I got the idea for this after reading "The Seduction of a Mother and
Daughter" by Little Miss Blair. There are some similarities, but I don't
think they are material -- more importantly, neither does Miss Blair, who
has read this story and encouraged me to post it.
SHAN
by
C. Lakewood
"Friday night...finally," Rachel murmured to herself. It had been a
particularly exhausting week at work, full of thinly veiled threats from
upper management and surly resentment from her subordinates, and fraught
with rumors of stringent down-sizing in the offing. Moreover, Amy, her
19-year-old daughter, was home from college for summer vacation, and Rachel
had gotten very used to living alone these past months. But tonight, at
least, Amy was out on a date, so she could enjoy having the place all to
herself. She poured herself a beer and picked up the TV remote....
And then the phone rang.
She sighed, but answered it.
"Mrs. Bothwell?" It was a woman's voice, well modulated, but with a
slightly sibilant accent.
"Yes, this is she," Rachel said, in the hoity-toity tone she reserved
for people she didn't want to see, meetings she didn't want to attend, and
phone calls she didn't want to take.
"We've never met, but I'm a great admirer of yours," the voice said.
"I often see you out and about. I think you're very attractive, and,
whenever I even think about you, I really get...um...'hot and bothered.'
And I've been thinking about you a lot today...."
"Who ARE you?" Rachel demanded. "Are you some pervert...or just a
crank?"
"Well, I'm certainly no crank. And 'pervert' is merely a label that
says more about the labeler than the one being labeled.... I saw you
today, strutting around in your sophisticated power suit...with an aloof,
my-shit-doesn't-stink attitude. You really do turn me on -- and I'll bet
that I'd have the same effect on you."
"I'm not that kind! Good-bye, you bitch, and if you ever call here
again, I'll set the police on you," Rachel snarled. She angrily hit the
disconnect button.
Rachel was trembling when she hung up. "God!" she muttered to herself.
"As if that nest of vampires at work isn't bad enough, now I have to deal
with lunatic phone calls." She was still somewhat shaken when, after four
beers and several hours of forgettable TV, she finally tottered off to bed.
Sleep came quickly, but it was not altogether easy.
Saturday morning, long before Amy got up, Rachel went off to the mall,
to lose herself in shopping.
Hours later, when she got back home, she found Amy drinking coffee and
listening to music. (SHE called it "music," anyway.)
"Hi, sweetheart. How was your date?"
"Cool," Amy answered. "We went to the Toxic Reasons concert. It was
really awesome. And some woman called you this afternoon," she added.
"Said her name was 'Shan,' and she'd try again some other time."
"Probably selling something or wanting a charitable donation. I'm sure
I don't know anyone named "Shan" or "Sian" or "Sean" or "Shaun" or...." Her
feeling of well-being suddenly evaporated. ("It couldn't be that weird
bitch who phoned last night, could it?" she thought.)
***********************************
It was late, and Amy was still out, but she could handle herself.
Rachel had spent a long, soothing time under the shower and was just
reaching for a towel when the phone rang. Omigod! A cold chill ran up
her wet body....
"Hello," she rasped, trying desperately to control her voice.
"This is Shan," the exotic voice said. "And don't you dare hang up on
me again. Or the next call I make will be to Amy."
Rachel felt petrified. For a moment, the only sound was the drip-drip
of water onto the tiles.
This was way past annoying. It was now well into scary. And it was
clear that this Shan woman was not going to stop. And she was apparently
both clever and used to getting her own way. Her Caller-ID was blocked,
but she was probably using an untraceable prepaid cell phone, anyway.
Maybe...maybe she should string the bitch along until she could discover
her identity or location.
"What are you wearing right now, Rachel?"
"Noth-ing...I...um...I just got out of the shower...."
"I'll bet you look delicious...all pink and wet.... And what do you
usually wear to bed?"
"Pajamas, usually."
"Well, from now on, Rachel, you'll sleep naked. But first, there are
two little gifts for you outside, under the glider, a manila envelope with
a picture of me and a small jar. I'll wait while you fetch them. And go
as you are...naked."
"I can't let the bitch just order me around like this," Rachel
muttered to herself. "I'm somebody. I'm respectable. I'm in MANAGEMENT,
for god's sake." She shivered. "But she's so calm, so peremptory,
so...imperial...."
Rachel's debate with herself was brief. She obeyed, timidly. She did
think about throwing on a robe, but just didn't dare, for there could be
somebody watching, and it seemed important not to antagonize Shan
needlessly. So she dashed out onto the porch and felt frantically around
under the glider. The house was secluded enough, normally, but there was
always the danger of a chance passerby. She found the "gifts" and quickly
retreated back inside. In the envelope was a picture, a photo of an Asian
woman of indeterminate age...somewhere between 20 and 50, standing on a
sunny patio, legs apart and hands on hips. She was wearing nothing but a
sardonic expression and a sheen of sweat. And she was exquisite. Rachel
involuntarily licked her lips.
