I got the idea for this after reading "The Seduction of a Mother 
and Daughter" by Little Miss Blair.  There are some similarities, 
but I don't think they are material -- more importantly, neither 
does Miss Blair, who has read this story and encouraged me to post 
it. 





                             SHAN
 
                              by 

                          C. Lakewood 



    "Friday night...finally," Rachel murmured to herself.  It had 
been a particularly exhausting week at work, full of thinly veiled 
threats from upper management and surly resentment from her 
subordinates, and fraught with rumors of stringent down-sizing 
in the offing.  Moreover, Amy, her 19-year-old daughter, was home 
from college for summer vacation, and Rachel had gotten very used 
to living alone these past months.  But tonight, at least, Amy was 
out on a date, so she could enjoy having the place all to herself.  
She poured herself a beer and picked up the TV remote....

    And then the phone rang.

    She sighed, but answered it.  

    "Mrs. Bothwell?"  It was a woman's voice, well modulated, but 
with a slightly sibilant accent.

    "Yes, this is she," Rachel said, in the hoity-toity tone she 
reserved for people she didn't want to see, meetings she didn't 
want to attend, and phone calls she didn't want to take.   

    "We've never met, but I'm a great admirer of yours," the voice 
said.  "I often see you out and about.  I think you're very 
attractive, and, whenever I even think about you, I really 
get...um...'hot and bothered.'  And I've been thinking about 
you a lot today...."

    "Who ARE you?" Rachel demanded.  "Some pervert...or just a 
crank?"

    "Well, I'm certainly no crank.  And 'pervert' is merely a label 
that says more about the labeler than the one being labeled....  
I saw you today, strutting around in your sophisticated power 
suit...with an aloof, my-shit-doesn't-stink attitude.  You really 
do turn me on -- and I'll bet that I'd have the same effect on you."

    "I'm not that kind!  Good-bye, you bitch, and, if you ever call 
here again, I'll set the police on you," Rachel snarled.  She 
angrily hit the disconnect button. 

    Rachel was trembling when she hung up.  "God!" she muttered to 
herself.  "As if that nest of vampires at work isn't bad enough, 
now I have to deal with lunatic phone calls."  She was still 
somewhat shaken when, after four beers and several hours of 
forgettable TV, she finally tottered off to bed.  Sleep came 
quickly, but it was not altogether easy. 

    Saturday morning, long before Amy got up, Rachel went off to 
the mall, to lose herself in shopping.

    Hours later, when she got back home, she found Amy drinking 
coffee and listening to music.  (SHE called it "music," anyway.) 

    "Hi, sweetheart.  How was your date?"   

    "Cool," Amy answered.  "We went to the Toxic Reasons concert.  
It was really awesome.  And some woman called you this afternoon," 
she added.  "Said her name was 'Shan,' and she'd try again some 
other time." 

    "Probably selling something or wanting a charitable donation.  
I'm sure I don't know anyone named "Shan" or "Sian" or "Sean" or 
"Shaun" or...."  Her feeling of well-being suddenly evaporated.  
("It couldn't be that weird bitch who phoned last night, could 
it?" she thought.)

		******************************               

    It was late, and Amy was still out, but she could handle 
herself.  Rachel had spent a long, soothing time under the 
shower and was just reaching for a towel when the phone rang.  
Omigod!  A cold chill ran up her wet body....  

    "Hello," she rasped, trying desperately to control her voice.

    "This is Shan," the exotic voice said.  "And don't you dare 
hang up on me again.  Or the next call I make will be to Amy."  

    Rachel felt petrified.  For a moment, the only sound was the 
drip-drip of water onto the tiles. 

    This was way past annoying.  It was now well into scary.  And 
it was clear that this Shan woman was not going to stop.  And she 
was apparently both clever and used to getting her own way.  Her 
Caller-ID was blocked, but she was probably using an untraceable 
prepaid cell phone, anyway.  Maybe...maybe Rachel should string 
the bitch along until she could discover her identity or location. 
     
    "What are you wearing right now, Rachel?"  

    "Noth-ing...I...um...I just got out of the shower...."

