Claire Reborn Ch. 01

The red-eye from Hong Kong had been late and I was again regretting the flight choice. Deadlines are deadlines though, so I stood waiting for the carousel to show some sign of movement that might indicate baggage handlers attempting to make up for lost time. Fat chance!

A small disturbance to my right caught my ear. "Stupid bitch, whadya mean you lost your purse?" A tall, long-haired goth -- at least that's the effect I thought he was going for -- harangued a petite red-head with her back to me. Her knee-length coat hid the details although her calves did catch my eye, shaped beautifully by three inch heels.

Her voice was soft and I barely caught the words. "I think I left it on the plane, Tony." Head bent, she appeared to be biting her nails.

He sneered, "Well, good on ya, sweets, I guess that's gone."

She raised a hand as if pleading. "But Tony; my ID; my money. We need to find it." Her voice quavered as if it had taken every ounce of courage to say those few words.

The goth simply snorted derisively at her.

She looked around, as if suddenly very afraid. In that instance her profile struck me. A divine elfin face, pale white, with bright green eyes, but marred by what looked to be a week-old bruise on her left cheek. Neither of them had been on my flight, so I assumed they'd flown in from Frisco, and were waiting for the next carrousel.

Leaning in she whispered something I didn't catch. The effect on the goth was galvanizing. He screeched, "Fuck!", reared back and, with a wide roundhouse, slapped her other cheek knocking her to the floor.

She fell to her side with a faint moan, her coat falling open. She was wearing a short black skirt and white blouse that did little to hide her waif-like figure. At that moment her entire face was visible and I caught a glint of raw lust as she licked her lips, a new bruise starting to form.

"You fucking, stupid cunt!" Looking around he noticed the attention he was attracting, seemed to think better of his actions, reached down and grabbed her upper arm, where the coat had left it uncovered to lift her while twisting his wrist. A brief flicker of agony flashed across the waif's face to be replaced by a look I had learned to recognize.

She enjoyed the pain. Yet, the goth didn't recognize her for what she was. Either that or he didn't value her, which made him a fool.

"Now shut up, bitch, let me think." She stood, eyes downcast, but looking around to see who was watching. He continued to mutter to himself.

As her gaze fell on me I caught her eye, and held it. My face calm, I gave her a knowing smile. She stopped and held my gaze, her eyes widening slightly. Then the carrousels came to life, theirs first then ours.

He jerked her away toward the carousel and began to give her orders I could not hear. Then he headed off, back toward the gates.

She picked a bag off the carousel and placed it at her feet. She looked briefly at me, then her eyes flickered down.

Meanwhile I retrieved my bag, but waited, curious to see what would happen. She picked up a second bag and moved them both over by the wall and stood watching the gate area entrance.

Walking to stand beside her I asked, "Can I help you?"

For a brief moment a glimpse of hope appeared on her face. "I thought... I thought you were... I thought you knew-"

I interrupted, "I knew what?"

She looked at me confused, and the hope went out of her eyes.

From the gate area came a loud ruckus. We could see the goth being dragged toward us by two airport police, kicking and screaming. One held a purse.

The girl moaned, "Oh, God. He'll kill me."

I placed my hand possessively on her shoulder, gripping firmly, and repeated, "Can I help you?"

She seemed to wilt under my touch, but turned and said, "What can you do?"

"You'd be surprised. Come with me. Leave the bags."

"But --"

With steel in my voice, and pulling on her shoulder, I commanded, "Leave the bags!"

She looked up at me in surprise, her cheeks flaming red, and not just from the slap. "Yes, Sir," was all she said.

I pulled her out the door and into the back of my waiting car. As we pulled out, she was looking through the back window of the limo.

"Home first, Peter." I pressed a button and the opaque divider slid up sealing us from the driver.

"Sit over there," I commanded, indicting the opposite rear-facing seat.

She did, removing here shoes and shoving her feet up under herself, leaning to one side. Her eyes stared at the floor.

"Look at me!"

Startled, she looked up, but not into my eyes; more like at my chin.

"I'm up here," I said, while reaching out to tilt her chin upward until she looked me square in the eye.

It was difficult for her. At first she squirmed as my hand continued its grip on her chin. "Stop it. I want to see you." I looked her up and down.

