Twenty Years to Life

This story is a bit wordy and fairly long, so if you are looking for immediate gratification, you might want to look elsewhere.

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The following story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between actual persons, living or dead (or just confused) is entirely coincidental. Please do not copy/redistribute the story, in part or in total, without the author's permission.

This story takes place in the entirely fictional city of Springfield, California, so don't go looking for it on a map. And in my little fictional world, there are no unwanted pregnancies or STD's, except as plot driving devices. The author encourages the practice of safe-sex.

Also, although this story (and subsequent chapters) are placed in the "Novels and Novellas" category, that is primarily because no other single category made any more sense. This overall storyline has some aspects of group sex, interracial sex, lesbian sex, heterosexual sex, anal sex, as well as BDSM sexual activity. If any of these types of activities bother you, you might want to stop reading now.

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"So, you haven't been feeling particularly apathetic lately? Have you been taking your medicine regularly?"

"No and yes, respectively," Torrie responded. She was having a conversation with her psychiatrist regarding her mental state. It had been five months since she had succumbed to an unusual type of depression that had almost gotten her killed. She had met with Dr. Smythe a number of times, but none as odd as this.

Torrie was a sexual submissive, obeying the every whim of her mistress Isabel. Isabel had been a member of a club called Dark Eden, a bondage and fetish club on the outskirts of Springfield, for a few years. She had brought her new slave to the club for the first time a few weeks earlier, which was when Torrie had discovered that the club's owner (Mr. X) was also her psychiatrist (Dr. Smythe). Isabel had known for while, but wanted Mr. X to explain the rules. The two of them were not allowed to play any "reindeer games", as that would be a severe breach of ethics on his part. Torrie was literally one of the only submissives in the club that was completely off limits to official personnel, but she didn't mind. There were other guests, and Isabel wasn't above letting them have a look at her "property."

The previous week, Dr. Smythe had been forced to cancel an appointment for personal reasons, so he had asked if they could make it up when Isabel had brought her to the club that night. So while her mistress was out mingling, Torrie was undergoing therapy. Admittedly, it was the first time she had undergone therapy wearing that particular outfit. She was Isabel's "chauffeur" whenever they went to Dark Eden. That meant that Torrie wore tight spandex pants with a fine black zipper that went from the front, through the legs and onto the back. The pants were hip-huggers that barely made it up past her crotch, leaving the sides of her thong and the top of her butt crack exposed. She also had on stiletto-heel knee-high boots and a black, long-sleeved half shirt that left her midriff exposed. Isabel liked her slave's taut abdomen and insisted she show it off. The whole ensemble was topped off with dark lipstick and eye shadow, combined with a chauffeur's hat on top of her pink hair.

"What about your home life?" Dr. Smythe was asking. "How are your friends? And I understand you have new living arrangements?"

"Yep," Torrie said happily. "I'm living with Isabel now. She got a two-bedroom place, with the second bedroom being . . . well, it's my 'safe' room. Isabel agreed that I could go there if I need some time off from . . . I guess from our relationship."

"Have you used it?"

"Not really," Torrie said. "Mostly I just go in there to read because it's quiet. She's gotten really good at giving me some space when I need it, so I don't ever have to use the room. It bothers me sometimes . . . I wish her dad wasn't such a prick. They're still not talking and . . . sorry, I guess it isn't appropriate for me to . . ."

Dr. Smythe waived off her concern. "You aren't her submissive right now. You're my patient, and you can talk about whatever you want."

"I found her crying the other night," Torrie said, leaning forward and putting her face in her hands. "Her father cut her out of his will. And . . . it's weird. As many times as I've been tied up or whatever, that was the first time I felt helpless. I wanted to comfort her, but I couldn't. I . . . I was afraid that maybe I'd become too dependent on her being in control."

"Did you talk to her about that? About feeling helpless?"

"Not yet. We've sort of been 'on' for the last couple days. And I'm worried. She's been a bit . . . sloppy . . . recently."

Dr. Smythe looked her over. He was beginning to understand Isabel's fascination with this girl. She was smart, attractive, but wasn't full of herself. She was honest with him, and not just because he was her shrink. "You might want to take some 'off' time then. Go into your safe room and ask her to go with you. Ask her what you can do to help. Your particular relationship could actually become dangerous if SHE starts feeling helpless. I doubt she would ever intentionally harm you, but she could get carried away. Now tell me about your friend . . . Rachel. How is that going?"

