“What?” I ask eagerly. He’s showered me with gifts over the past two days, most of which are to help me adjust to this new lifestyle. I hope it’s what I need, and I’m willing to put my trust in Rafe. Other than the 'embarrassments' he's made me go through, like going around the house naked all last night and this morning, or kneeling next to his chair to serve him glasses of tea as we watched a DVD of Andromeda together, he's been kind. Each demand he makes is with a clear purpose in mind.
He's taken me five times, and I expect that he'll do it again tonight when we get ready for bed. He's been rough, he's been tender, he's been dominating, he's . . .
“Angel!” Master says, and I realize I've been gathering wool. I snap my eyes over, chagrined.
“Sorry. I was thinking about how dramatic this weekend has been.”
“And it will nearly culminate here,” he says, his eyes firm but tender. “Look.”
I look and see the sign on the place we're parked in front of. “Golden Bear Tattoo and Jewelry?”
“Exactly. They have just what we need,” he says, coming around to let me out. We go inside, where instead of the buzzing, rock and roll blaring place I expected, I find myself in what looks like a high class beauty salon. The staff person behind the counter is even wearing a three-piece suit.
“Hello, welcome to Golden Bear. How can we help you?” the man says, looking us over. “Hmmm . . . looking for a tatt?”
“We're your five o'clock appointment,” Rafe explains, and the man grins broadly.
“Wonderful! Well, first, lets get you set up, and then we can bring in the collars,” the staffer says, leading us into the back. I follow Master, where a chair that looks like something from the dentist's is set up next to one of those massage chairs where you lean into the donut shaped facial pad. “Well then, what are we looking for today?”
“Speed is essential. I'm willing to pay for two artists,” Rafe says, taking a picture out of his pocket. When I look, he gives me a small smirk. “I drew this while you were trying on the things at the boutique.”
I blush, remembering how sexy I felt putting on the lingerie, but I'm floored when he shows the piece of paper to the staffer. “Can your artists make this stretch over her back?”
It's beautiful—twin wings that are pure and angelic, feathery and detailed, not identical to each other but instead looking like they're about to burst out, unfurling off my back to carry me away. “Beautiful . . .”
“These will go from her neck to her waist. I want it to stop at the exact planar line of her shoulders,” Master says, running his hand over my back. “And while they do this, we'll select the collar.”
The staffer nods, then looks at me. He’s probably dealt with this sort of situation before, considering how relaxed he is, but he’s still checking that this is my wish too. “Young lady?”
I look at Rafe, tears in my eyes, and the man’s ready to stop when I grab Rafe and kiss him, my tongue entwining with his as he pulls me to him tenderly, smiling when we have to part to breathe again. “I can’t wait.”
“Now no matter what, you'll have two things to remind yourself of who you are, who you can be, and who you belong to,” Master says, stroking my face. “And when you're ready, we'll come back again.”
“For what?” I ask, and Rafe takes my hand and puts it over his heart, where I know his tattoo is. “You?”
“When you’re ready for that,” he says. “Are you ready for this?”
I nod, taking off my t-shirt and bra, not even embarrassed as I sit down in the chair, almost refusing the hospital gown-like top until the man explains that it's for sanitary purposes as much as my coverage. The two artists come in, and for the next five hours, I sit as still as a stone as the two artists work their magic. The feel of the needles buzzing along my skin is both painful and exhilarating, my arousal growing with each inch of ink that's being etched into my body.
About halfway through, one of the artists speaks up. “You know, with the tone of your skin and the way your back is shaped, this could be epic with just the black line work. What do you guys think?”
“It's up to you,” I reply, looking up at Rafe.
“Let's keep it at the black lines, and we can fill in later if you want,” he says, coming over and kneeling down in front of me so that I can see him. “How're you doing?”
The guns start up again, and I have to bite my lip. I look at him and mouth the words inside me. I want you. Bad.
“Not too much longer,” he reassures me. “For now, let's pick out your new collar.”
