Sarah's Joy

To my best friend, with thanks for her technical assistance, even though it seems she's always far away.

This is a departure for me. I hope I've done justice to a lifestyle that's new to me, and which I respect a great deal. If you're interested in placing this among my other stories, it follows both

Summer Film Study

and

Bad Cop, Worse Cop, Worst Cop

. But, to an even greater extent than my other stories, this one stands alone.

Please enjoy it.

* * *

"No shit," Kim laughed, shaking her head. "She claimed she was taking a piss."

They all laughed, with Sarah leaning way back in the flimsy squad-room chair, grateful for the chance to ignore her paperwork for a few more seconds. Another batch of witness statements about that mess they'd found over by the Seaborne line, the domestic dispute with the injured dog. She ran short-nailed fingers across the back of her neck, all grimy from an August day spent in a vest and gunbelt. For a moment she thought about submitting another 5602 about the balky A/C in her radio car, but what was the point? Sergeant Murcia, in the motor pool, was out on paternity leave.

Five kids already, the portly Mrs Murcia had popped out. And Sarah couldn't even figure out how to get knocked up once.

"I hope you wrote her up, Cruz" came the quiet voice of Jaeckel from the corner. Everyone went silent, trading nervous glances. "Public urination is a type II misdemeanor."

"Well," Kim went on after an awkward pause, "her father was right there. And he seemed like a steady guy." They all waited to see what Jaeckel would say; he was new to the department, and nobody was really sure what to make of him. He knew what he was doing, though; he let the silence stretch a little.

Good cop.

"I'm busting your balls, Cruz," he shrugged mildly. "Or, you know. Busting whatever you've got down there."

The laughter was forced after that, like students who know they have to chuckle at the professor's jokes, and Kim put on a fake smile. "I'm all woman, lieutenant!" she crowed. "No, but here's the weird part. I don't think it was really her dad." She nodded to herself; Kim Cruz always liked telling stories. "And I'll be honest, guys: I hope it wasn't."

"Oh?" LaFratta, on the other side of the room, studying madly for the detectives' exam. Sarah sighed irritably toward him; he'd taken the damn thing three times. What could he possibly be studying? "Why's that?"

"Because," Kim leaned forward with slow relish, lowering the boom, "bitch had dirty knees!"

Sarah couldn't help but laugh, the story a tonic at the end of a painful day. Everyone in the room was nodding now, smiles from every corner: dirty knees on the side of the Seaborne road. A couple beside a pickup truck at night. You didn't exactly need a degree in forensics to figure that one out. She sighed again, stretching her arms high, smelling that end-of-shift sweat odor deep in the fibers of the vest. "I wonder what she charged," Sarah reflected.

"Sixty-five bucks, going rate," LaFratta rapped out immediately. "Add an extra fifty for a rimjob." Kim and Sarah swapped glances; LaFratta didn't work vice. He got his prostitution pricelists firsthand, probably. "It's more expensive if you go to that 'Wellness Center' over on the south side," he snickered.

"Anyway," Kim finished loudly, "that was my fun adventure the other night. It's always nice being responsible for coitus interruptus." She giggled. "Even if it's only oral." She was beaming, her big toothy smile lighting up the room, and Sarah leaned back over the cheap desk with a new sense of motivation to finish her paperwork; she had no idea why she was dawdling. The night shift was already out on the streets; what was she waiting for, other than a nagging feeling of apprehension about trying, yet again, to get her husband to cum in her?

Fourteen months, they'd been trying. Karma.

Sara was exhausted when she got home, but duty called; with the same robotic determination they'd forced themselves into for many, many nights now, she and Keith started their ritual. The whole thing had become a mockery of intimacy, so programmed and formulaic that they could both have done it in their sleep. Same kisses, same caresses; Sarah knew she could have counted to within five or ten seconds the exact moment that he'd send his hand around her hip, across her butt, the fingers curling up toward her bored vagina, and as always she let her head flop back onto the pillow and gave Keith his low, breathy moan.

Well, she reflected, at least her body was doing its job, his fingers sliding in more easily now, her skin starting to pink up nicely, but she knew the reason had nothing to do with Keith, hardening gamely between her fingers. No, the reason was a dark night, hundreds of dark nights, in her past. With Paul.

Because in her mind, that's where she was.

