Chapter III Karen Takes Control
Karen answered on the fourth ring as though she had no idea who might be calling
her. Poor Carol was so weak and confused, she could barely speak.
"What do you WANT from me?", Carol stammered angrily.
"Hmmm.", Karen replied. "Maybe we should start with your phone manners. You
may call back when you're ready to act like a big girl."
Click. The line went dead. Carol was stunned. Frantically, she dialed again.
After five maddeningly long rings, Karen answered again. "Hello?"
"I, ah, I'm sorry. I mean, about how I spoke. Ah. Could you please tell me
what this is, what this is all about?"
"Poor Carol. She grew up to be thirty eight years old and never learned how to
be polite on the telephone." Karen replaced the handset on the phone, smiling
quietly to herself. This was her kind of fun.
Carol slammed the phone down and quickly made her way to the scotch. Skipping
the formality of pouring a glass, she took a long swallow straight out of the
bottle. Replacing the cap, she carried the bottle back to where she had been
sitting and took a deep breath as the warm glow she had felt earlier between her
legs began to intermingle with the numbness caused by the scotch and the anger
she was barely managing to control. She sat down and dialed again.
Six rings later, Karen answered calmly. "Hello?"
Carol concentrated on speaking evenly, trying to keep her jumbled emotions
beneath the surface for just a few seconds. "Hello. May I speak with Karen,
please?"
"Perhaps,", Karen answered, "may I ask who is calling?"
Flabbergasted, Carol took a breath and answered calmly. "Carol?"
"Oh? Carol who?", Karen inquired, tormenting her poor victim and enjoying every
minute of the little game she was playing.
"Uh. Carol Sizemore?"
"Oh! Carol! I thought it was you. This is Karen. What can I do for you?"
She was quite the actress, sounding as though none of the earlier conversation
had taken place.
"Uh. I. You gave me this envelope and I assumed you wanted me to call this
number. I mean, what is all this..."
Karen interrrupted, "I don't like it when you call me "you". I would like you
to call me "Miss Karen"."
"Why would I call you "Miss Karen"?", Carol shouted into the phone.
Karen hung up and stood, stretching leisurely before ambling to the kitchen for
a tall glass of icewater. The phone started ringing almost immediately. She
disregarded it as she sipped the water, looking out the kitchen window toward
the pool and the beautifully landscaped back yard that surrounded it. This was
going to be a fun break, she thought to herself.
After more than thirty rings, Carol had apparently given up. Looking at her
watch, Karen anticipated hearing the doorbell ring in less than sixty seconds.
She wasn't surprised when it took only thirty seconds for Carol to return to the
front door. She was both ringing the doorbell incessantly and pounding on the
door. Karen listened, waiting for the surge of anger to play itself out on the
doorstep. She couldn't make too much of a scene in the front yard, but Karen
could hear her sobbing after a few seconds of futility had passed. The pounding
had transformed itself into a polite knock in short order. Karen was pleased.
She pulled her heels back on, stood, put her jacket on, thenstrode to the entry
foyer and slowly opened the door.
Smiling broadly, she exclaimed, "Why Carol! How nice of you to stop by!
Please! Come in!". Carol looked disheveled and worn down. Her nostrils had a
cute way of flaring between breaths and her erect nipples were did not go
unnoticed. Karen really appreciated her complexion. Her skin was nearly
flawless.
Carol stepped into the evil woman's house once more, the memory of the
humiliation she had suffered there just a few minutes earlier fresh on her mind.
"Have you calmed down a bit, Carol? Or do we need to send you back home for
more booze?", Karen asked in an even voice.
How did she know?, Carol thought. Maybe she smelled it on her breath. Carol
realized how exhausted she felt. Her life as she knew it was in jeopardy, and
she had to find out why. She knew she couldn't do that if she kept behaving
aggressively. She could not look Karen directly in the eye without fear of
giving herself away, so she looked momentarily at her own feet and replied
breathlessly, "No, ah...Miss Karen. I am calm now."
"Very good, Carol. Now, just run back over to your house and retrieve that
envelope and bring it to me. You have thirty seconds." Karen glanced at her
watch to take note of where the second hand was.
Carol looked at her quizzically, then realized she was serious. Bolting through
the open door, she sprinted across the yards to her house and quickly returned
with the envelope and it's contents. As she crossed her neigbor's threshold,
Karen called out "Twenty seven. Not bad!", and pushed the entry door closed.
She took the envelope from Carol's hand and quickly looked inside to make sure
all of it's contents were enclosed before tossing it onto a side table.
It was a particularly hot, humid day. Carol's exertion, though short in
duration, had caused her to begin to sweat profusely. Her nerves were not
helping matters any, and she stood, dripping and panting, on Karen's tile floor.
