Caroline's Contract

Chapter One-1

Chapter One

“Close the door, Roxanne, and pull down the shades. I’m up here.” Caroline’s tired voice traveled from the loft to the shop below. “Did you bring the wine?”

“Lots of it,” Roxanne called to her. Dressed in tiny shorts and a halter-top, the sumptuous blond raced up the stairs to Caroline’s studio, which was attached to her small apartment beyond.

Summers for Caroline and Roxanne are always hectic. Main Street of Mesquite Shores was packed until after 9:00 p.m. with tourists combing the stores. Until that hour Caroline Ashley would be busy in her art gallery, while Roxanne Wilde arrayed fine designer sport clothes in her Main Street Boutique. As the sun finally disappeared, the shades to the shops were drawn and the bustling activity moved behind the doors and glowing windows of the half dozen cafes serving mellow moods, fine liquor and exotic food.

Miles north of San Francisco on Highway 1, Mesquite Shores sits like a little jewel, with a few hundred residents during the week and thousands at week’s end. The quaint haven had become the newest place to spend time away from the hustle of the city. Tiny shops line both sides of Main Street, which in the past few years had been renovated with bright awnings and banners, beckoning tourists with elegant tastes.

Caroline Ashley’s gallery was one of the first to redecorate for the burgeoning audience of meandering visitors. For ten years since she decided not to go to college, her small shop stood weathering the fickle winds of seasons, and the fashionable changing trends. Her life has been a testament to her independent will and her dogmatic need to create her art at whatever cost. And for her resourcefulness, she’s finally been well paid.

“Ah! This week’s been horrible!” Caroline exclaimed, “I think I need a good screw.” She sighed as she plopped down on her brightly-colored sofa.

Roxanne looked at her with eyes twinkling. Her large, pouty, lips formed a charming smile, which was a welcome relief for Caroline and her woes. She was such a sweet slut, with enormous t**s that always stretched her lycra tank tops so tightly that her tiny round n*****s showed through. She was the bouncy and voluptuous kind of woman who teases and flirts, and easily opens her thighs for men lured by her unabashed sensuality.

“Yeah, tell me,” Caroline observed, “You look like you had yours.”

“I’m not as picky as you are,” she replied with a devious grin.

Caroline poured California Merlot into handmade goblets she’d pulled off her showroom shelf, and the two sat opposite each other, slouching into her overstuffed couches. Between them, the glass-topped coffee table was covered with plates of sticky finger food: wontons, lumpia and fried mushrooms. Caroline’s favorite repast came hot fried from her kitchen, a splurge for the occasion. It had been months since she and Roxanne had reveled in a Friday night over greasy food and wine.

Caroline Ashley was a cool, fluid and elegant woman, proud of her life and her creations. Her sandy blond hair was long, usually tied in floppy ponytails, or piled atop her head; or on special occasions, it simply fell about her shoulders in loosely flowing curls. Nearly 5’11” with long and slender legs, she carried herself with grace, and yet her physical assets were often hidden by her casual attire. She was seen about Mesquite Shores in baggy, hand-knit sweaters and oversized pants.

What was always unmistakable was the sensuous way she moved, with her head held high and her angular neck inviting all to see what lay underneath the surface. Most men would prefer to see more than she offered for their view, but that was Caroline’s well-kept secret.

She was a passionate lover, though never had her passions been fulfilled. There was something in her eyes, a strange glittering light, a mystery, something haunting. Something wanton resided in her psyche, remaining there, untapped. Though too often her inner nervousness hid her passions, making her look a little too prim and demure.

“So tell me about him,” Caroline asked, “about this great f**k of yours, I haven’t heard a good juicy s*x tale in weeks.”

Roxanne took a gulp of wine, the rich red flowing over her luscious lips like a potion from the gods of s*x. Her smirk was lewd. “He’s a cowboy, boots and all.” After devouring a crusty mushroom, the creamy dressing dripped down her chin, and she licked it off with her tongue as though she were licking a lover’s face.

“Here? He’s here?” Caroline was incredulous. “In Mesquite, a cowboy?”

“Yeah, and he’s hot! Not prissy liked the guys we usually meet, and rock hard!” Her eyes widened, her lips forming a sexy smirk. “f****d him every night this week.”

“Really?”

“Where’s he live?”

“Well, that’s a problem, he’s only in town for a couple of months, doing construction work on the washed out road. Cousin owns the company or something. He’s been jilted. Little b***h in Arizona broke his heart. He tried a few months in Vegas, but lost too much money.” Her eyes brightened again slyly. “Thought a little town like ours would treat him better.”

