We have reached our conclusion of this series with this installment. If you haven't read parts 1 & 2, you'll be pretty darn lost, but maybe you like that. Otherwise, here's the intel so you can make an informed decision: This is a "NonConsent/Reluctance" story, so there's a nontrivial amount of darkness. It's also got a strong Fetish vibe, hinging on lots of talk about the biological realities of intercourse.
This is the third of three parts.
All characters participating in sexual activity in these stories are 18+.
* * *
And there it was.
11
Katie stared at the two lines of forged metal above the steel gate's archway. They were unmistakable in declaring their number. But the archway itself was almost hidden if you didn't know to look for it. Fortunately, Katie did.
"11 Maplewood Dr." That was the address Dr. Voss had under his own contact information, in his phone. Obviously,
he
didn't have a daily use for it, except for the purposes of autocompleting forms or websites, since he knew where he lived. But, regardless of need, computers tended to amass all information it could for the benefit of its users... and, occasionally, determined snoopers.
Getting to this spot took some determination. The world of Hatherton University was designed to be everything for its students. But
beyond
that, the larger city was almost impossible for its scholastic citizens to reach without aid of a car, which almost no freshmen had.
How to get to 11 Maplewood Dr.? Although answered now, it was still an unresolved mystery last night when she fell asleep after taking the New Plan pill. And it remained when she woke this morning.
It was at the forefront of her mind when she awoke. She entered the communal dorm bathroom for her usual morning rituals — potty, washing, teeth — and stepped into the shower.
Moments into soaping her body, she realized the menstrual cup was still in her. She positioned herself in the shower to protect herself from the running water as best she could, then pulled down on the pink tab with her thumb and middle finger. The silicone device slurped out of her with a faint
pop,
a sound almost entirely obfuscated by the shower.
There was very little fluid in the pink cup, compared to what Katie knew had been shot into her yesterday via muscular spasms. But what had accumulated was still warm, incubated by the heat of her womb. And it was still slippery, as her ginger middle finger could attest.
And... and... it
tasted
so intoxicating. She realized the cup was to her lips and half-drained before her conscious mind could tell what she was doing. Her eyes fluttered and she returned to her senses... mostly. She took the salty seminal remains of the silicone and rubbed it on her clit, frigging herself furiously as the water pounded on her in warm persistent pulses.
She leaned her head against the wall of the shower as she got close to her own release, shoving her cum-covered fingers into her clutching cunny and stuffing her other hand in her mouth to keep from screaming.
MGHM! MMGM! MMNM!
echoed her not-entirely-successful efforts.
Throughout it all, the water of life comingled with fragrant froth continued to wash throughout her red hair, all over her face, across her green eyes, along her tiny body, dribbling down her thighs and calves to the waiting hole of the bathroom floor.
Katie stepped out of the shower and walked back to her room. If any of the other women in the bathing area or hall had heard her explosion or noticed her wobbling legs or heavy breathing, they gave no indication.
Once back, she realized that the best time to do what she intended was probably as early as possible. If, for some reason, her plan didn't work, it gave her time to go to her scheduled appointment at 3:00 p.m. to...
endure
more.
She loaded the Uber app on her phone, created an account, and put in her credit-card information. She was nervous about doing so. Her information felt so vulnerable, and Dean Napolitano's warning about the danger to her family — past and future — echoed in her ears. But what other choice did she have? She didn't have any close friends, and certainly none with a car.
Within an hour she was outside 11 Maplewood Drive.
The Uber driver was confused; the address didn't seem to exist, per se. The maps app indicated it was just a stretch of forested road.
Katie, hesitant herself, assured the man that this was the place, and so away he drove. He realized that a seemingly dead off-street exit angled back on itself, looping around some dense foliage to a gate. The long walks she frequently took at Hatherton had prepared her for the lengthy stroll it took to get to the secluded address.