Not Japanese, Rachel decided...and certainly not Filipina or
Korean...probably Chinese...or Vietnamese...reminded her a bit of Chi, her
room-mate for 2 years back in college. And there was something about the
accent, something in the attitude, the cool assurance....
Rachel slowly returned to the phone.
"I-I'm back...."
"Have you looked at the picture?"
"Yes."
"So, what twisted images are tumbling through your mind right now?
Do you want to lick me all over? Suck on my nipples? Or maybe go right
for the main prize...my pussy? Does the thought of eating my sweet pussy
make your cunt drool?"
Rachel seemed to have trouble breathing.
"Answer me." Shan's voice was compelling.
"I...I'm really not like that.... I'm s-s-straight...."
"But is your cunt getting wet?"
Rachel took a deep breath. "Maybe a little.... Yes...."
Shan chuckled. "You have a cordless phone, don't you, Rachel?"
"Yes."
"Alright. Take the phone and your gifts into your daughter's bedroom.
Prop the picture up somewhere you can see it as you stand in front of a
mirror -- a full-length mirror preferably. Go on, now."
Seemingly helpless to resist, Rachel padded into Amy's room. It
smelled like a teenage girl's room...a mixture of innocence and raunch.
She glanced in the mirror...and then took a longer look. "Not bad at all
for a 43-year-old," she murmured to herself. "A few extra pounds and just
a bit of sag, perhaps, to lend 'character,' but no cellulite, no scars, no
saddlebags...."
Satisfied, she stood the picture on top of Amy's dresser and whispered
into the phone, "I've done what you said."
"Good. Now, open the jar. It contains an ointment, a very special
blend. Dip some out with your fingers." Curious, Rachel obeyed. "Rub
the ointment on your tits. Pay particular heed to your nipples. I want
your nipples standing at attention, stiff and hard. And don't try to fake
it. I'll know."
For whatever reason, Rachel obeyed the seductive voice. The ointment
was a pale amber, with a pleasant citrus smell. She started playing with
her nipples. They were already partially erect, she was surprised to
discover. And then she began to sweat. The ointment was having an
immediate and mounting effect...first a tingle...then a growing
itch...burning...tormenting.... Omigod!
"You're really getting hot now, aren't you, Rachel? You will soon
learn that obeying me in all things, without hesitation, will be very
pleasurable for you." Her voice was becoming husky, almost hypnotic.
"And you will also learn that disobedience brings punishment. You need a
lesson. Punish your nipples; do it now."
Rachel pulled and pinched and twisted, tormenting her nipples, and
wished someone were here to suck on them...Shan...or-or Chi...or.....
Ummmmmmm...god, how good that would feel....
"Okay, now move your hand down to your cunt. Rachel," Shan ordered.
"That's what is, you know, a 'cunt.' When you were young and innocent,
you had a 'pussy.' But now you are neither, and you have a 'cunt.' So
finger your cunt, Rachel. Feel it getting wet? It IS getting wet, isn't
it?"
"Ye-esss," Rachel murmured. "Very w-wet."
"Now, get some more ointment on your fingers...a large amount this
time...and play with your cunt some more. Feel good? Answer me!"
"It-it b-bur-urns me...burns my c-cunt...."
"But you're really turned on, aren't you?"
"Y-yes...yesss. Oh, god, please," Rachel panted. "My c-cunt...my
poor cunt...."
"Look at the picture. Look at my picture and finger-fuck yourself."
Rachel was looking. And her cunt was on fire. She ground her hips,
thrusting her howling cunt onto her slippery fingers. Whose fingers were
she fantasizing about?
"Well, Rachel? Getting close to cumming?"
"Yesss...c-clo-ose," she gasped. "Please...ughh...please...t-talk to
me.... Ah...unh...ahhh...."
At that moment, the phone went dead.
When she came back to earth, Rachel felt deserted at first, then
bewildered, then guilty and embarrassed, and, finally, panicky lest Amy
come home and find her like this.
She clicked off the phone, picked up the photo and the ointment, and
dragged herself off to her own bedroom. She flopped, bonelessly, into bed
and fell asleep.
And she dreamed of Shan...and of Chi....
And of Amy.
***********************************
Sunday and Monday went by without a call from Shan. On Monday night,
after going to bed (naked, as Shan had ordered), Rachel got out the
picture again. And the ointment. She played with herself and fantasized
about being the lone white whore in a lesbian brothel somewhere in the Far
East. She had to exercise all the self-control she possessed to make it
last almost half an hour. This orgasm, when it came, was the most
devastating she could ever remember.
