Are You Tiffani Caine?

Author's Introduction: This is the first chapter in what may (depending on audience reaction) become an ongoing series. I expect each chapter to vary in themes, fetishes, and even category, and for that reason I intend to state at the beginning of each chapter what readers can expect to see. So, here goes:

Are You Tiffani Caine? Chapter 1

deals with nonconsensual elements (blackmail, non-violent coercion), exhibitionism, public sex, (Christian) faith being tested, heterosexual sex, angst, humiliation, self-recrimination, possible PTSD, and tax fraud. Wait...sorry, I edited out the tax fraud. All the other stuff is there though. Also, this takes place in a beautiful, magical world without Covid; I deal with that shit every day in reality, I don't want to deal with it in my fiction too.

Because the theme of the story is about corruption and the cumulative effects of doing things the main character isn't comfortable with, the sex in this and the next few chapters will start out rather oddly. It's present, sometimes in considerable amounts, but at the beginning (including all through this chapter) it's relatively mild. Furthermore, sex scenes will always be written from the main character's point of view, so most of the time in this chapter and through the next couple of chapters at least, the scenes will not be written erotically. This is deliberate: Sara is having a terrible time and the scenes will be written to reflect that. As her corruption deepens this will change, but not all at once and not quickly, so don't bother to tell me the sex isn't hot in this chapter because I already know -- unless you do find it hot, in which case...good.

Before I began writing this, I honestly thought I could knock this chapter out in a couple of weeks (which is speedy for me). It turned out to be much, much more challenging than I expected, a process not helped by a vast array of personal issues that can keep me from writing for

(very) extended

periods. I'm still not wholly satisfied with it, but there comes a time when you need to release your creations out into the wild and let them live or die on their own. We'll see how this one does. I welcome feedback, positive or negative -- is this story worth continuing with? If you want a response, either leave a comment at the end of this story or email me at the address on my profile page.

Up next: Either

Are You Tiffani Caine, Chapter 2

or

That Damned Blessing, Chapter Two.

Let me know which one I should work on next.

Are You Tiffani Caine? Chapter 1

By Senor Smut

Inside the walls of prison my body may be, but the Lord has set my soul free

-- Johnny Cash

March 24th

"OK babe, here's one," Sara Moorhead said. "If you could be any kind of Middle Eastern food, what would you be?"

Isaac Pennell looked at her as they walked hand-in-hand down Central Avenue. The question wasn't out of the blue -- they'd just eaten at a Middle Eastern restaurant and deli so good that it exported Middle Eastern food from Minneapolis to the actual Middle East -- and yet at the same time it couldn't have been

more

out of the blue. "Ummm...

could be

or

had to be?

Because I'm going to be honest here and say that I don't want to be any food if I don't have to be."

"Had to be then, Mr. Smart Aleck," she chuckled, bumping him in the arm with her shoulder. "You don't get out of it that easy."

"You know, I don't even know how to answer that. But...I guess...stuffed grape leaves? Those are good."

"Awww, that's what I was going to be!" Sara protested, then snickered. "Oh well, I'll be baba ghanouj instead."

"Ugh! Eggplant! Why?"

"Because eggplant is delicious. I love eggplant."

"I know you do," Isaac sighed theatrically, "and it tears me up inside!"

Sara giggled and squeezed his hand. "If you can't deal with that, how are you going to deal with my bras drying on the shower rod?"

"When we're married, I don't want to see a single bra hanging off anything except my wife."

"Ohh, you're going to be stern! I like that."

"Stern but loving, like the Good Book says," Isaac nodded. "A husband must be a guide and teacher to his wife, and I intend to guide and teach you not to leave your underwear all over the place."

She giggled again as Isaac beeped his car lock and then held the door open for her. She slid into the passenger seat, her doggy bag on her lap, and buckled up as he closed the door and made his way to the driver's side. When he opened his door, she asked, "What do you have against eggplant?"

"Eggplant is like eating an elastic waistband."

"Is that something you have experience with?"

"Missionary life is fraught with challenges," he said as he started the car. "You sometimes have to eat weird things so you don't offend your hosts."

"Ohhh, and they eat elastic in Bangladesh?"

"Well, that's what they fed me. Every night."

