Chapter 1

Here I was a little older and possibly no wiser, back in college for a second degree; one that would help me in getting a good job this time. Well, that was what I told people anyway. I sat at one of the two desks in the front office of the student literary magazine, the desk near the hallway door. It was 4:24 on Friday afternoon on this rainy fall day. Not even counting the rain outside, it had been a long frustrating day on campus for me.

I had come in at 8:00 in the morning before the storm front rolled in, knowing none of the other staff members would be in the offices until 10:15 or so. I'd come in early, looking forward to a private hour-and-a-half appointment that hadn't shown up after promising me twice during the week she would meet me at that agreed upon time.

The young college girl who'd stood me up had promised me nearly a week before that she'd give me a blowjob and then fuck me in the back office of the magazine if I could assure her we'd not be walked in on. The young sophomore had been flirting outrageously with me for the whole three weeks since the beginning of fall quarter and she had told me last weekend at a party she'd finally decided to give herself to me. But she wanted us to wait and do it for the first time in my office on campus; this Friday morning. She said it would be that much more exciting and kinky that way.

As usual, I didn't have any classes on Fridays this quarter. Even though, I always came to campus for most of the day anyway. I was the editor of the student literary magazine, after all, and besides conducting posted office hours for walk-in traffic on Fridays, I could study; do paperwork; read submissions; I could visit with friends who stopped by; drink great coffee ... whatever. Even have sexy willing coeds meet me early in morning for semi-casual sex in the back office. Sometimes I would hook-up with a coed in the office at night after the janitor stopped by to empty the trash cans. He was punctual; and always done and gone by 6:40 pm. There were only four trashcans in the entire office.

To make me even more upset at the moment, I'd even decided to buy a nice leather-covered antique ottoman at a yard sale the day before. And this morning I'd brought it with me and put it in the back office along with the quilted moving blanket I'd purchased as well. I'd been thinking the young lady would be more comfortable being fucked down on the padded long low leather cushion of the ottoman, rather than on the thin area carpet that covered half of the back office floor.

The old ottoman was a very nice piece of sturdy furniture which was about four feet long and two feet wide. It was about fourteen inches high so it just happened to fit and be out of the way when pushed back under the high bottom shelf of the larger light table in the back office. It had only cost thirty dollars at the yard sale. The thick quilted moving blanket was purchased for three dollars; and it had been freshly washed even.

So now, this late in the afternoon, everyone else on the staff that had been in today had already left the office for the weekend. I think my repressed frustration and disappointment from the morning had managed to make my being in the office all day a minor trial for some of them. I had to admit—I'd been gruff and kept to myself mostly in the back office; trying not to spoil the good mood of everybody else.

Now, I was thinking about stopping and getting a drink or two on my way back to my huge loft, which was located in an old industrial part of the city. I'd been living there for two years. I'd moved in after I'd left the rock band I'd toured with for four years to go back to college and get another degree. My previous philosophy degree with a communications minor, I told people, would only allow me to think deep thoughts, and then talk about them; or go on to law school.

So here I was, approaching thirty years old now. Not your typical college student on a college campus. So far I'd managed to maintain a 3.875 grade point average. I was getting a degree in English with a business minor. And I was getting a full scholarship—the university administrators called it a stipend for tuition and books—as the editor of the student literary magazine. So, with all the money I'd saved while touring and the quarterly publishing residuals I'd been receiving for the nine or so of my songs the band had recorded which still got air play somewhere in the world, I was doing very well.

Just then, I heard a rap-tap-tap of someone knocking on the sturdy hall door to the front office. I looked to my right as the door slowly opened and Jhoni Hinsa, a shy blond twenty-five-year-old English major, put her head between the edge of the heavy door and the doorjamb and looked into the room. When she saw me alone in the front office she smiled shyly at me.

"Ummm, James?" she asked.

"Yes, Jhoni?" I replied and smiled over at her.

"Oh ... I'm, ummm, you know ... not interrupting anything, ummm ... am I?"

