BDSM Library - Shan

Shan

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Synopsis: Rachel, a 43-year-old divorcee and harassed middle manager, falls under the spell of a mysterious voice on the phone....
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."


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