Are You Tiffani Caine? Ch. 01

Man-Bun loved it. "Damn girl, you been holding out on me?"

She took her mouth off his cock long enough to smile naughtily and say, "I've been practicing on my toothbrush case. I want to be good for you." She watched a lustful fire blaze in his eyes as she swallowed him again, and then she set to work tugging his underwear down too. Emma had told her to get him as naked as she could to make it feel like she actually wanted him, and even if Sara didn't understand it, it seemed to be working.

Her efforts with the toothbrush case hadn't been in vain. She could take him all the way and hold him there for a few seconds without trouble. It wasn't much, and she still started gagging quickly, but it seemed to be enough for him; he even seemed to enjoy it when she gagged now. Was that something that guys liked, when women gagged on their things? That also didn't make sense to her, but then it didn't need to. Knowing it was enough even without knowing why.

"Suck my balls like a good little whore," Man-Bun said, and she dutifully moved her mouth down and did as she was told. There was something different in his tone now when he spoke. His words were still taunting and derogatory, but the way he said them made them sound...affectionate? Was that right? All of this was crazy!

Remembering what Emma said about what men wanted to believe, she lifted her mouth off his scrotum, grinned at him, and said, "Your balls are yummy," before attacking them again with renewed vigor, sucking one after the other into her mouth and attacking them with her tongue. His cock throbbed in her hand as she stroked it.

"Fuck, Tiffani," he moaned. "You're giving great head! I wouldn't have believed it but...damn, you really are a good slut, aren't you?"

She fought the urge to bite down on the testicle filling her mouth. Instead she pulled her mouth away, giggled, and said, "I guess I am after all." Then she took him to the root again and devoured his cock like it was the only thing keeping her alive.

She knew he was going to finish before he said anything. She felt the tension in his body, the way he trembled with the effort of holding it off, the way his balls quivered under her fingers as she gagged on him again and again. His jaw was set, his eyes half-closed, his breath ragged. She was ready when he said, "Fuck gonna come," and when his balls contracted a moment later.

The first splash of his seed exploded into her mouth. She had an intense, nearly overpowering urge to spit it all out, but she fought it off because Emma had told her to. Instead she redoubled the efforts of her tongue and took him deep again, feeling him buck inside her mouth every second or so as more of his cum flooded out of his shaft. It felt like there must be a gallon of it, but that wasn't possible. When his cock fell still, she leaned back, letting it slide from between her lips as she opened her mouth to reveal his sperm pooled there. His eyes blazed hungrily as she closed her mouth again and, with a sound of evident delight, swallowed loudly. When she opened her mouth again to show him that she had eaten every drop he'd given her, his smile was gargantuan.

She wasn't done though. Emma had been very clear on this part: guys wanted girls to be "cumsluts" for their seed and cumsluts never had enough cum. She went back to work on his cock, suckling much more gently this time, coaxing the last few dribbles out of him. These she swallowed immediately, then licked his softening member lazily for almost two full minutes before letting it go with a show of reluctance. Almost like a servant girl she pulled his underwear up, then his pants, tucking in his shirt and making sure he was properly arranged before she zipped him up, buckled his belt, and stood. Man-Bun was leaning back into his open car door as though his legs were having trouble holding him up. He grinned at her in a lazy, satisfied way, and all he said was, "Wow."

She wanted to ask him if that had been good enough, wanted to demand that he call whomever his contact was and tell him that she had done a great job and should be released. She didn't want compliments and she didn't want to know that it felt good -- she just wanted it to be done.

Finally he shook his head and said, "Whew. Damn. You...you want a ride back?"

"Nah," she said, surprising herself by sounding casual, like she hadn't just sucked him off in public, in broad daylight, where anyone could have seen. "My bus is just a couple blocks away. After all that squatting I want to stretch my legs."

"Alright," he said, and she was probably imagining the note of regret that she heard in his voice. "Take care, girl. This isn't the best neighborhood."

She'd be fine during daylight, and there was enough of that left that she could get where she was going. She could have turned and walked away then and there, and she probably should have, but an idea came into her mind that she hoped would put her act over the top. She arched an eyebrow like a queen and asked, "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Ummm..."