"No, Jhoni," I reassured her, happy to see her, "not at all. Come in. I'm really done for the day."

I sat back in my articulated chair and tossed my pen onto the yellow note pad I'd been writing on. Even to my ears, I had sounded sorry for myself.

Jhoni finished pushing the door open and moved into the front office, closing the door behind her. She was looking very sophisticated and attractive. She was not wearing her usual on-campus attire. She had my full attention; all five foot, four inches of her.

Jhoni had curled up the ends of her shoulder-length blonde hair I'd noticed when she first looked into the office. It was parted on the left side of her scalp and combed over, low across her forehead, very attractively to the right. She usually parted her straight hair in the middle. She was wearing an opened light-gray wool three-button suit jacket over a cream-colored thin knit vee-neck sweater.

The tight sweater was tucked into a pleated light-gray knee-length thin wool skirt which had two quarter-inch bands and one two-inch band of navy-blue running around the light-gray skirt close to the bottom hem. Over her left shoulder, she wore a cream-colored purse on a long cream leather strap that matched the color of her vee-neck knit sweater. She wore a matching thin navy-blue belt around her slim waist. Jhoni wore sliver-gray hose and two-inch navy-blue high heels which seemed to be doing wonderful things to her nicely shaped calves.

As Jhoni stood by the closed door, I took my time admiring her appearance. And I noticed she seemed to be preening without really moving very much under my gaze. But, she did stand up straighter, bring her shoulders back, causing her swelling breasts to push out her light-gray suit jacket even further. Her tummy seemed flat going down into her pleated skirt. And seeing where I was looking, a subtle Mona Lisa grin slowly creased the edges of her full lips, and Jhoni put her left hand on the nice full hip of her pleated skirt by pushing back her jacket on that side. She looked like a stylish young business executive; or a young woman planning on meeting her husband later for dinner—which was most likely the reason Jhoni was so dressed-up.

Standing there dressed as she was, I was nicely surprised I had become aware that Jhoni's body was what I'd call voluptuous. I'd never really noticed her body before. I figured out right then that Jhoni had always dressed in clothes which successfully had downplayed her figure and had made her appearance drab and unremarkable when she had been on campus in the past. And, I had even heard some people in the writers' group refer to Jhoni as frumpy when she was around. So this look for Jhoni was quite a surprise to me.

I liked her new look. I like it a whole lot.

I knew Jhoni came from big west coast money and was married to an Indian doctor finishing his residency at a huge local hospital, but I'd never seen Jhoni looking so attractively dressed before. And after taking my time admiring how nicely her body was being displayed, and knowing she knew what I was doing, I looked up at her cute oval face and I saw she wore very tastefully done make-up. I noticed a hint of blush on her pale cheeks, and a light pink gloss on her full lips. I'd never noted how long her blonde eyelashes were before. They set off her blue eyes.

This was the first time I could say Jhoni actually looked as if she was a successful doctor's wife.

As well as being a member of the student writers' group on campus that met weekly to critique each others' works, Jhoni was one of the student volunteers working at the magazine this year. The two of us had known each other since early last fall quarter. Starting last spring quarter she'd made weekly appointments with me to privately critique her writings.

She said she'd decided to come to me for help for several reasons. First, because she liked my writing and critique abilities; next, I was the associate editor of the magazine at the time so other people recognized my abilities; and finally, because she was following the advice of her favorite writing professor who happened to be one of the magazine's facility advisors, and he knew me quiet well.

I hadn't told Jhoni, but I'd also been approached earlier by that professor to help her, and if I could, get her out of my hair, as he had put it.

At the end of the quarter Jhoni had approached me about becoming her writing mentor. After extensive discussions about both of our expectations if we pursued her proposal, Jhoni agreed to my rules and I became her writing mentor. She and I had even gotten together in the office every other week during the summer to work on her writing skills.

Half way through the summer sessions she had told me she was very happy I was her mentor, her private writing teacher; and she said, her sometimes muse. She tried very hard to apply everything we talked about during our private times together working on her writing skills.

