The Contract Ch. 02

"NOOO!" she screeched, and she launched herself across the table at him like a linebacker diving for a tackle. Taken completely by surprise, he stood up and dropped the page, which fluttered once before she caught it in both hands, grasping it hard, crumpling it, just as she landed with a sliding THUMP on her belly on the table. Then, she slithered backwards, until she was once more at her place. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. With trembling fingers, she put the paper on the table in front of her and began trying to smooth it back out with the palms of both hands.

He could only stare at her with wide eyes. This action had been totally unexpected. Why hadn't he seen something like this coming? What had he missed? "Um ... Gail ...."

"It's torn," she said in a matter-of-fact voice. She kept smoothing it with her hands.

"Gail, we need to talk about this."

"Do you have any tape?"

"Gail, you and I need to talk about the things that ...."

"Just a little piece is all we need. It's just a little tear, right here at the top."

"Gail ...."

But she wasn't listening to him, he knew. What had caused this? What was the thing that he'd missed? He bent and righted the chair that he'd toppled. Then he walked to a drawer, opened it, and took out a roll of Scotch tape. Without another word, he went to her side and handed it to her.

She smiled brightly up at him. "Thank you, Richard." She tore off a two-inch piece and then took excruciating care applying it to the torn paper. "There. Good as new, don't you think?" She stood and faced him, standing very close.

"What do you want to do now?" he asked her quietly, observing her closely.

To his alarm, she loosened the belt on the robe, and with a gentle shrug, the whole thing slid off of her slender body onto the floor around her feet. "Now, I'm going to give myself to you," she said quietly. "Just like the contract says."

He put one of his hands to his head, his eyes raking her lovely, naked body. It couldn't end like this! He'd missed something! What was it?

"Aren't you going to take me, Richard? I'm your sex slave for the next twenty-four hours."

He glanced down at the paper, and suddenly, he thought he had it. "Oh no, Gail. Not yet. We haven't finished yet, have we?"

She put her arms around his neck, pressing her body into him. "I have to pay you. I have to give myself to you ... completely."

"But that's not what the contract says, is it?" He watched her eyes carefully.

"It doesn't?" her voice was thin, unsure.

"It says right there in the contract ... I have to finish first. We have one more session, and THEN, when I'm all finished, that's when you pay me. That's when you give yourself to me. That's what the contract says." He stooped down, sliding out of her grasping arms, and picked up the robe.

Her eyes slid left and right, panic showing behind them. She let her gaze settle, for a moment, on the contract, but she seemed incapable to reading it. "It really says that?"

"Yes," he told her firmly. She stood, unresisting, as he pushed first her left arm, and then her right into the sleeves of the robe. He tightened the belt around her waist. Finally, he took her hand and slowly led her into the living room.

"You're going to put me to sleep again," she said, making it a statement. "One more time, and then I'm going to be your sex slave."

"No more sleep, Gail."

She stopped abruptly, and when he turned back to her, he found her eyes clear, the old Gail looking out of them. She began shivering wildly, hugging her arms around herself. "You're going to do something terrible, aren't you Richard? You're about to do something horrible."

And THAT'S what he had missed! She was a puzzle-solver! It was her profession. Through sheer intellect, her conscious mind was piecing together the things that her subconscious mind was hiding. And now, those two halves were undergoing a violent struggle.

He clutched her hand and dragged her the last little way to the couch, pushing her down and sitting beside her. "I need you to be brave for me, Gail. I need you to trust me."

"Don't, Richard. Please don't!"

He leaned forward and put his lips to her ear.

"Make me go to sleep, Richard. Please make me go to sleep! Make me sleep! Put me to sleep!"

And he whispered: "Remember!"

She sat stock-still for a long moment, her panting breath hard and regular. But eventually, her breathing changed ... slowing ... and then it caught in her throat.

"Noooooo!" she wailed, and she was choked by a massive sob. Her body seemed to shrink into itself, collapsing, her back slumping as she bent forward.

"Why did you DO that to me?" she wailed, and sobbed again. Then she looked pleadingly up into his eyes. "I put it in a box!"

"Yes, I know," he told her gently.

