Good Karma

by Donya Lynne

  He smiled and blinked his eyes open. “Soon enough.”

  “I can’t believe I just did that.” The smile was back in her voice.

  “Believe it. You’ve made quite a mess of me.” He glanced down at the glistening splatter on his stomach.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It was worth it.” He took another breath and blew it out as he reached for a Kleenex. “I’m glad I called.”

  She giggled. “Me, too.”

  He wiped himself down and tossed the tissue aside. “I want you to use that dildo every day, even if you don’t masturbate. Okay? You can even slip it in and leave it there while you watch TV or something, or as part of your Kegels. Do that for a few days, then switch to the next one.”

  “And you’ll help me?”

  “If you want me to, yes.” He would gladly assist. “You sounded like you were already doing a fine job on your own, though, but I can always offer my services, if necessary.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “I’d like that.” Mark pulled up his sweats, rolled off the bed, and started for the bathroom. “I’ll let you get to bed, but thank you for a lovely evening. It was…” He thought about all she had revealed earlier and how touched he’d been that she’d shared something so personal. Then he recalled standing behind her at the mirror, holding her from behind, staring at her beautiful reflection. “Enchanting.”

  “Enchanting. I like that.”

  “Me, too. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Good night,” she said. “Thanks for the call.”

  He smiled as he turned on the faucet. “Good night, Karma. Sleep well.”

  He hung up, set the phone down, cleaned up for bed, and then brushed his teeth. When he lifted his gaze to his reflection before shutting off the bathroom light, he was still smiling.

  Now, the evening was complete.

  Chapter 23

  In order to know virtue, we must first acquaint ourselves with vice.

  -Marquis de Sade

  For the next few days, Karma did as Mark told her. She stood in front of the mirror every morning and every night, staring at her naked reflection with a new sense of self-respect, telling herself she was beautiful. She and Mark talked or texted every night, and she graduated to the next size in her dildo kit. On Friday, they got together for dinner and what ended up being another intensely smoldering make-out session that ended with a lot of groping and forced abstinence on both their parts. At this rate, Karma wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold out. It was becoming clear that she and Mark had incredible chemistry and that when the time came, he would definitely deliver all he had promised and then some.

  One good thing came from their lusty Friday night, though. Mark gave her permission to start experimenting with her purple vibrator. So, after he left, she pulled it out of her panty drawer. It just made sense to store it near her underwear.

  The vibrator was a little bigger than dildo number two. The latex wasn’t as friendly to her womanly parts as the glass, but she finally reached success without too much discomfort after calling up the fantasy she’d had about Mark behind her at the mirror. That was all it took for Mr. Vibrator to do his magic.

  And damn! What magic! That little rabbit ear thing that vibrated over her clitoris? Holy wow! And the way the shaft rotated and hit her G-spot—yes, she was getting well-acquainted with the G—nearly blew off her toes. She came so hard and so fast that it was practically over before it began. So, she did it again. And then once more just because she wanted to.

  Exhausted and smiling, she fell asleep around midnight and was still smiling when she popped awake Saturday morning. She simply could not wipe the smile off her face. She was walking around in a state of perpetual arousal. What had Mark done to her? She was turning into a nymphomaniac.

  Karma was still smiling as she returned home from her nine o’clock Pilates class when her phone rang. She set down her bag and glanced at the ID.

  Mark. He had driven back to Chicago this morning for Mother’s Day weekend.

  “Good morning,” she said.

  “Good morning. You sound cheerful. Sleep well?”

  “Very well. You?” She practically skipped to the kitchen.

  “Mmm.” He chuckled, but it was the quiet laugh of naughty things remembered. “Eventually, yes.”

  A grin broke over her mouth. “What exactly are you saying?” She opened the refrigerator.

  He laughed again. “Let’s just say I’m very happy this morning.”

  Her hand stopped halfway to the cup of yogurt she was about to fish from the fridge. “Mark!”