She was doing very well I thought, even if her stated goal was to become a romance novelist. She even did weekly writing assignments I gave her to get her to incorporate different writing techniques in her skills set and then become proficient with those techniques. Sometimes it was writing a scene in the first person; another time I'd had her write everything in the omnipotent third person. I had her write all kinds of scenes; some to stress irony; some to stress humor; some to work on dialog. And each lesson was my attempt to help Jhoni eventually find her own voice in her writing style, as well as liberate some of the passion I detected deep inside of her, so Jhoni could use those emotions in her storytelling.

While many people who met Jhoni, I'm sure, thought she was insecure, shy, naïve, and unsophisticated for a woman of her age and her social standing—married to a doctor and all; I thought there was a lot more going on inside her cute head. From our talks, I knew she'd been born in India to her Indian father and her English mother. The family had moved to southern California when Jhoni was two-years-old so her father could run his families' extensive and lucrative worldwide export-import business from here in the United States. Her father had met her mother when he'd been in England for four years overseeing the family business there. I knew that now, Jhoni's mother was a professor of child psychology who taught and did research at a university in southern California and had a large private practice also. Her father had passed away when Jhoni was eight-years-old. He'd been almost twenty-years older than her mother, Jhoni had revealed to me during one of our talks.

I came back from my musings and noticed Jhoni started to blush at my attentions and looked down at the tile floor of the front office and away from my gaze.

"I thought you didn't have classes on Fridays," I asked her, wondering why she was here at this time of the day, on this day of the week.

"Mmmm, I ... ah. No, I don't," Jhoni said in her well-known quiet and hesitant vocal delivery, her sweet voice sounding breathy like she'd hurried up a flight of stairs or something. Maybe down a flight, the office was in the basement of the Student Union. She was still looking at the floor of the front office and then she shook her blonde head, making her shoulder-length hair sort of dance.

"Mmmm, I just, you know ... thought I might just, mmmmm...

" ... stop by."

"Well..." I said, feeling an air of expectation which seemed to emanate from Jhoni as she stood there near the closed hallway door.

"You are looking very attractive and sophisticated, Jhoni," I told her, meaning every word. I had a sudden possessive feeling for her come over me as I continued to study her body presented in her nice clothes. I carefully looked her over again from the top of her blonde parted hair all the way down to her navy-blue high heels. Wearing high heels on campus was a first for Jhoni as far as I remembered.

"I am impressed. Are you meeting your husband later to go out to dinner, or something like that?"

"Ahh, my husband ... mmmm ... he is in Cleveland. For the entire weekend ... at Case Western Hospital ... He has, mmm, an interview ... Ummm ... he's not ... well, coming back ... well, actually, until Tuesday evening..."

"And you mean to tell me he didn't want to take you with him?" I asked, surprised at what I just heard. "Especially when you are looking so beautiful?"

"Ahh, no," Jhoni said, and blushed deeply as she grinned sweetly at me and then looked down. "Mmmm, I didn't, you know, want to go. So, I told him, mmmm, I had too much school work.

"Well... ," Jhoni added, her voice almost taking on an edge of apology as she looked into my eyes. "And ... I'd miss our appointment Monday."

"Well, I wouldn't want that to happen either," I managed to reply and I grinned at her as much for her trademark manner of speaking as her seeming heartfelt reasoning for staying behind.

She held my gaze. By her whole demeanor, it seemed she was anxiously waiting for me to say something else. I sensed her anticipation of some verbal cue from me, showing I wanted to continue on with our conversation beyond just saying hello. Her aura was emoting an almost hunger for companionship. It was as if I could actually read those emotions in her blue eyes.

The tip of her tongue momentarily appeared and touched her pink-glossed lips, both looking moist and luscious.

"Well, you didn't get all dressed up so beautifully just to stop by the office did you?" I asked her, with a slight tease in my voice.

Jhoni studied me where I sat, her blonde combed-over bangs covering her eyebrows and now her right eye, making her look a little like a young Veronica Lake, the old movie star from the forties.