"I put it in a box! I put a lid on it ... a tight, tight lid, so it couldn't slip out! And then I wrapped it up with string, so it was trapped! And then I pushed it into a corner ... a deep dark corner, where I couldn't even see it ... like it wasn't even there! And after a long time, it just went away. Don't you understand, Richard? It wasn't THERE anymore!" She sobbed again. "And then, you let it out!" she finished miserably. "You let it out again."

"I had to, Gail."

"But WHY?"

"I HAD to! As long as the box was there, you would never be able to fall in love ... not REAL love, anyway. You couldn't even touch a man. You could barely make yourself LOOK at one!"

She shrugged, as if that had no meaning anymore. The robe slipped off of her left shoulder. "What are we going to do now?"

"We're going to talk about it."

"What's there to talk about?" she asked dejectedly. She gazed helplessly into his eyes. "He hurt me, Richard! He hurt me bad!"

"I know that, Gail. But you don't have to feel the pain now; you just have to understand it! Tell me: Why didn't your mother stop him?"

"She was asleep ... or she pretended to be. She wouldn't wake up. I screamed and screamed, but she wouldn't wake up!"

"No, Gail. You're still looking at it through the eyes of a seven year-old girl. Look back NOW. Look back at it as you are NOW! Why didn't your mother wake up?"

She blinked and stared at a spot in the middle of the living room, as if she was watching it all unfold again. Finally, she met his eyes. "He gave her some drugs. She passed out. She wasn't asleep ... she was unconscious!"

"I'm not going to pull any punches here, Gail. Your mother is a sick, sick woman ... and NOT a very nice person. I've never met the gal, but if I had the chance to examine her, based on what you've told me while you were hypnotized, I can almost guarantee you what I'd find. I'm certain that she suffers from acute nymphomania, combined with crippling self esteem issues and deep masochistic tendencies.

"And I'm certain that she was trying to seek sympathy from prospective sex partners by purposefully aggravating those psychological problems. When a woman approaches a man at a bar and TELLS him that she's a nymphomaniac, and TELLS him that she'll do anything at all that he wants, then she's TRYING to make the situation worse."

"Munchausen syndrome," Gail muttered. "Yesterday, you weren't trying to figure ME out ... you were trying to figure out my mother!"

"She had a string of lovers that she'd entertain almost every night ... different lovers! But she at least had the strength to give herself to them only AFTER she thought you were safe in your room. However, after that, she had no limits. Men could do anything to her ... anything. Actually, I'm a bit surprised that you were only raped once."

"I can't make myself feel sorry for her," she said in a small voice.

"Quite frankly, my dear, I don't give a rat's ass about your mother. But I needed to be able to truthfully tell you that your mom didn't purposefully just lie there while her boyfriend raped her seven year-old daughter in the same room. And now, I can tell you that, psychologically, she NEVER would have done that. She doesn't even know that it happened! If she did, she wouldn't have had the guts to come back to you. But there were limits to her 'motherly love.' She didn't hesitate to abandon you, just as soon as you got that letter of acceptance from the college. And she didn't hesitate to use you and cheat you, once you were an adult."

Gail had stopped shaking, and her eyes were dry. "You're not going to make me fall in love with some man ... or woman ... are you?"

He smiled wanly. "No, of course not. You're perfectly capable of falling in love, all by yourself."

"Then why did you write the contract?"

"You were crying out to me for help, Gail! Jasmine made me promise that when anyone did that, I'd do whatever I could. I didn't think you'd let me see you professionally any other way."

She sighed dejectedly. "I guess I should get dressed and leave."

"We're not through here."

She looked up questioningly into his eyes. He detected a glimmer of hope in hers, but her depression utterly confused him. He cocked his head a little and gazed at her, trying to solve yet another riddle.

"Ah yes," she said at last, uncomfortable with the too-long silence. "You wanted to ask me some questions in there." She nodded toward the kitchen. "You wanted to speak to the real me, not the me inside the me." Her mouth twitched at its grim corners for a moment. "Pure psychobabble, Richard."

"What is it, Gail?" he asked, taking her hands in his own. "I've reached out in every way I can think of, but I still can't quite touch you." He couldn't seem to make her look into his eyes. "It's the contract, isn't it?" And THAT made her look up. "Yes ... that's it!" he exclaimed. "You're still clutching at that contract as if it was a lifeline. You won't let it go. Do you actually think that I could have FORCED you to love someone? Are you still waiting for me to DESIGNATE a lover?"