“I bet he’s glad he came.”

“I hope so.” Roxanne was positively euphoric.

“You ever going to just take off with one of these guys?”

Her face screwed up scornfully. “Ah, I don’t know, they get me off for a while, but something permanent? Hell, I don’t know.”

The wine was pulsing through Caroline’s veins, sending her to the altered state she loved best, where she didn’t care too much about anything except being tipsy and thinking about s*x. “You know, I need something soon, this drought is damaging my creative juices,” she breathed an exasperated sign.

“You could borrow Duke.”

“Duke?”

“Yeah Duke.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Caroline laughed, “I didn’t think anybody had the guts to be called ‘Duke.’”

“Oh, stop it, Caroline!” Rox threw a wonton in her face, her giddy laugh infectious.

“You know what I want?” Caroline declared.

“What?”

“I want something really wild and kinky.”

“Oh, like what?”

“Something rough. Is Duke rough?”

“Aw, he’s kinda rough, and kinda like a kitten.”

“Oh, no,” she shook her head. “I’m talking something deviant.” She finished her second glass of wine and poured another while her voice lowered to a sexy whisper. “You know what I think about when I have to get myself off?” Roxanne’s eyes lit with interest. “I think about getting spanked.”

“Really?” Rox was surprised.

“Yeah, real hard, on my ass. You know turned over some guy’s knee, or better yet over a table or desk, and . . .” her eyes looked faraway as she spoke, “leather, something leather,” she licked her lips dreamily, “a belt, or strap, or paddle coming down on my backside so it burns and stings. Ooo, my,” she breathed in hissing, as her bottom squirmed against the couch.

“Caroline,” Roxanne drawled (She pronounced her named the was it was meant to be said—rhyming with fine or wine, which made her sound like Southern Belle). Rox was amazed, her eyes so wide you’d think they might pop right off her face. Caroline instantly came-to, “Gottcha, didn’t I,” she said with an inebriated giggle. She was hard to shock.

“Yeah, I never knew. Is this real?”

“Yeah it’s real, I think about it all the time,” she admitted, “but what do you say to a lover? ‘God I wanna be spanked!’”

“Why not,” Roxanne replied coyly.

“You’d do that?”

“I have,” she winked.

“Oh, you have not!”

“Oh, but I have,” she answered earnestly, with a deliriously blissful look on her face. With a finger at her mouth, she licked it suggestively as she giggled through her words. “You have no idea how it feels.” She squirmed on the soft cushion, pressing her p***y lewdly against it.

“Maybe not, but I can certainly imagine, ” she spoke enviously. “So did your cowboy spank you?”

Roxanne laughed. “Not exactly. Last night, he lassoed me, tied me up in the shop and teased me . . . he was so cute. He started with my lips and kissed me a hundred times, all the way down my body. . . one little kiss after another. He was on his knees right in front of me . . . you know my hands were tied over my head, I couldn’t even touch him,” she pouted like a child, “then he grabbed by butt and tongued my p***y. Gawd! What a tongue! By that time, I moaned so loudly I thought I’d wake my next door neighbors. Ooooo, I wish he was around tonight. No offense, Caroline, but . . . .”

“You think I’d be here if I had a date?” she laughed. “So, let me live vicariously, tell me more.”

“He sucked me till I started to c*m, it was sweet,” her eyes were closed, lips pursed in midst of the memory. Caroline could imagine Rox’s cunt pulse just thinking of it, “and then . . . he parted my legs, so I was on my toes, . . . I could hardly stand up, but he held me. Great muscles… oh, and his tongue lapped at the juices dribbling down my thigh, then he burrowed between my legs and planted his lips on my clit and hole, sucking as though he’d suck me dry.” Her entire body shimmied, the full mounds of her breasts jiggling underneath her tee shirt. With thoughts of the bondage, of Roxanne getting spanked, of her p***y throbbing against her cowboy’s tunneling face, Caroline’s p***y juiced in reply as a glorious fire of need ignited inside her cunt. She squeezed her anxious muscles against the nothingness and wished for more stale air.

“Before I knew it…” Rox opened her eyes in time to discover Caroline’s lust filled ones, “he raised up, grabbed my butt and thrust his d**k in my cunt so hard I screamed . . . oh what heaven!”

“Ahhh,” Caroline sighed as though she were cumming herself.

“I’d give anything to be screwing him right now,” the lusty blonde sighed herself. And then coming down, as though coming down from a furious f**k, some normalcy seemed to returned to the s*x charged scene.

“I didn’t realize you were quite so kinky,” Caroline was the first to speak. “I mean getting tied up?”