"Mmmmmmm," Jhoni said. I could see she was thinking about how to answer me as she drew out the sound. Then her delicate blonde eyebrows went up almost in surprise, her right one partially hidden by her swept-over hair. " ... well, I guess ... I..."

I found I was fighting not to smile while watching Jhoni's reaction and wondering how she was going to answer my question.

" ... did get dressed up ... that is..." Jhoni said in her sweet, soft voice. She grinned at me like a pixie I thought; because of her upturned nose, and her nicely wide-set blue eyes, which were twinkling as she brushed her hair away from her right eye with her small right hand. "I, ah ... thought I ... might take you, you know...

" ... out for dinner," Jhoni said, her words beginning to come out faster as she explained herself to me. "To, mmm ... you know, show you my appreciation for helping so much with my writing ... And, you know... listening to me..."

Jhoni and I talked about all kinds of things after our writing appointments were over. Sometimes, if we both had the time, Jhoni and I talked for an additional hour beyond her forty-five minute mentoring appointments.

"So..." I asked her, feeling a rush of excitement. Jhoni had just basically told me she had sent her husband out of town without her because she wanted to spend time with me, going out to dinner this evening and then again, during our writing appointment Monday, I told myself. And she had obviously made the effort to look so nice before she stopped by this afternoon.

" ... you decided to wear that very sexy outfit ... just for me?"

"Oh, yes," Jhoni told me, her voice all breathy again, her eyes getting big and her presence sincere and open in her reply. "Yes, I did. I, mmm ... well ... I thought I could, like I said, ask you out to dinner ... and then later, mmmm, we could ... you know ... go for drinks and ... ahhh, talk ... If you wanted...

"So ... I, mmmm, dressed-up, ah ... for you..."

Her shy, guileless remarks and her very attractive presence sent a rush of adrenaline through my body.

I suddenly realized what putting her self forward like this might cost Jhoni. To me, she seemed so vulnerable all the time anyway. And now, she was leaving herself open for rejection; if I rebuffed her sweet offer. I just gazed at her fabulous outfit which revealed her voluptuous body, and then gazed into her blue eyes. She was starting to show a little bit of nervousness in response to my silence.

"You don't have any ... mmm... plans, do you?" Jhoni asked me, sounding suddenly worried; her face quickly reflecting her uncertainty.

"Oh, no ... No, I don't," I told her and smiled.

"Oh, oh, good," Jhoni told me and smiled in relief. The shoulders of her light gray suit jacket relaxed a bit and she bent her left knee as her hips canted slightly to that side while the tension in her posture seemed lessen somewhat.

I'd gotten to know Jhoni, I thought quite well, during her private writing appointments and our talks afterward, and I'd developed some ideas about the kind of person Jhoni was. Yes, she was naïve, and insecure at times, and shy, and stuttered when she talked to people; but buried underneath those traits I was certain was a very passionate woman who was starved for attention and affection. I was sure of it, in fact. Because when she talked about her husband it was always about how busy his hospital rotation schedule was; or what he was doing for their temple on his nights off.

I wasn't sure exactly what her and her husband's religion was. But, I knew it was some small India sect I hadn't heard of before when she'd mentioned it. Her religion seemed to be represented by only high-caste wealthy families from the things Jhoni said about attending temple on Sunday afternoons and some evenings during the week.

And I saw her temple off the interstate just south of the suburbs between here and Cincinnati every time I went by. The grounds and buildings looked like palaces with manicured grounds; not like some religious temple. There were even live peacocks roaming the grounds in the spring and summer months. And I knew she said her husband was very devout and he was considered very conservative by other conservative members of their faith.

But, here Jhoni was; looking gorgeous and acting lonely and wanting attention. And I was a little startled to find I was beginning to get an erection in my boxers inside my dress pants as my body responded to her presence and what she'd told me here in the front office.

"So, you picked out your sophisticated outfit to please me?" I asked her, wanting Jhoni to examine her motives for what she seemed to be doing.