"Remind me to never visit Bangladesh."

"It's nice, you'd like it. Elastic sandwiches, elastic salad, elastic stew..."

"Elastic truth..."

Isaac grinned. "Especially that, my love."

She laughed. "And here I was thinking it was a sin to tell a lie!"

"But it's not a sin to kid!" he chuckled, pulling out into traffic. "One thing I don't miss about Bangladesh is the traffic. Driving is a contact sport over there."

Sara nodded. She'd seen pictures he'd taken of the congestion there, people crammed onto roads so thickly it was impossible to imagine that mass of humanity moving at all. It was no wonder collisions were commonplace. "My dad says that Minnesota drivers are the worst."

"Well...he's not wrong," Isacc chuckled. "One of my college professors used to say that he could tell that Minnesotans were descended from vikings because we don't drive down a lane, we tack from side to side like a boat."

She laughed. In the glow from streetlamps and headlights, Isaac was almost shockingly handsome. His face was long and his jaw was strong with a neatly-trimmed mustache and beard softening the line of a chin that was a bit too protuberant. His sharp blue eyes and aquiline nose made him reminiscent of a bird of prey, but his friendly, ready smile showed his gentle nature. He was always neat and tidy-- much more than she was! -- from his short, light brown hair to his clothes. And he could always make her smile.

She was, she reflected for the twentieth time that evening, a very lucky woman.

After a few moments of staring at her fiance with a dopey expression on her face, Sara asked, "What's your dad's sermon going to be about on Sunday?"

"Philippians 4: 12-13."

She thought for a moment. "That's about...being happy in the Lord?"

"'I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty,'" he recited, his voice dropping unconsciously into the rhythms and cadence of a preacher. "'I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through Him who gives me strength.'"

Sara gazed at him with pride and awe, as she always did when he revealed his vocation. He was a strong man -- physically and mentally, yes, but more importantly strong in the Lord. It showed in his everyday dealings, whether with her, with congregants, or with perfect strangers. He was kind, generous, and gentle, but he was also unyielding in faith. Though it was not right to compare them, he had even more of the natural gifts of a preacher than his father did, and his father knew it: Isaac had been given the opportunity to lead two services per month, and they were so successful and well-received that soon he would be leading more. No one doubted that Reverend John -- Isaac's father -- still ran the Holy Light Church, but no one doubted either that he had raised a son who was a powerful warrior in Christ.

"I can't wait to hear it," she said finally.

He grinned at her. "I think you only date me so you can learn what the sermons are going to be before they happen."

"Is it that obvious?" she asked. "It's true. Your advance knowledge is all I care about."

"I feel so cheap."

"Well, that and your ability to eat elastic. That is

super

attractive!"

The rest of the 15-minute drive to her apartment was breezy and fun. They talked about her friends, her family, her job, his dog Ray. It was so easy to talk to him, so pleasant and enjoyable. Being with him was never a chore or a burden, and she looked forward to seeing him more than almost anything.

When they arrived in front of her building, he parked in the drop-off zone and left the car running as he went around to open her door. She emerged with the doggy bag and let him take her, hand in hand to her front door. They said a long, lingering goodbye that ended with a kiss, and the kiss left her dizzy and fluttery. She went inside and watched from the lobby as he drove off, then grabbed the mail and went upstairs, a silly grin still on her face.

Her home was a small apartment in a five-story building. Like all the apartments, it was a corner unit, and her southwest view gave her a fantastic vista of downtown Minneapolis. She put the leftovers in the fridge for the next night's dinner and headed for the shower. After that kiss, she needed a dousing in cold water. The Lord made it possible to resist temptation, but He didn't make it easy.

March 25th

"It's wrong. Period. No question." Sara took another sip of her tea. "Jesus was perfectly clear on the subject."

