



                      A CHANGE OF SCENERY

                              by

                         C. Lakewood




    God!  School was FINALLY out!  Brian, my sort-of fiancé-to-be 
and fellow teacher, was also eager to be off on vacation, but he 
wanted to go north and east, whereas I wanted to head south and 
west.  I could easily have gotten him to come along with me, but 
I opted not to.  Therefore, we wouldn't be seeing each other for 
a while...which was probably for the best.  I mean, I was 29, 
staring 30 in the face, and was beginning to feel a sense of 
urgency.  But was Brian what I really wanted or just somebody I 
might be willing to settle for?  I sometimes dreamed of hooking 
up with a man who was stronger than Brian.  To tell the truth, I 
generally called the shots in our relationship, and, while that 
could be nice, still....  

    I decided to test things by using this summer for an unofficial 
trial separation of sorts. 

    So, off I went in "Alice," my ancient, beloved Ford Tempo, with 
a lot on my mind, but determined to rehabilitate myself over the 
next three months.

    A few days into the trip, and a few miles outside of Los Gatos, 
Nevada, Alice began to make strange noises.  I nursed her along, as 
far as a ramshackle gas station/general store, but there she died, 
and nothing anybody could do would resurrect her.

    The station owner talked it over with a May-December Japanese 
couple in a rust-and-yellow VW Bug, and they offered me a lift into 
town.  The man was rather stocky and extremely ugly -- but he did 
have a presence.  The girl was cute, perky, and petite.  In the 
end, I decided to go with them.  There was barely room for me and 
certainly none for my luggage.  They all agreed that it'd be safe 
in my locked car, but I still grabbed my camera bag (nothing else 
was worth much).  I crammed myself into the VW, and off we went, 
down a dusty road.

    The girl, Ariko, told me that I could expect a real hassle if 
I tried to check in most places without even one suitcase.  She 
talked it over with the man (whose name was Kaz), and, in the end, 
I was invited to stay with them.

    Really, what choice did I have?

    After about 20 minutes, we reached their house, a nondescript 
ranch with a built-on storefront.  (Kaz, it seems, made and sold 
jewelry and other items.)  They introduced me to Kaz's mother (who 
had to have been in her 60s, but looked about 45).

    We dined on some strange Japanese food, washed down by much 
rice wine.  And, after dinner, we kept on drinking.  And talking.  
I guess the wine relaxed my inhibitions and let me verbalize some 
frustrations that I had been only vaguely aware of.  I don't know 
what all I told them, but it must have been, well, pretty much 
everything.

    I woke up the next morning feeling slightly disoriented, but 
in fairly good shape, considering.  I was naked, and I vaguely 
wondered how I'd gotten that way.  

    I must have made some noise in looking around for something 
to wear (without success), because Ariko soon came bustling in, 
grinning broadly.

    "So.  You ready to get started, girl?" she asked.

    "Started?  On what?"

    "On living your submissive fantasies, of course.  Or have you 
forgotten so soon?"

    ("Submissive fantasies"?  Well, maybe...deep down....)

    "I-I-I...."

    "Not to worry; you can leave it all to us.  BUT you do need 
to be certain.  So decide now.  If you want to leave, just say so, 
and we'll go get your stuff and drive you to a hotel.  Or, decide 
to stay, and that'll be your last decision for a while.  You will 
do as we say, for as long as we say, without any questions or 
arguments or negotiations."

    ("Well," I thought, "there ARE some things in the depths of my 
psyche that I probably should be finding out for sure about....  
And nobody knows me out here, so...'what happens in Nevada stays 
in Nevada,' as it were.")

    "O-kay.  I guess you're the boss."

    "Yessss!  The magic words!  Now, the first thing is to get you 
cleaned up.  C'mon."

    To my surprise, she led me out the back door to a blacktopped 
parking lot -- within sight of the nearby county road, for god's 
sake.  She proceeded to hose me down and tossed me a bar of coarse 
soap.

    "We have to shave you, so wash the outside of your cunt good," 
she said.  "But leave the inside alone.  Kaz likes his women to 
smell natural."

    (Shave me?  My pubic hair?  Off?  Oh, god!  I'd always thought 
I had a pretty nice growth of hair there -- womanly but not bushy 
-- and I tried to think back 18 years or so to when it was bald....)

    But Ari warmed it up with a hot towel, clipped it close, 
shaved it with a straight-edge, followed that with a depilatory 
cream, and finally applied some sort of re-growth inhibitor.  
While she worked, she laid down some rules for me.

    "We expect you to be truthful, respectful, and obedient.  You 
will address every male you meet (no matter what age) as "sir."  
Any unmarried female is "miss," and any married one is "ma'am."  
(If you don't know, go by age: younger than you "miss," older 
"ma'am.")  You don't sit down without permission; you stand or 
kneel.  When kneeling, or when you are allowed to sit, never let 
your knees get within 18" of each other.  Understood?"

