Invisible Girl - an Erotic Romance

Chapter Seventeen

When Jane woke up the next morning her first thought was that Peter must have stuffed a pair of her panties into her mouth after she'd fallen asleep. At the very least she felt as if her tongue was wearing a sock and her head was throbbing dully.

She opened her eyes and sat up. This added nausea to her other complaints and she immediately lay down again.

At this point she noticed that she was naked—she usually wore at least a shirt or a nightgown— except for her earrings and-oh!-her lovely new bracelet! She immediately resolved never to take it off. Then she began trying to remember how she'd wound up this way.

Her memories of the night before were somewhat hazy. She remembered taunting Peter in a way that made her blush now, and Peter almost throwing her to the floor and doing naughty things to her, and making her do them, then stopping for some reason. Oh yes, she'd said the safety word!

And then the two of them dancing naked out on the patio—practically having sex standing up. Oh god, that was so romantic and sexy: the sensuous music, the warm air on her skin, his cock against her belly...

Then back in the dining room, barely able to wait while he tore open the pack of condoms and they both fumbled to figure out how to put it on. The unpleasant, chemical smell of it.

He had sat back down in his chair to aid his concentration while he placed it over his cock, and as soon as the condom was in place she had pulled his hands away, straddled him and guided him into her with a long, "Ohhhhhh!" She had then thrown her arms around his neck and whispered, "Peter, I want you so bad!"

She'd begun to slowly raise and lower herself then, loving being able to control the rhythm, loving the feeling of him moving inside her.

She had felt herself disappearing into sensation, the rhythm taking over. She remembered whispering "Love me, Peter," into his ear and then, to her own shock, and, she was sure, to Peter's, as she felt herself beginning to climax, placing her lips directly against his ear and hissing, "Fffffuck me! Oh, Peter! FUCK ME!"

Peter had groaned and come right away, and she had been only half a minute or so behind, her whole body suddenly still and yet shuddering all over. She'd thought she might never catch her breath again.

They had both been covered in sweat. Peter, still inside her, had sat with his eyes closed and his head thrown back, breathing through his mouth, for over a minute. When he finally opened his eyes, he'd looked at her and smiled as if surprised to see that she was still there.

"My god, I've created a monster," he'd said, dazedly. "Remind me to get you drunk more often."

Jane remembered that she'd looked down, embarrassed and replied, "Oh god, I really am turning into a little slut." She'd looked up at him and glowered. "And it's all your fault."

He'd raised his eyebrows quizzically and said, "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Aren't you going to thank me?"

"You jerk," she'd exclaimed, laughing and pulling his ears with both hands, so that his head wobbled comically back and forth.

"Ow! All right, all right, you're not a slut!"

She'd released him. Then he'd added, "Not all the time, anyway," and immediately thrown his arms up in front of his face to protect himself, while making a comic expression of terror.

When she'd laughed again and shown no signs of tearing his ears off, he'd lowered his arms again, saying seriously, "Jane, you

know

you're not a slut. We've talked about this. But you like acting like one sometimes, right?"

Jane had nodded, a little doubtfully, and he'd continued, "Then don't worry about it. I love it that you're sweet and romantic sometimes and a bad little girl sometimes. You can be any way you want with me."

She'd kissed him then, and said, "So it's all right if I say...certain words, sometimes?"

He'd given her a sideways glance, smiling, and replied, "Well, I don't know...like what?"

Looking playfully at him from under her eyebrows, she'd said, enunciating clearly, "Cock."

He'd gasped in mock-horror, and said, "You

naughty

little girl!" Then he'd landed a slap on her left buttock—not hard, just enough to sting.

And she had felt him beginning to get hard again inside her. She'd leaned closer and spoken again.

"Pussy."

He'd shaken his head in dismay, making tsking noises, before landing a similar blow on her right buttock.

He was fully hard again, and as she'd begun to move up and down on him she'd leaned into his ear and whispered, "Fuck."

Another slap on the behind.

"Fuck me."

Another slap.

She'd started to move a little faster. "Fuck"...slap..."Cock"...slap...Fuck my pussy!"

Her words, and his slaps, began falling into the rhythm of their motion.