Four women sat around a table in a soup-and-salad restaurant on Nicollet Mall as the lunchtime crowd swirled around them. For a long time they had carried the nickname, "The Four Muskatrixes," but it had only been true for a short period. Once inseparable in all things, their lives had taken different paths. But they were still friends for all that, as their weekly Thursday lunches showed. Each woman had her own style -- Sara's was conservative, with a dress that reached mid-calf and was as close to shapeless as good office fashion permitted -- but none was more different than the one who spoke to counter Sara's argument. This woman, named Emma, was currently wearing what could only be described as goth attire, including a black tee shirt depicting Hello Kitty with a sword through its head and Xs where its eyes should be, tight black jeans, and black high-heeled boots, accompanied by dark eyeliner, lipstick, and nail polish. She had even dyed her dishwater-blonde hair black. "Even granting that we ought to care what the Bible says about anything, which I don't, you're wrong."

Sara arched an eyebrow. "I think you'll find that Matthew 19 and Mark 10 are pretty definite on the subject."

"I think

you'll

find that they're both about divorce, not homosexuality," Emma countered instantly. She had long ago left the church, but her memory for the Bible was still sharp and ferocious. "And about rich people not getting into heaven. And Matthew 19 is also in favor of guys cutting their balls off to avoid temptation, so go preach that and see how far it gets you."

"It would make getting converts more challenging," admitted Kait, another of the women there. Of the four, she was dressed most roughly, in a flannel shirt and stained jeans, but then of the four she was the only one who worked with her hands, as a glassblower of all things.

"Jesus was clearly speaking metaphorically when he said that," Sara sighed.

"How come Christians always claim that the stupid shit Jesus said is metaphorical?" Emma asked as she speared a piece of chicken and some spinach on her fork. "It's like anything that's inconvenient is a metaphor, but whatever supports the argument they're making at the time is the Literal Word Of God. Anyway, all those references you mention specifically address men, Nowhere in the Bible does it even hint that women can't fuck women."

"Can we get back to the girl you're dating?" asked Amy, the last of the four women present. Of the four, Amy was dressed most professionally, in a power suit and four-inch executive heels. "I want to hear more about her."

"Her name is Cassandra," Emma said. "She's a geriatric nurse down at Fairview Southdale. I mean she nurses geriatrics, she's not old."

"Thanks for clearing that up," Sara said dryly. In spite of the clash of views, Sara wasn't angry at Emma. They were still friends and Sara wished her well, albeit with a nice guy instead of a woman. "What's she like?"

"She's suuuuper straight-laced," Emma said, "and she likes to stay in evenings, but she's really cool and sweet."

Amy nodded, digesting the information, then said, "Two weeks."

"Oh, I was going to say one week," Kait replied.

"I think Emma's already dumped her but she hasn't realized it yet," Sara put in, popping a cherry tomato into her mouth.

"Fuck you, bitches," Emma said cheerfully. Given her track record of marked instability in everything from personal beliefs to jobs to relationships, she couldn't really complain much about her friends' skepticism. It was obvious that even she didn't consider Nurse Cassandra to be the love of her life.

As Isaac always said, Emma had no idea who she was.

They were four very different women. They had all met when they were 19 (except for Amy, who was a year younger) and had freshly joined the Holy Light Church, a small but vibrant community near the University of Minnesota where they were all students. All had been going through transitions -- Sara in particular was having a hard time -- and all had found stability there. They became fast friends, getting a big apartment together and never missing a church service. But it didn't last. Emma moved away from Christianity to another enthusiasm (existential philosophy? Fin de siecle Décadent literature? Craft beer? It had been one of those) and moved out at the end of the lease. Amy had been next, meeting and falling in love with Vic, the man she would marry; he was a Catholic so she converted and joined his church, though nowadays they only went four or five times a year. Kait had attended Holy Light for a few years, but her fervor had gradually cooled; she had eventually met Chris, an agnostic fellow artist, and they had been together for two years now.

Even though their lives had diverged, each still cared deeply for the other, and Sara prayed every night for the Lord to lead them back to the righteous path, even while she loved and supported them the best she could. Everyone needed role models, and Sara hoped she could be that for her friends.

The conversation swept on to other things -- Kait getting a piece into a prestigious show in Chicago, Sara's difficulties with her problematic coworker Josh ("Dude definitely needs his balls chopped off," Emma opined, and Sara felt a little guilty about lacking commitment when she rebuked her friend), and Kait's disagreement with her husband over the timing of kids. Time vanished as time had a way of doing when one was having a good time, and the four broke up to head back to their jobs. Amy stuck with Sara for two blocks, as they worked only a block apart, but eventually Sara headed back toward her office alone.

