by Denise Avery
FOR HIS NEEDS:
Love And Submission Series #1
By
Denise Avery
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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PUBLISHED BY:
Red Garnet Media LLC on Smashwords
For His Needs: Love And Submission Series #1
Copyright © 2013 by Denise Avery
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Adult Reading Material
The material in this document contains explicit sexual content that is intended for mature audiences only and is inappropriate for readers under 18 years of age.
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FOR HIS NEEDS:
Love And Submission Series #1
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“One... Two... Three...”
“Savannah, cut it out.”
“Four... Five... This is absolutely ridiculous.”
“Just give it up. Everyone gets it. You’re hilarious. Enough!”
“Come on, Claire. Don’t be such a spoil sport. Where’s your school spirit?”
Claire Baxter rolled her eyes and took another sip of her iced coffee. She and her best friend Savannah Pearson were sitting outside their favorite on-campus coffee shop, as they tended to do most mornings when they had class. Well, when Claire had class, that was. Savannah wasn’t exactly the academic type. This was why, instead of attending her 8:00 am Representations of Women lecture, she had decided instead to camp out with a gigantic latte and play Spot the Hipster—her favorite extracurricular activity. Seeing as she and Claire attended a rather prestigious art school in New York City, there were plenty of hipsters to be spotted.
“It’s like shooting fish in a barrel,” Savannah said, scowling as a girl walked by them in an over-sized tee-shirt featuring a sequined owl, ratty high-waisted shorts, and the ubiquitous Doc Martens.
“Why do you care?” Claire asked, shaking her head at Savannah’s past time. “They’re not hurting you, are they?”
“Only my eyes,” Savannah responded, chuckling under her breath.
“You’re not exactly a conservative dresser yourself, you know,” Claire chided, giving Savannah a pointed once-over. Savannah glanced down at her attire, she couldn't see what the problem was. School had just started up again, which made this the fall of the girls’ senior year at college. Savannah was dressed in a thin cotton crop-top and low-rise hot shorts. Her straight black hair cascaded over her pale shoulders down to her waist. Though she had a pair of dirty Chuck Taylors in her bag, Savannah had abandoned them for the moment, preferring to be bare foot as much as possible. She smiled, enjoying Claire’s prudish attention.
“I’m just trying to use as little material as possible when it comes to my personal effects,” Savannah grinned, “We’re in the middle of an energy crisis, you know.”
Claire sighed, but didn’t say a word. There was no arguing with Savannah, and there never had been. Claire and Savannah had been best friends quite literally for their entire lives. Not only had they come to college together, they’d also spent their high school, elementary school, and diaper days as practically sisters. Even before the girls had been born, their mothers had lived next-door to each other and spent their pregnancies sipping herbal tea and running through baby name books together.
Savannah and Claire were perfect opposites, which made them the ideal set of best friends. Their mothers had joked about naming them Betty and Veronica, because of their looks. Claire was tall, curvy, and blonde. She’d be an absolute bombshell if she wasn’t so modest about flaunting her stuff. Savannah, on the other hand, was a slip of a girl who didn’t even clear five feet. She’d been scrawny and squeaky as a kid, never the type to be called “pretty”. All that had changed when she’d reached the ripe age of twelve and transformed into an irresistible nymphette.
Any jokes about mousiness, or teasing about being so skinny, had evaporated once Savannah’s natural sex appeal began to shine through. Soon, it wasn’t just little boys who were mesmerized by her, it was older boys. Even grown men stopped to stare at the little vixen making her way through the park or shopping mall. There was a raw, sensual quality about Savannah that one could see coming from a mile away. And even though Savannah was perfectly aware of this, she had been humbled by her early years as a runt. She wasn’t one of those girls who had come out of the womb with a beauty pageant crown glued to her head. She’d had to cultivate a sense of humor and a sharp wit as a kid in order to be extraordinary. The fact that she wasn’t just a pretty face endeared her even more to her admirers, of which there were many.
“Hey, ‘Vannah!” a voice called from across the city street. Savannah looked up and, seeing who had summoned her, let out an audible groan. It was some goon from her morning class, all dressed up in his undergraduate uniform of a hoodie and blue jeans. Every once in a while, one of these bland, dime a dozen college boys would come to the false conclusion that Savannah might ever be interested in him. Not a one had ever been correct in this assumption, obviously. Still, they kept trying, like sailors dashing themselves against the cliffs in pursuit of the sirens’ song. And this particular chap was no different. He made his way across the street, nearly getting hit by a city bus en route, and came up to the table where Claire and Savannah were sitting.
“What is it,” Savannah drawled, not bothering to utter the phrase as a question.
“Just wanted to come say hi!” the boy said, beaming down at Savannah with puppy dog adoration. “You weren’t in class this morning!”
“Why would I be in class this morning, Jeremy?” Savannah asked.
“Why...? I mean... Cause we’re in school?” Jeremy said, a bit bemused. Savannah sighed theatrically and lowered the heart-shaped sunglasses from her face. She fixed a withering stare on the boy, which prompted Claire to avert her eyes in preemptive sympathy.
