Stealing Jennifer Scott, Chapter One

Story Categories:

Story Tags:

Views: 5,498 | Likes: +74

Stealing Jennifer Scott


By Shorngirl


A little saga that I’ve been dreaming on for a bit. This will be in a few chapters, well, at least two. I hope you enjoy.



Chapter One


Ever since my junior year when the girl first made an appearance at Griffith’s High School, I’d had my eye on her. She was one of the girls that the boys simply fell over themselves to get to know. I wasn’t sure whether it was her long blonde hair or her voluptuous Hollywood visage, but she had that magnetism that was irresistible. I was not immune.

Of course, I knew I was invisible to her. Although I was reasonably attractive, I certainly wasn’t in her league, and on top of that, I was a girl. So… I watched from a distance as she would burn through one boyfriend after the next, all through that year and the next, bleeding them dry as it were. Oh, they’d bend over backward to try and keep her, but when she was done with them, no amount of persuasion would sway her from moving on to her next acquisition.

It was six years on, now. I had graduated from university and had an extremely lucrative position with a tech firm, where I was their fastest-rising star. The thing was, I’d never been able to get Jennifer Scott out of my mind.

Strangely enough, even though I had moved some two hundred miles away from my old hometown, a place I was only too happy to leave, Jennifer had followed suit. New York City had this strange allure, and people flocked to it like moths to a flame.

Granted, the place had its problems. It was a hotbed of crime, and you really took your life in your hands venturing into certain parts of the city, or anywhere in the subway for that matter. So, you stayed above ground and stuck to what you knew.

I lived on the west side, just off the park. My generous salary had afforded me an apartment in a rather ritzy brownstone on West 74th. I’d bought it outright, and that gave me free rein to do with it as I wished. My tastes were, as some might describe, bordering on the exotic.

I was mulling over the day’s agenda at the window bar of my local Starbucks when who should saunter by, but my teenage crush, Jennifer Scott. She approached the entrance and knew that she was about to come inside. I mulled over the idea of approaching her, but whatever would I say? We had never been friends, and I doubted she would even remember or recognize me now.

So, I had to console myself by watching her as she set up shop at one of the small circular tables. She set down her coffee and opened her laptop. Suddenly, an idea came crashing into my brain. I wondered just how vigilant she was with her Wi-Fi security. I quickly opened my tablet and scanned the local node for joiners, and sure enough, there she was, and not hard to recognize either: JScott. Really? How unimaginative.

I opened an instance of Kismet and tested her system. Jesus, it was wide open. I mean, not even a firewall. In a matter of moments, I had harvested all her passwords, usernames, and a complete history of her internet activity.

I felt a little sleazy as I slipped out of the coffee joint ahead of her, but with my newfound entry into Jennifer Scott’s world, my guilt was sufficiently tempered by my sexual excitement. Just what was this girl into?

I had to suffer through an entire day of staff meetings and client interviews, before being able to sift through what I had managed to steal from Jennifer’s laptop. My patience would soon be rewarded, in spades.

With my heart beating a mile a minute, I downloaded her info into my mainframe. There were the mundane issues of address, phone number, and contacts, but then as I began to explore what she seemed most interested in at night, my heart did a flip. This girl was fucking pervert. I couldn’t have been more pleased.

Every type of porn ever devised by the most devious minds was lurking in her browser history, but there seemed to be a trend. She was fascinated by the lesbian lifestyle. Even though her history indicated that she was dating a guy named Ashton Seabert, she had all the earmarks of a closeted lesbian.

I pushed my vintage roller chair away from the desk and pressed my fingers into my open folds imagining her there, lapping away. But then, how to get her there in reality? I entered Jennifer’s IP in a simple search, located her at home, and quickly gained access to her entire home network. I had this girl, but how low was I willing to stoop to make it real?

Making a pact that I would never go so low as to blackmail her, I smiled. No, that wasn’t the plan at all. She had to come to me of her own volition and that was going to take some planning. I saw that she was going out that Friday with some friends, and to a club I was familiar with.

Sanctuary was a bit of an anomaly. It was an S&M club that catered to the well-to-do. I had, long ago, found an in there, and well before I had established myself financially. Now, I fit right in with the other clientele.

So, as I filed through the door in my most decadent leathers, a decorative flogger clipped to my belt, I was welcomed like an old friend. “Long time, Dale.” The doorman said as I slipped him the twenty-dollar surcharge.

I cast a gaze his way without saying a word, and he quickly succumbed, directing his eyes downward like the submissive I knew him to be. Taking a seat at the bar, it didn’t take long for my quarry to arrive, two friends on either side. She seemed to be the queen bee of the threesome, but I had a feeling that would change before too long.

Knowing what I knew about her, she was not only a perverted little fox but a submissive one as well. I vowed to have her eating out of my hand before the evening was through.

