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mother’s one
consolation in life, that some scrap of dignity, some little bit of her
husband’s honor had been protected by his fellow officers…for Tristy’s sake.
    There was so much she would have told her dad.
    Now watching Grant drive away, she wished she could say
those things to him, all those things she would have said to her dad about
honor and courage and love if there had been time, if she had been old enough.
    But now history was repeating itself and again it was too
late. I’ve ruined everything , she thought. I’ve destroyed my
friendship with Grant, the best guy on the planet.
    Now who would she talk to when it got tough? She had
girlfriends but that wasn’t the same. Tristy had never cared much for the
company of other females. They seemed catty to her, spending way too much time
talking about guys and stabbing each other in the back.
    Not that she had much more luck with guys.
    Except Grant.
    Tristy hugged herself tightly. She was wearing her old track
suit, the one she wore when she was feeling down and wanted to hide from the
world. Grant had been the only person in the world to see it. He had told her
he felt honored.
    What a goof ball. She smiled through her tears.
    Grant would know what to do to make her feel better. He
would hold her way tighter than she could hold herself and he would kiss the
troubles away. And he’d play games with her, wicked BDSM games.
    Tristy felt instant tension at the thought of Grant’s games.
What would he do with her right now if he had her all to himself? Would he
strip her nude, would he tie her? Or maybe even spank her?
    Her heart leaped in her chest.
    She couldn’t resist the urge to touch herself, to rub her
palm over her belly. Instantly her abdominal muscles tightened as though it
were Grant’s hand. Gasping softly she let her fingers travel northward along
the zipper of the jacket. She grasped the catch and tugged it slightly. Her
nipples peaked in response. Tristy arched her back. Down came the zipper until
it reached the bottom.
    The jacket was open and she had no bra underneath, no
T-shirt either. Moaning, she felt the material rub against her nipples. Her
eyes slid shut as she pulled the jacket over her shoulders. Just like that she
was nude from the waist up.
    Greedily, her fingers found the waistband of her sweatpants.
She was dying to touch her pussy but something told her to wait. In her mind,
she heard Grant’s dominating voice.
    You’ll touch when I say so.
    “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes…” As if unbidden the tips of her
fingers found her left nipple. She squeezed hard. Just enough to make herself
whimper—the threshold of her pain.
    Then she did something most unexpected. It made her bite her
lower lip. She slapped her hand against her behind.
    And then a second time, harder. Ouch. That smarted!
    Grant laughed in her ear, ever the invisible presence. What did you expect, girl?
    “I know,” she said aloud. “Spanking hurts.”
    But there were rewards too as she soon discovered. Like
getting to rub her hot bottom as her other hand slid surreptitiously down
inside the front panel of her panties until her fingers reached her clitoris.
    The button of pleasure was already swollen and eager to be
touched. Juices dripped from her pussy down her inner thighs. She could feel
the raw heat of her sex lips, the aching canal that needed more than anything
to be filled. And there was only one thing to fit the bill.
    Grant.
    She couldn’t even think of another man if she tried. But,
since he isn’t here I’ll have to make do with the dildo. Assuming Grant
gave his “permission”.
    “Please,” she begged aloud.
    On your knees, slave girl.
    Tristy dropped to the floor. Oh, how she wished he was above
her, in front of her, over her.
    “Please…” she repeated, listening in the light, sweet
silence for his reply.
    Why should I let you pleasure yourself? the phantom
Grant wanted to know.
    “I need to,” she rasped. “I can’t stand it any