    (For an instant, I hesitated.  I'd always been a WASP princess, 
and I was a well-educated professional.  Ari, on the other hand, 
was barely 20 and...well...a Jap.  But then I realized how exciting 
being deferential toward her would be.  I'd have to be "truthful, 
respectful, and...obedient.  My juices were already beginning to 
flow as she worked on me, but now....)

    "Yes...um...ma'am." 

    "Miss."

    "Oh, sorry, miss."

    "Also, you are not allowed to have cutesy or PC names for body 
parts.  You've got 'tits,' a 'cunt,' and an 'asshole.'  Right?"

    "Yes, miss."

    Ari ran her fingers over my bald "cunt," and I trembled.

    "How often do you masturbate?" she asked.

    "Um...no...never....  I-I don't...."

    She looked at me a bit exasperated.    

    "I said,'TRUTHFUL,' remember?  Bend over and touch your toes.  
And hold that position until I tell you otherwise."

    I obeyed.  (I got that right, anyway.)  I heard a swish and 
then felt a line of fire across my bottom.  I yelped, but held 
position.  She laid it on five more times and then repeated, 
"How often do you masturbate?" 

    "Once in a while, miss....  Aaaah!  Please!"

    "How often do you masturbate?" 

    "Please!  Usually...once or-or t-twice a day.  It helps me 
relax...."

    "Once?  Or twice?  Which is it?"

    "Mostly twice, miss."

    "And sometimes more often?"

    "S-sometimes...."

    "Okay.  Show me your technique.  But don't cum."

    I hesitated, but not long, because she was caressing that 
switch.

    My cunt was a swamp, and my fingers made obscene noises that 
seemed to delight Ari.  Soon, very soon, I could feel myself at 
the brink.

    "Please....  I need to cum."

    "No, you WANT to cum.  You NEED to do as you're told.  And 
be respectful in the process.  From now on, until you're told 
otherwise, every hour on the hour when you're awake, you will 
play with yourself for five minutes...AND you will not cum.  
You also will not wash again -- anywhere -- for some time.  
You whites have an interesting body chemistry.  You begin to 
smell so...primitive...when you're sweaty and horny....  And 
you are going to get really sweaty and REALLY horny."  

    She retreated to the back porch and sprawled on the bench 
there, her legs spread.  "Now, kneel down and use your tongue 
to give me a few of what you're not allowed: nice, big, 
satisfying orgasms."

    I was thankful that it was a little more private there.  But, 
even if it hadn't been, I knew I'd feel compelled to obey.  She 
tasted...earthy...and orgasmed easily and noisily...and she kept 
me at it until she'd cum three times.  I thought I envied her 
then, but I never dreamed of how I'd feel in the days ahead.

    Every day I got different orders, often a different set of 
chores.  But the one constant was the hourly "edging" -- the 
masturbation without cumming.  It was not so bad to begin with, 
but things got progressively harder, and, by dawn on the fourth 
day, I was a wreck.  I was constantly horny.  I had little 
appetite and slept badly.  It was very difficult to concentrate.  
I was forgetful.  I often screwed up my chores (for which I was 
duly punished).  My cunt kept screaming at me, but they just 
wouldn't let me cum.  

    Meanwhile, everybody else was absolutely rolling in orgasms.  
Every day, I had to eat Ari four-five-six times, blow Kaz once or 
twice, and even do the old woman.  And I was naked all the time.  
It was worst when I was outside, washing either the VW or their 
old pickup, sweeping the porch, or working in the garden.  I never 
knew who might be watching me from a distance, watching my tits 
and ass jiggle provocatively...and watching my puffy, inflamed 
cunt drool down my thighs....  

		******************************
 
    The morning of the fourth day, things seemed to come to a sort 
of climax.  (No, not that kind of climax.)  I was tired.  I was 
hornier than I'd ever been in my life.  And I stank.  Why was I 
letting them do this to me?  In all my other sexual relationships, 
I had always been the one in control, and I liked it that way.  
Didn't I? 

    That morning I was taught a lesson in humility.  I was sweeping 
out the front of the shop as Kaz opened for business.  (The dust 
was pervasive.  The store could be immaculate when we closed up, be 
tightly shuttered all night, and still look like a ghost town set 
the next morning.)  When three young guys showed up, I tried to 
"vamoose," but Kaz wouldn't let me.  I was ordered to stand at 
attention in the center of the shop floor, giving the boys a good 
ogle at me.  I had thought I was beyond blushing, but I'd been 
wrong.  All three of the boys were 18, recently graduated from the 
local high school, just enlisted in the Marines, and soon headed 
off to boot camp.  They had ordered some sort of unique ID jewelry, 
and, as each one settled in turn with Kaz, the other two eyeballed 
me.  Even after all I'd been through the last few days, it was 
acutely embarrassing; they were the same age as many of my students 
back home.  

