This is the eighth installment of
Mrs. Hart's Ache
Chapter III, Interlude V, Cassandra.
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Author's note: see the Index of Terms for the definition of any word with which you are not familiar.
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This is a simple tale of retribution, wherein the young hero teaches the mother of his newest girlfriend a few manners while enjoying a few adventures – sexual and otherwise – along the way.
James Mark Masterson.
Just your typical teenager. Smart... sexy... sophisticated... and always horny. With the time and bank to do pretty much what he wants to do.
And to do who he wants to do.
Here we meet Cassandra, our hero's rock climbing partner and... well, you'll see.
Cassandra has a rather special relationship with James, one that she'd
hate
to lose.
Cassandra's also a junky. But a very special kind of junky. She produces her own drug, but doesn't own a lab. It's all internal, just like you and me. But she's addicted...
...to both the drug – and our hero...
Happy reading.
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III The Ladies in My Life
"...Hung out at the beach with my homies. Saw a ballgame with Dad. Made a little money on the stock market. Took out the garbage. Logged a cross-country flight and spent the weekend rock climbing with Cassandra. Did her too..."
Interlude V: Cassandra
Next up is the lady that you may find to be the oddest of my eclectic circle of female companions: my climbing partner and all-around adrenaline junky, Cassandra.
I'm going to tell you a few things about her here. But not too much. She figures prominently in other parts of this tale.
Cassandra is a 26-year-old Extreme Sports nut, who owns and operates an exclusive high-end sports equipment outlet in town. The casual enthusiasts that frequent her establishment are not often let into the back room where she keeps the expert gear.
She also designs and fabricates some of her own climbing equipment. The best of her designs are fabricated in her workshop, for sale in the store. The prototypes, are often given away to friends. Those handmade pieces are treasured in the sport and free climbing worlds.
She's also the Chief Test Pilot of her stuff, which can be scary. Cassandra also writes articles and shoots photos for climbing magazines. We met in Yosemite last summer. This summer, we plan to climb Smith Rock together.
Cassandra also fucks like a rabbit. Any time, anywhere, in any position. Like Phoebe, she's very 'bendable'.
We flew over to the central part of the state one Friday afternoon. Friday night we ate, checked into a local Bed and Breakfast, then fucked each other senseless. Saturday we spent climbing,. Between meals Saturday night and Sunday morning, we fucked each other senseless again, slept a little, then fucked each other senseless once more. Sunday afternoon, we flew home. My kind of weekend.
Time out.
By the time I got home, I was exhausted. I don't know whether or not Cassandra went to work the next day, but I bagged school and spent Monday sleeping.
Time in.
Cassandra is about 5'5" 125 and built like a wedge, with abs like Batman and tits like flat shields on her chest (38B). Her breasts are capped with nipples the size and shape of strawberries. She has shoulder-length blond hair that she usually wears in a ponytail.
Pound for pound, she is the strongest person I know. Her muscles are like steel cables sheathed in velvet. You've heard it before I'm sure, but she can crack walnuts with her fingers. No shit, for real.
She climbs free, and she is good. Totally fearless on the rock face. I'm good, but I'm not that good. I use ropes.
Cassandra has no use for ropes, except in bed. She likes to be tied down. She is heavy into B&D. When climbing together, she's in charge. Off the face, she claims me as her Master. She even has a special bag, her discipline kit, which she takes on our expeditions.
Cassandra is also a complete tomboy who prefers to wear a pair of faded khaki shorts or worn jeans and a sloppy men's denim shirt rather than a skirt and blouse. She didn't own a dress or a purse until we met. I had to be firm after I took her out shopping for a new wardrobe. She hated every minute, particularly modeling the stuff for me. Especially the lingerie. The welts on her ass took a week to go down.
Occasionally, when I'm feeling particularly cruel, I have her put on makeup and real girl clothes.
Her least favorite dress-up outfit is a dark blue corset top that cradles her breasts, barely covering her nipples, and shows off her bellyring; a white linen pleated miniskirt, so short that it barely reaches her thighs and so light that it flutters in a slight breeze; a garter belt with silk stockings; and four-inch sandals with straps that lock to her ankles.
She also has one of those cute little designer clutches with a short strap. You know, one of those little pain-in-the-ass purses that a girl is always afraid of losing. Cassandra is anyway.
Time out.
Our game is that Cassandra must keep track of it, while my job is to get it away from her without her noticing. She gets punished if I suceed. But she gets the worst punishment if she makes it easy.
The worst punishment I can mete out to Cassandra is for me to ignore her for a month or so. She came close to tears the one time it's happened.
Time in.
Back to Cassandra's clothing: I rarely allow her to wear panties anyway, but certainly not with that dress-up outfit. A v-string or thong maybe, but usually not even those. I made her burn every pair of cotton panties she owned.
Oh, and when we're out together, her naked ass must always meet the surface of any seat. She
hates
it, but it also makes her very wet. She keeps extra tissues to clean up after herself.
A couple of months ago, I took her, dressed in the corset top and miniskirt of hers, to a private function put on by the sisters at a local lesbian club. Sans panties, of course, she had the ladies smelling fresh pussy as soon as she walked in the door. Bull dykes were hanging over her all night.
I made her slow dance with a few of my friends. The butches were swarming. All were in on it, and all are familiar with Cassandra's lifestyle. The ladies took turns groping her bare ass and fingering her hairless pussy, despite her obvious reluctance and discomfort.
I think Maxine is in love.
Like I said, Cassandra is into adrenaline: when she's frightened, she gets hot... and very wet.
The scene at the club scared her so much that she left a puddle of cum on the barstool. When I got her home, she dropped to her knees as soon as the door closed and blew me in the foyer of her house. She sucked my cock all the way down her throat, something that she hadn't been able to do before.
By the way, Cassandra swallows too.
Afterwards she led me to her bedroom by my dick. I put a blindfold on her, tied her to the bed spread-eagled, and then went down on her. I knew she was fantasizing that she was being taken by one of the ladies. She passed out when her orgasm hit. When she came to, I flipped her legs up to her chest, wet my cock in her pussy, then fucked her ass while I teased her clit. She came and passed out again when she felt my load shooting deep in her butt.
If you haven't yet guessed, Cassandra gets off on anything that frightens her. Way off. Space Shuttle launch off. Scare her bad enough, she'll orgasm.
To Cassandra, terror equals adrenaline equals euphoria. That she had been "forced" to dance with and be aggressively felt up by a bunch of half-soused and completely horny lesbian's who were hot for her compact, sexy and very available little body totally spooked her.
The idea of being tied down helpless and "raped" by another woman horrified her half out of her mind.