The Cartosopher

Sheryl cast a sidelong, irritated glance across the tastelessly decorated lounge. Her stern demeanor didn't fit well with the slinky, form fitting black cocktail dress she was wearing, or with the rich red velvet and too many gold tassels adorning nearly every surface of the stereotypical "bad 70's hotel bar" decor. From her perch on the bar stool, the twenty-something-year-old couldn't believe what she was seeing.

Mel disappeared from her life without explanation or apology two weeks previously, just as they were finalizing their wedding plans, and there she was, big as life, just like the detective Sheryl hired had said, cozied up to some biodick and giggling like a ditz at some inane bullshit or other slobbering out of the asshole's toxic mouth. Sheryl was fuming.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and her head snapped toward the unexpected contact before her face had time to adjust itself, her eyes momentarily burning holes through the head of a suddenly wary middle-management type who had probably spent considerable energy working up the nerve to approach her at all.

"Oh great," thought Sheryl, "fuck this guy! As if every woman who wants a drink in public also wants to be touched, or hit on."

She glared at him, her focus tightening on him like thumbscrews.

"Well?" she finally growled.

"Um, I didn't know you wanted to be alone... sorry," whoever the fuck that was said, as he turned around nervously and walked back to wherever the fuck he had been sitting.

Sheryl rolled her eyes, groaning inwardly at the ignorant presumptions men routinely make based on the fact that they have a penis and testes that may (or may not) have dropped. Momentarily distracted, she glanced back to see Mel and whoever she was with walking out of the lounge.

"Fuck."

She dropped $20 on the counter and nodded thanks at the bartender who had been purposely doing anything at the other end of the bar, to give her space. As she left the lounge, she spotted Mel and whoever she was with about to get into a Bentley.

"God, Mel? What the actual fuck? Was everything I thought you were just a lie?" Sheryl wondered silently, in disgusted exasperation.

She rushed out to hail a cab. She hopped in and raised an index finger at the car containing her betrothed, cringing as she heard herself say the cliché line that also happened to be the most rational way to instruct the cab driver, "Follow that car! The Bentley! Follow it!"

The cabbie chuckled, "Okay. You're the boss."

She paid her fare with a generous tip when the Bentley deposited Mel and What-the-Fuck? (as Sheryl had begun to think of this guy Mel was apparently drooling over) at a high rise building. The driver of the Bentley pulled away from the curb as Sheryl haltingly made her way across the street. She got to the elevators just in time to see that it had deposited the pair on the eighteenth floor of the nineteen story building. She boarded another of the four elevators and rode to the eighteenth floor. Getting off, she realized there were only four dwellings on this level.

"What the hell?" she thought, considering what the square footage of each must be.

It was a large estimated number, which translated into a large source of wealth and a possible motive behind Mel's behavior. Melissa was only twenty-four years old, and it would be the first time a sugar daddy flashed glitter in a woman's eyes to get them to abandon all loyalties and commitments.

"Damnit, Mel, is that it? Did you leave me for money and luxury? Is that what you really wanted, the whole time?"

Sheryl thought back to her fierce, loyal lover Mel, challenging her to finally come out of the closet to her family, despite the fact that it would most likely mean disinheritance or being disowned. Had that all been just an act, so Mel could benefit from a possible windfall in the future, in case Sheryl didn't get disowned?

"If so," Sheryl mused, "you deserve a fucking room full of Oscars for all of your performances, Mel."

Fixing in her mind a picture of What-the-Fuck, she turned up the dial on her internal courage all the way to eleven, and knocked on a door.

"At least I will get Mel to explain this to me, herself, whatever the fu-," Sheryl's thought abruptly died in her brain.

The door swung open to a incomprehensible vision of Mel, breasts bared by a dress pulled off her shoulders and puddled around her waist, on her knees in front of a grinning What-the-Fuck, who was buried nuts deep in her throat.

"Ah, sheryl. Come in! you're right on time."

Sheryl's mouth flapped a couple of times as she sort of stumbled into the room, turning as she passed to continue staring at the woman she loved, the woman she was engaged to, performing deep-throat fellatio on some guy, a sexual act Mel had explicitly expressed intense disgust about just three weeks previously.

"W-wh-what the actual fuck, Mel?" Sheryl challenged, incredulously.

