nothing else. "Yes."

"Go stand in front of Dinkytown Tattoo at 14th avenue and 4th Street in Southeast. You have 30 minutes to get there."

"And if I say no, then..."

"Then you know what will happen. I don't feel like making the same threats a second time."

There was no fear like there had been last time when she had thought she was about to be kidnapped or killed. Instead she just felt anger and disdain. "Let me ask you a question."

"You have my interest, Tiffani. Ask away."

"What's with the voice disguise? You go to all the trouble and then immediately show me your face and...and more. Why bother?"

There was a pause, and then the voice on the other end of the line burst into genuine laughter that managed to be more frightening than any threats he had made. "You think that the man you met in the parking ramp and I are one and the same? Oh Tiffani, I think I may have given you credit for too much intelligence if you thought that idiot was capable of doing what I'm doing."

"Wh...you're not him?" she asked in a small voice.

"I would have thought you could tell that from one glance at him. He wears a man-bun. Do I sound like someone who would do that?"

"I...don't know. I guess I've never heard your real voice." If what she was hearing was true, then this whole thing was...bigger. Bigger than just one man. The Caller had people working for him.

"That's a fair point, I suppose. But no, he and I are different people completely. And you now have 27 minutes to get where you need to be. Later, Tiffani."

He hung up. Sara stood rooted to the spot long enough to take three long, deep breaths, then she turned and gave her friends what she hoped wasn't too sick a smile. "Hey guys, something's come up. I have to run."

"You're not coming to the kitchen?" Kyle asked. "You never miss the kitchen."

"No, it's, um...it's a work thing," she said, wincing on the inside that she was lying in God's house. "Can someone tell Isaac I'll call him later when I can?"

They said they would, and four minutes later Sara had run to her car and was on the road. Sunday traffic wasn't terrible but she still needed to hurry to find a spot to park and make it to the appointed place on time. She didn't want to know what would happen if she was late. As it happened there was an open spot just around the corner so she was actually ten minutes early, collar pulled high against the freezing wind and spattering rain, kicking herself for doing what she was told, again.

She had barely settled in and stuffed her hands deep in her pockets to keep them warm when a rumbling engine caught her attention. An old, dark blue Camaro with tinted windows was rolling down the block; it came to a stop in front of her, the engine revved twice -- either his muffler was dying or he had done something to make the car louder -- and the window slid down. She bent over to peer inside.

"Are you Tiffani Caine?" the driver asked cheerfully.

"Oh you have got to be kidding me," Sara said. "You again?"

Man-Bun grinned from behind the wheel. "Expecting Brad Pitt? Or maybe Jesus in the Second Coming?"

She ignored the sacrilege, which had obviously been intended to get a reaction from her. "I had really hoped I wouldn't have to see you again."

He grinned. "Alexa, play, 'You Can't Always Get What You Want.'"

"Playing, 'You Can't Always Get What You Want' by the Rolling Stones." Choral music came out of the car's speaker, singing about seeing her today at the reception.

Sara rolled her eyes. "So now what?"

"So now you answer the question."

"What question?"

"Are you Tiffani Caine?"

"Oh...come on! You know who I am!" she protested. "Why do we have to do this?"

"It's not up to me, church mouse. Yes or no."

"Aaugh! Yes I'm Tiffani Caine, look at me, totally Tiffani Caine in the flesh, head to toe, all Tiffani all the time! Happy?"

He was grinning hugely. "You're so damned cute when you get mad. I loved the little dance you did there. Hop in."

He unlocked her door and she climbed inside, pulling the door closed behind her. He was rolling the window up before she even reached for her seatbelt. He stepped on the accelerator and the car leaped away with squealing tires, though it didn't top out very high -- this was a commercial and residential street, and tear-assing around in broad daylight, on a Sunday no less, would attract police attention.

He drove to the corner and turned right, eyeing her without turning his head. Finally he asked, "You just come from church?"

"Yes."

"This is how you dress for church?"

"Yes."

"Looks exactly like how you dress for work. Don't you have anything sexy?"

"No. And before you complain, I don't want fashion advice from you, Man-Bun."

"What did you call me?"

"Man. Bun. Man-Bun. I'll give you three guesses why."

