Shattered Innocence: Call me Cari

Call me Cari, everyone else does. This is my story of deception, questionable abduction, and passion.

My parents named me Caroline after some great aunt Caroline Everett whom I never had the pleasure to meet. She was from the west, and lived on a ranch which took so much time and effort to rebuild after the depression, when it almost fell into ruins. Since then, someone in my family always cared for the ranch house and loved it so much they could easily spend all their savings merely maintaining it. It looked, except for the mountains and sage, like it could belong in Louisiana or another southern state. After Aunt Caroline died, which was long before I was born, my parents moved into the house. I was actually born in the house, during a fierce winter storm and nearly a hundred miles away from the nearest hospital. God bless my mother.

I grew up in the mansion on the hill, the ranch house. My bedroom was a throwback to the past where ladies were ladies and men were real men. Chivalry felt as though it were still alive there. There were many outbuildings, some of which I knew what they were used for, others of which were locked or the doors were stuck, so I never looked inside to see what secrets they held (only after I broke my arm once trying). I decided when I was in high school that the name Caroline was too formal and old fashioned, so I changed my name to Cari. I liked living in the past with my imagination, but I realized that I needed to start my own identity, separate from the family, the house, and definitely the long-dead aunt.

As a child, I imagined the old dresses in the attic were mine. The intricate hand-made gowns were beautiful and, I assume, expensive. They were all packed with care, as if they were going to be used again the next season. There were diaries which were packed away, labeled by year, written mainly by people named Amanda and Steven. I was told once they were some of my ancestors. They were of no use to a child, though, so they were left alone and forgotten. I grew up and went off to college. After four and a half years I was a graduate thinking I could make a difference in the world. My degree was in history, specializing in historic architecture. I had a start in a career in a prestigious firm, only to find out I wasn't hired due to my academic record.

Maybe I should take this time to tell you about myself. I am about 5'8" and somewhat curvy in all the right places. My eyes are blue, and my skin is fairly pale. Though one would think it would clash with my pale features, I have beautiful chestnut brown hair, which is a slight shade of auburn in the winter: it is my pride and joy, next to my eyes. My eyes are my absolute best feature. They are the only pair of tri-color eyes that I have seen since my mother passed away. The outer iris is a dark blue, followed by a thicker band of gray-blue. The third ring is around the pupil, but it is a light gold color, straight from my mother. From years of walking and climbing to discover my own home and property, as well as the religious rides on my horses, I am well muscled, but only enough to make my posture impeccable and body fantastic. I also don't need to work out religiously like some other women my age.

But I wasn't even hired for my body. I was hired for my house (the senior associates' decisions). Yes, it is actually my house now; Mom and Dad were in an accident while I was in college. They left me everything: the house and all the grounds, the cars, the money, the desire to keep the house up. I even have some family property in Ireland, though I have hired a care-taker, I haven't been there since. I love Ireland almost as much as I love my ranch home. I decided even though I had enough money to continue with the house as I wanted, I knew that I needed experience. So I took my degree and my resume and set out to find a job. Within two days I was given the directions to start on the next Monday in the city nearest my home in Colorado. It was a forty five minute commute each way, but I was willing if it meant I could stay at my home.

It wasn't long before I met Him, Stephen Dalton. It never took long, no matter where I was, for guys to start hitting on me. He was my immediate supervisor, and I had no proof of harassment, because it hadn't been harassing. He had just mentioned he would like to take me to dinner, business, he said. He was different than the other men and boys who had hit on me before. He had this subtle demanding way about him that was almost pleasing.

I didn't really believe that his interest was genuine, other than a few drinks and lusty petting, call me a skeptic. But after about three months of invitation, I finally accepted. I ended up having him over to my house, also to ask his opinion about taking out an addition which had be poorly added in the early 1900's (I believe they had meant it to be a sleeping porch in the summer, but it was now an oddity on the house. To save myself embarrassment and the feeling of being self conscious, I asked one of my house helpers, a younger high school girl, to stay with me and help serve during the dinner. Something told me I didn't want to be completely alone with him. I offered her a little extra bonus for her help.