What-the-Fuck grinned at Sheryl's discomfiture, "she's a little busy right now, sheryl, but I'll let her talk with you as soon as she swallows My cum. It's rude to interrupt My good little girl in the middle of worshiping Me."

At the words "good little girl" Mel moaned loudly and hungrily in orgasmic bliss. It was a sound Sheryl had heard often as Mel's legs involuntarily shook and squeezed against Sheryl's skull or hand, bathing her in fluids.

Sheryl could see his engorged cock distorting Mel's throat as Mel's reciprocating head moved only slightly back and forth on this grinning asshole's crotch monster. It didn't make any sense at all. Sheryl thought back to the last day she saw Mel, remembering that, as always, she'd heard Mel at the bathroom sink, gagging on her toothbrush while brushing her tongue. How? How was she even...

The guy roared in orgasm, pulling Mel's head fully onto his erection and pressing her forehead and nose firmly into his body. Mel mewled and cooed sweetly, her hands reaching up and expertly pressing the ducts from What-the-Fuck's taint to tip, extracting every last bit of cum as she eased herself slowly off the impaling intruder.

Sheryl didn't have much experience gawking at penises and had never been terribly impressed by the ugly things, but this one was peculiarly interesting, somehow, and she found she couldn't easily tear her gaze from it. She didn't notice Melissa smiling happily up at the man she'd just serviced until she heard the voice that belonged to her love.

"Thank You, Master. It was delicious," said Mel, standing and peeling the rest of her dress off, stepping her high-heeled feet--the only part of her body covered by anything--out of the discarded dress, turning her beautiful ass toward this man, spreading her legs sensually and bending seductively at the waist to retrieve her dress, knees locked, ass and pussy fully exposed to his view.

Sheryl blurted, "What the actual FUCK, Mel? 'Master?!' Really? Oh my God, what the fuck is even happening right now?"

Melissa calmly stood, legs still comfortably spread, and raised her seductive eyes toward Sheryl, "Of course, 'Master!' What else would i call my Master?"

A million questions jumbled through Sheryl's disoriented mind, each trying to be the one that got asked first. She felt the blood drain from her befuddled face, it suddenly felt like the world might just disappear and she might get shredded into nothing but energy by the blackness threatening to take her conscious mind... and then she felt it.

Gentle and assertive, tender and important. A tickle, just there, inside her brain... it felt like a color, somehow, but also... an idea? No, more than that... a way of thinking... stuffed into an invitation... with beautiful calligraphy swirls of finery and elegance drawing themselves expertly inside her own skull... she shook her head and the swirling stopped.

"What about us?" Sheryl asked, already knowing the dreaded answer. It was the only possible answer, given Mel's reactions to what Sheryl had walked in on.

"Oh, sheryl," Mel tittered, "you're so sweet, my love. When i told Master about you He was so understanding about us. After He explained why we couldn't possibly get married, He also explained how i could keep you in my life and He promised to help me. It made so much sense!"

Melissa sauntered that sexy as fuck body across the floor to where Sheryl woozily stood. Sheryl lightly bit her own bottom lip to steady of herself at the flood of perverse thoughts that flowed through her mind, inked once again in calligraphy curls and swooshes, and there was definitely a color. A color that she felt? Saw? Tasted? Where was that sense of color coming from? Was she hearing it?

"Besides," Mel dripped from her mouth, lingering over the word, letting it drool from the most depraved parts of her soul as if the word itself was an evil carnal act of worship, "i am His good little girl so i always trust Him to know what's best."

Through the confusing mind fog, Sheryl felt a familiar lover's fingers caress her face, then trace to her neck. She gulped for air.

As Mel's fingers trailed down to Sheryl's cleavage, she said, "And, just like He said," before finger-walking up Sheryl's breastbone, in slow, deliberate tempo with the next words, "here... you... are."

Mel slid practiced fingers into Sheryl's hair and pulled her into a passionate kiss. Sheryl was captured in the kiss completely, sucking on Mel's tongue and giving herself to the moment, somehow comprehending through the thick mist of fleeting, swooping ink-filled thoughts, one very bright pink fact: Mel wanted Sheryl to be in her life. She did not even notice the taste of semen until Mel called attention to it.

"Doesn't Master taste wonderful on my lips, sheryl?"

And He really did.

"Pink!" Sheryl announced, to an instantly confused Mel.