“It’s lots of fun.” She giggled again.

“Aw, for you it’s so easy, for me,” there was a look of despondent sweetness on her face, “you want to know the truth?”

“What?” Rox asked

“What I fantasize about is a lot nastier.” Her eyes darkened as she started to confess, “I think about dark, shadowy, wicked things. Men who refuse to listen to my protests, who take me with such intensity that I’m scared. I imagine more than one man, a dozen, maybe, and sinister things …” her voice drifted off, then she looked back sheepishly. “I shouldn’t say these things,” she blushed.

“You’re as much a slut as I am.”

“Maybe,” her eyes were downcast and sullen. “What’s the point.”

“Don’t speak so fast, you think about it enough, you just might find your man.”

“You think so?” Caroline perked.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Oh, it seems pretty absurd.”

“Why absurd?”

“Roxanne,” she said seriously. “You don’t understand. I imagine being owned.” She looked intently at her friend as her eyes turned smoky with the fires of lust flaming passionately. With the wine taking away any hesitation, she was drawn back to her fantasies, and spoke forcefully, as though she were in the middle of her dreams. “Being used, losing myself in a man’s desires, losing myself . . . I think it would be the perfect peace, perfect contentment. I’m so tired of being responsible and independent all the time. When it gets to s*x, I want the rules suspended. I don’t want to have to think about anything. I want to be led, commanded, taken care of. No decisions. No choosing. I want someone to read the book of all my desires and make them happen.” Caroline stared into Roxanne’s discerning eyes, her friend absorbing the attitude and the words she’d never heard her speak, as though she were, at last, seeing Caroline’s true soul for what it was. “I want to be owned. . . my God, I shouldn’t be saying this, but the pictures are so distinct, so clear. I see it in my head every time I’m horny and close my eyes. I’ve never told a soul, I’ve hardly admitted this to myself, but it’s the truth.”

Roxanne was in awe. She could feel the force of Caroline’s words, realizing that something primal had risen within her. “Confession’s good for the soul,” she reminded her. “Don’t hide your passions.”

“Sure. And what do I do with it? With these silly thoughts, who could ever make them happen?”

“I don’t know,” Roxanne admitted, “But pushing them away all the time is just going to keep them hidden forever, and you’ll never have a chance to find what you want.”

Caroline often marveled at Roxanne’s simple wisdom. She had the way of saying the right wise thing at the right time, but the wine was too strong, and her stomach too full, and her head too terribly sleepy to contemplate it any longer.

The two friends looked at each other, thinking more, but remaining silent. Nearly 12:30, they were both exhausted. And as the background music died away, they fell into a pleasant dreamless sleep nestled in the downy cushions behind them.

About 3:00 am., Roxanne jerked awake. “Damn! I’ve got to go!” she exclaimed, looking at the ticking clock on the wall. “Shop opens at 9:00.” Caroline looked up sleepily seeing her energized friend hurriedly pull her sweatshirt over her head.

“I had a terrific time, the food was perfect, oh, and everything else.” She yawned as Caroline walked her down the stairs, to the front door of the shop. “Oh, by the way,” she abruptly turned back as an odd thought suddenly swept her mind clear of anything else, “are you really serious about the spanking and all those dark fantasies of yours?”

“Rox, don’t tell a soul!” Caroline whispered, as if the whole world might be listening. The remembrance of her brave confession brought a blush to her cheek.

“I won’t tell anyone, but if you’re serious,” Roxanne looked her straight in the eye, “call him.” Pulling a card from her purse, she scribbled something on it; and handing it to her friend, walked out into the damp ocean air.

As Caroline locked the door, she noticed a gentle fog making its way down the street covering the shop in its cloud. Glancing at the plain white card, she squinted to make out Roxanne’s scrawl. “Max, 622-9117,” was all it said. She was still too drowsy and too drunk to make any sense of it But her stomach turned slightly sour, as she wondered briefly what had possessed her to share her darkest secrets with Roxanne. “Confession’s good for the soul,” she remembered her saying. Caroline fingered the card, as she looked at the name wondering; though she could really make no sense of it. Then stuffing it in the pocket of her shorts, she climbed the stairs to the loft and went to bed.

ChapterTwo

Summer was not Caroline’s favorite time of year: too much activity, too many frenetic people—even though she refused to get frantic herself, maintaining an almost austere calm on the surface of her excitable creative reality. Caroline’s excitement was always an internal thing, revolving around the dozens of ideas that continually besieged her brain cells until she had the time to answer with a new creation. Too often in summer she spent her time waiting on tourists and very little time in the seclusion of her studio. The shop was open six days a week, instead of five as it was in winter, and until 9:00 every night instead of 5:00, when she would have preferred to lock her doors.

