Tarri Ch. 04

She woke up sometime later. The day had already fallen into a peaceful afternoon, but since it was morning for Tarri, she found herself oddly lost in time, untethered to its passage.

Her body still smelled like sweat and dirt. She reached down and felt her pussy lips - still sore - and felt Woland's dried seed on them. She wondered if he could get her pregnant; she would need to take a shower. But first, she noticed, a letter lay open on her bedside table.

Rachel. She badly wanted to see Miss Tarri. She was hoping that she could do something for Tarri.

Tarri smiled. In her submission to Woland, she had forgotten her own slave; driven mad with twisted lust; she had encountered a dark magician whose will easily bent her own. But now, back in civilization, she wanted Rachel again.

She padded to the shower, rubbed herself all over with soap. There, she let her mind wander, considering the peculiar chain of command which had been established between her, Woland, and Rachel. Though Rachel wasn't aware of it, she was being controlled by a distant and mysterious force. After all, if Woland told her later (and Tarri already knew that she would soon return to the Second Clearing for his pleasure) to tell Rachel to do something, she would tell Rachel to do it without thinking. That was the nature of true submission. And by fucking her, by coming inside her, Woland had made her his.

Tarri was sore. Her lovely legs had been scratched up from pine branches, covered with fine, curving lines. Outside her window, little fluffy clouds moved slowly across the horizon, and the bushes outside her window were dappled with shadows from the late afternoon sun. She sat in a sunbeam on her bed, enjoying its warmth, and as she ran her hands up and down her scratched legs, a few leaves floated lazily through the air towards her window, as though sent from space by the sun's rays.

She lay on her bed, rubbing her hands all over herself, cupping her ass cheeks and reaching between them to lightly rub her aching pussy lips. The desire could not be quenched. The more and more she gave herself, the more and more tortured she was. Tarri wondered if she would ever be free - if her mind would ever be at rest, as she imagined it had been when she was a girl (if, indeed, she had ever been truly free from at least some childlike version of lust).

How to deal with Rachel? Though she would take pleasure in Rachel's beautiful body, she didn't know how to treat her slave. And what if Woland, to whom she had pledged herself, wanted her to hurt Rachel, or bring her to the clearing to please him? The two seemed incompatible - even the First Clearing would surely disgust Rachel, and the Second Clearing, where Woland would no doubt use her for his sick pleasures without hesitation, might fundamentally change her into something as grotesque as Bexes itself.

She turned over in bed, buried her head in the pillow. She knew she should get up, prepare herself for Rachel, but she felt lazy - maybe, she supposed, from the energy required to stay in this fantastic zone of mingled pleasure, desire, and shame. Tarri could not remember anything about her life before her orgasm on the beach. She could not remember who she was.

As Woland had lost his humanity in order to become a Satanic master - and it was clear to Tarri that Woland was indeed a black magician - Tarri had lost herself in order to become both Rachel's mistress and Tarri's slave. But there was simply no way to resist these pleasures. Whatever Woland wanted, she would do, and whatever she wanted, Rachel would do, until somehow she was brought to a Final Orgasm.

She decided she would go to Rachel's apartment later. She wanted to make sure that Rachel understood that the range of Tarri's authority was not limited to Tarri's own room. It was within Rachel's mind.

So she called Rachel, who picked up on the third ring.

"Hey," said Rachel. "Sorry, give me one second-"

Pause, shuffling sounds over the line. Tarri waited.

"Okay," said Rachel, sounding a little frazzled. "Sorry, Miss Tarri. I'm in public and I couldn't say Miss Tarri into the phone. Forgive me. Now I can talk."

"I'm coming over tonight," said Tarri.

"Yes, Miss Tarri," said obedient Rachel.

"I want to come at eight. Now is the time, if you want, to ask me to change the time. If you ask, I'll consider it."

"If you want eight, we'll do eight, Miss Tarri."

Tarri idly played with her toes as she talked. "When I come over, I'm going to come over hungry. I want you to have a chicken salad made and waiting for me on your table, and a glass of white wine. I want Caesar dressing on the salad and I want the wine to be chilled. You will serve it to me - are you getting all this?"

"Wait, wait," said Rachel, hastily adding, "Miss Tarri, let me get a pen. Sorry."

For a moment Tarri considered telling Rachel to stop apologizing, then reconsidered. After all, the delay had slightly inconvenienced her, a matter which far outweighed any concerns of Rachel's.

"Okay, I'm ready," said Rachel. "Chicken salad, white wine, Caesar, yes?"

