She woke up sometime later. The day had already fallen into a peaceful afternoon, but since it was morning for Tarri, she found herself oddly lost in time, untethered to its passage.
Her body still smelled like sweat and dirt. She reached down and felt her pussy lips - still sore - and felt Woland's dried seed on them. She wondered if he could get her pregnant; she would need to take a shower. But first, she noticed, a letter lay open on her bedside table.
Rachel. She badly wanted to see Miss Tarri. She was hoping that she could do something for Tarri.
Tarri smiled. In her submission to Woland, she had forgotten her own slave; driven mad with twisted lust; she had encountered a dark magician whose will easily bent her own. But now, back in civilization, she wanted Rachel again.
She padded to the shower, rubbed herself all over with soap. There, she let her mind wander, considering the peculiar chain of command which had been established between her, Woland, and Rachel. Though Rachel wasn't aware of it, she was being controlled by a distant and mysterious force. After all, if Woland told her later (and Tarri already knew that she would soon return to the Second Clearing for his pleasure) to tell Rachel to do something, she would tell Rachel to do it without thinking. That was the nature of true submission. And by fucking her, by coming inside her, Woland had made her his.
Tarri was sore. Her lovely legs had been scratched up from pine branches, covered with fine, curving lines. Outside her window, little fluffy clouds moved slowly across the horizon, and the bushes outside her window were dappled with shadows from the late afternoon sun. She sat in a sunbeam on her bed, enjoying its warmth, and as she ran her hands up and down her scratched legs, a few leaves floated lazily through the air towards her window, as though sent from space by the sun's rays.
She lay on her bed, rubbing her hands all over herself, cupping her ass cheeks and reaching between them to lightly rub her aching pussy lips. The desire could not be quenched. The more and more she gave herself, the more and more tortured she was. Tarri wondered if she would ever be free - if her mind would ever be at rest, as she imagined it had been when she was a girl (if, indeed, she had ever been truly free from at least some childlike version of lust).
How to deal with Rachel? Though she would take pleasure in Rachel's beautiful body, she didn't know how to treat her slave. And what if Woland, to whom she had pledged herself, wanted her to hurt Rachel, or bring her to the clearing to please him? The two seemed incompatible - even the First Clearing would surely disgust Rachel, and the Second Clearing, where Woland would no doubt use her for his sick pleasures without hesitation, might fundamentally change her into something as grotesque as Bexes itself.
She turned over in bed, buried her head in the pillow. She knew she should get up, prepare herself for Rachel, but she felt lazy - maybe, she supposed, from the energy required to stay in this fantastic zone of mingled pleasure, desire, and shame. Tarri could not remember anything about her life before her orgasm on the beach. She could not remember who she was.
As Woland had lost his humanity in order to become a Satanic master - and it was clear to Tarri that Woland was indeed a black magician - Tarri had lost herself in order to become both Rachel's mistress and Tarri's slave. But there was simply no way to resist these pleasures. Whatever Woland wanted, she would do, and whatever she wanted, Rachel would do, until somehow she was brought to a Final Orgasm.
She decided she would go to Rachel's apartment later. She wanted to make sure that Rachel understood that the range of Tarri's authority was not limited to Tarri's own room. It was within Rachel's mind.
So she called Rachel, who picked up on the third ring.
"Hey," said Rachel. "Sorry, give me one second-"
Pause, shuffling sounds over the line. Tarri waited.
"Okay," said Rachel, sounding a little frazzled. "Sorry, Miss Tarri. I'm in public and I couldn't say Miss Tarri into the phone. Forgive me. Now I can talk."
"I'm coming over tonight," said Tarri.
"Yes, Miss Tarri," said obedient Rachel.
"I want to come at eight. Now is the time, if you want, to ask me to change the time. If you ask, I'll consider it."
"If you want eight, we'll do eight, Miss Tarri."
Tarri idly played with her toes as she talked. "When I come over, I'm going to come over hungry. I want you to have a chicken salad made and waiting for me on your table, and a glass of white wine. I want Caesar dressing on the salad and I want the wine to be chilled. You will serve it to me - are you getting all this?"