He came over that evening and it went off without a hitch. He never gave any advances I didn't want. We talked companionably, walked around the grounds before the sun set, and I asked him his advice about that ungodly addition. We had glasses of wine in our hands, walking around the property and talking like old friends. Now, don't get me wrong. I like sex, though I am not very experienced with men (I had had a couple college sweethearts, but that was the extent). I would have even wanted sex, if I had known him better and did not work with him. I never wanted to cross that line. He placed his hand on my shoulder when we were outside, which was all he touched me. It felt good, almost right, and it made my breath catch like I had just been shocked. I was beginning a small infatuation, and had yet to admit it to myself. When he left that evening, I let the girl, Mandy, go home. I had already taken a bath that evening, but I decided I wanted to try and wash some of my sexual tension away.

I guess I forgot to describe the man who set my primal urges off. He is a tall man, older than I. I would place him in his mid-thirties, and I am only 25. The age difference bothers me a little. His voice is like a rich cream, deep and sexy, one that I could listen to every day. His face was pleasant, though he had a couple of subtle scars near his left eye. They didn't detract from his handsomeness at all. His hair was a dark brown, though it was prematurely graying in places, only adding to his sex appeal.

******

I drew a bubble bath and begin to relax. At first I just leaned back, allowing the bottom of my hair get wet. Slowly I began rubbing the places which were ached the most. My breasts, my thighs, my tunnel of heat... An hour later I had pleased myself greatly, with two nice releases. I had learned in college to spend a little extra money on special toys. They really helped get through the nights of sleeplessness before my exams. One I had found, and replaced with other styles, was a waterproof vibrator. I was weak from the hot water and the climaxes as I climbed out of the claw-footed tub. I went to my room, I had forgotten my bath robe, but didn't need to wrap with anything, since I was the only one home.

I walked over to my bed, and found the note and one of my more decadent nighties which had been placed on the pillow.

Dearest Caroline,

I just wanted to let you know I definitely enjoyed your time this evening. Especially the performance only I was privy to. I wish to extend an invitation to my house tomorrow for dinner. Tomorrow is your day off, so take some extra time with your hair and makeup. I wonder if you have ever had your hair cut, as long and willful as it is. A package will arrive tomorrow at noon, please accept it as a gift. I would like to discuss a little, shall we say, business arrangement. I will send my car at six.

As for this nightgown: I would like to imagine you sleeping in it tonight. I would also like to imagine you rubbing yourself for me this evening when you begin to get drowsy. Rub yourself and cum as much as you want to. Bring the nightie with you tomorrow evening, along with a few of your more favorite toys. I must say, you have quite a collection.

There is a candle placed next to your bed. Light it before you go to sleep if you are thinking about me, which I trust you will.

The note wasn't signed, but I knew who wrote it. I was a little embarrassed and upset that he had so easily been able to walk back into my home without me hearing someone inside. I then realized that I rarely lock the back door and he could have come up the back stairs without my knowing. I made a strong pact to begin locking that door.

******

I had trouble sleeping that night. I lit the candle as his note directed, because I couldn't get him off of my mind. How would he know if I had lit it anyways? I couldn't decide if it was because of unease or excitement... I tried not to think about it. It felt like I was being watched all the time. I wore the nightie as directed, and even put a couple of my favorite toys in the bag for tomorrow night. I didn't want to forget anything he had directed.

******

The next day, I dismissed all of my part-time help that work on the house while I am at work. I was tired of feeling like I was being watched. I took my favorite horse, Marigold, out that day. I like to ride the perimeter of the land that was retained over the years. Some of it was sold for money long before I inherited the land, but it was still sizeable. Since I had gotten my new position, I had not had time to ride as much, so now was the perfect time.