"Make sure there are croutons on the salad. I also want a black candle lit and on the table."

"Yes, Miss Tarri. Anything else?"

"That's it for the food," said Tarri, "but not for you. I want you to serve me in just an apron. Your feet will be bare. Your hair will be tied in a bun. You will shave your legs and pussy before I come. Wear no makeup. Do you understand?"

"Yes...Miss Tarri," said Rachel, in the distracted tone of someone furiously copying down something someone else is saying.

"If you follow my directions exactly, you will be rewarded. Otherwise, you risk punishment. Now start getting ready. See you at eight." She hung up. Then she got dressed herself, and decided to take a walk, taking some time to think before her meeting with Rachel.

Afternoon was deepening into evening, and outside, light from the setting sun cast everything in crimson. Tarri walked along the street, admiring the leaves swirling through the golden air. She walked along the edge of the forest, but instead of going into the woods, sat on a park bench between the town square and the edge of the woods, watching people go by. A mother with her three children, looking very tired; a young man in a suit, a cell phone pinned to his ear; an old woman with a walker, smiling as she shuffled across the grass. Everybody was living in their own world, the hero of their personal story. They all had their own thoughts, needs, and secrets. Tarri imagined the old woman sitting on a porch on a hot afternoon, drinking iced tea and resting after a lifetime of work; she imagined the mother putting each of the three children to bed in turn, leaning over to kiss them on the forehead; she imagined the young man waking up early to pick out his dress shirt, weighing pale blue against white. As Tarri swept her gaze over the scene, she felt a tidal wave of rising love within her for life - for everyone in the world, and for the miracle which had made her Tarri, had made her young and healthy and alive. Her heart was filled with gratitude, and the longer Tarri looked, the more she felt a sexual urge towards the whole of lived experience. She wanted to make love to the setting sun and everything it cast its dying light on, to make love to it again when it rose in the morning - and, eventually, to fade away with the sun itself, experiencing her final and most powerful orgasm as this distant star expanded and burst in a supernova.

The light was beginning to fade, and with it, her joy faded into a calm fulfillment that went beyond sex. As the last red slice of sun vanished over the distant hills, she stood up and, on a romantic impulse, blew a kiss upwards.

Night had fallen, and with it, the air had become cold. Tarri walked along the sidewalks of the deserted town without really seeing anything. As darkness fell, she felt rising agitation. The desire was coming upon her again, and again she felt totally powerless before it - like it wasn't even Tarri doing what she was doing, but really someone else, whoever that might be. Soon it would be eight, and soon she would be with Rachel.

The apartment blocks loomed ahead in her vision. Once she arrived, Tarri lingered for a moment in the parking lot, sitting on the rough curb. She was a few minutes early, and wanted to arrive at precisely eight. Briefly she raised her head so as to look back down the main street at the edge of the woods. Somewhere was the hidden stream, the passage out to the First Clearing. Somewhere Bexes lay sleeping.

Seven fifty-eight. Tarri bounded up to the wooden steps which led to the second floor, found Rachel's apartment. She leaned up against the wall, waiting. Then she turned on her heel and knocked on the door.

Immediately Rachel swung it open. Had she been aware of Tarri waiting outside? Behind her, the room was warm and lit by golden light. Soft music tinkled from her stereo, something played on a piano that Tarri didn't recognize. Rachel herself wore a plain white apron hooked around her neck, but her shoulders and arms were bare, and so were her feet. Her hair was tied in a neat bun behind her head, and when she saw her mistress, Rachel immediately looked down at the floor, maybe remembering the rule Tarri had set.

"Hello, Miss Tarri," she said. Tarri strode into the apartment, and Rachel quickly closed the door behind her.

"Rachel," said Tarri. "Where's my dinner?"

"Right over here, Miss Tarri," said Rachel. Keeping her eyes fixed on the floor, she led Tarri to a small dining room in the back. The kitchen table was clean and slightly wet, clearly having just been washed, and on it was a white porcelain bowl filled with Caesar salad, a napkin with a fork and knife, and a glass of white wine. Rachel stood beside her work, her hands folded in front of her apron, waiting for Tarri's verdict. Clearly she had worked hard to please her mistress, and Tarri was pleased.

"Good," she said. "Pull my chair out."

Immediately Rachel pulled the chair out. Tarri sat down, glanced at her willing slave. "Take that apron off," she said, though she hadn't meant to get Rachel naked so early; the girl's strong body was so alluring that she could not deny her need to see Rachel nude.