  “What? I’m a mature, warm-blooded man.”

  More like hot-blooded.

  “Did you…? After you left my…?” Complete sentences seemed in short supply all of a sudden. But why was she so surprised? Hadn’t she done the same thing? Three times, in fact?

  “Yes I… And yes, after I left your…”

  She giggled at the way he mocked her. “Stop it.”

  “You’re so cute when you’re flustered.”

  “I’m glad you’re amused.” She grabbed her blueberry Yoplait and shut the fridge.

  “I’m glad you amuse me. But, yes, I did take certain liberties with myself upon returning to my place last night. Are you really so surprised? We have been getting quite familiar with one another—and after what we did on the phone earlier in the week, is it so hard to believe I do that sort of thing when I’m alone? And, I might add, there was no way I was going to get any sleep whatsoever if I didn’t relieve some pressure.”

  The man just couldn’t come right out and say “I masturbated.” He had to make even that simple, seemingly perverse act sound perfectly normal and justified…and artistic.

  “What about you?” he said. “Did you…? After I left your…?”

  What an incorrigible man. But to be mocked by Mark—so playfully and personally—was very all right. He gave good mocking. Not like Johnny’s. Her brother’s brand of mocking was another beast. One that should be shot, killed, and dismembered. Mark’s mocking should get its ears scratched and a reward. Maybe she would give it a treat next time she saw him.

  She pulled a spoon from her utensil drawer. “I’m a good student, Mr. Strong.”

  “And…?”

  She pulled the foil lid off her yogurt. “And…that means I do as my teacher tells me.” By now, they’d joked about being teacher and student so much that the nicknames had become terms of endearment.

  “Okay. So…?”

  She giggled and took a bite of yogurt. “Let’s just say you’ve got your work cut out for you. Hank is very good in bed.” Calling it Mr. Vibrator just felt strange. Giving it a name was much better.

  “Hank?”

  She laughed. “That’s what I named him.”

  “Good God, why?”

  “Because…I don’t know. It’s just easy. And Mark was already taken.”

  They laughed together.

  A moment later, Mark continued, “And you’re calling it a him?”

  “Oh yes, after what we did last night, he is most definitely a he and not an it.”

  More laughter. Three weeks ago, she would never have had this conversation. But despite the fact that she still got shy enough around Mark in person that she couldn’t fully relax, she was getting way more comfortable talking to him on the phone about subjects that, at one time, would have gotten stuck in her throat. Something about the fact that he couldn’t see her face made her bolder, and she said things during their long-distance conversations and texts she probably would have choked on in person.

  “So, I take it you completed your homework assignment?”

  “Yes. And I went for extra credit, too,” she said proudly.

  “Really now?” He suddenly sounded a bit more intrigued.

  “Mm-hm.” She sucked another portion of yogurt off her spoon.

  “And just how much extra credit did you go for?”

  She tri
ed and failed to hold back a giggle. “Ummm…”

  “Karma?” His voice held a warning, and she imagined he had one brow arched and a playful smirk on his face. “Do I have to confiscate Hank?”

  She laughed again. “Don’t you dare!”

  He sighed. “I’ve created a monster.”

  “A more liberated monster,” she corrected.

  “Mmm, I guess I can live with that. But don’t get too used to…Hank.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Have I mentioned that I have an ego?”

  She bit her bottom lip. “I think you did mention that once or twice.”

  “Okay. Well, I refuse to let a power tool perform better than I do. So, you have your fun with Hank while you can, because when I get hold of you, you’ll wonder what you ever saw in him.”

  “Those are mighty strong words, Mr. Strong. Some would say fightin’ words.”

  “Damn straight. I do like a challenge. And you’ve just given me one. Another one.”

  “Another one?”