In the end, we select a choker that's made of carbon fiber mesh and embedded with gold and silver threads that interweave in the design, both high-tech and classy, something that I can wear every day and fits with all parts of our lives. The feeling of Master putting it around my neck is highlighted even more when he selects a small golden lock and closes it over the catch, making it impossible for me to remove the collar without his permission. It's midnight before the artists finish up, applying an antibiotic ointment to my skin before putting gauze over it. “You won't be able to wear an open back shirt for a few days—oh, and no bra,” the lead artist says as he helps me on with my shirt, “but don't rush it. Take your time to let this heal and you'll be a lot happier. Nothing screws up a new tattoo more than someone rushing, leaving off the antibiotic ointment because they want to look cute, and they catch themselves a skin infection.”
“Don't worry, she'll be well taken care of,” Rafe says, shaking hands with both of the artists. “You men did excellent work. I'll make sure to request you when I come in for mine.”
It's difficult sitting up with my back not touching the seat of the Jag the whole ride home, but that's okay. I'm earning my wings. When we get home, Rafe helps me inside before he kisses me tenderly, brushing my hair out of my face. “You were amazing today.”
“You help me feel like I can fly,” I reply, cupping his face. “I know they said I can't be on my back, but . . . well, I kind of want to be right now.”
He chuckles, picking me up in his arms, his hands under my hips and carrying me like a feather toward the bedroom. “I have an idea I think you’re going to like.”
Reaching the bedroom, Rafe helps me off with my clothes before having me kneel on the edge of the bed wearing a blindfold. I'm prepared for his cock. My pussy's been dripping wet for what feels like hours, but instead, I hear a chair scrape up behind me, and then the warm caress of his breath on my pussy lips. “Oh, my . . .”
“Shh . . .” Rafe says, his voice warm and tender. “You earned this reward, Angel.”
His tongue touches my lips and I clutch the bedspread, swept away as he licks and nibbles at my pussy lips, his tongue fluttering over my clit before dipping deep inside me. I push back and he presses deeper. “Ahh . . . Master!”
He mumbles something against my pussy lips, the warm pleasure washing through me and leaving me boneless. My body wants more, but my brain is telling me it's nearly two in the morning, and I'm unable to do more than push back, insensible as Rafe’s tongue licks and nibbles at my sopping wet pussy.
Faster and faster he goes before he starts sucking on my clit, my feet drumming on the bedspread until I'm coming, my voice harsh with the cry of my release before I sag onto the bed, sleep chasing me into the blackness. Still, with the last dregs of my consciousness, I feel Rafe climb onto the bed beside me, helping me stretch out before he covers me with the sheet. “Good night, my beautiful Angel. Tomorrow, we'll face the day together.”
Chapter 22
The Counselor
As George Takei would say, oh my.
What?
Well, let's see. You’ve got a bounce in your step, and for the first time since we started seeing each other, you're wearing a tank top. And that ink is absolutely amazing. No wonder you were in a high-necked shirt last week. I was worried when you told me a little of this evolution of your relationship, but seeing the results . . . I’m liking it.
It's
amazing, isn't it? And with M . . . sorry, I know you wanted to talk about that later, but this week was even better than last weekend.
Okay, well, tell me about it.
Every day, he’s done something to train me. Not all of it is sexual. Like every day, when he goes to do his lunchtime workout, he’s had me go with him. And I feel more . . . well, I’m starting to feel happy.
You don’t know how much I’ve wanted to hear you say that. But I have one concern—this new . . . lifestyle, is it permanent?
He’s challenging me to be stronger, even if I am serving him. So if I ever choose to go on my own, I’ll be able to stand on my own. I serve my Master because I choose to.
So he’s not crippling you? I like the change, but I don’t want you to move too fast. Take it slow.
Far from it. I mean . . . every touch, every movement, even every word is filled with tenderness, respect and a desire to make me a better woman. It’s why he’s waiting outside.