    Things got worse when Kaz told me to take them one by one into 
the adjoining storeroom and give them blow jobs.  And worst of all 
was the fact that I WANTED to. 

    By the time I had finished three protracted blow jobs, moaning 
and slavering, swallowing three huge loads of teenaged cum...and 
thanking them afterward...and calling them "sir," I wondered 
whether I could ever regard the boys in my classes quite the way 
I had. 
          
    Kaz collected a dollar from each of the boys as they left, and 
then laid three quarters on the counter: my share.  So that's what 
I had become...a two-bit whore.    

		******************************       
        
    After that, things got better, relatively speaking.  Oh, I 
still wanted to cum -- more than ever, actually -- but I started 
taking a weird sort of pride in my denial and in my obedience.  
That evening, they began my nightly confessionals, wherein I 
confessed all kinds of shortcomings...laziness, vanity, 
self-absorption...and even old crimes -- shoplifting as a 
pre-teen, cheating in high school, underage drinking in 
college, stealing a rare book in grad school...and being a 
chronic prick-tease for the last 15 years or so.  And I was 
punished for each one.

    I ate table scraps, pissed and shit only with permission (and 
then always outside, even during the day), and slept on a thin 
futon.  I developed an amazing stench -- a sweet-and-sour odor 
compounded mainly of sweaty arm-pits and excited cunt -- which 
was a super-aphrodisiac to Kaz whenever he got within sniffing 
distance.  Of course, I was paddled or strapped or caned...often, 
but not excessively.

    As time passed, each of the three used my mouth frequently, and 
Kaz butt-fucked me nearly every day (but never quite long enough to 
let me cum).  Cum!  I trembled at the very word.  How long would I 
have to go without cumming?  How perfectly submissive would I have 
to become to prove myself worthy of an orgasm?

    Would it EVER happen?

    Even when I was whoring, they wouldn't allow me to cum.  While 
I couldn't use my cunt for anything but edging, my mouth was very 
popular, and even my asshole got its share of attention.  My 
customers, incidentally, were all teenagers or senior citizens, 
and many were what I once called, in PC-speak, "Native Americans."  

    I began to take a perverse pride in the perfection of my 
submission.
     
		******************************

    Then, one afternoon we drove into Los Gatos in the pickup.  I 
had lost track of the days and was too well-trained to ask.  I had 
on a thin cotton dress -- one of Ari's cast-offs, threadbare and 
very short -- but I was by this time so unaccustomed to wearing any 
clothing at all, that I felt nervous.  It was almost like violating 
a taboo.

    We parked on the town's broad main street, and, when I stepped 
onto the sidewalk, the heat of the concrete caused my bare feet to 
flinch, my callous soles notwithstanding. 

    Ari heaved a heavy bag out of the truck bed and dumped it at my 
feet.  It was one of mine.  

    "We put everything that looked like it might have some value 
in here," she said.  "The rest we gave to the charity thrift shop.  
And we sold your car for parts.  It didn't bring much, but more 
than enough to get you back home."  

    She handed me some money.

    "There's the bus station across the street.  The bus you want 
-- IF you're going -- leaves in an hour and forty-four minutes.  
Kaz and I are going to take in a movie before we drive back to 
the ranch in a couple of hours.  If you want to stay with us, be 
waiting here.  Otherwise...."  

    She kissed me, then turned and, without a backward glance, 
they went off down the street toward the Orpheum movie theatre.

    Should I stay or go?  Should I run across the street, lock 
myself in a ladies' room stall, and -- finally -- cum and cum 
and cum?  Or...should I voluntarily subject myself to more 
exquisite orgasm-denial?  

    I thought of Frank Stockton's story, "The Lady or the Tiger."  
But why?  It did involve a choice, but the circumstances were  
different.  Weren't they?  

    I mean, I was still relatively young, and being free would 
still carry with it many possibilities...many future forks in 
the road...achievements...maybe a doctorate...eventually a 
position of real power and leadership...status...even fame, 
perhaps....

    The alternative would mean giving up all those wonderful 
possibilities.

    But remaining in servitude, submissive to the commands of my 
keepers...my superiors...well, would that truly be so different?
After all, everybody was inferior to somebody, so why shouldn't 
you choose to submit yourself to people who love you, and who will 
discipline you for your improvement as well as for their pleasure?  
And your pleasure, too, because it IS exciting....

    Oh, god!  I so needed to cum!

    Well, I had a bit more than an hour and a half to decide....       


	