Torrie sighed. She explained that after her big fight with her father, Rachel had moved in with Isabel for a while but was now living in Torrie's old apartment over her parent's garage. Things had quieted down though, due in great part to Rachel's older brother Jeremy. Ever since Isabel had given Jeremy a chance to fuck Torrie's brains out in exchange for helping Rachel and NOT killing her boyfriend Frank, he had actually showed considerable restraint and negotiating skills. Rachel and her father had actually reconciled somewhat, though both agreed it would be best if she continued to live on her own. She and Frank were still at odds with each other, and both wanted to take the blame for Rachel's "errant" behavior while still secretly blaming each other. It was a mess. But strangely, Torrie and Jeremy were actually probably better friends than they had been before. He had not-so-secretly been craving a shot at Torrie's lithe body and now that he had gotten it, he was finally able to move on.

"How does that make you feel?" Dr. Smythe asked. "Being 'used' like that?"

"I don't see it as being 'used' at all," Torrie said. "When she gives me to someone like Jeremy or her friend Janine . . . I mean, it's fun, but no more than masturbation is fun. They're just tools in the game we play. Not that I don't like them as people . . . I actually do, but what really makes me happy is knowing that I did all right by Isabel."

"Good. This is definitely not a lifestyle for someone who doesn't have a firm grasp on the rules of the game. You seem to understand what you want, what she wants and as long as you agree to what is expected of you, I think you have a good chance at a long and healthy relationship." Dr. Smythe put his clipboard down. "Torrie, I'm feeling pretty happy about your recovery. So much so in fact that I don't think we need to meet every month anymore. If you feel that you NEED an appointment or if your family or friends indicate a desire for you to return, then we can set something up. But you're getting plenty of exercise, you're taking your medicine and you're apparently quite focused. I would like to see you again in about six months for a quick checkup, but that will probably be the last scheduled meeting. Are you okay with that?"

"Absolutely!" Torrie started. "Not that I don't appreciate the help, but I hate to keep asking for my folks to help pay for these sessions." She stood up and stretched out, noticing that the good doctor's eyes drifted across her taut abdomen. She had discovered something about herself that she had never known before her mental breakdown: she enjoyed being a tease. She knew Mr. X couldn't satisfy any "urges" he might have, regardless of whether or not he got Isabel's permission. "I guess I'd better go find Isabel before I get in trouble," she said.

"She told me she'd be waiting for you in the Lounge," Mr. X said, standing up and shaking the young woman's hand. He knew she had been giving him a bit of a show, and he didn't mind at all. If it weren't for the rules regarding interaction with patients, he wouldn't have minded ask Isabel for permission to chain this young woman over his desk and fuck her senseless, but he had to maintain professional etiquette. So he sat back down and buzzed his "nurse," to come in. She would "suffer" the brunt of his arousal once Torrie had left. "I'm sure I'll see you around," he said as Torrie walked towards the door with a definite sway in her hips, "but I'll send you a reminder about your next appointment a few weeks in advance."

Torrie thanked him and headed downstairs from Mr. X's office and walked down a dark corridor to the lounge. Dark Eden was a seemingly endless maze of such hallways, all leading to rooms where various experiences could be partaken in. Torrie hadn't visited any of them except the Lounge yet. She strolled into through the beaded curtain into a decent sized room with a number of tables, a bar against one side and a round stage in the middle of the room. There was a pole on the stage that reached all the way into the darkness of the ceiling, and there was a series of rings embedded in it. Torrie had actually performed stripteases on that stage a few times already, much to her mistress's glee. She had apparently received several compliments, or so Isabel had told her.

Isabel was sitting near the stage and waved Torrie over. She had her slave lay across her lap, stomach down and ass sticking provocatively in the air. Isabel had been chatting with another club member: a man in his late forties who had an attractive blonde woman in her early forties kneeling at his side with a horse-bit in her mouth.

"So this is your 'chauffeur'?" the man asked. "Very impressive," he said, drinking in the view of that tight ass sticking up in the air. "Will she be performing tonight?"