She turned her back and slowly pulled up her skirt to reveal her underwear-clad ass. "Granny panties," she said. "Looks like I'll have to leave them." She slipped her hands into the waistband on either hip and began to pull them down as she shifted her weight, and her ass, from side to side like a stripper. When she started to pull them down she let her skirt droop too and fall with her underwear. She showed him nothing that he hadn't seen before, but (hopefully) gave the impression that she was revealing everything she had.

She didn't know how successful her little show was until she turned around with her panties hanging off one curled finger and saw him standing almost dumbstruck. "Fuckin' Christ, girl..."

More blasphemy. Why was he constantly blaspheming? She did her best to keep the question off her face as she stepped back in, slipped a hand inside his suit coat, and tucked her panties into his vest pocket.

"I never would have believed this turnaround if I hadn't seen it," he chuckled. "I knew you had a slut in you. I just didn't expect you to show it so quickly. You went after my dick like it was a T-bone."

She almost laughed, but instead she leaned in and kissed his cheek. She turned away, but on the spur of the moment stopped herself and asked, "What's your name? Your real one."

"Edward," he said. "Call me Teddy."

"OK, Teddy," she said with a grin. "Thanks for the meal. See you around."

She had gotten three steps away when he asked, "What's your name?"

She threw a dazzling smile over her shoulder, winked, and said, "I'm Tiffani." The smile slid off her face when she turned her back on him. When she got down to the alley she turned left and headed north toward Hennepin County Medical Center, just two blocks away.

When she had thought about this moment over the last couple of days, she had imagined that she would feel as sad, used, violated, and wicked as she had felt the previous two times, but no, she felt nothing, nothing at all. No guilt, no anger, no sadness. She didn't even feel hollow and empty, or numb like a trauma victim. She just felt...nothing about any of it, like she had spent the past few minutes reading about someone painting their kitchen. Oh the other things would come in time, but now she felt just like she did when she walked out of work after a normal day. Like she could just get on with her evening.

A few minutes later she reached the hospital and headed for a women's bathroom. She rinsed her mouth to remove the lingering flavor, but there wasn't much to remove. As she had said before, it was just licking skin and swallowing runny snot. She stood before the mirror and looked at her reflection, but the anticipated self-incriminations didn't come. She just wanted to go home and eat a spinach salad.

Was that normal?

The bus to take her home was seven blocks away on the other side of downtown. She could have grabbed a connector at a bus shelter across the street from the hospital that would have taken her those seven blocks, but she wanted the exercise. She left the hospital heading west, taking out her phone as she did so and calling Emma.

Her friend answered on the second ring with an anxious, "Sars?"

"Hi," Sara told her. With no particular emotion in her voice, she added, "I just got done with Man-Bun. His real name is Teddy."

"How did it go?"

"OK," she replied in a verbal equivalent of a shrug. "I didn't embarrass myself and he seemed to like it a lot. He said he did, anyway. He even compared himself to a T-bone, like you said."

Emma snerked but didn't laugh. "Did my advice help?"

"I did everything you said. It made it go faster than the other two times. He was even nice to me. I mean...not really nice, he said awful things, but it was like he meant them as compliments somehow."

"Like dirty talk?"

"Yeah. I guess so." Sara had never had anyone talk dirty to her like that. She paused at the curb to let a car shoot past as it ran a red light. "I'm headed home now."

"You OK, girl? You sound kind of stunned. Want me to come over?"

"You don't need to. I'm OK. I just want to go home, eat dinner, and binge a few episodes of TV."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Maybe I'll break down later. Now I'm just relieved it's over for a couple of days at least."

"You think it's over?"

"I don't know," Sara answered. "If this didn't satisfy him then I'll be doing it until I actually get good at it. This was the best performance I could give."

Performance. Yes, that was exactly it. It was a performance as much as when she played Rebecca in her 8th grade production of Our Town. There had been nothing real about it. Maybe that was why it hadn't broken her inside like the other times.