She was just walking into the lobby when her phone rang. She pulled it from her purse and saw that it was an unidentified caller, which wasn't unexpected; a couple of her biggest clients displayed that way on her phone. She pressed the button and said, "Hello."

"Are you Tiffani Caine?" came a male voice she didn't recognize, deep and bit muffled as though he was holding the phone in a crook of his shoulder instead of to his mouth.

"Ummm...nope, sorry, wrong number," she said cheerfully, then hung up and immediately forgot about it.

She took the elevator up to 15, where she had her office. The firm she worked for, Danforth Companies, was a business consulting organization that provided comprehensive solutions to a wide variety of issues, and although she was a small cog in a big machine, she enjoyed her job. She burrowed into the cube farm -- Danforth had tried open office arrangements and found them ineffective -- and found Josh waiting at her desk. She could tell from his grin that he had something unpleasant to say. "Hello Josh," she said brightly. "Have a good lunch?"

"Yeah, I went to lunch at Vecchio's with Natalie."

Ah, that explained it. He had lunch with the boss, and from his insufferable expression she must have given him good news -- or maybe given him bad news for Sara. Josh would look smug either way. She kept her voice neutral when she said, "Oh, that's good."

"Mm. She said she wanted to see you when you got back."

Ah again. "Well, I'd better go see her then."

Natalie's office was only twenty feet away, so Sara didn't have a lot of time to worry on the way there. The door was open, but she knocked on the frame and said, "Hi, Natalie, you wanted to see me?"

Natalie looked up from her screen and smiled; that was good, at least. "Hey Sara, come on in."

Sara stepped inside and hesitated. "Door closed?"

"Yes." Oh no -- Natalie never kept the door closed for good news. She shut the door and sat down across the desk from Natalie, who went on, "First of all, I want to say that I think you've been doing a great job, Your clients are satisfied, your numbers are good, and you're great to have in the office."

Sara smelled a big fat

but

coming. "Thank you, Natalie. I really appreciate that."

"And I want you to understand that what I'm about to tell you is not a punishment for anything you've done or didn't do."

Ice water poured down Sara's spine. "Alright."

Natalie paused for a moment, then said, "We're transferring Ingers-Stevens to Josh."

Sara's eyes got huge. "What? Ingers is my biggest client! They're 65% of my workload!"

"I know, and you've done a great job with them, really."

"Then why? Why are you doing this?"

Natalie paused again, and when she spoke again it was obvious that she had selected her words with extreme care. "After consultation with the client, Ken decided that it would be best for all concerned if Josh took over the account."

Sara leaned back, stunned. Ken was Natalie's boss, the head of the division, and she was telling Sara that this decision came from him. She was also telling her that the client didn't want to work with her anymore. "I thought they were satisfied with my performance."

"They've never given me any reason to doubt it, Sara. I think you've done a fantastic job with them and every other client you have."

Sara stared at Natalie, who looked back with unspoken compassion. There was a lot Natalie wasn't saying here, undoubtedly because she was constrained from doing so. Natalie had always had her back for the four years Sara had been working here, so it was obvious she was telling the truth. This wasn't her fault, and there was no point getting angry at her about it. "Well, I guess I'll have a lot of free time on my hands."

"We'll be transferring several of Josh's accounts to you to keep things balanced."

Balanced. Right. Ingers-Stevens had been a coup for her. It was a prominent and important client, and getting assigned to them was a huge accomplishment for someone so young. Josh had garbage clients, small companies who brought in almost no revenue and weren't even mentioned by higher-ups. She was still too stunned to feel anything, but she knew she was going to cry soon. "I see."

"Listen, I know it's not what you wanted," Natalie told her. "But don't let it get you down. You deserved Ingers-Stevens when we assigned it to you and you didn't do anything to not deserve to keep it. The next big client that comes in will be assigned to you. You have my word."

Sara couldn't even speak. She just nodded.

Natalie looked acutely uncomfortable as she added, "There's one more thing, Sara. You're going to need to work closely with Josh to get him up to speed on Ingers. They need him to hit the ground running and we can't afford any hiccups."