She looked back down. "No," she said so softly that he had to lean closer to her to hear. "I don't care about that any more. Now, I'm not really sure that I ever did."

And he smiled. "Then it's about ME?"

She raised her face imploringly. "I went into that office thinking that I was going to HAVE to give myself to whoever the therapist was on the other side of that door! I thought about it and thought about it, but there was never a real person in my imagination. There was never a face. And then, suddenly ... suddenly ... there was! And the more I thought about that encounter ... with ... my sexual master ... every time I formed a picture of him in my mind ... the more I liked the thought of it being YOU! And the more I got to know you, the better the dream got. You were the one! The contract guaranteed it! My dream was going to come true!" She paused again. "You were going to come true."

She sighed once more. "I should go," she whispered.

He grinned. "And how, exactly, do you intend to pay me?"

She blinked. "Pay you?"

"Twelve hours work, but my tally," he said, with an offhand gesture. She looked at him with a mixture of alarm, curiosity and expectation. "I think a one-for-one payoff would work," he continued. She blinked at him. "No, let's make it two-for-one, what 'dya say?" he intoned thoughtfully. She looked down and blushed. "Of course," he said sagely, "we could do it in shifts!"

She barked a little laugh. "Oh, I DID make it sound terrible, didn't I?"

And suddenly, somehow, miraculously, she was in his arms, and he was crushing her to him, his soft lips on her own. She left her arms by her sides for a long, surprised second, and then lifted them up, putting them around his bulk, holding him, clutching him. He released her and stood, giving her his hand, helping her up. Standing, she pressed her body into his, his hands went around her waist, her arms reached up and encircled his neck.

"At the risk of spoiling the spontaneity," he told her breathlessly, "I'd like to pause to tell you that you are, without exception, the most desirable woman I've ever seen. I want you. I want you very much. Will you give yourself to me, Gail? Not because of the contract ... but because ...."

"Oh, Richard, of course!" She started running her fingers through the hair on the back of his head. "But ... at the risk of spoiling the spontaneity, I have to tell you that I don't know the first thing about doing this. Will your teach me?"

He gave her a long, deep, passionate kiss, holding her tightly, while she plastered her body against his. "You're doing expertly, so far, all on your own," he said softly, his lips still against hers.

She felt the belt of the bathrobe loosen, and then his insistent hands began tugging at the shoulders of the garment. Without relinquishing the kiss, she let her arms fall and the robe slip off onto the floor, before putting them back around his neck. His hands felt huge and hard and rough against her sides, grabbing handfuls of her ass, stroking her back, holding the back of her neck, feeling her hair, roaming freely all over her naked (oh, so naked!) body.

And, at last he had one of those huge, rough hands on her left breast, pressing into it, squeezing it, gently pinching her nipple with his thumb and forefinger. She opened her mouth wide to gasp into his kissing mouth, and was amazed to find his tongue entering, finding her tongue with his own, jousting with it, stroking it, entering her mouth farther and then retreating. When she tried to follow the intruder with her own tongue, he sucked on it. Her knees gave way, and she found herself comfortably protected from the laws of gravity by his petting, stroking left hand behind her and his clutching, kneading right hand on her breast. He was a puppeteer, manipulating her, and she was his plaything.

Suddenly, disappointingly, she found his hands missing from her body. She somehow got her feet beneath her, and while she didn't relinquish the kiss, she realized that he had done this so that he could remove his own clothes. Desperate, she tried to help, and immediately, there were four hands, jousting for control of the top button on his shirt, getting hopelessly tangled up. He moved his hands lower to start work on the next button at the same instant she did. He barked a laugh into her open, kissing mouth, and suddenly they were both laughing uncontrollably at each other and with each other. He sat heavily on the couch, and she knelt in front of him, taking off his shoes and socks, while he finally finished the buttons unopposed. Four hands were once again fighting for the honor of his belt buckle, but eventually, with much straining and giggling and thrusting of hips, he was as nude as she.

She stood, and he grabbed her around the waist; and with a laughing shriek, she found herself being lifted and spun over him, transitioning somehow seamlessly between the vertical and the horizontal, so that she was now lying down, trapped between the back of the couch and his muscular body, which was pressed against her entire length. He kissed her again, and she had to fight, momentarily, to maneuver her arms away from her pinned body and back to their natural place, around his neck. His left arm was tucked behind her neck, providing a loving pillow, and his right hand ... well his right hand just seemed to be everywhere! Touching and squeezing and pinching and petting and stroking and .... "Oooohhh!" she breathed into his mouth, her body arching up into that wonderful hand.