"Mel, pink is the color I am sensing in my brain. It's pink! Why would I be thinking 'pink' Mel? Why do my thoughts feel soft? And fluffy? And pink?"

Halfway through her urgent expression, Mel was grinning and nodding in kind indulgence as if she was watching a small child exclaim excitedly about some obvious reality.

"Yes, sheryl, pink is the best kind of thoughts to have. The other kinds are ugly and feel bad, but the pink ones... the pink thoughts are... they're just," she sighed contentedly, "just yuuummy!"

Suddenly Mel fell into another passionate kiss, which flooded Sheryl with more pink ideas, much easier to distinguish from other thoughts now that she knew which color to identify, and much like the person who buys a specific model of car suddenly sees that model of car everywhere, now that she knew it was pink thought, she was finding them everywhere.

"But I hate pink, Mel. Why would I ever think 'pink thoughts'? What even is a p-..."

"Silly..." kiss, "i already told you..." kiss, "it's because pink is the best kind of thoughts to have...," deep kiss, ending in a sigh with a light whimper of desire, "they aren't ugly thoughts...," kiss, "they don't feel bad..." kiss, "instead, they feel so gooooood."

Taking a reflective sigh, Mel continued, "Sheryl, i only want pink thoughts from now on, and Master promises He can help me become perfectly pink."

"But what does that even mean, Mel? Why can't we get married? Who is He? How do I know you aren't in danger? Why do you trust this Man so much? Wha-," whatever Sheryl was about to ask was cut off by another kiss.

"Everything will be explained, i promise you, you will understand everything soon. Right now, i am incredibly horny, my love," Mel seated herself on the sofa like a sleek jungle cat and, as if to prove what she was saying, spread her gorgeous legs while using her hands to part her already soaked pussy lips, "while i answer your questions, do you think you can you keep your mouth from interrupting?"

Sheryl fell to her knees, dropping herself noisily on Mel's snatch like a starving street urchin on a fresh apple pie left to cool unattended on a windowsill, and Mel groaned loudly in appreciative response.

Between urgent moans of fulfilled needs, Mel managed to explain, "we can't possibly get married because that would waste all of your family's money on intolerant people who have intolerant agendas that they fund with your family's money. It is much better to arrange things so that you get as much of that inheritance as possible, even if that means making up with your bigoted family."

Feeling hands gently placed at the back of her head, Sheryl cast her eyes up toward Mel's to see a delighted eagerness dancing in them, wanton, animalistic, primal. The hands had an entirely different energy, the hands were not Mel's... these hands felt... no, that's not right... these hands simply were... perfectly... pink. This was not a perception, at all. It was a simple acceptance of an incomprehensible fact of reality. These hands belonged to Him.

"See? Master is not a threat of any kind, to me, to you, or to any of the others. The reason i trust Him is because it is impossible to do anything else. The trust i have in Him, for Him, that I give to Him... simply exists, infinitely. Master's name is not important, but you'll eventually know it. When that time comes you will already understand why it doesn't matter."

Sheryl felt those hands slide down her hair, to the nape of her neck, and a beautiful pink idea wrote itself in ornate lettering inside her skull, "Let Him have your breath." This idea fixed itself inside her brain, and every thought attached to that idea, including any latent anxieties about it, surged and revolted, rebelling angrily against the perfectly pink words, peacefully remaining.

It was as though the sense of pinkness allowed Sheryl to see, like she was physically observing it, a literal battle of ideas. Every strike against these beautiful words allowing some pressure against them only to then give way and consume the ugly, bad thoughts, springing back to their original unmarred beauty with perfectly pink resilience. Watching the futility of that battle, the outcome felt so obviously inevitable Sheryl wondered why the ugly, bad thoughts even bothered trying to fight such beautiful words when it was so much better to appreciate them, and to fully accept their beauty.

Sheryl wasn't even aware that the hands at the back of her neck had already closed off all her air by smashing her face into the crotch she was ravenously servicing, without hesitation or intermission. Nor was she aware when those hands relieved that pressure, and one hand gently tugged on her hair to bring her nose away from Mel's groin. She did not perceive her own ragged attempts to fill her lungs while persisting with her oral ministrations, or the moment when her nose was once again pressed firmly into smothering flesh.