Her cheeks flushed redder, spreading down her neck. Her blouse hung open, a few of the buttons having come undone during our quick dash. Her small breasts, perhaps a B, were pert and hid just out of sight in the folds of her blouse; no bra. Her skirt had slid up, exposing the tops of her stockings, and above that alabaster thighs. Then I noticed, on the insides of her thighs, short, red parallel lines across the thighs; cuts.

"Sacrilege," I thought.

I tore my eyes back to hers, commanding, "Straighten you clothes."

"But... What --"

"DO AS I SAY!"

She recoiled, then quickly buttoned her blouse and pulled her skirt down, drawing a quick gasp as she saw that the cuts had been exposed. She looked up at me as if to say something, but my expression remained rigid as I waited for her to settle herself. Thinking better she settled back into her half-kneeling position.

"What is your name girl?"

"Claire."

"How old are you?

"Twenty."

"Good," I thought.

"Can I assume you don't want to go back to goth-boy?"

"Who?" She seemed confused at first. "Oh, Tony. No, please no. He'd kill me."

"Why were you with him?"

"We just flew in from San Franciscio, and --"

"Stop! Not why today. Why are you with him at all? Is he your boyfriend?"

"Oh!" She stopped and considered. "Sort of. We did... things for each other. He could be mean, but he took care of me... mostly." At the word "mean" there was a brief look in the eyes, that faded quickly.

"You liked it when he was mean, didn't you?"

This time the flush extended below her neckline. "N... No, it's --"

"Don't lie to me! If you lie to me again, I'll put you out on the side of the freeway."

Her gaze dropping to the floor again, she whispered, "Yes, I liked some of it."

"LOOK AT ME!"

She gasped, but her eyes shot back to mine.

I repeated, "You liked it when he was mean."

Swallowing, her eyes now burning with lust, she said loudly, "I liked it! Then her voice dropped to a whisper, "Some of it anyway." Still her eyes held mine, then dropped as her face flushed red.

"Thank you. The truth is all I ask. Come here!"

She looked up as I indicated the seat next to me, then placed my arm on the seat back.

At first hesitant, she moved to the seat beside me, where I enveloped her in my arm, leaned down and kissed her on the top of her head. She barely came up to my shoulder. Her hair smelled of Apricots and something I could only guess was her natural scent. I found it intoxicating, but remembering she was not yet mine I held back from embracing her further.

I spoke into her ear as she nestled in to my side, "You have a choice, Claire; perhaps the first of many. I can take you anywhere in the city and drop you off. If that is your choice then that will be the end of it, and we will not see each other again. Or, I can take you to my house. You can stay the night. There is no obligation on your part if you do, and I will not take advantage of you. Then tomorrow we can talk."

She looked up at me, questions in her eyes. "Talk about what?"

"You, and me. Mostly you. I sense a something in you, something I think you know, but perhaps don't understand."

"You don't want to fuck me?" There it was, the offer.

"No."

"Why not? I will you know?"

"I'm sure you would, but there are rules about these things, and rules must be followed. I try to respect most people, unless they give me reason not to. I want to respect you."

"But what if I want to fuck you."

"You wouldn't be doing it for the right reasons."

"How do you know? How can you know my reasons."

"Claire, I suspect I know you better than you think. At any rate, I will not make love to you, or as you crudely put it, fuck you. Those are my conditions. After tomorrow, if I am wrong about you, you can leave. If I am right you can still leave, but I think you won't. It is of course your choice. If you leave I will provide you with enough money to get back to San Francisco, or anywhere else in the United States; your choice."

She drew away to the side a bit and looked up directly into my eyes.

"Why? Why would you help me? Why would you do all this? You don't know me."

"I believe I do." I thought of my sweet Serena, gone these two years now. Perhaps fate had dealt me a second chance. "I believe it enough to make you this offer. No strings attached."

She laughed, "Who am I kidding, I've got nowhere to go here. Take me to your house. We'll see how things go." There was a glint in her eye, and for the first time I saw something other than the confused young woman I had discovered. There might yet be a backbone of steel behind that small pale facade.

***

We stopped at my house. I asked Peter to get Claire settled into the guest bedroom. I instructed him to take her shopping for some clothes, and be back by no later than six. I told Claire that she could choose to leave at any time, but if she did so she was never to return.