"Mmmm, yes," Jhoni told me. She put her right high heel in front of and a little to the left of her left shoe and took a step. She did the same with her left navy-blue shoe, in front of and beyond her right high-heel.

I realized walking that way made her hips sway quite invitingly.

I'd seen runway models walk the same way. Very Un-Jhoni like, I told myself. After four steps she stopped at the right edge of my desk that was up against the wall to the outside hallway. She stood there next to the deep drawers going down the right side of the desk and to the right of my chair, and she leaned the right hip of her pleated light-gray-colored skirt against edge of the fake wood top.

"So you, mmmm, like my outfit?" Jhoni asked me, her eyebrows going up with her question and her body posture and aura telling me she was eager to hear a positive answer.

"Yes, Jhoni ... I do," I slowly told her, rotating my articulated chair to look straight at her. And feeling the growing undercurrent of excitement in the office, I decided to press my luck and try and find out if my growing evaluation of Jhoni's personality make-up was true.

"So, Jhoni," I asked her, gazing up into her blue eyes to gauge what her response was going to be to my question, "did you also choose equally sexy things to wear for me under your sophisticated skirt and sweater?"

Jhoni gasped quietly, her vulnerable eyes getting big as she stared at me. Then she blushed and broke off our eye contact. She put her hands in front of her slim waist which was set off by her thin navy-blue belt, and she started picking at the fingernails of her left hand with the fingernails of her dainty right hand.

I noticed she'd painted her nails dark red. I'd never seen her wearing nail polish before. Very Un-Jhoni like, in deed, I told myself. My penis got harder.

"Mmmmm, I..." Jhoni said in a low, innocent sounding voice as her cheeks bloomed with pink coloring. "I ... mmmm ... guess, ahhh ... I did..."

"Specifically to ... please me?" I asked, feeling jubilant at her quiet, embarrassed admission.

"Mmmmm..." Jhoni began, slightly wiggled her hips and shoulders like a nervous kid, "Well..."

Then the certainty of it hit me. I must be correct about what I'd come to think concerning Jhoni's personality. The idea had been growing as I'd gotten to know her over the last year. Jhoni had a really big streak of submissiveness in her. And despite the fact she was married, she didn't have anyone to submit to.

I thought back and considered our talks after her writing sessions. From those frank discussions, I developed a picture of her married life and her relationship with her dutiful, conservative, devout husband. According to Jhoni, her husband never demand or commanded her to do anything. From what she told me about her husband—the doctor—was that when he did pay attention to her, he treated her like a princess. From what Jhoni had told me, he acquiesced to her at all times; when she did exert her will. He gave her what ever she wanted, and asked her opinion on everything they did. The man deferred to her about matters concerning their home, and he sought to please her when they did things together. He treated her, as Jhoni had said, as the proper Indian husband should treat his first wife.

At the time, I'd jokingly asked if he was going to have to divorce her, to be able to make Jhoni his first wife.

Jhoni had given me her guarded giggle and told me that in India, their religious sect allowed a man to have as many as four wives and as many mistresses as he could afford as long as he could economically maintain all of them in the accepted standard of their faith.

Jhoni went on to tell me that as his first wife, she was expected to run her husband's household, see to his domestic comfort, provide him with heirs, and kept his other wives and mistresses in line. The second wife, Jhoni had said, was to care for all the children of the husband's household first; and secondly, she was to provide her husband with heirs. Wives number three and four and the mistresses, Jhoni had informed me, were to satisfy any and all of their husband's base sexual desires and fantasies. Moreover, by doing so, they were to assure he was calm and happy and could function at his best in whatever high-powered position he held to enrich the family's fortunes. Also, those ladies were to act toward their husband in such a way as to make him the envy of his friends in their community, which was formed by the members of their temple—within the accepted social customs of their faith that is.

When I had quickly asked Jhoni what her husband might consider as his base sexual desires, Jhoni had nervously answered me, 'mmmmm ... well ... kinky, you know ... sex.'