Splayed out on His bed. Scarlet with the humiliation of waiting for Him, but also with the deep, angry shame of not being able to get Him hard just by being naked; He'd taunt her like that often, putting himself on display so that she could see her failure in His limp cock. "What?" He'd look at her with that worst of emotions in His dark eyes: disappointment. "You'll need to do more than just lie there like a drunken hooker. Work for it. Work for my cum."

What perverse joy she found in those words! Sarah would gasp, cumming already, scrabbling across the mattress for the opportunity to go to her knees in front of Him and show Him she was worthy of His dick. He'd always been so good at the timing, at releasing her that way, so effortlessly freeing her from the nets of her own self-doubt, her own lack of confidence. He'd take all of her neuroses and put them on Himself, taking all the responsibility, leaving her with nothing left to focus on but Him, on His needs, on His wants. On His body.

And she was there now, the feelings never far away.

Crawling. "Down," He commanded, and she obeyed, the old carpet rough and gritty against her naked belly. Sarah knew she was leaving a trail behind her, her pussy gushing as it always did when she served Him, as it had from the very first time she'd realized how special she must have been. He was always reminding her:

you were chosen, Sarah Joy. Chosen. By me. From among every woman in the world, I selected you.

Desperate, she slithered toward where He sat in the green leather armchair, and when at last she dragged her eyes up from the floor, daring a quick glance, she saw it at last: He was getting hard. The elation of that moment, that instant flush of pride when she saw her own power and realized she was capable of arousing Him, nearly made her weep. He sat above her supplicant self, presiding at his altar, naked and hairy and pure and so overwhelmingly sensual that she nearly burst into tears.

"Mm," he nodded. "You're hyperventilating. Is it that bad?" He waited a moment, until he was sure she wouldn't talk out of turn, then nodded with His eyes glittering. "Speak."

"It's that bad, Sir." Sarah heard the whine in her own voice, the desperation inching its way toward panic. She ached to show Him what she could do. The tears started then, as they always did. "No. It's worse than that."

He nodded. "You may kneel, then," and Sarah was up high on her knees in an instant, her elbows inching together behind her back.

As He'd taught her.

Make them touch,

He'd always hissed at her, and she burned with shame that she couldn't. She did her best, her wrists pasted together, struggling to get her elbows just that little bit closer.

But no. Still, He could see her effort.

"Good." She endured it, then, the inevitable pause while he studied her. He liked to do that, was always very vocal about it.

I fuck with my eyes,

as he'd put it

. I watch you. I memorize your body. I know every part. I know the exact shade of brown I'll see when I look at that birthmark you've got an inch beneath your left shoulderblade. I know you because I see you. Like nobody else ever has, I see you.

"Ask me to rise, then."

The delicious ache had already begun at the base of her neck, her body contorted so that He could enjoy the sight of it. She closed her eyes, feeling the special flutter in her stomach, the night air soft on her naked breasts, the slight gummy chill where the draft through the open window nagged at the fluid running freely down the inside of her thighs.

And still He grew, His cock twitching upward, beginning to take on its leftward bend, as Sarah watched through lidded eyes. She felt the phlegm in her mouth as she tried to find the voice to answer him. "Will you stand before me, sir?" The phrase had been rehearsed with care, but she still had trouble getting it out sometimes through the lust that screened her throat.

He didn't move. "Why?"

The special flutter became a spasm high inside her pussy. She shivered. "So that I can worship you as you deserve, Sir."

He laughed shortly. "What're you going to do?" She watched, her eyes open now, feeling the flush on her cheeks as He reached slowly down and lifted the balls between his spread thighs, bouncing them. Mocking her. "Tell me."

"I'm going to devour you," Sarah rushed, her voice small and urgent. This was not a response they'd practiced; she decided honesty was the best policy. "I'll stay on my knees for hours, Sir, with my mouth open to you." She felt herself salivating and realized she'd do it; just saying the words made them true. She licked her lips. "I'll provide you with my face. My mouth. My tongue. Use them."

The response was swift and overwhelming, the man launching himself from the chair and leaning far down toward her face. Sarah felt His well-known fingers on her nipple, saw His face swooping toward her, and she flinched even though she screamed at herself to hold still. "You're not telling me what to do, woman," He hissed, the spit striking her face like hail. He grasped her jaw, wrenching her back toward His face, and those eyes were everywhere now. "You don't tell me to use you. That's my choice. Or not." Sarah heard herself whimper. "You may tell me you understand."