The Johnson's house was put up for auction a couple weeks ago. The older woman died, having out survived all other living relatives. Her estate was to go to charities, some of which were homeless and orphanage agencies. The property was smaller, but very similar to mine. Stories have it that it was built for the man of business of one of my ancestors who built my home. Together, the two properties would have looked like a small town.

Sometimes I could see lights on in the house, mainly when I looked from my bedroom windows. The master bedroom faced the Johnson house squarely. I should probably stop calling it the Johnson house, but I am not sure who owns it now. It was far enough away from my home, but near enough that as a kid I would ride a horse over to have cookies with Old Mrs. Johnson. The grocery clerk said that whoever bought it, bought it at a hell of a steal, since it needed so much work.

I decided not to intrude on my neighbor's just yet, though I could tell they had already begun doing some remodeling work. Well, I had sufficiently avoided half of the day, and it was now time to go home to see about the chore of getting ready. It was nearly 2:00 already.

******

Just after I washed down the horse and tucked her away for the evening, I heard a knock on my front door. It wasn't any of my friends or employees, because they know to use the back. When I went to see who it was, there was no one there. Just a large package left on the porch...

I took the package inside and began to see who it was from (I really didn't need to know). There were no markings on the box, but there was a large red bow. It was from him. I cut the tape which held the flaps down with a letter opener in the library. I first found the note, but laid it aside to see what else my present held. Wrapped in tissue paper was a beautiful white, handmade dress which looked to be very old but well preserved. The dress was white, but very low cut. If I was expected to wear this, I was going to have to find a corset or at least a tummy-tucker... It was made for a corseted waist, and though I have a great figure, it's not that great. Under the dress also wrapped in tissue, I found the necessary corset. I also found stockings and a garter, but no contemporary underwear. I found some rouge in a little pot along with some ivory colored powder which I have heard old fashioned whores would wear. I had finally hit the bottom of the box with a pair of old fashioned satin slippers.

Now, I went to the letter.

Dearest Caroline,

I am sure curiosity of the box contents prevailed over that of the letter. So, I am also sure you already know the contents of this package. I hope you had a good ride this afternoon; Marigold is a beautiful piece of flesh as is her rider.

Everything that is placed in this box is necessary for our dinner, and nothing else is to be included. The rouge is for your nipples, and the powder is for the rest of your body. Makeup is not included, but use an appropriate amount for a classy dinner. Please do not wear your hair up. I want to see how long and curly it is when you leave it alone.

My car will arrive shortly. Do not converse with the driver. Have a glass of wine in the back. It will be ready for you. You are to wear the blindfold the driver gives to you at the door, and do not take it off.

Again, the note wasn't signed. I almost wondered if I should leave a message for my helpers about where I was going, just in case, right?

I decided against leaving the message, because nothing would happen. Yes, this was bizarre, to say the least, but not scary in the slightest. Only insinuative to sex, which I believe I would agree to at this point. I dressed as I was told. When I began to put the powder and the rouge on, I began to feel a peculiar sense of naughtiness. The dress was extremely low cut, but not any more revealing than some of the things that teenagers feel are in fashion today. With the corset, it fit perfectly. I felt even worse not having anything covering my crotch; I could tell I was wet already. Who knew playing dress-up was this much fun.

I had just placed the last slipper on my foot when there was a knock at the door. I grabbed my goody bag, as I had begun to think of it, and opened the door. The driver never said a word, but took the bag and escorted me to a black sedan. Before he opened the doors with the dark tinted windows, he placed a blindfold over my eyes. I was led into the door and handed a glass of wine. I was careful not to spill the wine as I sipped it, I didn't want to ruin the antique dress. It felt as if there was someone in the car with me, but I couldn't be sure. I continued to sip the wine, beginning to feel lightheaded... Maybe I should have eaten lunch then the wine wouldn't be going straight to my head. I laid my head back on the headrest, and the next thing I knew the car slowed to a stop. I had no idea how long I had been asleep... I couldn't remember where Stephen said his home was, he may not have said.