"You're fucking me"....slap..."with your cock!"...slap...Your cock"...slap..."is in my pussy!"...slap.

"Oh,

fuck

me...

fuck

me...

fuck

me..."

...And that was all she could remember. She must have passed out from the wine somewhere along there.

She wondered if she'd had another orgasm before that. If he had.

She guessed that Peter had carried her upstairs and tucked her in like this. Well, she couldn't lie here all day, though it was tempting, especially when she forced herself to stand up and immediately had to sit down on the edge of the bed.

Oh god, her head ached.

As soon as she felt able, she staggered into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, and followed this by drinking several full glasses. She turned on the shower and stood under it, dazed, until the hot water was nearly all gone.

When she stepped out she was beginning to feel marginally human again. After toweling herself off—gently—she went back to her room to dress.

It wasn't until then that she noticed her velvet dress hanging from the closet door knob, along with the bra and panties she'd worn last night.

Well, that was thoughtful

, she mused, as she padded over to her bureau. She pulled open her underwear drawer to begin the process of getting dressed...

And found herself blinking, still a little blearily, at her valentine panties, nicely folded and nestled among her other undies as if they had never been gone.

There was a scrap of paper sticking out between the folds, which turned out to be a note, which read:

See you Sunday at 11:15. I love you.

She knew she wouldn't be seeing Peter that day, and anyway she wanted to save the valentine panties for a special occasion, so she chose other underwear and got dressed. There wasn't a lot to do today, other than homework and studying. Thank god, she thought. She just had to clean up from last night.

And get things ready for tomorrow morning.

Chrissy.

Now that the day was nearly at hand she was having second thoughts and she mulled things over as she made her way downstairs and into the kitchen...where she discovered all the pans from last night in the sink, where Peter had obviously put them to soak, and the dirty dishes and silverware in the dishwasher. God, what a sweetheart. She couldn't believe he was real, and hers.

Which brought her back to the scenario she had set up for tomorrow.

For one thing, she felt bad about fooling Chrissy, even if she would be getting what she said she wanted. Because she wouldn't be getting it from a stranger, as she believed, but from someone who knew her.

But Peter wouldn't tell anyone, she argued to herself as she forced herself to eat some toast and juice before tackling the washing up. But that led her to the other source of her discomfort: it

would

be Peter, and though she very much wanted to give him this special experience, she didn't want to share him with another girl, even if that other girl thought he was someone else.

She thought about calling it off, about calling Chrissy and saying Father Brian had been called away by an emergency and would have to cancel.

Jane went back and forth about it as she finished the dishes and went to sit in the window-seat. Her brain was still fuzzy with the aftereffects of the previous night and it was hard to sort out her true feelings.

You're just being jealous, and that's silly

, she told herself

. It's not like they're going out on a date. You've just found a way to give Chrissy what she wants and give Peter something special at the same time.

If

it works, she thought.

And that was another worry: what if Chrissy somehow found out? If her blindfold slipped, or if Peter said something to give himself away? Chrissy would be traumatized at the very least, and probably furious, and rightly so.

Jane looked out the window, remembering, as always, the night Peter had been there. Rain and humidity had long since wahed away the semen Peter had left on the glass, but she could still picture him as clearly as if it had been yesterday: pants down around his knees, rubbing himself with her panties while she stood naked in this very spot and taunted him and touched herself. How powerful she had felt! She had become a new person, and Peter had given that to her.

This whole thing with Chrissy was crazy; there were too many things that could go wrong.

But she was going to do it anyway, she decided.

Chapter Eighteen

She didn't sleep well Saturday night.

She had spent the day trying to get her schoolwork done, as well as trying to clean up the house and prepare as much as she could for the next day, but she had found it hard to concentrate. She would begin a task and find herself, minutes later, fretting over the coming event.

She convinced herself at least a dozen times to call it off and just as many times that the most that would happen would be Chrissy getting a spanking she wanted, and that maybe not even that would happen. She thought that Chrissy would back out at the last moment, or that Peter would refuse to go along with the scenario. Better that than both of them being angry with her, she thought.

