Now We Are No Longer Strangers

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She nodded. "What about him?"

"If he killed that bottle all by himself he's going to have a world-class hangover when he wakes up, but physically that's his only problem. I take it he drove you here? Which car is his?"

She pointed to a reddish-orange 1969 Dodge Charger. Wally patted Brackett down, found the keys, and tossed them to her.

"Open the doors. I'll get him back to his quarters and then I'll take you home."

He squatted, got Brackett into a fireman's carry, forced himself to his feet, and walked to the car, settling the unconscious lieutenant into the passenger seat and buckling him in. He closed the door and fished in his pocket.

"The silver Z-3 over there is mine. You know how to drive a stick?"

"It's what I learned on," she said. He handed her the keys.

"You lead the way, I'll follow."

"Yes, sir," she said. Hips swinging, she walked to his BMW. Wally looked speculatively after her, curiosity awakened by the memory of their conversation when they'd danced and what she'd said aboard the Janus II.

Enroute to Bachelor Housing, a cross between a hotel and an apartment building where single officers and single senior enlisted lived, Wally gave in to temptation and tapped the horn button. The first eleven notes of "Dixie" sounded.

"Figures," he thought.

In the parking area by Bachelor Housing, Trisha came over as Wally hoisted Brackett over his shoulders.

"Go to my car and wait for me. I'll be right along and then I'll take you home."

"Yes, sir," she said, and again treated him to a hip-swinging walk, her long, bare legs an invitation to vivid male fantasies.

The duty petty officer was a worldly wise chief who had seen it all and more than once in nearly thirty years of Navy service. It wasn't the first time he'd seen one officer carry in another who'd had too much to drink. He accompanied Wally up to Brackett's quarters, opened the door, and watched as he poured him onto his bunk and loosened his clothes. For his own part, the chief fetched a tall glass of water and aspirin from the bathroom to place on the nightstand with a note advising Brackett to take them when he awoke. He assured Wally that he would check on him in the morning.

Trisha was leaning on the Z-3 when Wally returned.

"Did you wrap him in swaddling clothes and put him in his crib?" she asked with a saucy look he quelled with a stern glance of his own.

"The Chief who is concierge here will make sure he's all right tomorrow morning. But you just dealt his self-image a body blow that will take a while to get over. He might go on a bender, do something stupid, drop into a depression, or heaven knows what. Breaking up is never easy on the ego of the breakee; we owe him a little compassion. Now let's get you home." He opened the passenger door and swept an arm toward it

"You can take me anywhere you like," she said softly as he handed her in, feeling a little shiver of anticipation run through her, her lips parting.

3.

She directed him out the main gate and along the roads of Mayport. At a stoplight, she shifted position so that when Wally reached for the stick, he found his hand on her knee instead.

"Sorry," he said, his cheeks flushing as he looked apologetic.

"Don't be," she said softly. "I like it."

As they drove to her apartment, when his hand wasn't required on the shift knob, it was gently caressing her silky thigh, fingertips sliding over her skin without resistance. He parked and looked at her, head back against the headrest, eyes half-lidded, enjoying the sensations his hand was producing.

"Would you like to come in for a drink, sir?" she whispered. "I'd very much like you to."

"I'd like that very much," he said softly. He came around to her door and handed her out, spending a moment appreciating the cleavage shown by her bikini top. Holding hands, they went up the stairs to the four unit building.

Trisha's apartment, second from the left, was bigger than it looked from the outside. The front door opened into the living room, with a far half-wall topped by artistically made open shelves separating the eat-in kitchen from the living room and the fenced back yard and patio beyond. To the left was a hallway that led to a spare room on the right she used for storage and as an in-home office; a door that led to a small bath with a bathtub; and the door to the master suite, a large bedroom with its own bath that included a separate shower and soaking tub big enough for two. The furniture was antique, of top quality mahogany. Wally felt instantly at home.

"Nice place. Where do you hide the liquor?" he asked.

"In the bar, where else?" she chuckled, pointing to a mobile bar with two stools in a corner of the living room. "I'll have whatever you're having. Surprise me, sir." This last was thrown over her shoulder as she walked into the bedroom.