"What's wrong with man-buns?"

She shook her head. "The fact that you're even asking that question means you wouldn't understand the answer."

"I'm starting to think you're not a very nice person, Tiffani."

"And I value your opinion of me so highly."

He laughed. "I like it when you fight back. It's no fun messing with a wet dishrag."

"I bet you'd know exactly how that feels, too."

Another laugh, stifled this time. "Damn, girl, you're starting to hurt my feelings. Let's get that mouth of yours full."

Of course it would come to that. She'd assumed as much. Well, she'd survived it once, she could do it again "Fine, find someplace quiet and let's get this over with."

"Nope. Right here. Go ahead."

She assumed he was joking, but she saw no humor in his eyes. "What...here? Now?"

"That's what I said, church mouse."

"But...you're driving!" she protested. "It's not safe! And I could barely get my head down there with the steering wheel in the way."

"Fucking Jesus, why do I have to tell you shit twice?" he demanded, flashing sudden anger. "I'm getting sick and tired of that. Either get that sass mouth busy or I drop you off here and now."

"OK, OK!" she said. He'd tolerated her sarcasm, but she was pretty sure she'd just worn that tolerance out. Best to just get it over with before he decided to do something worse. Lord, give me patience and strength to endure these trials. She tried to lean over once, twice, but the seatbelt was constricting so she had to unbuckle. She leaned down and began to work his zipper, but the position made it awkward. How the heck was she supposed to do this?

"So I guess you never gave road-head before?" Man-Bun asked.

"No. I can't...how do...look, can you please pull over? At least long enough for me to get your zipper down and your...thing out?"

He grinned at her. "My what?"

"Your...thing," she repeated, pointing at his crotch. She then added in a whisper, "Your penis."

"My penis!" he sotto voced back. "Why are you whispering? Is somebody gonna overhear?"

Ugh. What an awful little man. She took a deep breath and said in a perfectly normal tone, "Your penis. Please pull over so I can get your zipper down and your penis out."

He smirked. "I don't like that word. Use 'cock' instead."

Vulgar little..."Fine. Please pull over so I can get your cock out."

"Good girl," he said, immediately pulling off to the side of the street and putting the car in park. "Do it."

It was still awkward, but she managed it after a few seconds and was face-to-face once again with Man-Bun's penis. And once more, it wasn't erect. Weren't guys supposed to get hard at the thought of a mouth on their wieners? Was there something wrong with him?

Well, obviously there was something wrong with him, but other than that.

He put the car in gear and began driving again, and she looked up at him from his lap and said, "If you slam on the brakes suddenly, don't blame me if you feel teeth."

"I'm aware of how road-head works. Now start -- oh, there you go."

Because she hadn't even waited to be told again. She wanted it over even more than she had the first time. His flaccid penis went straight into her mouth and she began sucking, licking, caressing, and generally doing everything she could to finish it fast. And happily he started to respond, getting to half-hardness in only a few seconds and continuing to get harder the more she sucked. Still, this was terribly awkward. She kept catching her ear on the steering wheel, and the way he was sitting with clothes in the way and all meant she couldn't even get at the base of his cock with her hand. Still she did the best she could, and from the way his cock had stiffened she must be doing something right --

"Ugh," he sighed. "You really aren't very good at this, are you Tiffani?"

She pulled her mouth off his cock to look up at him, then back down at his erect cock, then back up at him. "I'm...doing the best I can," she said, a mixture of indignation and annoyance in her voice. "It's really awkward. I can barely even reach it!"

"Yeah, but you're not good at it. Sucking dick. You suck at sucking dick."

"It's not something I practice!"

"Yeah," he frowned. "Unfortunately for us, I am your practice."

"What? What do you mean by that?"

"Get your mouth busy and I'll tell you," he said with a sigh.

Sara wanted to complain about that, but there was no point in it. She wrapped her lips around his tip, rolled her tongue around it, and swallowed as much as she could.

After a few moments, he said, "You got a job to do, Tiffani. Your job is to give me a good blowjob. Not a bad blowjob. Not a gettin'-the-job-done blowjob. An actual, Honest-to-Jesus good blowjob."