“Here’s the thing, Jere,” Savannah began, as if speaking to a particularly slow five-year-old, “The only reason I deigned to attend this circus of a university was because they gave me a whole lot of money to live in the city for a few years and pretend to give a shit about their courses. You know, or at least you should, that not one of these classroom suck-fests requires even more than a smidge of common sense to ace. Why, then, would I waste my time attending a class called Representations of Women when the only people offering opinions in said class are pre-sexual morons like you who have never met, and certainly never been with, a woman of real quality?”
A heavy dome of silence fell over the three students as Savannah wrapped up her tirade. Jeremy stared at her, slack jawed. Claire cleared her throat and offered him a pitying smile.
“You can go now,” Claire prompted, “It’s over.”
The shellshocked boy turned on his heel and hurried away, demolished by Savannah’s tongue lashing. Claire shook her head, not at all surprised by Savannah’s antics.
“What?” Savannah demanded, “He called me ‘Vannah’, for God’s sake.”
“Still,” Claire said, “I wish you wouldn’t go for the weak ones. It’s like those animal planet videos where the alligator pops out of the water and swallows up the smallest antelope.”
Savannah snapped her jaws playfully in response. Claire couldn’t help but giggle at her best friend’s antics. However extreme or audacious Savannah could sometimes be, she was an extraordinary girl, and Claire felt lucky to have her.
“What does the rest of the day look like for you?” Savannah asked Claire
, as they gathered their belongings.
“Let’s see,” Claire said, “I’ve got back-to-back classes until three, then I have to meet with my advisor to talk about dropping that double major in Polynesian Studies, then back to the studio for my independent study, then I have to race across to town to get to work at Andy’s Cafe.”
“I thought you were still working at that kids store?”
“I am. I do both.”
“I’m telling you, Claire. You put yourself through way too much shit. How do you have time to have any fun at all?”
“I have plenty of fun when I’m not working! Or in class...” Claire said unconvincingly. “Besides, me and Tommy have plenty of fun when—”
“Ugh!” Savannah cried, holding up her hands to keep Claire from going on, “If you love me at all, you will not start talking about your heinous boyfriend again! I makes me too sad to think about it for more than a second. I don’t understand, Claire. You’ve got the whole Marilyn Monroe thing going on, and you continue to slum it with that loser?”
“Well, Savannah, not everyone is quite as confident as you.”
“It’s not just about confidence,” Savannah said, “It’s ignoring the things and people who tell you that you can’t have what you want. Now, maybe this is what you want. You know, a billion classes, three jobs, a shitty boyfriend, a shittier apartment... But I’m guessing that if you were honest with yourself, your ideal situation would look a little different than it does now.”
“...Maybe,” Claire allowed, looking sullen.
“‘Maybe’? Well. It’s a start,” Savannah said. “I’ve got to run, my sweet. I have a meeting with professor Donnelly.”
“Isn’t that the professor whose class you just skipped?”
“Yeah. I prefer to catch him during office hours. I need personal attention.”
“Oh, Savannah.”
“See you later, love!” Savannah called, sauntering down the street away from Claire. She could feel the eyes of passing strangers linger a tad too long on her bare midriff, her smooth and firm legs, the luscious little swell of her tight ass. As used as she was to perpetual attention, Savannah never felt overwhelmed. She knew that the world looked kindly upon her for the most part, and recognized that people developed certain opinions about her from the way she looked. She knew that most men and quite a few women wanted to fuck her, she knew that those who didn’t want to fuck her would often dismiss her as an air-headed slut.
Miraculously, Savannah managed not to let either camp change the way she thought about herself. All she knew was that the things she wanted could all be within her reach if she used her gifts to her advantage. She didn’t take advantage of the fact that she was a stunning specimen of humanity; she merely used the tools that were available to her. Nothing at all to be sorry for, there!
She finally arrived at her location, the arts and sciences building at the heart of campus. Savannah attended class so seldom that she sometimes had trouble finding her way around campus, even after four years as a student there. Still, this building had lately become one of her favorite places to visit. And it had nothing to do with her major, that was for sure.
Savannah strode past the security guard, flipping her student ID past his glazed-over eyes. She could still feel his eyes on her modest but pert chest as the elevator doors slid closed. The lift was rather crammed at this time of day, and she found herself pressed against a rather dour-looking female professor. The woman must have been in her late fifties, and sported an ill-fitting pantsuit and what appeared to be a Bumpit in her wiry red hair.
The older lady stared down her nose at Savannah, who at four eleven was not exactly towering over anyone. Savannah caught her disapproving eye and grinned. Lowering her lids, Savannah ran her tongue over her full, pink lips, never for a moment breaking eye contact with the professor. The woman blushed brilliantly and sputtered incoherently for a moment before the doors slid open to Savannah’s floor. The girl curtsied prettily and elbowed the woman out of her way. While it may have been true that people’s poor opinions of her didn’t bother Savannah in a long-term sort of way, she had no problem giving finger-waggers a bit of a once over when they darkened her day.
