Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 10

And it was thanks to her role-play with Carmen that Jenny discovered her secret fetish: She liked to be tied up. Restrained. Bound. They discovered together one evening that Jenny's excitement was enhanced if Carmen used a couple of scarves to gently tie Jenny's wrists to the headboard. Nothing too serious, just a scarf or a necktie or something around one or both wrists. Jenny could easily wiggle free if she had a mind to, but the character she was portraying could not: The Countess Punishes the Upstairs Maid. The Au Pair Girl Is Caught Stealing Jewelry. Arrested for Speeding by the Lady CHIP. Blindfolded and Kidnapped by ... she didn't know who. Just somebody who gave incredible head.

Carmen had taught her about anal play. Jenny had let Tim fuck her in the ass only a few times, after she'd had a couple of drinks. Tim had been careful and considerate and had used plenty of lube, and Jenny had to admit it had been mildly enjoyable ... or at least not objectionable, anyway, but not her favorite thing. She had tolerated it, because that was something you did for the person you loved. What had surprised her was how very different it was the first time Carmen had flipped her over, parted her cheeks, and rimmed her. Jenny thought she was going to die ... and then came the finger. It had slowly and lightly circled her anal ring until it had finally relaxed and parted, letting the well-oiled finger in. Jenny had never felt anything like it before ... until Carmen pulled her finger out. Carmen quickly laid down on her back and pulled Jenny onto her knees, straddling Carmen's head and lowering her pussy onto Carmen's mouth. She braced herself against the headboard of her bed, rocking her cunt slowly over Carmen's wonderful tongue. Then she felt the finger re-enter her asshole, slowly and gently, followed by a second finger. And then with her other hand Carmen reached under her, pulled back her clitoral hood, and sucked Jenny's clitoral glans into her mouth, the fingers gently fucking her ass. Jenny whimpered, rocked, clenched, cried, twisted, cursed, her pussy gushing more liquid than she knew she possessed into Carmen's hungry mouth, orgasm after orgasm shaking her delicate frame in spasm after spasm. It was the single greatest love-making Jenny had ever experienced. And the wonder of it all was that Carmen could put her through it whenever Jenny wished.

In return, Jenny had only been able to teach Carmen one new thing, something Carmen had never done, despite her much longer experience loving women. Jenny had fisted her for the first time just a month ago.

"Mmmmm, you've got really small fingers," Carmen moaned dreamily. It had been a Saturday afternoon, Shane was out somewhere, and they were recovering from a wet, lazy sixty-nine in Jenny's bedroom. Carmen was on the bottom, lying on a drenched towel on Jenny's bed, and Jenny was lying on top of her, reversed, twirling two fingers between Carmen's inner pussy lips, red and tender from the licking they'd just received. Jenny's face was still wet and sticky from the squirt produced by Carmen's moist, warm, delicious chimichanga, which would have cooled off by now if Jenny had only left it alone to recover. Instead, Jenny's fingerwork was keeping it on low simmer.

"I'm petite," Jenny replied. "I'm diminutive." She withdrew her two fingers from LaLaLand and licked Carmen's au jus from them. "You taste so good," she said.

"Are you going to put your petite, diminutive fingers back in me?" Carmen asked.

"Would you like me to?"

"I'm trying to decide if I want to go round again."

"I have an idea, if you want to try something a little different."

"Different?"

"Well, I don't know. Have you ever been fisted?"

"Uh, no, I never have. I've heard about it. But I don't think I ever had sex with anybody who was petite and diminutive, until you."

"Well, as it happens, I have petite, diminutive hands," Jenny said, "and I was taught how to use them."

"Was that Marina?"

"No. Not Marina," Jenny said. "Francesca, Marina's lover."

"I thought you were Marina's lover."

"So did I. But that's when it got complicated. I went over to Marina's house one evening, and discovered there was this 'Other Woman.' Turns out Marina was in this long-term but open relationship with this woman Francesca, who was some sort of high-class fashion designer who spent seven or eight months a year in Europe. She was very rich, and financed Marina's hobbies, which included running The Planetand seducing whoever she felt like into become her plaything. Turns out that's exactly what I was. The Plaything of the Month. And it got really weird, because everything was all turned around. Marina had been this real strong lipstick top around me, very dominant and controlling and seductive. But when Francesca was around, Marina turned into this incredible submissive, and Francesca was the butch. Marina gave me to Francesca like a cat that has brought home a little mouse and presents it to her masters. I was the little mouse Marina caught and brought home for Francesca's pleasure and amusement."