I then started the drive to my offices, where I was to meet with a client at eleven.

As I drove down from the hills I thought back three years to that day Serena had devastated me. She knelt before me, eyes down, but I sensed something different. There was sadness where normally there would be calm. "Look at me. What is it little one?"

Her eyes rose to meet mine, pools shimmering in them as she said those terrible words, "I have failed you. I have cancer. The doctor says I have less than six months to live."

My mind refused to hear what she said. I sat there stunned. She rose slightly as if to touch me, then remembered herself and settled down, and said simply, "Master, how may I serve you?" It was her way of saying she was concerned.

I rose from my chair, and lifting her in my arms, I carried her up the stairs and took her to bed. We lay for many hours talking, long into the night. It was inoperable, a brain tumor. It explained the strange symptoms she had been having. She was afraid of dying, but more, she was sorry she would no longer be able to serve me.

As for me, I was lost. My little Serena, how could she be dying? It seemed so unfair. She had just begun to blossom. I loved her, although I had never said this to her. It would not have been appropriate.

For the first time in a very long time we made love, not as master and slave, but as two equals. After we both came I stayed in her, covering her as if I could protect her from the world. She buried her head in my chest, and then it hit me. I cried, like a baby, long wracking sobs. She cried as well, repeating over and over, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." I realized how selfish I was. Here I was mourning what I would lose, and she mourned what she would no longer give me.

I rolled onto my back, pulling her on top, still inside her. Stroking her hair and pulling her hand over my heart, I whispered in her ear, "Do not fear for me, little one. You will always be with me here. You have not failed me for I could not be prouder of you. Even facing death you put me first. For that I can never repay you, but I shall try. So long as you are alive, I shall try. We shall live a lifetime in these few months."

The next three months we traveled the world. In private Serena continued to serve me as she always had. In public, which was most of the time, we acted like newly weds on a honeymoon, taking in everything we could. Fortunately there was little pain in the beginning, but for what there was Serena refused any medication. It interfered with our private sessions and she would not have it. Besides she was used to pain, and often I would see her descending into her own little sub-space. But there had come a morning when she could not rise from our bed, her left leg weakened.

We had returned home immediately, and I had our room outfitted with a hospital bed. There were nurses, and Peter to assist, but I spent virtually all my time with her. When the pain became intolerable she would ask me to whip her. I did so lovingly, laying on the lash in a slowly increasing tempo until I could see that far-off look in her eyes that told me she was in her special place. The pain of the lash overrode the other, and the endorphins gave her a natural high. I would make love to her, pinching her nipples cruelly until she shrieked her release. Then she might sleep for a few hours, free of any discomfort.

But this too passed. There came a time when she was too weak to withstand a session, and though she begged me I could not, would not, hurt her anymore. She cried inconsolably as she felt she had failed me. Instead I crawled into the bed with her, and held her gently while I caressed her, playing her body like a fine instrument. She was terribly thin now, and her skin parchment thin. Still she could respond, and after she climaxed I wept and thanked her profusely.

She asked, "Why are you thanking me?"

I looked in her eyes. "Because you have given me a great gift. First you gave me your body, then your trust. Now you have allowed me to serve you these last few months. It is little repayment." Then I said it, for the first time. "I love you, little one."

She smiled. "I know. I have known from the first day you whipped me. Your love was in the lash, the way you planted it so carefully, your attention to my desire; you fulfilled my need that day, and have done so ever since. I will always love you, my master."

She died that night. They said it was a massive stroke. She died in her sleep while I held her, caressing her hair. I heard a small "Oh", then the breath left her body, never to return.

After that I threw myself into my work, convinced I would never find someone like Serena again. I took her with me wherever I traveled and sprinkled a little of her ashes wherever I might be. It brought me comfort, knowing a part of her was always with me. The last of the ashes had been spread atop a hill in Hong Kong were we have made love years before.

Claire's arrival seemed to be fate. I had finally put Serena to rest and now another entered my life.

***

I walked into the kitchen at six-fifteen to find Peter preparing dinner. "Where's Claire?" I half expected him to tell me she had run off.

"In the bath, been there since we got back at five. The girl sure can spend money."