That’s good to see. Okay, one more note before I drop the relationship issue between you and Rafe. You calling him Master—you know a lot of people might find problems with that in public.
We do. And it was my choice first as to the word. That came out of my mouth without him mentioning it. But we don’t really care what people think. We’re not going to go around with him leading me on a leash in public or anything. I realize there’s a time and place, and we’ll be mindful of it.
We discussed it and set the ground rules right at the start. Not just about this either, but the fact that we’re also Professor and student, boss and subordinate.
That’s a good sign for the start of any relationship, regardless of what the couple wants to be. How are your classes and your lab work?
Nothing but positive. If there’s been any drawback at all, it’s that I’m constantly running out of time.
Is Rafe demanding that much of you?
No. Everything is just so new, and there’s a lot of intimacy. Like this morning, I barely got to class on time because we were having sex in the shower.
Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our rehabilitation.
That one was terrible, even for you.
When I get worried, I get punny and ironic. It's a failing of mine. I'll do my best to limit myself. So you might need to work on your time management. Or your sex drive.
Sex overdrive, you mean. And that part’s good. I’m getting worried too, but for other reasons. I’m having emotions about Rafe. Ones I’m not prepared to talk about right now.
Of course. Speaking of emotional subjects, how is your godson?
Shawn? He's adorable. I can’t wait to see him in person.
Thanks for coming in. Sorry it took a little longer, but I wanted to end things with Shawnie on a high note, and getting her to talk about her friend Abby is always a good way to let her smile.
I don’t have a problem with it. I’m glad that you’ve tried so hard to help Shawnie over the past year.
So . . . angel wings?
They’re what I want her to remember at all times. She has the inner ability to soar above everyone, to be the woman that I know she can be. So she’s an angel in my eyes, and an angel she can show the whole world.
You know, speaking of showing the whole world, you’re not exactly a person who’s shown the whole world a lot about yourself.
You’ve been poking into my past.
I have. Does that upset you?
Counselor, I don’t want to talk about me, so all I’m going to say is that my past does affect my relationship with Shawnie in that it gives me motivation to want and see her become healed and to exorcise the demon from her.
Exorcism?
Not literally, just a choice of word. We both know what the demon is. It’s her guilt over what happened in Georgia, combined with an inner nature that was suppressed for far too long. She’s a natural submissive. She just never met the right man. Does that shock you when I say that?
No. I came to the same conclusion, but I haven’t told Shawnie because I want her to reach that conclusion herself.
So do I. I’m surprised that you understand her submissiveness so easily though.
I’m a qualified counselor on sexual trauma. While Shawnie’s shocked me a few times with the depths of her troubles, that doesn’t mean I don’t understand the psychology behind it. Some of the strongest people in the world are natural submissives.
Exactly. So all I’m trying to do is let her understand that there’s nothing wrong with being a woman who enjoys sex or her submissiveness.
You make it sound so easy.
I have the advantage of being able to tie her up and satisfy that side of her.
Touché. If I can ask, though, what happens when Shawnie achieves her inner peace? Are you going to let her go?
Shawnie will always have the choice to stay or go.
Will you ever get rid of her?
Never. All I can think of when I think of Shawnie is her happiness. If that means my not being her Master . . . well, it’d tear me apart and I’d probably be giving you a call, but I’d let her go.
Thank you. That reassures me. Well, I don’t want to keep you guys.
Thanks. And thank you for doing your best to help her, Counselor. If you want, give me a call any time so we can make sure we’re on the same page.
I will.
Chapter 23
Rafe
“So when you’re working with a static fixed beam model, you have to account for your wing geometry,” I say, looking out on the room full of undergrads, trying not to sigh. With Spring Break coming up next week, the ones that haven’t been lost in the dust a long time ago are now thinking about partying down in Baja or at least down in LA or San Diego.