Wally looked at the bottles on the shelf, frowning as he saw things like blended scotches, cheap bourbon, no-name gin, and low-end vodka; stuff suitable only for making mixed drinks. He hated mixed drinks, preferring good single malts, single barrel bourbons and ryes, and French vintage cognacs and Armagnacs, the older the better. Looking under the bar, he unearthed a bottle of Mumm VSOP and two small snifters. He straightened up with the cognac in one hand and the glasses in the other, unable to suppress a groan as his back protested the abuse to which it had been subjected earlier. Trisha returned to the living room in time to hear it, having shed her boat shoes in favor of a pair of three-inch heels and dabbed perfume here and there. Taking them from him, she poured two strong drinks and handed him one.

"Get yourself around that. Then you are going to march into the shower and let the water loosen you up so I can work on your back. I worked as a masseuse when I was in college; I know how to relax muscles and ease pain. You'll find a spare bathrobe and towels in the bathroom. Come with me, sir." She tossed back the VSOP, earning a wince from Wally; aged cognac is much too good to chug like cheap whiskey. He allowed her to lead him into her bedroom and the bath, taking his own drink with him.

The combination of hot water and good brandy did relax him. Wrapped in a fluffy terrycloth bathrobe with the logo of a famous Italian hotel on the pocket, he emerged to find Trisha waiting in a silk robe by a portable massage table covered by a towel, a bottle of oil sitting ready on her bureau.

"Onto the table, sir, face down," she said in a voice that was a trifle unsteady. Shedding the robe, Wally complied. She squirted some oil onto her hands and began to work on his back.

Her fingers were strong, finding knots in the trapezius muscles and working them out. After the shoulders, she added more oil and picked up his left arm. Starting with the biceps and triceps, she slowly worked her way down. She worked for awhile on the flexors, leaving a good feeling behind. She placed his hand on her chest so she could work on the extensors, and as if by magic it slipped beneath her kimono to find her breast, cupping and squeezing it.

"A robe is not necessary between us. Please be so kind as to remove it."

"Yes, sir," she whispered in a dreamy voice. The silk kimono slithered to the floor to puddle at her feet as he continued to knead her firm mound, the nipple hardening against his palm proving her arousal. To regain control, she pulled back half a step and began working on his palm, aware of the swelling and wetness of her pussy.

She moved around the table to his right arm. As she began to work the right extensors, Wally's hand found her tit and caressed it. She moaned softly, her buttocks tightening and her pelvis involuntarily thrusting. She flushed and her breathing deepened as she worked.

"This can't be real," she thought as her body responded to the possessive male caress. But while her head denied what she was feeling, her heart and her body did not. Feminine oils began to seep from between her labia onto her bare mound.

She moved to the head of the table and bent over him to work on the middle of his back. His hands reached forward and began to stroke her thighs and lightly knead behind her knees in a pattern that made her legs weak.

"Ohhhh," she sighed softly. "Ohhhh ... yesss ..."

His hands slid up to her buttocks and pulled her forward. She did not resist, her naked pussy rubbing against the top of his head as her hips began to rock, her clitoral shaft rubbing against his hair.

She climbed onto the table to reach his lower back and use her body weight to loosen the strong latissimus and quadratus muscles there. She leaned forward and pulled back, her pudenda passing over his head. Wally lifted his head off the small pillow it had been resting on and pressed into her mound, her clit rubbing on his head as she moved back and forth.

"Ohh ... yes ... oh yes ... oh yes, sir ..." Trisha moaned. "Oh yes ... yes ... yes, that's good ..."

She balanced on one hand as Wally flipped over under her to get his mouth on her pussy, licking and sucking her clit and pussy lips as his hands found her tits and began to work her nipples, lightly at first but then more firmly as the labile tissue swelled and hardened with the blood and heat of arousal. She shivered with the pleasure coursing through her.

Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the penis standing erect in his pubic hair. Most men like to think they have a big dick, telling girls that their average-sized prick of maybe five and a half inches with a circumference of three and a half inches at fullest erection is a monster eight inches high by eight inches around; but Wally did not need to delude himself or his partners. He had been blessed with an honest, solid eight and a half inches by six inch circumference that at the moment was hard as a rock, ready for action.

Trisha leaned forward and took that magnificent cock, the largest she had ever seen, into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the head and sucking on it, moaning as Wally worked her pussy, lashing her clit with his tongue, nibbling the clitoral shaft, and gently sucking it into his mouth. Her juices dripped onto his tongue as he ate her and her hips bucked against his face as she drew ever closer to orgasm.