I attempted to put my feet on the ground when the driver came to open the door. He seemed to expect that I wouldn't be able to walk and carried me gently across a path and up a wooden porch. I couldn't get my bearings, he walked with me up and down some stairs, and finally I was laid down on a feathery mattress. I lost consciousness, wondering where Stephen was and if he would be mad with me falling asleep on the long ride.

I awoke just an hour later, with Stephen sitting on the bed next to me. My mind was a little fuzzy, so it took me a minute to comprehend what he was saying to me. Finally, I understood that he was telling me that I was beautiful and how happy he was that I had followed his directions. He asked me if I was hungry, and I was.

We had a delicious meal in his beautiful antique dining room. He asked casually if I had packed my toys, and was awarded with a blush and a nod. He asked me if I had used any of them today and I shook my head no, unable to meet his stare.

"Caroline..."

"Please, call me Cari." I said it out of habit, just as I would have said to anyone else.

"Then I will call you Cari. Are you here because I ordered you here? Or are you here because you want to hear what I have to say?" He asked it quietly, in his rich silky voice that earned a slightly damp spot on his dining room chair. I blushed. "Or, you could be here because you really want sex... hmmm. Look at me Cari." I did. "Which is it?"

"I want to hear what you have to say..."

"...And?"

"And... because (blush)... I want... sex...with you."

"Good."

The rest of the conversation went on as if none of the embarrassing stuff had been said. After dinner, which was a wonderful meal served by the driver; I guess he had more responsibilities than solely as a driver. After the meal, we went to the library. We sat on a large sofa, facing each other. The corset was rather tight, so I had had a difficult time eating, and it did seem that I was having a difficult time breathing in this situation. I had to admit to myself that it may have been in anticipation, as well.

"Cari, I would like you to take a sabbatical from work."

The statement shocked me. I didn't see this coming.

"It's not that you aren't doing a great job, you are a wonderful asset to the firm. The senior partners and I would like for you to begin research away from the firm on a particular estate of interest. Your own home." So there it was. Just a little over 3 months into the work, and they want my home researched.

Trying to keep calm and to keep my confusion under wraps, I asked "Why my home? Why now?"

"Cari, there are particulars that I can't share with you until you agree to do as asked. I will also be taking a sabbatical to help you in this endeavor. Your pay will be the same, and you will work whenever you want to."

"I guess I just don't understand why now"

"We can discuss this later, after you agree and the paperwork is done. For now, I have other business in mind. Come here next to me."

I did as directed, I didn't see a reason not to. With the other business not forgotten, but not dwelling on it, I still wanted to be next to him. I really wanted him to be pleased that I had done everything I had been asked to do. When I moved to him, we began kissing, passionately. His hands were at my waist, and his thumbs teased my nipples through the dress and corset. Stephen began unlacing the dress, and he had me step out of it when it was loose enough. I didn't ask him, but he looked pleased with my body. After we continued kissing, he handed me another glass of wine.

"Think about the firm's proposal. I think we would find it very mutually beneficial."

"I'll think about it."

We caressed and kissed more as I drank my wine. I asked him why he wasn't having any; he replied that he wanted a clear head for what he wanted to do. I wanted one to, so I put the glass on the table. It was handed back to me, full again, with an order to drink it all. He was beginning to seem impatient, but I was too woozy to pay much attention to it.

He pulled out my goody bag. I was interested in his look as he searched through it to see what I had brought. I brought one of my waterproof vibrators, one of my medium sized butt plugs, a feather, some gels to make the plug slide easier, and one of my long double headed dildos. I had only used it for a double entry once, it was then I realized that I had bought it a little large for myself. I still would use it for my pussy sometimes. Looking up from the bag, he looked me in the eyes and asked if he could add some toys and others to my favorites. I said why not?

Taking the empty glass from my hand, he placed it on the table and then took my hand in his. He led me back to the comfortable room in which I had been woken earlier. I was feeling very woozy about half the way there, so he effortlessly carried me to the windowless room. I was puzzled. The house should be designed with windows in every bedroom, but I didn't think much about it.