Rachel reached down and took off the apron, balling it up in one hand and standing with her head down. Again Tarri savored her full breasts, her smooth legs and ass. Rachel had a wonderful softness that gave Tarri deep satisfaction to admire. Her pussy was inexpertly shaved, with tiny black hairs still dotted along the mound - perhaps Tarri would punish her for that later - and her legs were primly placed together, her feet straight out in front.

Rachel tossed the apron to the corner of the room, and something in the action angered Tarri. "I did not tell you to do that," she said.

"Sorry, Miss Tarri," said Rachel, surprised.

"You don't decide what happens with the apron. I do, do you understand? If I want you to throw it in the corner, I'll tell you to throw it in the corner. If I want you to hold it all night, I'll tell you to hold it all night. That's not your decision. Got it?"

"I'm so sorry, Miss Tarri." She was looking down at the floor. "Should I go get it?"

"Get down on your hands and knees," said Tarri, and without hesitation, Rachel dropped to all fours.

"Now go over there and get it with your mouth and bring it back over here. Set it down by the bottom of my chair. And then thank me for letting you go get it."

Rachel obediently crossed the room on all fours, her breasts swinging as she did so in the soft light, and wadded up the apron in her mouth. As she rummaged around, Tarri examined her ass cheeks and, between them, her pussy. Then Rachel returned, lowered her head, and left the apron by Tarri's feet. "Thank you, Miss Tarri," she said, face still down.

"While I eat," said Tarri, "I want you to wait beside my feet. Simply sit and do not move or speak. I'll take as long as I want."

"Yes, Miss Tarri," said Rachel. As Tarri ate, she focused on the taste of the chicken salad - cranberries, croutons, Caesar dressing - and on the flickering flame of the black candle before her. She drank the wine, which truth be told was a little bit warm for Tarri's taste, ate every bit of the salad.

Finally Tarri was finished eating, and abruptly she stood up. "Thank you, Miss Tarri," said Rachel promptly. But Tarri backed up a few steps, and as if pulled, Rachel followed, on all fours.

"How long did you put the wine in the fridge for?" said Tarri calmly.

"An hour or so, Miss Tarri," said Rachel into the floor.

"Do you think that was long enough?"

"I don't know, Miss Tarri. I had to go buy an apron and stuff for a salad and a bunch of other stuff. And then my car was acting weird in the parking lot, so I had to give it a few minutes to-"

"Shut up," said Tarri. "Jesus. Don't give me excuses, it's really pathetic. If I say I want chilled wine, I want chilled wine. Not lukewarm."

"I'm so sorry, Miss Tarri," said Rachel, staring down at the tile. "Please let me get you some ice. Or I'll put it in the freezer." Tarri felt a brief moment of pity for her, but it was mingled with anger. All the girl had had to do was follow Tarri's directions exactly, and she had failed.

Tarri crossed the room, to the couch. "Come over here and don't stand up."

She sat on the couch, watched Rachel approach on her hands and knees.

"Now lie down on my lap."

Rachel got up and laid herself over Tarri's lap. Her bare ass was exposed to the flickering light. Tarri didn't touch her slave, though she knew Rachel ached for her mistress' hands on her.

"You're going to be punished now," she said. "And I want you to understand something. You did everything right. You followed my directions. And you're going to be punished anyway. And the simple reason is this. You're mine and I'll do whatever I want with you. If you follow my directions and please me to my heart's content, I'll usually be sweet to you. But not always. If I want to smack your ass, I'm going to, regardless of whatever else has happened between us, because your ass belongs to me. Got it?"

"Yes, Miss Tarri," said poor Rachel.

Tarri stroked one finger inside her ass, from the button of her asshole down to her pussy, very lightly. Rachel moaned and squirmed, obviously wanting to be penetrated, but Tarri merely ran her fingertips along the outside of Rachel's wet cunt. Then she removed the finger, and saw Rachel brace herself.

"After I hit you," she said, "I want you to say, 'Thank you, Miss Tarri.' Because it is nice of me to even pay enough attention to you to hit you. If I wanted, I'd make you lie naked face down on the ground while I went about my business, and that would be worse, because you wouldn't even get to be near me. Understand?"

"Yes, Miss Tarri. Thank you, Miss Tarri."

"Good."

She drew out the moment. Anticipation, she understood, was the key; waiting to be hit would be more powerful for Rachel than the moment of pain.

Then quickly she spanked Rachel's ass, hard. And then again, and then again. Rachel cried out, "Thank you, thank you, thank you, Miss Tarri!"