I let the first few acts slither by, and noticed how intently she watched the proceedings. She would physically wince with each blow of the whip, or writhe in her chair as someone would be caned. Her friends seemed more shocked than amused, and I wondered if this was their first time; if she had dragged them along for emotional support as she explored her fantasy.

Next came the audience participation part of the night, my favorite part, of course. A simpering woman at the end of a leash was dragged onto the stage, still sporting her Armani suit, the woman’s Louboutins struggling to stay on her feet. Her collar looked fresh, obviously a recent acquisition for the young Domme who controlled her. I imagined that she was the woman’s maid, having discovered her mistress’s proclivity for the art, and ending up under the maid’s foot.

The woman was stripped unceremoniously, and it was too obvious that she had never in her life been so humiliated, her face red with embarrassment. Perhaps she was having second thoughts, now that her fantasy was suddenly very, very real. Her eyes scanning the audience, undoubtedly praying that no one she knew recognized her in her naked state.

I was so absorbed by the scene that I had neglected paying my Jennifer any mind at all. I quickly turned to find her looking incredibly aroused. She was utterly smitten by what she was watching. I knew all too well that she was imagining herself up there, naked and ready for the lash. Her body language was so evocative that it took all my willpower not to simply walk over and take her right then and there.

What happened, was so much better. After the young domme finished with the older woman, I caught Jennifer looking around the club. Was she looking for someone, or simply wishing that someone would rescue her from her fantasy and make it real?

The emcee was imploring the next adventurous pair to display themselves on his stage. I wasted no time. Sweeping in from behind I slipped a firm hand around Jennifer’s upper arm, lifting her from her seat. For a moment there was fear and resistance, but as she turned to see me in my utterly dominant stance, I felt her relax.

There was some applause from the audience and a welcoming smile from the emcee as I gently coaxed Jennifer Scott onto the stage. I’ll never forget the look on her two friend’s faces as I took her from them; a mixture of shock and disgust, I think.

I wasn’t certain who was the more nervous, Jennifer or myself. Although I had topped more than a few women in my young life, I’d never done so on a stage, and certainly not with someone I considered my childhood crush. I was fairly certain she had no idea who I was, so I supposed I was going to use that to my advantage.

“Stand between the poles,” I told her, tersely. She looked over her shoulder at me again, before complying with my demand. Once there, I decided not to carry her humiliation too far, opting to only strip her to the waist. I had no mercy for the buttons on her blouse, renting the shirt open, the small pearly orbs dancing musically over the surface of the stage.

I expected some pushback but received none to my surprise. As I surmised, she was braless under the blouse, and her pendulous breasts hung there for all to see, including me. I had to stop for a second to admire them, having fantasized about touching them for so long. Refocused, I skinned the blouse over her arms before fastening her hands into the manacles which hung empty from the tops of the poles.

Feeling unable to resist, I slid in behind her, my bare hands kneading her orbs roughly, eliciting a gasp from her as she thrust her chest outward. There were some titters and quiet applause from the audience, and I just couldn’t resist. “I think they like you, Jennifer.”

I felt her suddenly stiffen under my touch with the realization that her identity was no longer a secret. Using this momentary distraction, I gathered her hair, which was still most of the way down her back, and slipped it over her shoulders, hiding her breasts, much to the disappointment of the crowd.

Eyeing the rack of implements, I chose one particularly benign-looking cat. There were no knots or barbs, but the leather was stiff enough to deliver a stinging blow, and make the sub believe they were being scourged mercilessly. I saw people sit forward in their chairs as I swished the whip menacingly.

I really didn’t want to hurt her, but I did want her to remember. The first lash was loud, the sound of which was probably more impressive than the welts it raised. I heard Jennifer gasp with the second, which was marginally harder than the first.

I was a bit sorry for the fact that I wasn’t witnessing this from the front, as her friends were. Glancing in their direction, I was amused by their open mouths but most especially by the fact that they had their phones out, filming the proceedings. I wondered just how this was going to play out between them.

Ten lashes were more than enough for Jennifer, who was almost hanging in the manacles by then. I ran my fingertips over her tender flesh, her back a crisscross of raised red lines. She hissed with my attention, but at the same time thrust her hips forward in a motion that could only be described as wanton. Marvelous, I thought.

As I released the restraints, the emcee directed us to the side of the stage where releases were encouraged but not necessarily mandatory. I saw Jennifer sign hers quickly, escaping down the proscenium steps to her friends, tattered blouse in hand. She looked over her shoulder once, gazing at me with a mixture of fear, and longing in her eyes.

Had I gone too far? Had I gone far enough? These thoughts were in my head as I left the club later that evening. Jennifer and her two friends had escaped immediately following her little display and I supposed that was for the best. I didn’t want to tip my hand too soon.

During the following week, I followed communications with her two friends whom I learned were acquaintances from her office. Bridget and Lisa were beside themselves over what they had witnessed and had even threatened Jennifer with exposure a few times. Whatever blackmail took place it was never discussed online, but I dreamt up some amusing scenarios.