She only saw the battle waging inside her brain and her own pink reactions to it, she only smelled Mel's [pink] aroused [pink!] folds [pink], wetly [pink!] smearing [pink] her mouth [pink] with delightful [pink!] bodily juices [PINK!]. She heard the noises [pink] of sloppily gorging herself [pink] at the pig trough [PINK!] that Mel offered up to her greed. Even though she was grateful [PINK!] she realized that Mel was not offering [pink!] this trough [pink] to her, but was, instead, offering [pink!] this scene to Him [PINK!]... and that somehow, it was Him [PINK!] who had offered [pink!] Mel to her.

In this way, Sheryl perceived pink to be intruding her every thought, punctuating with different relative intensities various ideas with a very pressing and important sense of... pink.

"... Him [PINK!]," she thought again, to sample again how soothing the texture was to her touch, and to experience again how wonderfully that particular pink tasted, smelled, and sounded.

She moaned into Mel, thinking, "It simply is, nothing can change that."

The words evaporated in her brain, and she briefly grieved the absence of such calming, important words, but felt a jolt of excitement when the ink started to flow again, more easily this time, into words reading simply, "Cum for Him." Sheryl knew instinctively that she would cum for Him. Forever, if that is what He wanted.

At the same moment Sheryl's orgasm drenched her own panties, Mel lurched forward, squeezing trembling legs around Sheryl's head. She bellowed in a voice Sheryl had never heard, "i'm cumming for You, Master! i'm cumming for You, Master! It's all for You, Master! Thank You, Master! Thank You! Thank You! Thank You, so much!"

It was the ridiculous, over-the-top kind of thing she and Mel had always made fun of in porn videos. This time, though, it made perfectly pink sense. Something strained inside her mind, intending to cause Sheryl to challenge that idea, but it couldn't even fully form before it was swallowed up by more deliciously pink thoughts.

She felt those strong, gentle hands pulling her to her unsteady feet and felt... or tasted?... Mel's lustful eyes following her body in a pleasant after shocked reverie, as Sheryl was lifted from her knees.

"Soon, sheryl," He said, from much too closely behind Sheryl's ear, "you will fully understand why you cannot possibly marry melissa. At least, not yet. For now, it is enough to tell you, you will not marry melissa because you will marry Me. I promise you, it is all for the best. I needed to be certain that you genuinely love melissa before I could reveal any of this to you. When you hired that private detective, I knew. Luring you here, after that, was easy, and was mostly Mel's plan."

Mel's feet lowered to the floor. Her pussy, still sopping wet, squelched delightfully between her thighs, "Master, the plan was all Yours. i helped You, but i only exist for You, Master."

"Yes melissa, that's true," He said, "but My plan would have been very unlikely to work if not for many details My good little girl provided."

Instantly, Mel seized into another orgasm.

He continued dripping his voice into the deepest reaches of Sheryl's mind, "Remind Me, how many days was it, melissa, before you came on command?"

Mel brightly replied, "Three days, Master!"

Sheryl felt Him embrace her body from behind and reach for the hem of her pencil skirt, "Tell sheryl what I told you. Do you remember what I told you?"

"Oh, yes, Master! You said, 'That's unusual, it's rare for anyone so newly pink to orgasm on command. Aren't you My good little girl?' That's when i came again and You smiled, Master."

He roughly hiked Sheryl's skirt up to expose her panties, "Look what happened."

Mel's eyes got big and she licked her lips, hungrily, sliding forward onto her knees off the couch. In seconds, she was greedily slurping and sucking Sheryl's juices and dried piss dribble out of the crotch of those panties with hands clutching eagerly to Sheryl's hips.

The fog returned as a comfort this time, and Sheryl knew those beautiful words could not be far behind. Sure enough, the grand sweeps of ink masterfully illuminated, "Be His instrument." At first, she was confused, until she saw the ideas that came to wage war against this new message. One after the other, in a steady, orderly procession this time, her thoughts marched into battle against this concept. This time, the messages were not absorbed or ignored... instead, she watched each change from ugly, bad ideas into beautifully pink ones.

"I'm not a plaything for any man!" broke into pieces and morphed into two pink messages. "i am inside His plaything," reminded her that the body she lived in was not her person, rather, it was merely a thing that belonged to Him. The other message, "He is more than any man," felt warm and sweet, and it sounded like long thin truth chimes on a breezy spring day.

"I don't need a man to direct my life!" broke similarly, and as it progressed through her mind and became two different ideas, "i want Him!" and, "He composes beauty when He plays with me."