“However,” I continue, trying to not just end the class and walk out, or maybe install one of the Disney talking animatronics up front instead, “for the purposes of this class, you can treat the wing like a solid object and the weight being evenly distributed. Just be aware that when you get to your post-grad courses, that won’t always be the case. Then again, you’re going to have simulators to help with the math then too, provided you do your initial setups correctly. Class dismissed.”
I wait for everyone to pile out before I gather my materials and head back to my office, pausing only to check on Melanie, who’s feeling a lot better since the whole Aaron incident finished and she’s back in the good graces of the administration. Sitting down at my desk, I pull my computer over and fire it up, wanting to get a bit of my own paperwork done before I meet Shawnie for our lunchtime workout.
There’s a knock at my door, and I look up to see the Dean. “Hey Dean, come on in. What can I do for you?”
His face is stormy, and as he comes in, he looks like his ulcer is flaring up again. “Rafe . . . oh, Rafe, why do you do this to me?”
“What are you talking about? I think I’ve kept myself pretty well out of your hair over the past few weeks since the whole thing with Mr. Watson wrapped up. Personally, I’m glad the kid’s staying in school.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” the Dean says. “Rafe, when were you going to tell me that you were having a relationship with a student?”
“Excuse me?” I reply, lifting an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you needed to know the details of my sex life.”
“Rafe, I’m being serious. The Board found this in their mail today, a memory stick and a note,” the Dean says, handing me his tablet. “I . . . they made me watch it.”
I open the video, anger starting to flare behind my eyes as I see a video feed of the Black Room at The Club. It’s highly edited, making it sound and look more like a cheap porn video than what actually happened, and the vocal tracks overlaid certainly aren’t our voices. But the faces and action are crystal clear.
With trembling fingers, I stop the video. “So? She’s not an undergrad any longer, so that’s not an issue. She’s not my TA either, and the project rules don’t prohibit it. So to me,
it looks like two consenting adults having sex. Doesn’t seem like a big issue to me.”
“No . . . but also on the DVD were pictures of the two of you in other compromising positions, including . . . for fuck’s sake, Rafe, did you have to put a collar on her to take her shopping?” the Dean asks. “You’re making life tough on me.”
I suppress my inner anger again, wondering just how the hell The Club got footage of us shopping, then deciding it doesn’t really matter. “Ask Shawnie, and she’ll tell you to your face that she enjoyed it. In fact, if you find her, she’s wearing a collar right now, a more discreet one since she’s around campus, but she wears it every day.”
The Dean sighs, shaking his head. “Rafe . . . listen, I’ve always known that you’re different. I mean that in a lot of ways, good and bad. But this, with the current environment on campus? I couldn’t cover for you this time.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, and the Dean reaches into his jacket pocket to take out an envelope. “Go ahead, read it to me. If you’re going to cut my head off, at least have the balls to do it face to face. I’m not going to do to you what I did to Aaron.”
“Actually, it’s not from me. It’s from the Board,” the Dean says. “They’re saying that due to the nature of what was shown to them, they’re opening an investigation. They say that due to certain actions, you may have called not only your own reputation but the reputation of the university into question.”
“Investigation?” I say with a laugh. “Sounds like a witch hunt. You know and I know that if they want to claim that I’m damaging Stanford’s reputation, there’s not a damn thing I can do to defend myself from it. I’m sure they can dig up enough people who’d get pissed off from those videos that they could make a case stick.”
“Of course they can. I can think of three-quarters of my church who’d shit themselves just over the first video,” the Dean says. “But Rafe, that brings us to a sticky point. You’ve got tenure. If you were an associate professor, I’d be bringing you your pink slip for the end of the term. But since you’re tenured, that takes a lot longer, and to be honest, it can ruin your reputation. The Board didn’t say it flat out—they can’t—but the deal is this. You resign, and they’ll sweep it all under the rug. Hell, they won’t even touch Shawnie. She’ll continue in the program on track to get her Masters, summa cum laude.”
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