She day-dreamed about Shan while at work Tuesday, and, by the end
of the day, her panties were soaked, despite her frequent trips to the
ladies' room to dry her cunt. When she got back home, she rushed directly
to her bedroom, locked the door, stripped herself naked, got out the photo
and the ointment, and tormented her tits and cunt through multiple
orgasms, until, eventually, Amy got home. Reluctantly, then, she forced
herself to get up, put herself back together, and go downstairs to see
about dinner.
They ate a lot of pizza that week.
Each day was the same, varying only as she got increasingly frantic.
By the end of the week, she had used up all the ointment, but that didn't
matter...her cunt was itching and burning madly most of the time now even
without it. She was absolutely desperate to hear Shan's voice again.
It was about 9 o'clock Friday evening when the phone rang. Rachel was
trying to read a book, and Amy was puttering around the kitchen, making
iced tea and snacks.
Rachel hastily answered.
"Hello, Rachel? Miss me?"
"Y-yes, I suppose I did, a bit. Will you hold on while I take this
upstairs?"
"No, stay where you are," Shan ordered. "What are you wearing?"
"Just a-a long, sleeveless smock...almost a muu-muu," Rachel blushed
as she answered.
"Barefoot, no bra, no panties?"
"Yes, that's right."
"I'm very pleased, but only to a point. I imagine that smock is
rather too long and hides much too much of your beautiful legs. Tonight
I want you to make it shorter...so that it ends at least 8" above your
knees. Right?"
"B-but, 8"...."
"Okay, then, 9".... Right?"
"Yes, Shan." She cringed. (Oh, god...9" above the knee would be
only a couple of inches below her cunt....)
"You horny?"
"Yes."
"Good," Shan said. "Tomorrow I want you to go to a salon on the west
side called 'Sharmane's' and get a complete body wax...total...and insist
on getting it done right away...price is no object. Take the bus. And
wear only what you have on now...plus a pair of flip-flops. Sharmane will
give you a rawhide 'bone,' like a dog's chew-toy; you can bite on it when
she removes your body hair -- and keep it for when you masturbate from then
on. However, that's then, and this is now. There are more gifts for you
on your porch. Go fetch."
Another manila envelope and a smallish, paper-wrapped package. Unable
to contain herself, she opened the envelope. There was another photo of
Shan, reclining on a red Bokhara rug. She was naked, wearing only a string
of black pearls. She was smiling enigmatically and smoking a hookah.
Rachel thought she was even more beautiful than before. She reluctantly put
it aside and turned to the package.
This held another ointment jar and a small vial of pale yellow liquid,
maybe 2 or 3 ounces. Rachel knew at once what it was...and what she must
do. She unscrewed the cap and drank the fluid quickly. It was salty, a
bit sour...and rather spicy.
"Did you find the golden liquid?"
"Yes."
"And what did you do with it?"
"I...drank it, Shan."
"And did you like it?"
"Y-yes, Shan."
"Good. I'll see you get a regular supply. The ointment is a little
stronger than before. I think you'll like it, too."
"Thank you, but I don't really need it anymore. My c-c...."
"No excuses," Shan said. "You will receive a new jar every day. Make
sure you use up the contents of each jar before you get the next one.
Understand?"
"Yes, Shan, I understand." Oh, god...her poor cunt....
"Fine. Now, with the first two fingers of your right hand, scoop up
a sizeable amount of ointment, reach under your skirt, and finger-fuck
yourself."
"Not here, Shan, please" she whispered. "My daughter is just in the
next room."
"Right there," Shan ordered. "And right now."
Rachel was so excited or so afraid -- or both -- that she could barely
breathe. She slowly slid her hand under the smock. Her cunt was brimming
with juice, as it had been all week. She slowly eased her fingers past
the puffy lips and slid them into her swollen cunt.
"Unnnhhh...aaahhhh!" She was cumming...over and over.
She had barely settled down again, when Amy came clattering in with a
pitcher and a tray of glasses, finger sandwiches, and tea cakes. She set
everything out and then glanced at her mother.
"What's wrong mom?" she asked. "You look so flushed."
"Oh, I expect I'm just frazzled by the constant turmoil at work....
Now, let's eat. Everything looks delicious!"
***********************************
Rachel left the house early the next morning, long before Amy was up.