Each touch of his tongue on her clit sent an electric shock thrilling through her. She gasped around the male flesh in her mouth, trying to give as good head as the oral she was getting, head bobbing up and down but not managing to get more than half of it in. She felt a finger slip into her pussy, flexing as it moved in and out of her.

"AAAAH!"

Her climax exploded through her, ripping through the veneer of manners that overlies the primitive self. She collapsed, half on and half off the massage table, gasping for air. Wally twisted his legs off the table, got his arms under her, and stood with Trisha lying limp in his arms, moaning with the pleasure of her afterglow. He walked the few steps to her bed and poured her from his arms onto it, her head on the pillows with that glorious red hair forming an untidy halo around her head. Unbidden, her hands grasped the stiletto heels she was wearing and pulled her legs up and back, spreading herself wide, offering herself to him.

"Take me, Master. I want to feel you in me and on me. Use me for your pleasure. I am your submissive, ready to be used any way you want me. I'm your slut! Take me hard! Fuck me, Master, please!" she begged.

Wally climbed on the bed with her, lining his cock up with the pink, wet slit winking at him between her legs. He positioned himself over her and carefully guided his rod into her honeypot. He did not try to ram it into her; from past experience he knew women had to accustom themselves to his thickness and length, that he could not go at them like a bull servicing a cow. He began to ease his way into Trisha's moist pussy.

She was in no mood to wait. As soon as the head of his penis was inside her, she wrapped herself around him and thrust upwards, impaling herself on his horsecock. She screamed at the sensation, a mixture of pleasure and pain as she gave herself to him, feeling another climax ripple through her, her pussy muscles involuntarily clasping at his ramrod as she came.

"AAAHHH! Oh god, you're huge! Fuck me! Hurt me! I love it! Fuck your slut, Master! Use me! Rape me like a whore! Fuck me, Master! F-u-c-c-k m-e-e-e!"

As her cunt relaxed after her orgasm, Wally began to move in her. Slowly at first, then faster, he pistoned in and out. She took the full length of his cock, her hands pulling at his buttocks, greedily urging him to hammer her twat with no attempt at subtlety. Lust filled her eyes as she was pummeled by that mammoth fuckstick, her hips jerking up at him while he drove into her and she writhed under him, seeking even more sensation as he gave her what she wanted. It was a strong, hard, fast pounding she craved, not lovemaking. She wanted to be used, be fucked like a broodmare, be possessed by a dominant male, submit to him, and be marked as his property. And she was loving every moment of his fucking.

Her cooze was slick and tight around his pole as he went in and out of her, her muscles resisting every withdrawal, welcoming every thrust, the purple helmet atop his rod bumping her cervix and eliciting a cry with every stroke.

"Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahhh! Oh yes! Oh yes! Good! So good! So deep! Fuck me, Master! Fuck me hard! So deep! All the way in! Fuck me! Fuck me! Hurt me! Love it! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! AAAAAAHHHH!"

Trisha came again, her juices forcing their way past his invading dick to soak their crotches and the bedding. Wally continued to fuck her the way she wanted, her cries and her pleading to be treated like a hooker urging him on. Her arms fell away from him to lie alongside her head, the instinctive position a woman takes to show her submission to the male dominating and using her. She wrapped her legs around him, squirming to keep as much of her mound in contact with him as she could, her eyes hot with unbridled lust as she reveled in the ecstasy.

"Yes, Master! Like that! Use me! Fuck your slut! I'm your slave! Use me like the whore I am! Make me cum on your huge cock! I love it reaming my twat! Use me and cum in my pussy! Fill me with your sperm! Prove how much I please you, Master! Cum in me! Give it to me!"

A horny slut begging her lover to use her like a rag doll and shoot his load inside her as she fucks with an intensity bordering on desperation is a power-drug that gives the man an incredible high. Wally felt his climax building and rammed his cock even more powerfully into Trisha, shifting to pin her hands to the bed as with a final thrust he sank into her up to the root.

"AAAAAHHH!"

"OHHHH!"

Her vaginal muscles locked onto his swollen penis as the ejaculate erupted from it, feeling like gallons of cum were shooting straight into the depths of her coochie while her juices flooded out of her with the force of her climax. As his orgasm subsided and his prick softened, Wally rolled off Trisha to lie beside her, breathing like a man who had just finished a 400 meter dash. He listened to her sensuous gasps as both their heart rates slowed to normal. When he was able, he reached out to gather her to him, and she willingly came to cuddle against his chest.