  “Yes. Another one.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He chuffed softly. “My dear Karma, if you only knew just how upside down you’ve turned my world. You’ve been nothing but challenges and surprises—pleasant ones, I might add—since the moment I met you. One long, complex, and unbelievably irresistible list of challenges and surprises.” He paused. “And I am absolutely drawn in. Hook, line, and sinker. You have my attention, Karma. All of it. And I do not intend to disappoint.”

  Her spoon hung like an abandoned thought over her yogurt cup.

  After a moment’s silence, Mark said, “You remember that next time you and Hank spend time together.” She heard the smile in his voice. He knew he had just blown her mind. Again. “I’ll let you go. See you Monday, Miss Mason. Enjoy your weekend.”

  Before she could say another word, Mark ended the call, but not before she heard him chuckle.

  Oh, he was bad. So very bad...but so very good.

  Was it Monday, yet?

  Chapter 24

  I am trying to find myself. Sometimes that’s not easy.

  -Marilyn Monroe

  “I am beautiful.”

  Dressed in underwear and a T-shirt, Karma stared at herself in the mirror as she repeated the affirmation, just as she had yesterday morning before Pilates, and just as she would tomorrow before work, and the next day, and the next, just as Mark had told her to do.

  She had heard Daniel discuss the concept of mind over matter before. Of repeating affirmations to change your mind-set in a karmic practice of putting out good energy to receive good energy back, but she had never tried it. She didn’t know why, though. Maybe she had become complacent. People had a way of becoming complacent and accepting the status quo instead of searching for ways to change and improve.

  Karma didn’t want to be part of the status quo, anymore. Complacency would no longer do. Not now that she had met Mark and he had opened a whole new world of possibilities.

  If she was being honest, though, the change had begun before she met Mark, even before she put on that red dress and envisioned herself inside a fantasy where she could be anyone she wanted. Her transformation had begun her freshman year of college, when she had abandoned her father’s dream to become an engineer and embraced her own desire to become a writer. It had only been a baby step at the time, and one she hadn’t recognized until recently as being the real her trying to break free. That one small change had been her first effort to discover her true self.

  In hindsight, she realized she had always done what everyone else had expected. She had studied academics in school even though she wanted to pursue more artistic endeavors. Dad had compromised and allowed her to take piano lessons when she was a kid, and she later taught herself how to play guitar, but her class schedule had been packed with math and science. If not for English, homework would have been a drag. At least she had managed to convince her parents to let her join the basketball and cross-country teams in high school. Back then, she had loved distance running.

  She hadn’t run in years. Not since sophomore year in college. She missed it. For her, running had been almost meditative. Maybe she would go for a short run later in the day. Perhaps start training for a 5k. The thought was surprisingly empowering.

  In the mirror, her gaze dropped to her chest. Mark had called her breasts perfect.

  “I am beautiful.” She smiled at her reflection, believing the words. Mark had made her feel beautiful.

  She pulled off her T-shirt. Were they perfect? Instead of seeing the definition of small in her reflection, was she really seeing the definition of perfection?

  Gentle swells pushed upward from the confines of her bra. Her skin was smooth and flawless, and for the first time, she looked—really looked—at her breasts. Always before, she had averted her gaze, too insecure to face the perceived flatness.

  But her breasts weren’t flat. She did have hills on her chest instead of valleys. Screw those stupid kids who had bullied her.

  Taking a deep breath, she reached around and unclasped her bra. She held it in place for a moment, and then, with eyes closed, she let it drop to the floor. Slowly, as if unwrapping a gift, she opened her eyes again.

  “I am beautiful.” Her words were a mere whisper now, but a feeling comprised of equal parts relief, happiness, and revelation hugged her heart.

  Her pale nipples puckered against the air, forming tiny round nubs the size of baby peas. She had small, pert nipples that capped smaller-than-average breasts. But her breasts weren’t flat, and they weren’t ugly. In fact, now that she was giving them a hard look, they looked perfectly proportioned to her body. She was naturally lean, like her father, with hips that looked more athletic than curvy. When she turned to the side, her bottom curved in a way that balanced perfectly with the small stature of her breasts. She was no Jennifer Lopez, but her bottom was…well…nice.

