Christmas was the first to stir, a hangover's moan replacing her previous one's of pleasure. She lifted her head up a bit, glassily taking in the strange surroundings, the cool sticky feeling of her come mixed with that of Master Jarrod's. The bedside clock read five AM. She smiled, then dipped her hand down to rub at herself. Then winced at her soreness. 'I really need to clean myself up for Master,' she thought, then shook her head at the idea that he wasn't actually her Master. 'I'm obviously not at my best,' she thought, 'I'll talk to Master Jarrod and he'll show me how to feel better. But first, to the shower.'

Christmas Jones quietly opened the door to the study after stripping off her pants. To the right was a hallway with doors leading off deeper into the house; to the left was an opening into what looked like the enter foyer of the house. Christmas headed right softly, and after a couple of peeks into bedrooms and storage rooms, she came upon a full bathroom, stripped off her T-shirt and headed into the shower. Once the shower got nice and steamy Christmas helped herself to the soap and shampoo, slathering her body and preparing herself for Master Jarrod's tender touch. She smiled, dipped her fingers again and again between her legs, gradually increasing the tempo until her fingers were a strumming blur as she arched forwards, focusing on the heat and passion in her body's core. Eventually she cooled down, then toweled off, wandered into Jarrod's bedroom, and fell asleep, sprawled naked on his faux satin sheets.

Dr. Jarrod Merither, meanwhile, hadn't gone anywhere. The screen held him fast, even as somewhere, deep inside his mind, he was sobbing, realizing that he was in the grip of the screen capture program, which was grinding through it's reprogramming of his mind. But that was way off in the back of his mind, as the rest of his being focused on watching the messages flickering past his helpless unconscious and captive conscious minds.

Unlike his subversion of Dr. Jones, a subtle insinuation because of the work situation he needed to achieve his goals, Jarrod Merither was getting the full brunt of the screen capture program with no niceties built in. Christmas was unsure of the advanced features of the program Merither had unleashed on her, so she stuck with what seemed to her to be the safest course. The capture utility was drumming the same set of twenty or so messages repeatedly into his subconscious, effecting pile driver fashion what Jarrod had attempted with subtlety on her. <You will not harm Christmas Jones in any way>. <You will only do things that Christmas wants>. <You cannot use any force, coercion or manipulation on Christmas Jones>. <Christmas Jones controls your sexual feelings and activities>. <You trust everything that Christmas Jones says>. <What Christmas Jones wants is what you must do>. Taking no chances, Christmas set up the screen capture program to loop endlessly, maximum repetitions and no ending time. Dr. Jarrod Merither spent the night stiffly staring at the screen.

Dancing with Two Left Feet

Sunday dawn broke very differently in Dr. Merither's house. Christmas woke bright and raring, her first thought 'I must find Master Jarrod and service his needs,' as she bounded out of the bed. After coming out of the bathroom, wrapped in a ratty terrycloth robe of his, she trotted down the hall, and saw him sitting, eyes red, eyelids twitching, in front of the laptop.

"Oh, Master," she cried, and knelt before him. As she bent down she caught his eye with her opened robe, and Jarrod turned in anguish and pain towards her. After a long moment he recognized her, and swept his laptop off his legs, causing it to hit the floor rather hard; its power cord popped out. It came to a rest pointing safely towards a far window. Jarrod slowly surfaced, then tried to wet his mouth enough to speak. Christmas, meantime, knelt, face demurely down, facing him, a little smile playing on her face as she imagined the view He had of her opened robe, her breasts peeking out, rapidly hardening areola barely visible from the terry lapels. She glanced up his legs to where his penis lay limply, now crusted with the mixture of their juices, smelling faintly of the sea and tangy, bringing her tongue out and around her full lips.

"I gah" Jarrod started, then swallowed, then coughed and retched as he tried to bring some saliva to his mouth. Christmas immediately understood, got up and quickly went over to the wet bar in the corner of the living room and returned with a glass of water.

"What do you need?" she asked as he drank. Jarrod immediately put down the glass.

"I must know what your pleasure is, Christmas, so I can provide it for you." His voice gained strength as he started speaking. "I need to know. Please, let me please you!" He started trembling, partly from being in one position for over ten hours, but mostly from pure, craving need to please. "I need to know now. Anything, just anything!"

Christmas sat back on her heels. This was not what she understood her role to be with Master. She was to serve him, to pleasure his every need! Her head spun, then she realized he wanted her to say something that he wanted done to him, so she could please him pleasing her. It was all very logical now.

"Ah, Master, I would like you to lick me, please. All over. Especially between my legs. It's been so long since I've been ravished by tongue. I would make you feel very good, Master, by your doing this to me."

Scarcely the words left her lips and Jarrod was upon her, gently cradling the back of her neck as he lay her down near the chair, onto the pile carpet, and started gently licking her up from her toes. Unfortunately, about mid-thigh on her left leg, he ran out of lubrication, which in turn made Christmas feel a bit like being dry sponged. Sensing her discomfort, Jarrod scrambled to his feet. "Wait here, Christmas, I will just make myself more able to lick you," he said as he quickly dashed to the bathroom, and rinsed off as he drank the water straight from the showerhead. A one minute shower, a towel grabbed on the run, and he was back, kneeling before her, lifting a leg in the air so he could lick its inside length from the ankle to her glistening lips.

"Mmmmmm..." Christmas moaned, and lay back and relaxed so her Master could lick her. It was something she particularly fantasized about, all the better if he wanted to do this for his pleasure. Jarrod, encouraged, continued, running his tongue up and down her leg, the curls of his hair a tingling addition to the sensations overpowering Christmas as she focused all her energies on feeling her Master's ministrations. Jarrod drew a rack of parallel lines up her leg with his tongue, as his fingers lightly traced the same paths up her other thigh. Christmas shifted her hips, pulling her wet crotch up and spreading her thighs wider as Jarrod's tongue came closer and closer to its aromatic mark.

As Jarrod teased her, Christmas' fingers tensed and flexed uncontrollably, her palms first lightly tracing Jarrod's head, then, fingers curling, urging him upwards, finally planting his face squarely in her sopping crotch. He smiled at his value to Christmas, then, with the tip of his tongue, rapidly flicked her clitoris. She shuddered, then flinched at the intensity and pulled her hips back. Jarrod immediately changed tactics, turning his tongue into a flat blade, and rubbing at her inner lips in a forward and back motion. Christmas' hips immediately came back down, and she started a slow, gentle roll, back and forth, back and forth, finding, and then rocking, into a rhythm.

"Hmmmm.... Hmmmm.... Hmmmm.... Hmmmm....Unnnnnh! Unnnnnh! Unnnnnh! Ahhhhhhhhh!!!!!" Christmas was totally within herself, her hands at Jarrod's ears, steering his now-oscillating tongue as he pulled indescribable pleasure from her salty, liquid core. The rolling pulses of sheer pleasure continued for five minutes, then ten. Finally, Christmas pushed back gently on Jarrod's matted head. He immediately scooted back, and watched as Christmas slowly cooled down and stopped undulating on his wall-to-wall carpeting.

A few minutes later they were facing each other, each kneeling before the other, waiting for the other to break the silence. The minutes stretched, the rising sun moving warm rectangles of light across the plush, white carpet. At about ten the bright panes stretched across and between them, each a pawn exposed checked by the other, both frozen in place.