Still, by bedtime she had done nothing to stop it and when she woke on Sunday morning, still tired after her fitful sleep, she was determined to let things play out however they would.

There really wasn't anything left to do until Chrissy arrived but she was full of nervous energy and after her shower and breakfast she took a long walk in the woods. The day was already a promise of summer, warm and a little humid, and she wore only a light dress. As she walked she reviewed what she planned to say to Chrissy, and then to Peter, until she was sure she had it mostly by heart.

When she got back to the house it was nearly 10:30. Chrissy probably wouldn't arrive until a little before 11:00, so Jane went down to the basement to make one last inspection.

The stairs began in the kitchen and led down to a door that opened into the middle of the basement, which was divided in half. To the right the room was semi-finished and semi-furnished; the floor was covered in yellow and brown tile and decorated with old throw-rugs and older furniture, including a sprung sofa, a small black-and-white TV, a record player with a stack of 78's next to it, a cabinet full of board games like Parcheesi, and a still functional Ping-Pong table. Jane and her parents called this area the rec-room, though none of them had done much in the way of recreation there in years.

To the left was what they usually meant when they referred to the basement: this area had a plain concrete floor and contained the tool-bench, the washer and dryer, and anything else nobody knew what to do with. There was no door or wall between the two areas; the tiles simply stopped a little more than halfway across the floor, and the stairwell was the only divider. The whole downstairs was partially lit by a series of small ground-level windows, which gave the room a slightly melancholy twilight feel even on sunny days.

Jane stepped into the basement area and looked at the items she had laid out on the workbench and tried once again to think of anything else that might possibly be needed, but couldn't concentrate. She finally just went over to the old couch and sat down, tapping her feet nervously and cracking her knuckles.

She hoped Chrissy would arrive soon; at least Chrissy would be more nervous than she was.

She got her wish. She soon heard a car coming up the drive and ran upstairs to open the door.

Chrissy's car was an old faded-blue Chevy, rusty in spots and obviously in need of a new muffler. So when Chrissy got out, wearing her Sunday best, the effect was a little disconcerting, like seeing a princess stepping out of a hay-wagon.

There could be little doubt that Chrissy had just come from church. She was wearing a white linen dress that came down well past her knees, along with a matching three-quarter sleeved jacket, plus a little white hat with white flowers and a trace of a veil perched on top of her neatly parted and elegantly coiffed hair.

She also had matching high-heeled shoes, purse and gloves. Jane couldn't remember the last time she'd seen anyone under her grandparents' age who wore gloves to church. Nevertheless, she smiled and called out, "Hi Chrissy, you look nice!"

And she did, really, until she got closer and Jane saw the dark smudges under her eyes that even carefully applied make-up couldn't entirely conceal. Jane guessed that Chrissy had had even less sleep last night than she had, and possibly not much the night before that.

As Chrissy made her way up the porch steps, Jane saw that her walk was a little unsteady and that her shoulders were again somewhat hunched.

Chrissy darted a glance around the porch and tried to look past Jane into the house before finally settling on Jane's face.

"Is he here yet?" she asked, and her voice was hoarse, as if her throat were very dry.

Jane shook her head and tried to smile encouragingly. "No, we still have some time. Come in."

She held the screen-door open to let Chrissy enter, then followed her in, saying, "Let's go downstairs, it's cooler. Would you like something to drink?"

Chrissy asked for a glass of water, and after receiving it and taking a large gulp, clutched it tightly in her gloved hand to keep it from shaking as she followed Jane downstairs.

Chrissy put down her glass, took off her jacket and laid it on a nearby chair, along with her purse, then sat down next to Jane on the couch. She was fidgety and looked as if what she really wanted to do was get up and pace back and forth.

Jane gave her a moment to settle, and took a deep breath or two herself. She had a speech prepared: her friend Lucia came from a Catholic family and Jane had asked her a few casual questions by way of research.

She began by asking Chrissy if she was sure she still wanted to go through with the meeting.

Chrissy looked backed at her, eyes wide with nervousness, both hands tight around the glass, and said nothing for several seconds. Then, finally, she made the barest of nods and quickly looked away and down at the floor in front of her.