The gate itself was foreboding, with the forged metal "11" on the archway above, and a wrought-iron filigree "M" in a circle on the gate itself (short for "Maplewood," concluded Katie). The gate — serving its sole purpose in life — prevented entryway.
One clever part of this plan, Katie decided, is that it allowed her to remain perfectly true to her declaration yesterday.
She wouldn't tell friends... or enemies... or strangers on the street...
She smiled. The teenager had found herself betrayed by legalese and technicalities these past days, and it felt good to use the same strategy to move her
own
chess piece.
There was an intercom next to the door. Summoning her courage, she pressed the button. Several long moments later, a sonorous male voice intoned. "Yes?" It didn't sound like Dr. Voss, which she took as a promising sign. Her throat was dry as she summoned the courage to speak. "I... I would like to speak with... Mrs. Voss."
Several long moments passed before the voice returned. "Who is calling?"
"I... My name is... Katie O'Hara. Mrs. Voss doesn't know me... but... I'm a student of... her husband. It's important I speak with her."
Five seconds passed. Then 10, then a half-minute. Katie was wondering what to do next — what her options even were — when the gate opened. "Make your way to the main entry," the voice instructed. "I shall meet you there."
The fact that Katie hadn't been turned away proved to her that her hunch was right. She had seen or felt Dr. Voss's ring several times during his...
research project.
And he carried himself with the air of someone who was married... as if he had someone to protect. Someone to keep secrets from.
And a woman like that is someone who could be an ally... someone who could
help,
or at least be
informed.
Katie was dressed for such an encounter. She was dressed as professionally as she could muster. Her woman's business outfit consisted of light-blue pants and top acting as a frame for the white shirt underneath. White flats completed the external look... and matched the white lace panties and bra she wore to give herself that extra boost of confidence and power. In her pocket was the pink menstrual cup, newly washed.
She arrived at the entry door to the... mansion. There was no other way to describe it. The multi-story abode dwarfed anything Katie had ever seen. Obviously, whatever wealth Dr. Voss was heir to could afford opulence
and
seclusion.
The door opened. An older, stern-looking gray-haired man in servant attire opened the door. "Good afternoon," he intoned, without the usual friendliness such a statement normally includes. He peered at Katie with piercing eyes.
Katie struck a power pose and looked back at him. "I-I'm here to see Mrs. Voss," she said, her voice scratchy from her desert-dry throat.
The door opened wider. An older looking woman — probably in her 40s or 50s, like Dr. Voss — smiled, with curiosity and concern. She was dressed in comfortable wealth, with a red pocketed shirt and black pants perfectly fitting her body. She was not unattractive, and seemed to keep fit through diet, exercise, and/or medical magic. "You must mean me. Please... call me Melissa."
"Th-thank you so much, M-Melissa." Her voice was giving out from panic. "My name is... K-Katie O'Hara. Katie, please."
"Very well, Katie. Christopher, I'll escort her to the study. Can you bring us some drinks? You know what
I
want." Christopher nodded. Melissa turned her attention to Katie. "Would you like a water, or soft drink? I believe we normally have Coke, Diet Coke, and Sprite, and I'm pretty sure..."
"W-water. Just water, please." Katie smiled, comforted. She couldn't shake the feeling she had seen her face before. Not around school; she's definitely never been near Dr. Voss's class or office, as best she could tell. Where was-
"Water. An excellent choice." She laughed. "It's hard to regret drinking water,
hmm?
" She led the young woman to the study. It was beautiful, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that needed a rolling ladder to access their highest tomes. Of course, such a ladder was nearby.
Melissa gestured to an old but comfortable-looking high-backed chair. There were five such chairs all around a large circular table in the center. It felt like there should be a sixth chair, but — if so — it wasn't in this room.
Katie could see why Melissa picked the study. It was a perfect combination of intimate and formal; with the merest shift of the chairs, participants could go from speaking conspiratorially around the table to regaling a room full of others with anecdotes and laughter.