    "I'll bet you look delicious...all pink and wet....  And what 
do you usually wear to bed?"

    "Pajamas, usually." 

    "Well, from now on, Rachel, you'll sleep naked.  But first, 
there are two little gifts for you outside, under the glider, a 
manila envelope with a picture of me and a small jar.  I'll wait 
while you fetch them.  And go as you are...naked."

    "I can't let the bitch just order me around like this," Rachel 
muttered to herself.  "I'm somebody.  I'm respectable.  I'm in 
MANAGEMENT, for god's sake."  She shivered.  "But she's so calm, 
so peremptory, so...imperial...." 
  
    Rachel's debate with herself was brief.  She obeyed, timidly.  
She did think about throwing on a robe, but just didn't dare, for 
there could be somebody watching, and it seemed important not to 
antagonize Shan needlessly.  So she dashed out onto the porch and 
felt frantically around under the glider.  The house was secluded 
enough, normally, but there was always the danger of a chance 
passerby.  She found the "gifts" and quickly retreated back inside. 
In the envelope was a picture, a photo of an Asian woman of 
indeterminate age...somewhere between 20 and 50, standing on a 
sunny patio, legs apart and hands on hips.  She was wearing 
nothing but a sardonic expression and a sheen of sweat.  And 
she was exquisite.  Rachel involuntarily licked her lips.

    Not Japanese, Rachel decided...and certainly not Filipina or 
Korean...probably Chinese...or Vietnamese...reminded her a bit of 
Chi, her room-mate for 2 years back in college.  And there was 
something about the accent, something in the attitude, the cool 
assurance....  

    Rachel slowly returned to the phone.

    "I-I'm back...."

    "Have you looked at the picture?"

    "Yes." 

    "So, what twisted images are tumbling through your mind right 
now?  Do you want to lick me all over?  Suck on my nipples?  Or 
maybe go right for the main prize...my pussy?  Does the thought 
of eating my sweet pussy make your cunt drool?"

    Rachel seemed to have trouble breathing.   

    "Answer me."  Shan's voice was compelling.   

    "I...I'm really not like that....  I'm s-s-straight...."

    "But is your cunt getting wet?"

    Rachel took a deep breath.  "Maybe a little....  Yes...."
  
    Shan chuckled.  "You have a cordless phone, don't you, Rachel?"

    "Yes."

    "Alright.  Take the phone and your gifts into your daughter's 
bedroom.  Prop the picture up somewhere you can see it as you 
stand in front of a mirror -- a full-length mirror preferably.  
Go on, now."

    Seemingly helpless to resist, Rachel padded into Amy's room.  
It smelled like a teenage girl's room...a mixture of innocence 
and raunch.  She glanced in the mirror...and then took a longer 
look.  "Not bad at all for a 43-year-old," she murmured to herself. 
"A few extra pounds and just a bit of sag, perhaps, to lend 
'character,' but no cellulite, no scars, no saddlebags...."
  
    Satisfied, she stood the picture on top of Amy's dresser and 
whispered into the phone, "I've done what you said."

    "Good.  Now, open the jar.  It contains an ointment, a very 
special blend.  Dip some out with your fingers."  Curious, Rachel 
obeyed.  "Rub the ointment on your tits.  Pay particular heed to 
your nipples.  I want your nipples standing at attention, stiff 
and hard.  And don't try to fake it.  I'll know."  

    For whatever reason, Rachel obeyed the seductive voice.  The 
ointment was a pale amber, with a pleasant citrus smell.  She 
started playing with her nipples.  They were already partially 
erect, she was surprised to discover.  And then she began to sweat. 
The ointment was having an immediate and mounting effect...first a 
tingle...then a growing itch...burning...tormenting....  Omigod! 

    "You're really getting hot now, aren't you, Rachel?  You will 
soon learn that obeying me in all things, without hesitation, will 
be very pleasurable for you."  Her voice was becoming husky, almost 
hypnotic.  "And you will also learn that disobedience brings 
punishment.  You need a lesson.  Punish your nipples; do it now."   