"That's okay Peter, I think she may be worth it." He frowned. Peter knew my proclivities. He didn't agree with them, but he also knew I gave women only the utmost of respect. He had been with me through Serena's illness. But because he didn't agree he refused to live under the same roof. Once dinner was prepared he would head home, only to return when I called for him. He lived fifteen minutes away.

Our arrangement was mutually beneficial in that he provided the utmost in discretion and I provided the utmost in respect to him. Oh, and good compensation.

"Peter, I won't need you till next Monday, maybe later."

"You seem pretty sure of yourself. What makes you think she'll stay?"

"I have a sense of these things."

"Yeah, you do, but you've been wrong before."

I laughed. "That was once, and a long time ago. I've learned a few things since then."

***

I changed into slacks and a polo pullover, then headed for the guest bathroom. Opening the door I walked in. Claire lay back in the tub, the foam having long dissipated, and her skin now well pruned. She did nothing to cover herself, instead coyly tilting her head to one side and looking at me from under long eyelashes, a sly smile on her face.

For the first time I had a long look at her. She fit easily in the bathtub, being I guessed about five-foot-four. She was thin, sylph-like, and her skin milk-white. There were multiple bruises on her arms, legs and body, as well as the two I had seen on her face. She didn't seem fazed by my gaze stopping on them, but did try to hid the cuts hidden near her sex, one hand wandering over her vee.

Her breasts sat pertly high on her chest, well separated, the nipples pink and erect in the cool air. They were about a half inch long erect, and her tan aureola crinkled around them, being about the size of a half dollar.

Her hips flared slightly, framing a flat belly, then tapered to surprisingly well muscled legs. I wondered if she mightn't be a jogger.

"Stand up."

She did, her hand still hovering over her vee.

"Move your hand. You must never hide yourself from me."

She hesitated. "Now!" I said.

The hand flicked to her side and she flushed red, her eyes now downcast. The cuts looked worse than they were, being soaked from the bath. Then I noticed her pussy. The outer lips where like a peach, covered in short strawberry hair, but split by the swollen pink inner lips which protruded slightly. Her clit protruded, the hood drawn back. It was swollen and about the size of a pencil eraser. Hmm, she had been playing with herself.

"Step out and dry yourself." She turned to put one foot out and bent down to lean her hand on the rim. In doing so she had turned her back to me presenting me with a very pretty view. Her compact cheeks parted to show her crinkled anus, which winked at me, while her pussy gaped slightly between her swollen lips.

I noticed her looking over her shoulder to see my response. I stared back placidly, yet I was not unstirred. A part of me wanted to grab her hips and thrust myself deeply into her clearly aroused cunt. Briefly I imagined myself pile-driving into her, she wailing beneath the pounding.

Then she lifted her other leg over and stood facing me. I handed her a towel. "Dry yourself."

"Wouldn't you like to help?" she said slyly.

"Enough! Dry yourself and kneel." Her eyes widened at my harsh voice, surprised I was not taken in by her wiles. She was clearly used to manipulating men with her body.

She quickly dried herself and kneeled before me, eyes downcast. I bent down, taking her hands and placing them behind her head, fingers interlocked, elbows back. Then I reached down taking her knees and spreading them to shoulder width. As I removed my hands, one trailed up her inner thigh. She drew a quick breath in a hiss.

I walked around behind her, and pulled her shoulders back and pressed her lower back into an arch, presenting her breasts. My hand trailed down the cheek of her ass, around the inner thigh where it joined her body, my fingers just brushing her outer lip, and then returned stroking my index finger up between her inner lips. She gave a low moan. My finger stopped on her anus and circled briefly helped by the lubrication it had picked up. In that brief moment her anus pulsed outward opening slightly. Interesting.

Clearly she was highly aroused. Her nether lips were now glistening and when I returned to face her, her neck and upper breasts were flushed.

"This position is present, you will learn the others later. Put on your robe and follow me."

Her mouth opened in surprise as she quickly looked up at me. "But... I... we --"

"Do as I say, now, no delays." She jumped up and grabbed her robe as I walked away. I heard the patter of little feet as she caught up to me, then she slowed to follow me. Looking back I saw that her head was down, watching my feet. "A natural," I thought, "this might just work."