All things considered, Savannah was a pretty happy person. Sure, she had her ups and downs like anyone else, but ultimately, things seemed to roll off her back. Technically, she had come to school to study creative writing and studio art, having been talented at both growing up. She knew full well that neither of these concentrations necessarily led to a life of glitz and glamour, that it was very unlikely that she’d end up being able to make a living with her creativity alone. But the thing was, Savannah had never intended to make money with her art in the first place. If she painted a canvas or penned a story, it wasn’t for the sake of cashing in on it later. Rather, creativity had its place, and that place was far away from enterprise. Savannah didn’t know exactly how she might make a living in the long run, but for the moment she was doing just fine.
Her parents were certainly no help at all. Savannah’s mother, Caroline was the quintessential flower child. Born in the sixties, it was as though something had been in the water at the time of her birth that made Caroline a life-long believer in free love, herbal remedies, and organic vegetables. Caroline had had all sorts of jobs when Savannah was a girl, from doula to independent pot brownie distributor. These days, she taught yoga at the YMCA and brewed her own kombucha.
Savannah’s father had split when she was four or so. He’d had a gambling problem and Caroline hadn’t wanted to risk the college fund. They parted ways, and now Savannah received post cards from various western cities with her father’s hasty John Hancock and a canned greeting. Sometimes, he asked Savannah to send a few twenties his way, and sometimes she even obliged. As far as Savannah could tell, this was the way the world worked. Eventually, men proved too weak to be depended upon, so it was a good idea as a woman to figure out how to get by without them. There was surely no harm in male companionship once in a while, but overall a woman had to learn to make it on her own.
This mantra of sorts was hanging firm in the back of Savannah’s mind as she pushed open the door to professor Donnelly’s office.
“Hello, Professor,” she chirped, closing the door firmly behind her. “How was school?” Professor Donnelly looked up from the stack of papers on his desk and raised an eyebrow at Savannah.
“Don’t you ever knock?” he asked in his signature monotone. Savannah shook her head, playing at being some kind of innocent school girl. In reality, she was neither.
“I’m sorry, Professor. Am I disturbing you?”
“I told you not to call me ‘professor’. Gus will do just fine.”
“Ok, Gus-Gus,” Savannah grinned, fingering the hem of her crop top. Gus groaned and went back to his papers, giving the girl a version of the cold shoulder that was lukewarm, at best.
“Do you think you’ll ever come back into class, Savannah?” he asked after a moment, “You know, if you don’t at least pretend to care about the fact that you may very well fail this course, I may have to go ahead and teach you a lesson,” he saw the spark in Savannah’s eye, “Not that kind of lesson. I mean I may have to flunk you.”
“Flunk me?” Savannah laughed, leaning her weight against the wooden desk at which Gus was stationed, “What is this, an after school special? Haven’t I aced all of your tests, and quizzes, and papers? Why should I come in for your lectures? You make the TAs do them most days anyway.”
“It’s the principle of the thing,” Gus insisted, furiously scribbling onto some poor chump’s attempt at an essay, “All the other kids come into class.”
“All the other kids think too narrowly about their places in the world,” Savannah said loftily, “And besides, it’s not like I’m paying for school, anyway. I mean, isn’t this kind of what they get for giving me all those scholarships?”
“I don’t think that scholarships are meant to discourage participation in an academic institu
tion,” Gus countered, “In fact, some people might say that you ought to be more grateful for the opportunities given to you.”
“Grateful?” Savannah said, “What for? I earned my place here just like everyone else and I can do with it as I damn well please. It’s not like this place is doing anyone any favors. Oh, sure, they promise us the stars and the moon in the brochure, but after four years here, what do we actually come away with? An inflated sense of entitlement and a few tee-shirts with our school’s initials printed on them? Give me a break. The educational system is broken, my friend, and you are on the wrong side of history if you say that this model is going to hold.”
“Spoken like a true college communist,” Gus grinned, setting down his red pen, “You know, for such an extraordinary girl, you certainly do fit very well into certain college stereotypes. Let me guess... Socialist ideology, for a start. You probably edit one of the campus literary magazines. Maybe you’ve had a go at an avant garde performance of a Sophocles text in a community garden somewhere? And of course, there’s the lesbian until graduation thing. Any of that sound familiar?”
“Hardly,” Savannah scoffed, “I’m not a socialist, I’m an anarcha-feminist. I edit an online journal of poetry that has nothing at all the do with this ridiculous place. The text we staged was Euripides, for God’s sake, not Sophocles. And as far as the lesbianism goes, that’s just absurd.”
“Not into the ladies, huh?” Gus teased.
“Quite the contrary, sport,” Savannah said, “I’m not into any one sex, gender, or persuasion on any given day. I’m pansexual, my friend. I love who and what I love, without any qualification. I think that everyone is, if they search far enough into their souls. But everyone’s so caught up in classifying themselves that they skip over the most obvious answer.”