    Rachel pulled and pinched and twisted, tormenting her nipples, 
and wished someone were here to suck on them...Shan...or-or 
Chi...or.....  Ummmmmmm...god, how good that would feel....   

    "Okay, now move your hand down to your cunt. Rachel," Shan 
ordered.  "That's what is, you know, a 'cunt.'  When you were 
young and innocent, you had a 'pussy.'  But now you are neither, 
and you have a 'cunt.'  So finger your cunt, Rachel.  Feel it 
getting wet?  It IS getting wet, isn't it?"   

    "Ye-esss," Rachel murmured. "Very w-wet."  

    "Now, get some more ointment on your fingers...a large amount 
this time...and play with your cunt some more.  Feel good?  Answer 
me!" 

    "It-it b-bur-urns me...burns my c-cunt...."

    "But you're really turned on, aren't you?"

    "Y-yes...yesss.  Oh, god, please," Rachel panted.  "My 
c-cunt...my poor cunt...." 

    "Look at the picture.  Look at my picture and finger-fuck 
yourself." 

    Rachel was looking.  And her cunt was on fire.  She ground her 
hips, thrusting her howling cunt onto her slippery fingers.  Whose 
fingers were she fantasizing about?  

    "Well, Rachel?  Getting close to cumming?"     
   
    "Yesss...c-clo-ose," she gasped.  "Please...ughh....  
Please...t-talk to me....  Ah...unh...ahhh...." 

    At that moment, the phone went dead. 

    When she came back to earth, Rachel felt deserted at first, 
then bewildered, then guilty and embarrassed, and, finally, 
panicky lest Amy come home and find her like this.  

    She clicked off the phone, picked up the photo and the 
ointment, and dragged herself off to her own bedroom.  She 
flopped, bonelessly, into bed and fell asleep.

    And she dreamed of Shan...and of Chi....  

    And of Amy.

		******************************           

    Sunday and Monday went by without a call from Shan.  On Monday 
night, after going to bed (naked, as Shan had ordered), Rachel got 
out the picture again.  And the ointment.  She played with herself 
and fantasized about being the lone white whore in a lesbian 
brothel somewhere in the Far East.  She had to exercise all the 
self-control she possessed to make it last almost half an hour.  
This orgasm, when it came, was the most devastating she could 
ever remember.  

    She day-dreamed about Shan while at work Tuesday, and, by the 
end of the day, her panties were soaked, despite her frequent trips 
to the ladies' room to dry her cunt.  When she got back home, she 
rushed directly to her bedroom, locked the door, stripped herself 
naked, got out the photo and the ointment, and tormented her tits 
and cunt through multiple orgasms, until, eventually, Amy got home. 
Reluctantly, then, she forced herself to get up, put herself back 
together, and go downstairs to see about dinner.

    They ate a lot of pizza that week.

    Each day was the same, varying only as she got increasingly 
frantic.  By the end of the week, she had used up all the ointment, 
but that didn't matter...her cunt was itching and burning madly 
most of the time now even without it.  She was absolutely desperate 
to hear Shan's voice again.

    It was about 9 o'clock Friday evening when the phone rang.  
Rachel was trying to read a book, and Amy was puttering around 
the kitchen, making iced tea and snacks.   

    Rachel hastily answered.  

    "Hello, Rachel?  Miss me?"

    "Y-yes, I suppose I did, a bit.  Will you hold on while I 
take this upstairs?" 

    "No, stay where you are," Shan ordered.  "What are you 
wearing?"

    "Just a-a long, sleeveless smock...almost a muu-muu," Rachel 
blushed as she answered.

    "Barefoot, no bra, no panties?"

    "Yes, that's right."

    "I'm very pleased, but only to a point.  I imagine that smock 
is rather too long and hides much too much of your beautiful legs.  
Tonight I want you to make it shorter...so that it ends at least 
8" above your knees.  Right?"   

    "B-but, 8"...."

    "Okay, then, 9"....  Right?"

    "Yes, Shan."  She cringed.   (Oh, god...9" above the knee 
would be only a couple of inches below her cunt....)

    "You horny?"

    "Yes."