"So what happened?"

Jenny hesitated a long time before answering, running her fingers up and down Carmen's glistening chocha. Finally she said, "Francesca used us. Both of us. We were her toys, her sex slaves. She told us to get undressed and kneel down on the floor in front of her. We weren't allowed to speak unless spoken too. We weren't allowed to look up; we were told to keep our eyes averted at all times. Marina knew all these rules, of course, but I didn't. Francesca sat down in a big chair and Marina and I had to crawl over to her. Francesca was wearing a bustiere and nothing else. Marina and I were instructed to lick her pussy, which we did until she came. Then we were told to sixty-nine each other while she watched. She stopped us before we came, and she made Marina crawl on her hands and knees to this big bed. She made Marina sit on the edge of the bed and then lay back with her legs spread. Then she made me kneel in front of Marina and lick her while she came up behind me. She toyed with my hair and kissed my neck and ears and toyed with me, and then ... and then she made me put my fingers in Marina, two, then three, then four. Francesca pulled my hand out and then put some lubricant on my whole hand. She told me to fold my thumb under to make my hand as small and narrow as possible. Then she guided my hand, slowly inserting it into Marina, who was moaning and sobbing and grunting. I couldn't tell if Marina loved it or hated it, because she never said anything, she wasn't allowed to speak, she just groaned and sighed or cursed once in a while. Francesca poured a little more lubricant on my hand, and then she held my wrist as she fucked Marina with my hand. I was fisting Marina, in other words, with Francesca using my hand and my arm like a dildo. Marina was thrashing around and moaning and crying out.

"And then Francesca got up from behind me and sat on the bed next to Marina. She laid back, and told me to lick her pussy and get it hot and wet, and then she told me to hold my left hand out, which I did. She poured lubricant on it and got it all oiled up, and then she lay back on the bed next to Marina and told me to fist her, too. And so there I was, on my knees in their bedroom, this little mouse, fisting them both at the same time, masturbating them, as they hugged and kissed each other, until they came."

"Wow," Carmen said.

"Yes," Jenny agreed. "Wow. But it wasn't wow at all, of course. It was sick and degrading and abusive. Not because of the fisting. It was about the mind games and the control, and the submissive behavior, that's what was sick and abusive. They didn't care about me at all. I was just this anonymous fisting machine, servicing them, getting them off. They were just using me."

"Why didn't you leave?"

Jenny didn't answer. She was somewhere deep inside her head, communing with her demons. These were the demons who often visited, the demons who had taken her in the woods behind her parents' house and abused and degraded her, and used her for their own sexual purposes. The demons who had subjugated and demeaned her, and made her their sex slave, with her hands tied. The demons who had raped her.

She got up off the bed and went to her dresser drawer, and returned to climb back on the bed but this time between Carmen's legs. She leaned down, kissed Carmen's taut, satiny thighs, licked her pussy, suckled her clit. Then she sat up, squeezed some jelly from the tube she'd gotten from her nightstand, and lubed up her hand. She kissed Carmen's clit hood again, and slowly worked two, three, four fingers into her cunt, slowly and gently fucking it with her fingers, listening to Carmen's sighs and moans. When she was sure Carmen was ready, she tucked her thumb up inside her fingers, and slowly inserted her entire fist into Carmen's soaked, gushing pussy. She stroked slowly back and forth as a stream of Spanish cursing tumbled from Carmen's other lips. She bent forward, licked Carmen clit, and rode Carmen's hips and thighs as Carmen came, squealing and squirting.

***

But elsewhere Jenny felt her life was coming apart. She had fucked up her relationship with Tim. She had been seduced and used by Marina and used and abused by Francesca. She had dated Gene Feinberg, the basically nice guy from the aquarium, and had slept with him, and that very same week had also dated and slept with Robin Howard and had both of them at her studio apartment when Marina had come back, claiming to want to renew their relationship. What a mess that had been. Was she straight? Was she a lesbian? Was she bi? Back then she didn't know what the fuck she was.

Worse, her demons were howling inside her head. Sometimes she seemed to feel nothing. At other times she felt almost overwhelmed. She thought maybe she was having a nervous breakdown.

Jenny carefully pulled down the bed sheet so she could slip into bed next to Carmen. In the faint light from the bathroom she could see Carmen's back, her bottom, and the tops of her legs. Carmen hated having anything on her legs when she slept, so she always slept bottomless and often topless, as she was now. Their affair was over, that much Jenny knew. And yet ... there was naked Carmen, sleeping gently. So warm, so sexual, so desirable. Would it be wrong to make love one last time? One gentle, slow, wet goodbye fuck?