She smacked the girl until Rachel's eyes were filled with tears. For Tarri, there was no real pleasure in Rachel's pain. The pleasure instead was in the idea that Rachel would be willing to allow herself to be punished in this humiliating way simply because Tarri wished it. But really it fulfilled Tarri more to please, not punish, her slave; she wanted to kiss the spots on Rachel's ass which she had spanked. But Rachel hadn't earned that yet.

Once she was finished and Rachel lay quivering beneath her, though, she felt pity for this slave. She stood up, said "Follow me," and walked into Rachel's bedroom. Maybe anticipating Tarri's entry, Rachel had made her bed well, its purple comforter tucked neatly into the corners of the frame. Rachel followed Tarri on all fours into the room, and when Tarri laid down fully clothed on the bed, got up on the bed with her, quickly nestling her head into Tarri's breasts. Tarri wrapped her arms around Rachel, kissed her forehead.

Rachel turned her head up, kissed her on the lips. She looked into Tarri's eyes for a moment before Tarri was forced to look away - Rachel looked so solemn, her eyes so wide.

"You don't want to look at me?" said Rachel softly.

"It's not that," said Tarri. "I think you're really beautiful and sexy."

"I know you do. So then look at me."

"I'm awkward," said Tarri.

Rachel smiled. "You don't have to be awkward."

"I just am."

"So is that why this is what you want? To control me like this? We don't have to do this. It doesn't have to be this way - there's love in this world."

This was the longest speech Rachel had made to Tarri yet and she was taken aback. Suddenly she was very aware of her own body, felt horribly self-conscious.

"You don't know," said Tarri finally. "It gets worse than this. I'm involved in something sick."

"Oh?"

Pause. "I'd have to show you. As you're my slave, I've become someone else's. A young man out in the woods. He's - he's evil, I think. If you saw, you'd be driven away. I might have to sacrifice you to him."

"I understand," said Rachel.

Tarri didn't say anything, and Rachel kissed her again. The two girls lay together for a long time, sweating onto each other, their breaths syncing up so that Rachel's bare breasts fell and rose in rhythm with Tarri's chest. Tarri knew her slave would gladly eat her pussy out if she wanted, kiss her legs and worship her body, but she was enjoying the intimacy too much to move. She could not meet Rachel's eye.

"Tell me about the young man," said Rachel suddenly.

This Tarri hadn't expected. "He's sick and twisted, a creature of darkness. He just wants what he wants and I want to give it to him. Even though it's dirty."

"Dirty how? What's so sick about him?"

"He's - oh, I don't know, Rachel."

"Do you fuck?"

"Often."

"You're so weird!" said Rachel.

"His name is Woland."

"Oh," said Rachel. "Do you like Woland?"

Her room was filled with things she barely noticed - she was too wrapped up in Rachel's hot body as it rose and fell with her breaths, her touch.

She thought for a second. "You know," she said, "I just never think about it. The fact is, I am his slave. That's how it is, it doesn't matter whether or not I like it."

"I understand!" said Rachel, beginning to stroke Tarri's neck. "That's how I feel. You are my mistress. I would die for you - it doesn't matter why."

"Thank you, Rachel," said Tarri. "You're beautiful."

Rachel was now kissing her breasts, running her warm wet tongue up from her nipple to the nape of her neck. "Is that how you feel about Woland?"

Tarri thought again. "My relationship with Woland is somehow colder. I don't feel affectionate towards him the way I do you. But his will is just too strong to question. When I'm around him, I do what he says."

"But do you think he's beautiful, like me?"

She laughed mirthlessly. "He thinks he's more beautiful than I could. But he is oddly compelling, no doubt due to his magical abilities. He must be some sort of dark conjuror."

"That seems likely," said lovely Rachel. She was rubbing her face in Tarri's belly now, crouched over her. "Does he live out there in the woods, do you think?"

"Somehow I don't think he 'lives' anywhere," replied Tarri, running her hand through Rachel's hair. "Woland seems to come and go as he pleases. He definitely spends a lot of time in that Second Clearing - maybe he built the place. You have to use magic to get in."

"Wow," said Rachel. "What kind of magic?"

"It's complicated," said Tarri, clutching her slave's head between her thighs. Pinned, Rachel squirmed to get out, but quickly accepted her new position and began kissing the warm sides of Tarri's legs. "You have to go outside town, into the woods. There's a path that briefly meets with a stream. If you leave the path and go up the stream, against the current, you end up going deep into the forest, and eventually, there's a clearing by the side of the stream. That's the First Clearing."