"All right, then," said Jane, in what she hoped was a calm voice. "I'm supposed to tell you a few things before he gets here. You know, so you'll be ready."

Chrissy didn't look up, but nodded to show that she had heard.

"Okay. First of all," Jane continued, "when he arrives, before he comes in you'll need to put this on."

She held up a blue satin sleep-mask, which she'd borrowed from her mother's bedside table. "Remember? We talked about this?"

Chrissy nodded again.

Jane went on, "...And you have to keep it on until after he's gone.That's really important."

Chrissy said nothing, but reached over to take the mask, immediately beginning to twist it nervously in her hands as she returned her gaze to the floor in front of her.

Jane went on to her next point. "Now, when I bring him in, there's something you have to say, and he wants me here to witness it."

This statement caused Chrissy to suddenly sit up straight and turn towards Jane, staring.

"Witness? What do you mean?"

"It's just to show that you're not being forced into this," explained Jane. "You have to say, ' I submit myself to you for judgment and punishment'.

Chrissy thought this over, then said, "Kind of like...going to confession and getting a penance?"

"I guess," replied Jane, shrugging slightly. "I'm not Catholic. But you wanted this because it's

not

like what happens in church, right?"

Chrissy nodded, but looked doubtful, and Jane went on. "You can change your mind about doing this anytime...

until

you say that."

Chrissy's nervousness shot up a couple of notches. "What do you mean?"

Jane gave her a concentrated look and said, "That's part of what I'm trying to explain to you. After you say it, I'm leaving the room. So whatever happens will just be between you and P- ...and Father Brian."

Chrissy's breath was becoming ragged. She swallowed. "But...but what if I..."

"Listen," Jane cut her off. "Father Brian wanted me to be sure you understood that this is serious. That's why you have to say that while I'm here. After I leave, you tell him whatever you need to tell him, and he'll decide on your punishment. He said to tell you that no matter what your punishment is, you must do as you're told—

without hesitation

, is what he said."

"Oh my God."

"He said that if you show that you aren't fully committed to what you're doing he'll walk out without completing the process and never come back."

"Oh my God."

Jane pulled her feet up onto the couch and turned and sat cross-legged facing Chrissy.

God

, she thought,

this is an awful lot of trouble to go through for someone who just wants a spanking

.

"It's okay, Chrissy, really. Listen: he said to tell you there's a safety valve."

"A

what

?"

"A safety valve. It's like this. He said to tell you that a lot of people he's done this with need to cry and yell and beg forgiveness while it's going on. And he said sometimes people beg him to stop when they don't really want him to—it's just part of the...'purification' was the word he used. Does this make sense?"

Chrissy now looked stunned with fear. "I...guess so..." she said, in a tiny voice.

"Good," said Jane. "But what you need to know is, what happens if you

really

want it to stop, right?"

A slight nod.

"Well, that's where the safety valve comes in. If you say, 'In the name of God', he'll stop. Otherwise he'll keep going until he's finished, no matter what."

Chrissy had dropped the mask into her lap and her hands were now so tightly clasped that Jane could see sweat-marks on her gloves.

"I-In the n-name of God?"

"That's right," replied Jane, "but he said that if you stop it, that's the end, and you won't get... I forget the word, it sounds like 'absolutely'?"

"A-absolution?"

"Yes, that's it. You won't get absolution from him."

"Oh..."

Jane sat quietly, waiting for Chrissy to mentally digest everything she'd said.

But time was running out. Peter would be arriving any minute. She knew that this was the final threshold; if Chrissy were going to back out she would do it now. Jane glanced at her, trying to guess which way she would go.

Chrissy was again staring at the floor, hands still knotted together. Her mouth hung open, and she was breathing heavily.

Jane thought,

No—she's too scared

.

It was a nice idea, but it's probably for the best...

Chrissy suddenly turned to face her. "What is it I'm supposed to say?" she asked, her eyes feverish. "You know, when he comes in?"

Jane couldn't remember for a moment, then said, "'I submit myself to you for judgment and punishment'." Chrissy repeated the phrase several times, staring worriedly into Jane's eyes the whole time. Jane nodded each time to show that it was correct.