They chatted for a couple more minutes. Emma seemed worried but Sara really was OK, at least for the moment, if feeling nothing at all about giving a wretched little man oral sex in public could be called OK. She couldn't even muster her usual dislike of Teddy. The whole thing felt like something tiny held at arm's length. She said her goodbye to her friend, and less than 20 minutes later climbed onto the bus that would take her home.

She was as good as her word. Once home she took a shower, changed into well-worn, warm clothes, and ate a spinach salad with a light vinaigrette. She watched an episode of Parks and Rec (emotional comfort food), then paused to FaceTime Isaac for 25 minutes. Her calm held up perfectly through the conversation -- they talked, joked, and prayed together, exchanged I love yous, and said good night.

She was in her third episode of her show when the phone rang with no caller identified; somehow even then her indifference remained unshaken as she answered. Unsurprisingly she was greeted with a disguised voice asking, "Are you Tiffani Caine?"

"Yeah."

"You sound quite...relaxed."

"I guess so. I'm waiting for the crackup to come. I'm sure it will."

"I must say, you made quite an impression this afternoon," her mystery tormentor said. "Your acquaintance was delighted with your efforts."

"Does that mean I'm done with him?"

"It does indeed."

Her expected exultation at the news didn't materialize. She paused for a moment before asking, "Does that mean I'm done done?"

"What do you think?"

She still felt nothing as she said, "Of course I'm not done."

"Of course you're not done," the voice agreed amiably. "I knew you were a smart young lady."

"I haven't even really begun yet, have I?"

"You've taken the first step of a marathon. I have much more in store for you."

She checked herself. No distress. No plunging mood. No tears, no rage. No anything, except that now she could tell that all those things were going to come soon, as soon as the deadness wore off. "So now what?"

"Now you enjoy the next days. Someone will be in touch."

"Great."

"You should feel proud of yourself, Tiffani. In some ways the first is the worst, and you survived it. One might say you passed the test with...well, not flying colors exactly, but you handled it and yourself better than I expected you to."

"Thanks, I guess."

He hung up. Sara finished the episode she was on, brushed her teeth, and went to bed. She fell into a sleep without dreams.

March 31st - April 2nd

The expected crash came that night. She awoke at 3:10 in wild-eyed panic, hyperventilating, heart hammering; after ten minutes of that she fled to the bathroom, vomited, and spent the rest of the night curled in a fetal ball on the cold tile. The guilt flooded back at double the strength, not only for what she had done but for how she had abased herself in public with a wretched little man. The humiliation was almost a thing of physical pain. For the first time in seven years, the idea of suicide entered her mind; she dismissed it, but it terrified her that the thought came at all.

Gym helped calm her as it always did, but work began poorly. She had to spend the first couple of hours "assisting" Josh with Ingers, rehearsing things over and over that he should have understood the first time. Things settled down a little when she was able to do her own work. She had lunch with the owner/CEO of one of her new clients -- a vanity press called Quintess Publishers -- and impressed the hell out of him. From there she walked a couple of blocks to her afternoon meeting with the ownership and staff of another of Josh's old clients, a busy little wealth management firm just coming out of the startup phase. So impressed were they by her that they promised to call her supervisors and thank them for switching their account from Josh to Sara; in an un-Christian moment of vengeance-seeking, she gave them Ken's desk phone number, bypassing both Natalie and Ken's personal assistant. She wasn't proud of herself for it, but she didn't regret it either. She spent the evening eating New York Super Fudge Chunk, praying, and watching Christian music videos.

Thursday and Friday were better. Mini-breakdowns happened a couple of times per day but they were mini and she could handle them with prayer and by reminding herself to remain humble and repentant before God. On both days she spent the first couple of hours with Josh, who, despite her best efforts, was catching on just as slowly as she thought he would. She didn't complain and she did her best so that he would have no cause for complaint either. He was a colossal ass, just as arrogant and gloating as he could be, but not once did she rise to the bait. She did what she had to do and then left him to his own inadequate devices.

She met more of her own clients on videoconferences, all of whom seemed impressed with her. One of them, a data analysis firm specializing in Southeast Asian markets, told her that they had been on the verge of dropping Danforth and going with another business solutions company before she had been switched to their account, but because of her they were planning to stay. She somehow restrained herself from giving them Ken's number.