She was wearing only the embarrassingly shortened smock and an old pair of
flip-flops. It was bad standing at the stop, waiting for the bus (even
though she had walked several blocks to be outside her house's immediate
proximity). But riding ON the bus was worse. She huddled in a seat
toward the rear, trying to see to it that her poor, inflamed cunt remained
covered. She was eventually surrounded by a crowd of virile, working class
men. Despite herself, she began to fantasize about them. Then she had to
transfer to a different bus, and, when she got up, she was mortified to see
that she was leaving a little pool of juice on the seat.
The new bus was already fairly filled up with stout black cleaning
women, surly black wastrels in do-rags, and panhandlers from the Projects,
all of whom looked at her with disdain or lust (or both). So, as the bus
jolted its way west, she stood defensively knock-kneed and pigeon-toed,
sweating and red-faced, tugging at the hem of her abbreviated garment. An
air of sexual longing seemed to hang about her. (And, when she took a deep
breath, she realized that the odor was real.) Since she was standing, her
juice now simply trickled down her thighs.
At last, she scrambled off the bus and into a crumbling neighborhood
two blocks from Sharmane's shop.
Sharmane turned out to be a big, hawk-nosed black woman, mid-30s, tall
and muscular, dressed in a bold, scarlet-and-black dashiki. She had an
arrogant, no-nonsense attitude and already knew exactly why Rachel was
there, but made her say it anyway.
After that, Rachel had to strip naked (which was simple), then take a
tepid shower and scrub herself thoroughly, particularly legs, crotch, and
underarms. When Sharmane was at last satisfied, she let Rachel dry off,
gave her the promised chew-toy, and strapped her down to a padded work
table.
In the troughs between the successive crests of pain that apparently
were integral to the waxing process, Rachel chewed on her "bone" and
wondered (yet again) why she kept on allowing these humiliations...in
essence, why she felt so compelled to obey Shan -- and why it seemed so
right....
As usual, she had no answers.
After what seemed like eons of torment, Rachel was released from the
table, had to stand for a while slathered with green goo -- a hair
re-growth inhibitor -- and then take another lengthy shower (cold water
this time). When she was finally allowed to step out of the stall and
dry herself, she heaved a sigh of relief that this ordeal was over.
She was mistaken.
Sharmane led her back into the front of the shop...to find three black
women: a girl about 20 in a cosmetician's smock, and two customers (one in
her 30s and the other 10 or 15 years older).
Rachel squealed and went into crouch. But, of course, Sharmane made
her stand up straight, arms at her sides, and introduce herself to each of
the three -- all of whom took great care to make a thorough inspection of
Rachel's pink and hairless body.
After that, Sharmane set a large glass of the special "golden liquid"
on the back-counter.
"Fresh from the microwave. Drink up."
Though humiliated beyond reason, Rachel did manage to choke it all
down in front of the amused quartet of black women...and...omigod!...it
was turning her on....
"Tasty?"
"Yes, ma'am." (Oh, god...why had she said it that way?)
Sharmane set another jar of "ointment" on the counter.
"You HAVE used up the stuff you got yesterday, haven't you?"
"Oh...um...y-yess, well...."
"Don't lie."
"Well, it's ALMOST all gone.... I-I was ex-pecting more time...."
"You didn't obey orders -- you fucked up, right?"
"Y-yes, ma'am."
"Okay. So this is a punishment jar. You will use it up entirely,
before you leave the shop. Start NOW!"
Rachel's lips were saying, "Oh, please, no.... I-I just couldn't," even
as her fingers were feverishly opening the jar, scooping up a generous
dollop of the burning goo, cramming it inside her, and rubbing it into her
already inflamed flesh.
Despite her humiliation (and four orgasms, each more shattering than
the previous one), Rachel managed to work her way through the contents of
the jar. By the time she scraped up the last glob of ointment, her cunt
was an inferno. With tears in her eyes, she reached down and....
"No! Stop!" Sharmane barked. "Put that last blob up your asshole."
Rachel stared at the big woman a moment, her mouth working
soundlessly...and then obeyed.
"Okay, good," Sharmane said. "When you get home, you can flush that
out with an enema." She produced yet another jar of ointment. "AND you
can start on this. You better damn well use it up before you get the next
one. The punishments are s'posed to get stricter every time you fuck up."
************************************
By the time Rachel got back to her house, she was beyond caring whether
anybody saw her. Her cunt and asshole were itching and burning maddeningly;
her clit felt like it was three or four times normal size; her nipples were
painfully engorged; and she was just about at the end of her tether. She
needed to sleep, to recuperate before resuming her service to Miss Shan.
(Her cunt spasmed at the thought.) She staggered up the front steps and
through the front door and into the sanctuary of her home....
And there was Amy, standing arm in arm with a young Asian woman. Rachel
just stared, bleary and slack-jawed.
"Mom," Amy said, with a smirk, "I'd like you to meet my college
roommate, Shan."