  Hmm. How about that? Amazing what an objective assessment—and one very hot man—could do to change how she viewed her body.

  “I am beautiful.”

  It would take time for her to fully adjust her perspective, but this felt like another breakthrough moment, similar to the one she had experienced when she made the decision, despite her dad’s protests, to change majors. She had felt such a burden lift off her soul that day, just as she felt one lifting now. For the first time, she saw herself the way Mark saw her.

  Screw her stupid brother and his wife, Estelle. Screw Jolene, too. Screw all her stupid childhood classmates.

  The past was the past, and she was moving forward.

  She retrieved her bra from the floor and put it back on. As she pulled her T-shirt over her head, she crossed the room and sat on the bed. The case that contained the pair of black Ben Wa balls sat on her bedside table. So far, she’d done her Kegels without them. For some reason, the idea of putting them in her vagina had intimidated her. Well, no more of that. She was a grown woman, for crying out loud, not a baby. It was time to grow a pair and woman-up.

  She took the balls out and rolled them in her palm. They were heavier than they looked, but not too heavy.

  She lay upon the bed, lifted the waistbands of her shorts and panties, and then slid the first ball around until she found her entrance. Before Mark had taught her about her G-spot, she hadn’t been accustomed to putting her fingers inside herself, so it took a while to get the ball in place, and then, just like that, it slipped inside.

  She actually gasped. Hooray! Success.

  In went the second, more easily than the first.

  Recoiling into the mattress and squeezing her eyes shut, she slowly poked her finger more deeply and pushed the balls in as the instructions said to.

  She withdrew her finger and took a deep breath. She’d done it. She’d accomplished another first. Then she did her Kegels before taking care of her housework. Dishes, laundry, vacuuming. Mark had said she could leave the balls in for a while, which would help strengthen her inner mu
scles, so she didn’t take them out.

  As she worked, she worried the balls would slide out on their own, but despite a slight heaviness, she hardly felt them as she went about her business. After a while, she didn’t feel them at all. She finished the laundry, cleaned the kitchen, made a pot of chili, and read more from the books Mark had given her. She was learning so much, such as how to give a whole variety of hand jobs and the joys of anal sex. Yeah, anal wasn’t something she would try any time soon.

  By the time she finished the books, she would know enough to be truly dangerous in the bedroom. But reading and doing were two different things, and while all her new knowledge sounded great in print, when it came to the rubber meeting the road, would she be able to perform?

  At nine o’clock, she figured it was time for the Ben Wa balls to come out before she got ready for bed.

  She went to her bedroom, put on a pale blue, oversized nightshirt, and lay down.

  The instructions had said she could maneuver them out with her fingers or stand up, crouch, and cough. The idea of doing a crouch and cough reminded her of a man’s prostate exam, so she opted for getting squeamish with her finger instead.

  Deep breath. Insert finger. Dig a little. Ah! There was ball one. After a couple of tries, she hooked her finger around it and pulled it out. Nothing to it. Now for round two. In she went. Where was it? The tip of her finger grazed it. Gotcha. Oops, no. Slippery little sucker. Visions of Julia Roberts shooting a snail across the restaurant in Pretty Woman made her smile. Okay, try again. Oops. Slipped away again. This wasn’t funny, anymore. Come here you little bastard.

  After five minutes, panic began to set in. She couldn’t get ball number two to cooperate. Another five minutes later, and she was crouching and coughing as if she had pneumonia, but still no ball. Number two wasn’t budging.

  What if the ball got inside her uterus? Could that happen? What if she couldn’t get it out? Would she need surgery? Oh God! How embarrassing would that be?

  She rushed to her laptop and pulled up everything she could find about Ben Wa balls, how to get them out, and whether or not they were safe for prolonged use.