"I understand!" she gasped, the response instant. She was quirming, trying desperately to remember the rules: straight back. Elbows touching, near enough. Chin high. Legs at shoulder width. He was so strict, more demanding than any of the others, yet she ached to obey Him. But still, the rules always went straight out of her mind when she was about to cum. It was happening, now, just from knowing she'd made Him hard, from spurring Him out of the chair, from His attention. She was quivering inside, the dull hot cloud rising in her.

He knew it, of course. His grip tightened on her nipple; she bit hard at her lip to keep from screeching. That was another rule. "Not yet," He snapped. "Hold it." She felt her teeth bare, quite out of her control, and shut her eyes tight while she kept it down, holding it far away, praying she would be able to stop herself. Twice before she'd lost it, shuddering into orgasm before He wanted her too, and both times He'd been what He always was for her afterward, filling her back up after He'd emptied her out; but still. Both times He'd been displeased, leaving disappointment in her mouth like a bitter taste after He kissed her, and she swore to herself she'd wait for Him.

"Hold it." The excitement in His voice centered her. She swallowed hard, forcing herself; once more the ache bloomed at the top of her spine as her elbows shook. "Mmm. Good." Sarah willed herself, viciously, to still her trembling and remember who she was. "An excellent whore. I knew you could do it." That's when it happened, the pleasure in His voice vaulting her mind into another plane of pride, of enjoyment, of devotion, and she slowly opened her eyes to stare into His. And then, as He knew she would, she slowly let her mouth open, His fingers still like iron around her chin. She let Him see her tongue, warm and ready, the broth of her saliva, and true to her word she geared herself for a long wait.

Hours, she'd told Him. She'd wait hours, just like this.

He was nodding as He straightened, tearing His hands off her body; she knew that nipple would be dark, swollen, but dared not look down at it. He needed her to stare up at him, and she would. He patted her face, not at all gently; she could hear the ringing in her ear, but she knew what this was and glowed.

Approval.

He left her there while He padded naked down the hall, and when He returned with His plastic bottle of water she was still in the same position, proud that she could stand it, ignoring the ache in her knees and the numbing dullness at her neck. He stood over her, holding the stare for a full minute, His eyes hiding behind the glare on His glasses. One hand held the water, the other held his cock, and it faced her thick and dark and brutal. She knew there was saliva running down her chin; she could hear it patter, once or twice, on the carpet.

But no way would she close her mouth.

He seemed to acknowledge that, sipping at the last of His water before tossing the bottle over his shoulder. He watched her a few seconds more, and now she could see His eyes: they roved over her nude body, taking in her smallish tits, her trimmed bush, her freckles. He nodded at last, slowly, and then stepped unceremoniously forward to rest his penis on her tongue, just past her chapped lips.

Sarah shuddered again; His smell was everywhere, the sudden heat from His body bludgeoning her. She felt her eyelids flutter. "Now then," He purred, His cockhead hot and tangy, "you were saying? I may use you?" She heard the tone in His voice and knew this was a test; she remained motionless, her eyes still, and said nothing. Her reward was an extra inch, the veins sliding heavily along her tongue. "Good, good." The hair on His thighs tickled her collarbones when He repositioned His feet, gaining leverage, now holding Himself back.

She mined her mouth desperately, then, for extra spit; He would not ask when she was ready, she knew. He'd just push, and He'd expect her to be prepared. Hell, she'd expect it of herself. The next few seconds, like they always were, had her whole mind humming with anxiety and anticipation; this was it, and her mind was hoping, wildly, that she'd be able to please Him. He waited until He saw her eyes, clear blue like the sky, flicker hopefully upward to find His face, and then he was pushing.

She began swallowing right away; He was not a man to wait patiently while His woman collected herself. He expected perfection, and as always, Sarah was determined to be perfect for Him; this was when she felt most focused, most alive, and she leaned in to meet Him. The sounds rose immediately into His little bedroom: gagging, snorting, and always the low keening moan as Sarah began to lose her mind.