With so little time to create, there was even less time for musing . . . and for thinking of her s****l fantasies. Yet now, despite her busy days, her thoughts obsessively returned to her night with Roxanne, their curious conversation about kinky s*x . . . and the card that remained in the pocket of her favorite shorts.

In the middle of waiting on a customer she’d find herself wondering who this Max was, and why Rox might think to give her his number. Was she suggesting that she’d been spanked by him? She imagined Roxanne’s plump round ass bouncing in the air as a man’s firm hand smacked it repeatedly. She imagined little tears making streaks of grey through her tawny colored make-up, though they were hardly tears of pain, more likely tears of release as she let go the tension generated by her excitable life.

Even more she imagined herself; what it would be like to find the right sort of man to offer her this pleasure. She had such specific thoughts about being spanked, would any man understand her need? She wasn’t Roxanne. s*x was never an exuberant deed, it was solemn and passionate and fraught with powerful surges of physical sensation. It seemed impossible that any man would understand her complex desire, but what if? What if there were such a man? For days after Rox’s card landed in her pocket, she contemplated the possibilities, but as often, squashed them summarily, sure that this preoccupation with such improbable things could only lead to more frustration.

622-9117. Caroline dialed her phone.

She couldn’t stop herself. With the obsession conquering her common sense, she made the impulsive move one afternoon, almost without thinking. She had the number memorized.

“Law office,” a young pleasant voice answered.

Caroline slammed the receiver back on the cradle.

“Law office,” she mused aloud to no one, no one was in the shop yet. She grabbed the phone book. Maxwell Burton, Attorney at Law. 925 Pine Street. He worked one block from Main Street; his office must be in one of the houses along Pine, converted as many already had been, into small businesses.

So close by. So real. So within reach. She shuddered.

But then, why not? Why would she have expected him to be far away, when he had a local number. The likelihood that she’d seen him, would recognize him, that he’d been in the shop at some time, was very possible. And did that change things? Did he need to be a total stranger in order to realize this fantasy?

Two hours later she dialed again.

“Law office,” the secretary answered in the same sweet way.

“Mr. Max Burton’s office?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“May I speak with Max?” She used the familiar, after all, that was the only name Rox had given her.

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“Um . . .Caroline, Caroline Ashley,” she blurted out, not wanting to. “He doesn’t know me.”

“One moment please.”

She waited for nearly a minute with her heart pounding and p***y squeezing as though there were a c**k inside to milk dry.

A strong male voice came on the line, “This is Max Burton.”

“I-I, I-um… I’m Caroline Ashley.”

“Yes, Miss Ashley.”

She cleared her throat nervously, sure this busy attorney was impatient with her. “I don’t know how to say this, but Roxanne Wilde gave me your name and number.” She hesitated almost about to hang up the phone; but then steeled herself against the worst, and with ass and p***y leading, she said, “How do I put this… that we… she said I should contact you if I were serious about,” her voice then softened to a whisper, “spanking?”

“I see. And are you, serious about being spanked?”

“I guess I am.”

“You need to be clearer than you sound.”

“Oh, but I am,” she jumped in. “I’ve just never talked about it before.”

“Apparently you did with Roxanne.”

She took another deep breath. “I was drunk,” she admitted, surprising herself with the unusual candor speaking with this stranger. She was certain now that the man was no one that she’d ever met, or had even seen. He had a commanding power over her, just his voice—coupled with her imagination—able to turn her stomach vilely, while an intense hunger spread inside her belly. Her cold hands, shaking when she first made the call, had warmed and steadied as her s****l energy engaged.

“I see,” she heard him respond to her confession. He paused, for what seemed an ungodly time. “I have time tomorrow evening, at 6:00. Be prompt.”

“Yes sir.” She found herself addressing him formally.

“You know where I work?”

“I have your address.”

“Then, I’ll see you at 6:00” The abrupt click of the phone made her body jerk.

Caroline shook again, her hands began to sweat, and her mind reeled at the thought of what deed she’d just set in motion. She could feel her thighs warm at the thought of what he might do to her. Her ass tingled—suddenly becoming the most important of her body parts. With the possibility of realizing her dark secret suddenly before her, she put on brakes. “Good gawd! He might be a total jerk!” she said aloud, reminding herself how extreme her fantasies were, how specific and excessive. The likelihood of meeting a master to enact those fantasies seemed much too remote to give her any hope of realizing what she wanted.