"Wait, wait," said Rachel, hastily adding, "Miss Tarri, let me get a pen. Sorry."
For a moment Tarri considered telling Rachel to stop apologizing, then reconsidered. After all, the delay had slightly inconvenienced her, a matter which far outweighed any concerns of Rachel's.
"Okay, I'm ready," said Rachel. "Chicken salad, white wine, Caesar, yes?"
"Make sure there are croutons on the salad. I also want a black candle lit and on the table."
"Yes, Miss Tarri. Anything else?"
"That's it for the food," said Tarri, "but not for you. I want you to serve me in just an apron. Your feet will be bare. Your hair will be tied in a bun. You will shave your legs and pussy before I come. Wear no makeup. Do you understand?"
"Yes...Miss Tarri," said Rachel, in the distracted tone of someone furiously copying down something someone else is saying.
"If you follow my directions exactly, you will be rewarded. Otherwise, you risk punishment. Now start getting ready. See you at eight." She hung up. Then she got dressed herself, and decided to take a walk, taking some time to think before her meeting with Rachel.
Afternoon was deepening into evening, and outside, light from the setting sun cast everything in crimson. Tarri walked along the street, admiring the leaves swirling through the golden air. She walked along the edge of the forest, but instead of going into the woods, sat on a park bench between the town square and the edge of the woods, watching people go by. A mother with her three children, looking very tired; a young man in a suit, a cell phone pinned to his ear; an old woman with a walker, smiling as she shuffled across the grass. Everybody was living in their own world, the hero of their personal story. They all had their own thoughts, needs, and secrets. Tarri imagined the old woman sitting on a porch on a hot afternoon, drinking iced tea and resting after a lifetime of work; she imagined the mother putting each of the three children to bed in turn, leaning over to kiss them on the forehead; she imagined the young man waking up early to pick out his dress shirt, weighing pale blue against white. As Tarri swept her gaze over the scene, she felt a tidal wave of rising love within her for life - for everyone in the world, and for the miracle which had made her Tarri, had made her young and healthy and alive. Her heart was filled with gratitude, and the longer Tarri looked, the more she felt a sexual urge towards the whole of lived experience. She wanted to make love to the setting sun and everything it cast its dying light on, to make love to it again when it rose in the morning - and, eventually, to fade away with the sun itself, experiencing her final and most powerful orgasm as this distant star expanded and burst in a supernova.
The light was beginning to fade, and with it, her joy faded into a calm fulfillment that went beyond sex. As the last red slice of sun vanished over the distant hills, she stood up and, on a romantic impulse, blew a kiss upwards.
Night had fallen, and with it, the air had become cold. Tarri walked along the sidewalks of the deserted town without really seeing anything. As darkness fell, she felt rising agitation. The desire was coming upon her again, and again she felt totally powerless before it - like it wasn't even Tarri doing what she was doing, but really someone else, whoever that might be. Soon it would be eight, and soon she would be with Rachel.
The apartment blocks loomed ahead in her vision. Once she arrived, Tarri lingered for a moment in the parking lot, sitting on the rough curb. She was a few minutes early, and wanted to arrive at precisely eight. Briefly she raised her head so as to look back down the main street at the edge of the woods. Somewhere was the hidden stream, the passage out to the First Clearing. Somewhere Bexes lay sleeping.
Seven fifty-eight. Tarri bounded up to the wooden steps which led to the second floor, found Rachel's apartment. She leaned up against the wall, waiting. Then she turned on her heel and knocked on the door.
Immediately Rachel swung it open. Had she been aware of Tarri waiting outside? Behind her, the room was warm and lit by golden light. Soft music tinkled from her stereo, something played on a piano that Tarri didn't recognize. Rachel herself wore a plain white apron hooked around her neck, but her shoulders and arms were bare, and so were her feet. Her hair was tied in a neat bun behind her head, and when she saw her mistress, Rachel immediately looked down at the floor, maybe remembering the rule Tarri had set.
"Hello, Miss Tarri," she said. Tarri strode into the apartment, and Rachel quickly closed the door behind her.