"Oh, Master. Thank you for this. This is what I have been searching for. You are my Dominant, and I am your submissive. I am yours to use any way and anywhere you choose. I am yours."

Wally found Trisha's declaration a trifle alarming. "How do you know I am your master, pet?"

"Submissives just know these things. We can sense when we've found our true masters; I can't explain it better than that. I've known I was submissive in the matter of sex for a long time, sir. I lost my cherry at 15, on a dare really; it didn't mean much to me as Daddy was being transferred to Pearl Harbor and nothing could come of it. I fucked a number of boys when I was in high school, always tourists so it could not get serious. I played the field because I knew I wasn't ready for a real relationship. They couldn't give me what I need.

"Once I was in college I was much freer to experiment. I obtained an entrée to the BDSM world via a master I met first online, then in person. The experience wasn't satisfactory for me and I dumped him. I tried other masters, and once a mistress. Each time it was the same; they were after a sadomasochistic slave they could torture, fuck, and pass around to their friends, about one step removed from a call girl, and that is not what I need -- then or now. They could not fill the void in my soul."

"And what do you need, my so sweet redhead? I have to say you took me by surprise with the intensity of your response. I could tell you wanted me, but not why. That bothers me. Why is always of the greatest importance."

"I need a Master who understands that I am not a masochist who gets off on pain, or whose kink is only being able to surrender when she is trussed up like a Christmas goose. I need a Master who understands down in his bones that a sexual submissive like me is dominated by the mind and manners of her Master, not the extent of his whip and chain collection; who understands that she freely surrenders herself to him and him alone, that she is not a plaything but his symbiote, the yin to his yang.

"I have been looking for such a man for years. And now, at last, I have found him, the man who can give me what I need. You complete me. I am your submissive, Master. I will be your darling slave, in and out of bed, always."

Wally frowned and sat up, pulling her with him, his arm wrapped around her keeping her close. She looked at his face, puzzled.

"This is very sudden, pet, and requires thought. I need you to ask and answer questions."

"Of course, Master."

"What's your favorite position?"

"What we just did, missionary, or cowgirl if the man knows how to use his hands on my tits and ass and pussy. Yours?"

"The same. When you do oral, do you prefer to be on the bed or kneeling?"

"Kneeling, looking up at him -- and I swallow. I love looking up and seeing the satisfaction on his face. When you give oral, how do you like to do her?"

"On her back, legs spread, open to whatever I want to do with her. Do you keep your pussy bare, as it is now?"

"Bare, always. I'd like to have it lasered because waxing is beyond painful. You remember the bit in Miss Congeniality when Michael Caine made Sandra Bullock get a Brazilian off-screen, and there was this tearing sound, a shriek, and then she came on walking with her legs a yard apart? Whoever wrote that got one at some point!

"What movies make you cry, Master?"

"Wall-E, when he's been seriously damaged and EVE is trying to put him back together, and it looks like he's not in there; Superman, because I can't hear the John Williams music without thinking of the cruel irony that Christopher Reeve, who played an archetypical character who could fly faster than the speed of light and pull a bus of kids back from the brink, ended his days paralyzed from the neck down; and The Bodyguard, because Whitney Houston so desperately wanted to be loved and cherished, and like her character could not find what she needed. 'I Will Always Love You' is a cry from the heart of a woman who sees things as they are, not as she wishes they were, and has to deal with it. Yours?"

"Steel Magnolias. I'm either laughing or crying through the whole thing. It is such a movie about life. I relate to that movie because Daddy was stationed in New Orleans with VP-94 when I was in middle school. Mrs. Miniver, because it's a story of bravery, love, and loss but still going on. I always lose it when Lady Beldon, sitting in her pew with her eyes covered and her head down trying not to weep, hears the organ music and gets to her feet, because she knows she has to set an example for the villagers. And Star Trek III: The Search for Spock, when Kirk has to destroy the Enterprise. I was maybe 7 when I saw that on VHS. I'd been watching The Original Series on reruns as long as I can remember, and I adored that ship. I screamed "NO!" when she blew up; I couldn't believe she was gone. I started to bawl and Daddy had to stop the tape and comfort me, I was so upset. I still can't watch that scene without crying."