Jenny slipped into the bed, covered herself with the sheet, turned and spooned into Carmen's back and bottom. Her hand rested on Carmen's hip, and she leaned forward to kiss Carmen's shoulder blades. Her hand crept up, stroking the side of Carmen's breast. Carmen groaned, rolled onto her back, smiled, and pulled Jenny's face to her for a kiss. Then Carmen gently pushed Jenny's face down to suckle her hardening nipples.

Fuck buddies: Don't leave home without one.

***

Shane woke up to the tantalizing smell of coffee. As her mind slowly began to function and things came into focus, she realized she was on a couch, and that there were other people nearby, whispering so as not to wake her up.

"Thanks, that's wonderful," she heard a woman say in a hushed voice, and a moment later she realized it was Phoebe Sparkle's voice. Shane was rolled over on her side with her face buried in the sofa. She yawned, stretched, and took inventory. It seemed to be morning. There was daylight. Her head didn't hurt, and she wasn't hung over; that was a good thing. She was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of Fruit of the Looms, so she wasn't naked and debauched. She didn't think she'd fucked anybody.

"Will there be anything else?" she heard a man's voice ask. He sounded like he was close by, but not too close.

"No, that's great, thank you very much," Phoebe said.

Shane rolled over and saw she was in Phoebe Sparkle's luxurious stateroom. She watched a ship's steward walk past, pushing a stainless steel cart upon which he'd just brought breakfast and coffee. The steward was careful not to glance at her, and quietly let himself out. Shane sat up and saw Phoebe, wearing a big white terrycloth robe, sitting on the balcony by a table that held a coffee pot and plates of food.

"Good morning!" Phoebe said from the balcony. "You slept well? I know I did. Would you like some coffee? There's a robe right there, or you can come out in your undies, nobody minds. It's only a boat full of a thousand horny lesbians."

Shane saw there was a big white terrycloth robe draped over the end of the couch near her feet. She stood up and put the robe on, and walked to the big glass double door leading out onto the balcony. In front of her the ocean hissed by, a glorious blue, as the ship steamed along at a good clip. The sky was almost cloudless, and the air temperature was pleasantly warm. There was a nice breeze, which came from the ship's speed over the water.

Phoebe looked at her and laughed. "Not a morning person, huh? Me neither, as a rule. But it just so happened that I finally got a good night's uninterrupted sleep last night, thanks to you. I really needed it. Nine hours, can you believe it? C'mon, sit down, have some coffee."

Shane sat down at the table opposite Phoebe, and waited while Phoebe poured her a cup of coffee from a silver pot the steward had left on the table. There was a plate of coffee cakes, bagels and danish, a bowl of fresh fruit, diced and chilled, and a pitcher of orange juice.

"I thought you said you didn't do breakfast," Shane said.

"I usually don't," Phoebe said, "but I slept so long and so well I was famished when I woke up, so this is really brunch rather than breakfast. I actually feel like I'm on vacation, for a change, and not working. Isn't the ship wonderful?"

Shane nodded and sipped her coffee, starting to feel halfway human. "Oh, that's good," she murmured, taking a second sip. "I needed this."

"If you want something more, we can call Room Service. There's a full menu on the credenza. Cereal, eggs, bacon, pancakes, the whole nine yards. I'm a VIP, so I get all the perks and bennies, and it's all on the house."

"No, I'm good, this is fine," Shane said, putting a danish on a plate and taking some fruit. They ate quietly for a few minutes.

"Thanks for letting me crash here," Shane said.

"You're very welcome," Phoebe said. "I'm the beneficiary. I just might have to give this sexual abstinence thing a try. Abstinence may be the only sexual perversion I haven't committed."

Shane smiled and nodded. "Yeah, sometimes it has its advantages."

Phoebe poured herself a second cup of coffee, and regarded Shane over the brim as she sipped. "Forgive my catlike curiosity, but what's this strange situation in your stateroom? Is it scandalous and delicious?"

Shane gave her a wan smile. "No, it's not delicious, that's for sure."

"You don't have to tell me anything," Phoebe said quietly. "But sometimes it helps talking things out with a stranger. a neutral third party. Though I know you well enough by now to tell that you're the brooding, uncommunicative type who bottles everything inside."