    "Good," Shan said. "Tomorrow I want you to go to a salon on 
the west side called 'Sharmane's' and get a complete body 
wax...total...and insist on getting it done right away...price 
is no object.  Take the bus.  And wear only what you have on 
now...plus a pair of flip-flops.  Sharmane will give you a rawhide 
'bone,' like a dog's chew-toy; you can bite on it when she removes 
your body hair -- and keep it for when you masturbate from then on. 
However, that's then, and this is now.  There are more gifts for 
you on your porch.  Go fetch."

    Another manila envelope and a smallish, paper-wrapped package.  
Unable to contain herself, Rachel opened the envelope.  There was 
another photo of Shan, reclining on a red Bokhara rug.  She was 
naked, wearing only a string of black pearls.  She was smiling 
enigmatically and smoking a hookah.  Rachel thought she was even 
more beautiful than before.  She reluctantly put the photo aside 
and turned to the package.   

    This held another ointment jar and a small vial of pale yellow 
liquid, maybe 2 or 3 ounces.  Rachel knew at once what it was...and 
what she must do.  She unscrewed the cap and drank the fluid 
quickly.  It was salty, a bit sour...and rather spicy.

    "Did you find the golden liquid?"
   
    "Yes."

    "And what did you do with it?"

    "I...drank it, Shan."

    "And did you like it?"

    "Y-yes, Shan."

    "Good.  I'll see you get a regular supply.  The ointment is a 
little stronger than before.  I think you'll like it, too."

    "Thank you, but I don't really need it anymore.  My c-c...."  

    "No excuses," Shan said.  "You will receive a new jar every 
day.  Make sure you use up the contents of each jar before you 
get the next one.  Understand?"

    "Yes, Shan, I understand."  Oh, god...her poor cunt....

    "Fine.  Now, with the first two fingers of your right hand, 
scoop up a sizeable amount of ointment, reach under your skirt, 
and finger-fuck yourself." 

    "Not here, Shan, please," she whispered.  "My daughter is just 
in the next room."

    "Right there," Shan ordered.  "And right now."   

    Rachel was so excited or so afraid -- or both -- that she could 
barely breathe.  She slowly slid her hand under the smock.  Her 
cunt was brimming with juice, as it had been all week.  She slowly 
eased her fingers past the puffy lips and slid them into her 
swollen cunt. 
   
    "Unnnhhh...aaahhhh!"  She was cumming...over and over.

    She had barely settled down again, when Amy came clattering in 
with a pitcher and a tray of glasses, finger sandwiches, and tea 
cakes.  She set everything out and then glanced at her mother.

    "What's wrong, Mom?" she asked.  "You look so flushed."

    "Oh, I expect I'm just frazzled by the constant turmoil at 
work....  Now, let's eat.  Everything looks delicious!"

		******************************          
    
    Rachel left the house early the next morning, long before Amy 
was up.  She was wearing only the embarrassingly shortened smock 
and an old pair of flip-flops.  It was bad standing at the stop, 
waiting for the bus (even though she had walked several blocks to 
be outside her house's immediate proximity).  But riding ON the 
bus was worse.  She huddled in a seat toward the rear, trying to 
see to it that her poor, inflamed cunt remained covered.  She was 
eventually surrounded by a crowd of virile, working class men.  
Despite herself, she began to fantasize about them.  Then she had 
to transfer to a different bus, and, when she got up, she was 
mortified to see that she was leaving a little pool of juice on 
the seat.

    The new bus was already fairly filled up with stout black 
cleaning women, surly black wastrels in do-rags, and panhandlers 
from the Projects, all of whom looked at her with disdain or lust 
(or both).  So, as the bus jolted its way west, she stood 
defensively knock-kneed and pigeon-toed, sweating and red-faced, 
tugging at the hem of her abbreviated garment.  An air of sexual 
longing seemed to hang about her.  (And, when she took a deep 
breath, she realized that the odor was real.)  Since she was 
standing, her juice now simply trickled down her thighs.

    At last, she scrambled off the bus and into a crumbling 
neighborhood two blocks from Sharmane's shop.