"Absolutely," Isabel said, proud of any compliments directing towards Torrie. "The slut loves being put on display. Don't you dear?" she added, spanking Torrie hard on her spandex-covered butt and causing the girl to moan through her teeth. "Of course you do," Isabel said, stroking that perfect ass before spanking it again. "Actually, why wait?" She waived to a waitress who came over and Isabel whispered something in her ear. The waitress went over to a dark booth. Then a voice came over the intercom.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have some additional entertainment this evening. Ms. Isabel Turner's chauffeur will be dancing for your enjoyment on the center stage."

"Don't you dare disappoint me," Isabel said sternly. Secretly she wasn't worried. Her girlfriend and slave had become quite an adept stripper in the last few months. She gave Torrie's buns another squeeze and slap, then sent her up to the stage.

Torrie strolled up and got up onto the platform just as the music started to pump through the speakers. She clambered halfway up the pole, then hung upside down just using her legs and started to remove her top.

Isabel was licking her lips and noticed that Mr. Terrance, the man she had been conversing with, was doing the same. Bob Terrance was a restaurant entrepreneur who owned a series of mid-priced American restaurants in the area, and Isabel had been trying to convince him to open up one in an empty space in the mall that she managed. She was trying to make it a little more upscale and thought that his business practices would work well with her own. The slave at his feet was his wife Samantha, and they had been in the dom/sub scene for almost fifteen years.

"She moves well," Mr. Terrance said as he watched Torrie stripping and gyrating on stage. "How long have you had her?"

"Less than a year," Isabel said. "But she serves her purpose quite well," she added proudly.

"I see. Her buttocks seem especially firm," he replied. "One might say they were solid enough to . . . oh, say, build a deal on?"

Isabel smiled. She knew exactly what Mr. Terrance was proposing. "I should think so," she said. She waited until Torrie was done with her dance and fort the applause to end (which there was a great deal of) to signal Torrie to return to her. As the still-naked woman approached the table, Isabel stood and pushed her slave onto the table with Torrie's back facing downward. "You seem to have impressed Mister Terrance," she cooed. "He asked to see if your 'assets' were as well developed as your dance routine. Now spread your legs."

Torrie slowly spread her legs until they formed a wide v-shape. She knew that certain activities took place out at the open in Dark Eden, but this was the first time it had happened to her. She wanted to please her mistress and if that meant pleasing this strange man, then so be it.

As several other patrons looked on, Bob Terrance unzipped his pants and sank his rigid six-inches into Torrie's tight box and started to pump away at her pleasantly snug pussy.

Isabel traced Torrie's taut abdominal muscles with one finger. That such a smart and cynical girl would descend into depravity at the snap of her fingers gave Isabel a feeling of power, and that power was like a drug. "You know, your slave has been well behaved this evening. I would be willing to help reward her if that might sweeten our deal," she told Mr. Terrance.

Bob was smiling. He always liked it when someone brought in a new, fresh sub like the one he was fucking, and greatly appreciated the dom's willingness to use her slave as a bartering chip. And since he had never actually seen his wife pleasured by another woman before . . . "Absolutely. Samantha, stand at attention!" he growled. "Move down there. That's a good girl. Now pull your pants down to your knees. Excellent."

His wife was in pretty good shape. She had a look of nervousness as she slowly lowered herself towards the table, bracing herself with her hands as she lowered her plump pussy to the young woman's face. After all those years together, why did her husband choose this woman to be the first semi-lesbian experience for . . . 'Oh God!' she thought as Torrie's tongue went to work in her cunt. 'That feels incredible!'

Isabel watched as Mr. Terrance's wife basically sat on Torrie's face while her husband fucked the young woman's pussy. She watched Mr. Terrance pull his slick dick out and place the head against Torrie's sphincter and slowly push his way inside her asshole. Much to Torrie's credit, she didn't even miss a lick. After having her friend Jeremy's thick cock back there, Mr. Terrance's member wasn't all that much of a deal. But Bob Terrance seemed to be enjoying it as he closed his eyes in pleasure as that tight orifice clamped down on his dick.