Shane grinned and shrugged, "Well, you nailed me there."

"So come on, then, dish. It'll be good for you. Remember, this is basically what I do for a living."

"Serves me right for rooming with a sex therapist," Shane said. "Well, there's this girl. Woman."

"Of course," Phoebe murmured. "There's always 'this woman.'"

Shane sighed and looked out over the ocean, hoping to calm the rising noise in her head.

"Oh, my," Phoebe said. "This is serious, isn't it?"

Shane nodded. Phoebe knew that with someone like Shane, she was going to have to pull the pieces of the story out of her.

"Are you in love with her?"

Shane looked out at the ocean and then at Phoebe. She tried to say something, tried to formulate an answer, and couldn't.

"Oh, dear," Phoebe whispered. "And is she in love with you?"

Shane nodded.

"She's sure? You're sure?"

Shane nodded again. "She even says it was love at first sight. She says it was mutual."

"Was it?"

Shane looked down into her coffee.

"I'll have to take that for a 'yes.'" Phoebe said. "So what's the problem with being in love?"

Shane looked up at her, and Phoebe could see the haunted, scared look in her eyes. Shane shrugged, nearly speechless, as was often the case. There were all these thoughts, circling just out of reach of her articulation. "I ... I ... Love is ... I don't do relationships. Love can kill you."

"So you think that's what would happen if you let yourself go, and let yourself be in love with this woman? It would kill you?"

Shane's mouth hung open, but nothing came out.

"Another 'yes.' See? We're making progress. Have you ever been in love before? Really in love?"

Shane nodded, but when she tried to say something, nothing was there.

"Okay, you were, once. When was this?"

"Back in Austin, where I grew up."

"When was this? How old were you?"

"Eight."

"Eight? Okay, I see. What was her name?"

"Tiffy. Tiffany. Tiffany Gardner."

"Did she love you?"

"Oh, yeah," Shane said, without hesitating.

"So what happened?"

"We ... my family ... my mom went into rehab, and she put me into a foster home somewhere when I was ten, and I never saw Tiffy again."

"Oh, wow. I see," Phoebe said. "And that's why love hurts so much. Because you lost that person and it felt like you were gonna die."

Phoebe watched a tear roll down Shane's cheek. "So you've been grieving and mourning the loss of Tiffy all these years. And never letting yourself fall in love again, because it hurts too much."

Shane didn't say anything.

"And not only did you lose Tiffy, you were abandoned by your mother, too, who put you in a foster home. A double dose of heartache. I take it there was no father around."

Shane looked glumly out over the ocean.

"I get the idea from some things your friends have said that you're quite the player. Is that true?"

Shane shrugged.

"How many girls, how many women, since you first became sexually active?"

Shane shrugged again.

"Ballpark number."

"I dunno. My friend Alice, she likes to keep score. She says nine hundred or something like that. Plus I was a prostitute for a few months, but that doesn't count."

"A lesbian prostitute?"

"No. Guys. I was ... this street punk. Pretended I was a guy, and used to give hand jobs to chickenhawks, but that's all I ever did. I never fucked any guy. But I ... got out of that life."

"Okay. I understand. So back to my original question. Ever since Tiffy Gardner, have you ever been in love?"

Shane was sniffling, and on the edge of tears. "Maybe ... a year or so ago. There was this woman. She was rich, and married, used to be an actress. She even had a teenage daughter, who had this crush on me, and it just got weird and awful."

"So you were sleeping with the mother. Did you sleep with the daughter, too?"

Shane shook her head no. "She wanted me to, but I didn't. But her mom and dad thought I did, but I didn't, but it didn't matter what the truth was. It was ... a mess."

"I imagine so. But you think you might have been in love with this woman? A married woman?"

"I don't know. I had feelings for her. I was kind of ... drawn to her. I liked fucking her. I don't usually fuck anybody more than once or twice, but I fucked her for a couple of weeks."

"Interesting."

"How so?"

"Well, you might have been in love with this women ... what was her name?"

"Cherie."

"Cherie. Did anybody else know you were fucking her? Did her husband know?"

Shane shook her head no.

"Well, there it is, then. You might have been in love with Cherie, but you never had to deal with it or face up to it. You were fucking her, but you never really had a romantic 'I love you and you love me' relationship with her. She was married, and I bet she wasn't going to get a divorce from her husband, right? No romantic candlelight dinners with you, no long walks on the beach holding hands, no dramatic lesbian life partner stuff."