He lifted his face from hers and stared into her doe-like eyes. "You like?" he chided, doing the same thing that had elicited the verbal response.

"Oooohhh, Richard!" she gasped, her body once again straining upward, off of the surface of the couch. He stopped the prodding exploration of her incredibly moist pussy, and began tracing around it with light, tickling fingers. She took the reprieve to ask a question. "Richard ... did you MAKE me touch myself last night while I was in bed?"

He grinned broadly and gave her a kiss on the tip of her nose. "Did you enjoy it?" He stopped tickling and began his little "plunge and stroke" maneuver that she seemed to enjoy so much.

"Oooohhh! I ... Oh, gosh, Richard! ... Aaahhh!" He stopped again, petting more gently once more. She panted heavily for a few moments. "I ... I had never done that to myself before."

"Yes, I know."

She blushed. He knew more about her than she did herself, she thought. "I ... I LOVED it! But ... Oh, Richard! This is SO much better!"

The arm behind her neck was gone before she realized it, and while the exploring right hand continued its assault on her sopping cunt, she was amazed at the feel of his sucking lips on her left breast. He would slurp almost half the tender flesh of her pliable orb into his greedy mouth, and then slowly let it slip out until only the long, rubbery nipple was trapped between his gently biting teeth. He'd hold it there, flicking it with his tongue, marveling at the odd mixture of sounds she was creating without conscious thought.

The last of those sounds (at least the ones created by the nipple manipulation) was a loud groan of disappointment as he stopped doing it, and she simply lay there, panting uncontrollably, not thinking about what he was doing at all, until his tongue suddenly slid along her swollen clitoris.

And she exploded. Her body arched up, so that her head was touching the couch, but little else of her. The fingers of both hands were laced in his hair, and both of her legs had somehow found their way to his back, her knees on either side on his head. The muscles of her stomach were clenching rhythmically, as was her entire pussy. Slowly, she came to realize that the screams were coming from her own lips. But now, he had finally stopped his licking invasion of her soul, and her shrieks became heaving whimpers. Her lungs demanded more air than she was able to provide them, and bright little lights swirled before her eyes. She let her body gently lie back again, limp, useless.

He crawled back up her thin frame, crushing it beneath his, until his face was even with hers again. He kissed her briefly, because she still had to gasp for a little longer, but then he kissed her again, more strongly, and yet again. Something very hard was pressing against the base of her tummy, and she smiled, knowing what it was. She licked her lips after his final kiss.

"Is that what I taste like?" she whispered.

"Heavenly, isn't it?" he replied. "Would you like to rest awhile?"

"Oh no!" she declared, and tried to rise. His body had her completely trapped. "There's something you have that I think deserves study," she continued. She tried again to sit and then laughed. "Let me up, you big oaf!" She pounded her small fists ineffectually against his massive shoulders.

Laughing himself, he sat up, his feet on the floor. She paused to kiss him again, and then fell on her knees in front of him, pushing his legs apart, taking his stiff cock in her hands, fondling it.

"I suppose this explodes the myth about black men," he told her, watching her.

But she never took her eyes off his stiff member. She seemed mesmerized by it. "Myth?"

"About size," he said, gently.

"Size?" she asked, dazed. She stroked it, petted it. Without thinking, she licked her lips. Her eyes never left it.

"I'm not that big," he told her, exasperated.

She glanced up at his face for an instant. But only an instant. "Richard, you've got to be kidding me! It's HUGE!" She stared at it again, stroked it again, then scooped up his balls into her hand and gently squeezed them.

He threw back his head and groaned loudly. But he wouldn't let the subject go. "They DO come in a larger size," he told her.

She laughed at that. "For God's sake, WHY?"

And that made him laugh, too. But it was short-lived mirth, as her mouth was suddenly filled with his throbbing cock, and she sucked it, let it go, licked, sucked it in again; and then she sat back on her heels, licking her lips, and looking up at his face quizzically. He was breathing too hard to ask her what was wrong. And again her mouth had sucked him in, slurping, lathing her tongue around it, sucking some more.