When I laughingly had asked Jhoni what her husband might consider as kinky sex, Jhoni had blushed and had told me in a voice so quiet I almost didn't understand her words, 'everything but the missionary position.'

At the time I remembered I had been shocked to say the least at her representation of her husband's sexual boundaries with her; I mean, India was the land of the Kama Sutra, after all.

"So," I asked Jhoni, coming back from my thoughts and memories to the present as she stood there slightly wiggling deliciously back and forth near my chair. I decided to proceed with my exploration to find out if she really was the unattached submissive I thought she was, "do you really want to please me?"

"Mmmm ... uh-huh... ," Jhoni said softly, looking at me shyly with her blue eyes wide as she nodded her head, causing her blonde hair to drop over her right eyebrow again.

"Well, I have to tell you, today has been a lousy day for me, Jhoni," I said to her as I watched her, and put my arms up and locked my fingers behind my head as I leaned back in my articulated chair while pushing my shoes out in front of me on the tiles.

"But ... I'd enjoy going out and sharing dinner with you. And, I'd really like to have some drinks with you, too."

"Mmmm, I'm sorry you've had ... a bad day," Jhoni told me, a look of concern on her cute face. "Is there anything I can, you know ... do ... to help make it better?"

"You know, Jhoni..." I said, excited at what she'd just told me, and thinking to myself that if she truly was a submissive, she would respond to direct commands from me; if she accepted my dominance. And I decided right then to see just how far Jhoni would be willing to submit in her attempt to help me get over my frustration from the day I'd had so far.

I suddenly realized I wanted Jhoni, and not just for this afternoon and this evening as an experiment to find out if what I thought about her personality was correct. If her husband didn't understand her needs as a submissive and wasn't giving her the attention and affection she needed; I told myself I was willing to step into that void in her life.

I got up from my comfortable desk chair as she watched me stand close to her, looking up into my eyes in expectation. I was a full head taller than she was and then some.

"Okay, Jhoni ... There are several things you can do for me to make this day better. Right now, go into the back office and wait for me," I told her and motioned with my right hand toward the door at the left edge of the back wall of the front office.

Jhoni nodded and turned and, using her slow, new model walk, she crossed the tile floor of the front office toward the opened door. Jhoni swayed her pleated light-gray skirt-covered bottom slowly away from my appreciative gaze.

I walked to the hallway door and opened it. On the rectangular bulletin board mounted on the office door, I flipped over the Office Open sign to read Office Closed and then set the door to lock automatically. And then I closed the thick heavy door behind me as I turned and followed Jhoni into the back office.

Through the opened doorway, I watched as Jhoni model-walked across the area carpet as she moved by the low bookcase on the left wall and by the heavily cushioned rolled-arm reading chair in the back left corner of the room. She put her purse on the end table beside the reading chair and in front of the antique floor lamp. She turned around and shyly smiled at me.

I walked over to the middle of the back wall where the largest light table was situated and using the toe of my left dress shoe, I pulled the antique leather-covered rectangular shaped ottoman out from under the high bottom shelf of the layout table.

The ottoman was oxblood-red with a cushion about four inches thick on heavy, black sculpted wooden legs. The top of the ottoman was about fourteen inches off the floor. I pulled the ottoman out onto the area carpet between the first light table and the reading chair and turned it so the short dimension of the cushion was facing Jhoni and the long width went from near the light table and from there toward the wall between the front and back offices. The newly acquired piece of furniture was close to the demarcation between the area carpet and the original tiled flooring. The floor of the production area on the right side of the office had been left tiled so dropped wax and paper messes were easier to clean up, I guessed.

With the ottoman where I wanted it, I got the folded clean quilted movers' blanket off the shelf under the light table and partially unfolded it. I put the quilt down on the carpet in front of Jhoni and against the two legs on the long side of the rectangular ottoman. Then I stood back and looked at Jhoni who now stood in front of me and faced the ottoman to my right.

"I bought this nice old piece of furniture at a garage sale on my way home yesterday afternoon and brought it in to the office this morning, Jhoni."