Isabel was getting turned on herself as she watched her girlfriend getting fucked. She reached out and grabbed Torrie's nipples, pinching them hard enough to cause the pink haired slut to groan into Mrs. Terrance's well-ravaged snatch. She pulled harder on the nipples and noticed Torrie's tongue moving more rapidly. "Hurry up you ungrateful little bitch," she said. "How often do you get an opportunity like this? Make them cum!"

Torrie was a bit worried that Mrs. Terrance was going to sit all the way back and smother her, but it turned out not to be the case. She was licking and sucking for all she was worth, taking little notice of the prick that was violating her asshole. She wrapped her arms around Mrs. Terrance's legs and started rubbing the woman's mound. She was obviously trying not to make any noise as she was eaten out by the hot young woman on the table, but an occasional whimper escaped. Mr. Terrance made a motion with his head, and Isabel slapped the man's wife sharply across her behind.

"This is a treat," he said shortly. "I expect you to appreciate it." Then he buried himself in Torrie's backdoor and emptied his balls, depositing a reasonable amount of seed in her bowels. He couldn't help but admit that seeing his wife getting eaten out was pretty hot. He pulled out and zipped up as his seed leaked out of Torrie's asshole.

Isabel stood up and grabbed Torrie's pants from off the chair. She proceeded to dress her slave even as Torrie brought Samantha Terrance to orgasm.

The older woman's body shook almost violently as Torrie's rapidly moving tongue licked up her fluids as they dripped from her shivering snatch. 'Bob NEVER got me off that quickly,' she thought. It wasn't as if she was thinking bad thoughts about her husband. Actually, he was a good man and a considerate lover. But this girl had abilities that Bob didn't.

"Get dressed," Bob ordered her after she had recovered from her climax. "Don't just stand there like a common street walker," he added. Secretly, he wanted to get his wife home and fuck her brains out. He was pretty sure he'd be able to get it up again by then. He turned to Isabel. "I'll be by your office on say . . . Wednesday? About nine-ish?"

"How about nine-thirty?" Isabel countered. "I have to do morning checks until then."

"Nine-thirty it is," Mr. Terrance said, leading his wife out the door.

"Finish getting dressed," she said, enjoying the idea of Torrie driving her home with a strange man's seed trapped in that wonderful ass.

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A little while later . . .

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Torrie opened the front door of the apartment Isabel shared with her with a trembling hand. Isabel had been talking the entire trip home about the great deal she was about to make and how it would really show her (insert random expletive) father that she was just as good of a business manager as he was and that she'd make him rue the day that narrow-minded (insert random expletive) cast out his own daughter. She went into the bedroom to toss her purse aside, then looked around for Torrie. Usually, she had her slave undress her and give her a quick massage before bed, but the pink-haired servant was nowhere to be seen.

"Torrie? Torrie, get in here right now!" she barked. There was no response. She wandered back into the living area and noticed that the door to the second bedroom was open and that the light was on. "Torrie?" she said again, but a little less loud.

The pink-haired girl was sitting on the daybed in the safe room, her chauffeur's hat cast aside. She looked incredible sexy. She also looked annoyed.

"What's the matter?" Isabel asked. Torrie had never used the safe room to avoid Isabel's commands before, and she couldn't for the life of her figure out what she might have done to warrant this.

"My appointment went fine, in case you were wondering," Torrie grumbled.

"What are you . . . Oh yeah, your appointment with Mr. X. I just figured . . ."

For one of the few times in the almost half-year they had been together, Torrie interrupted her mistress. "You didn't 'figure' anything," she said. Then more quietly, "All you've been thinking about recently is how much you hate your dad and how much you want to get back at him. I think . . . it's affecting your judgement a bit."

"What do you mean, 'affecting my judgement'? I'm making good business decisions and . . ."

"It's not your business decisions I'm worried about. Do you realize that this is the first time you didn't bother to find out how I was doing after an appointment? And did you realize you've actually left some bruises recently?"

"No I haven't!" Isabel shouted. Then she saw some feint purple-and-yellow marks around Torrie's calves when she pulled her spandex pants up. She didn't remember seeing those at the club, but they could have been disguised by the low lighting. "So what?" she said. "Bruising is always a possibility. You know that!"