The first few thrusts, she'd learned, were about endurance: He'd keep pushing, relentless, until His balls rested on her chin, then wait until her eyes were bulging and teary before removing Himself, forcefully, daring her to heave for breath; He enjoyed shoving it back in while Sarah was still trying to recover, wrapping her thin brown hair in his fists, and then smashing back down her throat. She expected it, went with it, knowing that if she could just ignore the panic, the choking, the gasps, he'd accept her efforts and reward her with his cum, his comfort, his love.

The surge of pride Sarah felt when she heard Him grunt above her was powerful, nearly as powerful as the taste of His skin in her mouth, her whole body tingling as she reminded herself that, unbelievably, meek little Sarah Howard was able to please a sublime man like Him, His maddeningly seductive masculine shape now towering over her, sliding His dick into her mouth, and she felt herself go crimson. The tears were flowing freely now, and with another muttered, "Oh, fuck," He stopped suddenly.

The recoil nearly made Sarah fall over; she'd been leaning hard into Him without even knowing it, and she heard Him giggle as she thrust a hand out to keep herself from sprawling back onto the carpet. "No, no, no," he laughed. "It isn't necessary for you to crawl again." He sighed deeply, pleased, and prodded at her hand with his foot. "Up. You know how I want you."

She snapped back upright, feeling the energy snapping between them, her wrists locking back together. She felt the wetness on her face, spit and snot and sweat and, across her cheeks, her tears. Sarah knew her breasts were shuddering as she panted, but she raced to collect herself, to relax, to be worthy of Him as she threw her head back and stared upward. He was nodding. "Excellent." A single dry finger disentangled itself from her hair, swept tenderly across her face to collect her tears. He lifted that finger toward His mouth, licked thoughtfully at it, His face screwed up like a man savoring a new kind of wine.

"I love the way you taste," He rasped, nodding, and then He was inching back forward, His hand crude on His dick, and rubbing the wide, flared cockhead underneath her other eye. Collecting the tears there. "Lick," He ordered, and without any hesitation at all her tongue was out and busy, lashing across the sensitive dark flesh. She tasted the familiar salt of her tears, the even more familiar salt of His precum, and once again she felt herself losing control of her pussy. "What do you taste, Sarah Joy?" His thumbs were back on her jawline, firm, the fingers trailing down onto the sides of her neck and setting her senses on fire.

She knew the right answer. "I taste my devotion, Sir," she squeaked, as always awed at the strength of her own belief; this was no script, not anymore. This was her heart talking. "I taste my adoration."

"Yes." He was pulling her head toward Him then, that electric touch on her neck shaking her soul, arching to present his penis again. "You do. Now you may taste mine."

"Thank you, sir," and at long last her elbows came away with one last stabbing ache at the base of her neck, for now Sarah was free: free to let herself work, to show what she could do for Him, to drink His semen if she was good enough.

She was determined to be good enough. It was the most important thing in her world, lifting her to her best efforts, making her vagina sing as she leaned forward to engulf His thick, veiny cock in her willing mouth...

"God, Sarah!" Intrusive, the new voice, and startling in its powerlessness against the memory of His deep baritone, and Sarah was suddenly twitching herself back into the present, shaking off the chains that held her close to His memory forever, reminding herself that He was gone. That she lay now in her own bed beneath Keith, that he was about to... "I'm cumming, honey!"

"Yes!" she made herself gasp, pulling her legs high under his erratic hips. "Feels so good!" she lied, as with a gurgling croaky sigh he plunged back into her pussy, pinning her down with his skinny body tense as he unloaded into her. "Oh, Keith!"

"Guhh," he gasped, or something like it, and faintly she wondered if this could finally be the load that would knock her up, that would end the disappointment. It was flooding into her womb even now, the narrow penis twitching and dancing inside. She gripped hard at his bony shoulders, waiting while he rode out his orgasm.

"I love you, honey," she whispered into his ear, wondering whether she meant it; she'd been close that time, the pleasure building behind her pelvis, but he hadn't let her get there; the memory of Him hadn't been able to get that far in the time her husband could last. Sarah bit back her bitterness and kissed his cheek. "Thank you."

"I love you too," he panted, his body still moving slowly, gently as he softened inside her. Sarah ran her fingers up and down his back, knowing there'd be another night just like this one: a husband fucking her, a memory desolating her.