She blinked her eyes rapidly as sweat poured into them. Her tank top was
clinging to her heaving breasts, and her prominent nipples were pushing through
the damp fabric so intently that it seemed they wanted to burst through.
Karen had noticed during the first visit that Carol had been braless, and was
delighted now that it had become shamefully obvious. Such a hussy!
Karen circled her prey slowly, studying Carol more closely as the poor thing
tried to catch her breath and begin to regain her dignity. It was not to be,
though. Karen took who she chose, and dignity was never a concern. She spoke
casually, her heels clicking softly on the tile in a perfect rhythym.
"You are to be commended for two things, I think. The first is that you chose
to be a whore for the only black United States Marine who was ever named Ralph.
The second is that you were so damned sloppy about it that anyone could have
easily compromised you."
Carol started to blurt something out, but was slapped hard across her face. She
immediately went to pieces and continued sobbing.
Karen looked at the palm of her hand, satisfied that she had actually hurt it on
the slut's face. She didn't need to wonder what Carol felt as she watched her
collapse to her knees. She continued her circular stroll, delivering her brutal
monologue.
"Other than that, you really are a reprehensible, weak, and completely worthless
human being, Carol. It must have been a sinful thrill to feel that big black
cock sliding in and out of your holes while everyone you knew thought you were
being true to them." Karen sighed for effect, then continued. "Talk about
betrayal! Just think what would happen if all of your friends, family, and
coworkers knew! And the Marine Corps! They'd throw poor Ralphie's career into
the toilet so fast he wouldn't know what happened." She paused briefly to
ensure that Carol was listening. "Of course, you'd never teach high school
again. We know that, don't we slut?"
Carol was stunned but managed to utter a "yes".
Karen noted with satisfaction that the anger she knew Carol could conjure up was
well buried by now. "Yes? Do I need to slap you again to remind you of your
manners Carol?"
Her mind was trailing out over the imaginings of her husband's reaction to her
indiscretions. He would drop her like a rock and never look back.
"Uh. Yes, Miss. Uh. Miss Karen."
"I really don't like you, Carol. I especially don't like you dripping on my
nice floor like you are. My suggestion is that you ask permission to get a
towel to dry it off."
Her mother would just die. Her heart would break and she would just die.
"Miss Karen, may I get a towel and dry this floor off?"
"Hmmm," Karen replied. "I suppose. The guest bathroom is behind you. Get a
towel out of the closet."
Carol turned to look behind her, then slowly rose, feeling her knees shaking.
She was completely defeated. As she entered the bathroom Karen called out from
the foyer, "I just don't think you could move any slower, could you?".
Carol quickened her movements and found a towel. Returning to the immediate
presence of her tormenter was frightening. She had always had a fear of being
hit or slapped, and practically flinched in anticipation of another strike. She
stole a quick glance at Karen and was shocked to be smiled at. It was as
unsettling as anything that had happened so far, and she felt the tears well up
in her eyes once again. Carol knelt and swirled the towel around a few times
until the floor was completely dry.
"Now, ,spread the towel out neatly on the floor and stand on it.", Karen
ordered.
Carol followed the instructions, so fearful and so confused. She thought of her
life in a shambles. No husband, no career, no lover, nothing. Not even a
mother who cared anymore.
Karen began circling again. "You have quite a problem, Carol. You see, I have
unique tastes. I also have unique friends who help me to indulge my tastes. I
am taking a hiatus from a rather unusual profession. During such times I like
to find a few people to toy with to keep me occupiied and to keep my skills
sharp. This time, I have taken you, Carol. You belong to me now. I own you.
I own you. I will train you, I will use you, and I will abuse you. If, at the
end of my little break, I am satisfied with you, well, then you might get your
life back. If I am not satisfied with you a number of things could happen. It
is conceivable that you could simply disappear, never to be seen again. It is
conceivable that you could be shipped off somewhere to lead a quite miserable
life. It is conceivable that you could be left here to deal with the
ramifications of your sordid past. It's all up to me. Is there any part of
this that your little whore brain doesn't understand?"
Carol swallowed. Her lips were dry. "Uh. No, Miss Karen."
Karen stopped directly in front of her. She lifted Carol's chin until she made
eye contact. Gazing intently into Carol's deep brown eyes, she whispered,
"What's it like to be a piece of property?", then turned toward the entry door.
"I'm going to explore my neighbor's old house now, slut. Follow me. Two paces
behind, and not a peep out of you."
Carol followed quietly across their front yards, amazed at how well Karen could
walk in grass with heels on. Her calves were well defined and her legs were
taught and shapely. Carol knew she was in good shape by her posture and the way
she carried herself. She wondered as they neared her door how she could be
thinking about Karen's legs under such bizarre circumstances.