Thursday evening was spent having dinner with Isaac's family, followed by a Hallmark Channel movie. She had a small panic attack in the middle of it and had to excuse herself to the bathroom; when she got out Isaac's mother quietly and gently assured her that pre-wedding jitters were perfectly normal. His mother was as sweet and lovely a woman as Sara knew, and it was a terrible moment when she had to smile and say that nervousness at being a bride was all it was. Sara hated lying, and somehow lying to this wonderful woman was more painful than lying to the woman's son whom she intended to marry.

Friday evening was just her and Isaac out to dinner at a fantastic Vietnamese place. They split an appetizer of shrimp toast, which was fantastic. After that he got sticky rice and she ordered turmeric and dill fish, but each ate as much of the other's food as they did their own. It was a delicious meal shared with the person she loved most in the world. It was gentle, intimate, sweet, and it was marred only once when she had a brief stab of sheer panic at the random and irrational thought that he somehow knew the truth about her and was waiting for the right moment to let the hammer fall. Isaac sensed her distress immediately, took her hands in his, and recited Second Timothy 2:12: "If we endure, we will also reign with Him; if we deny Him, he will also deny us." The verse was apt and she prayed with him, and even if she was praying to endure something completely different than he thought she was, it was still comforting.

Parked outside in the dark, hearing cold early-spring rain rattling on the car, Sara turned to Isaac for the customary good-night kiss. His arm slipped around her shoulders as it always did and she leaned into him, head tilted back and eyes closed. His lips found hers and she sighed with unexpected delight -- she always loved kissing her fiance, but this felt fantastic. Immediately she melted against him, her hands coming up and grabbing tightly at the sides of his coat.

She didn't even realize she was going to do it until she did it. The thought had barely formed itself in her mind -- I want his tongue! -- before she had thrust her tongue into his mouth in search of her desire. She found it, moving hers against his, and felt a pure surge of erotic desire racing through her body like she hadn't known in years. This kiss, simple, equal parts pure and carnal, the love, the joy, it was all exactly what she needed to feel --

And then she felt Issac stiffen against her, and an instant later he was pushing her away, not roughly but definitively. For a couple of racing heartbeats she was confused about why he would do such a thing when she was feeling what she needed so intensely to feel. She opened her eyes to see him giving her a stern stare. Her heart plunged.

"What was that?" he asked her quietly. He wasn't angry. He just sounded disappointed.

"I...I just..."

"That was not appropriate, Sara," he told her firmly.

Suddenly ashamed and timid, she whispered, "We've done that before..."

"When it was appropriate," he told her gravely. "What does Scripture say about men and women?"

She swallowed, feeling her heart leave her body through the soles of her feet. "That man should lead..."

"And woman should follow," he finished her sentence. "Yes. You have to wait for me to take the lead, Sara. You have to understand that I know when it's appropriate to --"

Again she acted without realizing what she was going to do. Before she knew it she had flung open the door and hurled herself out of the car, frigid rain hitting her squarely on the face, racing up the walk to her building, her hand covering her mouth to stifle the humiliated, hysterical sobs that were trying to force themselves out of her throat. She heard Isaac shouting her name, telling her to come back, but she didn't stop until she had hurtled up the stairs and locked her apartment door behind her. Her phone beeped with one text notification after another, but all she could think about was how filthy and corrupted she felt.

Chest heaving, gasping for breath, she left a trail of clothes on the floor from the door to the bathroom. By the time she got into the shower her phone was ringing, ringing, ringing. She stayed under a brutally hot spray until she had cried herself out and there was nothing left but miserable guilt for the kiss, for her public shame, for everything.

She checked her messages. Isaac had left almost 20, asking what was wrong, asking her to text, asking her to call, telling her he loved her, telling her the Lord forgave her, telling her the Lord always would forgive her if she truly repented.

She did repent of all of it, but she despaired of forgiveness. Her mind boiled like a pot as she lay in bed in the dark, staring at the ceiling and trying to formulate a prayer that didn't make her mouth taste of ashes. At last, after two in the morning, pure emotional exhaustion claimed her and she sank into a sleep blessedly free from the reproach of dreams.