    Sharmane turned out to be a big, hawk-nosed black woman, 
mid-30s, tall and muscular, dressed in a bold, scarlet-and-black 
dashiki.  She had an arrogant, no-nonsense attitude and already 
knew exactly why Rachel was there, but made her say it anyway.  

    After that, Rachel had to strip naked (which was simple), then 
take a tepid shower and scrub herself thoroughly, particularly 
legs, crotch, and underarms.  When Sharmane was at last satisfied, 
she let Rachel dry off, gave her the promised chew-toy, and 
strapped her down to a padded work table.  

    In the troughs between the successive crests of pain that 
apparently were integral to the waxing process, Rachel chewed 
on her "bone" and wondered (yet again) why she kept on allowing 
these humiliations...in essence, why she felt so compelled to 
obey Shan -- and why it seemed so right.... 

    As usual, she had no answers.

    After what seemed like eons of torment, Rachel was released 
from the table, had to stand for a while slathered with green 
goo -- a hair re-growth inhibitor -- and then take another lengthy 
shower (cold water this time).  When she was finally allowed to 
step out of the stall and dry herself, she heaved a sigh of relief 
that this ordeal was over.

    She was mistaken. 

    Sharmane led her back into the front of the shop...to find 
three black women: a girl about 20 in a cosmetician's smock, and 
two customers (one in her 30s and the other 10 or 15 years older).

    Rachel squealed and went into crouch.  But, of course, Sharmane 
made her stand up straight, arms at her sides, and introduce 
herself to each of the three -- all of whom took great care to 
make a thorough inspection of Rachel's pink and hairless body. 

    After that, Sharmane set a large glass of the special "golden 
liquid" on the back-counter.

    "Fresh from the microwave.  Drink up."

    Though humiliated beyond reason, Rachel did manage to 
choke it all down in front of the amused quartet of black 
women...and...omigod!...it was turning her on....

    "Tasty?"

    "Yes, ma'am."  (Oh, god...why had she said it that way?)

    Sharmane set another jar of "ointment" on the counter.

    "You HAVE used up the stuff you got yesterday, haven't you?"

    "Oh...um...y-yess, well...."

    "Don't lie."

    "Well, it's ALMOST all gone....  I-I was ex-pecting more 
time...."

    "You didn't obey orders -- you fucked up, right?"

    "Y-yes, ma'am."

    "Okay.  So this is a punishment jar.  You will use it up 
entirely, before you leave the shop.  Start NOW!"

    Rachel's lips were saying, "Oh, please, no....  I-I just 
couldn't," even as her fingers were feverishly opening the jar, 
scooping up a generous dollop of the burning goo, cramming it 
inside her, and rubbing it into her already inflamed flesh.

    Despite her humiliation (and four orgasms, each more shattering 
than the previous one), Rachel managed to work her way through the 
contents of the jar.  By the time she scraped up the last glob of 
ointment, her cunt was an inferno.  With tears in her eyes, she 
reached down and....

    "No!  Stop!" Sharmane barked.  "Put that last blob up your 
asshole." 

    Rachel stared at the big woman a moment, her mouth working 
soundlessly...and then obeyed.

    "Okay, good," Sharmane said.  "When you get home, you can flush 
that out with an enema."  She produced yet another jar of ointment. 
"AND you can start on this.  You better damn well use it up before 
you get the next one.  The punishments are s'posed to get stricter 
every time you fuck up."  
 
		******************************

    By the time Rachel got back to her house, she was beyond caring 
whether anybody saw her.  Her cunt and asshole were itching and 
burning maddeningly; her clit felt like it was three or four times 
normal size; her nipples were painfully engorged; and she was just 
about at the end of her tether.  She needed to sleep, to recuperate 
before resuming her service to Miss Shan.  (Her cunt spasmed at the 
thought.)  She staggered up the front steps and through the front 
door and into the sanctuary of her home....

    And there was Amy, standing arm in arm with a young Asian 
woman.  Rachel just stared, bleary and slack-jawed.  

    "Mom," Amy said, with a smirk, "I'd like you to meet my college 
roommate, Shan."