Then I saw what I had wanted to see and had been waiting for all week. She was going back to Sanctuary the following Friday. I could only assume two things: she either wanted to see me again or was so hooked on what had happened to her that she was raring for more. I hoped it was some combination of the two.

This time, I dressed more butch than domme, ditching the leather for some faded denim and a flannel shirt. I made a point of visiting the barber that afternoon, to shorten up what was already a rather short style.

“The usual, Dale?” The barber asked, running a comb through my unruly black Irish hair.

“Better take it a shorter this time, Harvey,” I explained, ruffing the hair at my nape. The barber held free rein over my hair, normally, and this would be no different. I was pleased when I heard the clippers switch on and felt them touch the back of my neck.

I think he was taking me at my word because he didn’t lift them until they were almost to the crown. It seemed it was going to be a fade and a rather short one at that. I’d worn my hair that short before, but not since I’d started at the firm. They’d just have to get used to it.

As Harvey worked his way around the sides, I was amused by the stubble the clippers left in their wake. The floor was peppered with tufts of black as my hair slowly fell away.

“You want I should leave a little on top to play with?” The barber asked, after having left the sides bereft of anything more than the slightest grey shadow.

I thought for a moment, for an instant, wondering just what it might be like to let him take the rest that short. Then I came to my senses. “Square it up?” I suggested.

“You got it.” And with that, he started shaping what remained of my hair into a rather abbreviated flat top. When all was said and done, I would certainly have given Tank Girl a run for her money.

I ran my fingers over my head, feeling the bristles of the top in contrast to the shaven back and sides. Smiling, I nodded to the man.

“Short enough? I can always go a little shorter, you know.” He offered, but my upturned palm was all the answer he needed, whipping off the cape as I stood up.

I took one more look in the mirror before paying up and heading out into the early Manhattan evening. The night air felt refreshing against my new nakedness, and I wondered why I hadn’t done this sooner. This was a look that I could get used to, so I vowed to maintain it.

I grabbed a cab and headed for Sanctuary; not certain what Jennifer was going to think about my rather skinned-down appearance. Judging by what she seemed turned on by, and some of the sites she frequented, I knew she had a haircut fetish. I would certainly be testing that theory.

After stowing some things backstage, I slid into the bar and scanned the floor for Jennifer, but was disappointed not to find her. Perhaps she had changed her plans at the last minute. I had gone through a couple of beers before I caught that unmistakable mane weaving through the crowded floor. She too appeared to be looking for something, or someone. I only hoped it was me.

I supposed my new look could be considered a bit of a disguise. Gone were the shiny leathers and the curly shock of back hair, replaced by the rough-looking butch at the bar with a clippered head and doc martins kicking at the floor. I looked at it as a test. If she found me, I’d have no mercy on her; but if I had to retrieve her, I might go easy again.

To my delight, she made eye contact not long after that, and slowly made her way over to the bar. I think it was a mixture of confusion and amusement in her expression as she tucked in between my open legs. “I like the change.” She purred, running a hand over my hair, and wrinkling her cute little nose at the roughness of the stubble.

“It’s liberating,” I mused, and testing the waters, added, “you should try it out.” I waited for her response, which was thought out, rather than spontaneous.

“Maybe I will.” She deliberately ran her fingers through her locks, pulling them out evocatively, before allowing them to caress her side again. She wore an outfit that was a bit more appropriate for the club; a blood-red silk halter and faux leather leggings which clung tightly to her shapely thighs.

Knowing what I knew, her admission failed to shock me, and I desperately tried to conceal what I had planned. What would she do? Last time there hadn’t been a safe word, but I supposed that one was in order, as this session promised to be a bit more intense than the last.

“Think of a word,” I demanded, as I handed her a beer and pulled her through the crowd to a table I had reserved in advance. We sat across from one another, each eyeing up the other before I finally broke the awkward silence. “Well?”

“Schoharie.” Jennifer blurted as if left with no other alternative.

I was so taken aback by her choice that I knew I had let surprise wash over my face. I began to wonder if I had, in fact, been made. “What is that; a town or something?” Feigning ignorance.

“Actually, it’s where I’m from, originally,” Jennifer admitted, truthfully.

“Must be a lovely place,” I added, sarcastically.

“It’s a shithole, and I’m so much happier here.” She smiled, looking around.

“Well, that’s interesting, because it’s your safe word, now,” I instructed.

Her eyebrows went up. “We are getting serious, aren’t we?” She let on, and I wondered if she was toying with me.

“Careful, Jennifer.” I explored.

“How on earth do you know my name, by the way.” She asked out of turn.

“That’s easy. I overheard your friends last week.” Lying, I knew there was no way she could either prove or disprove it. “I’m Dale, by the way,” holding out my hand to her.

“Dale? Did your parents want a boy or something?” She asked as she took my hand.

“Actually, it’s a name of my own choosing.” It wasn’t a lie. Shortly after graduating, I disposed of my old name, Delilah, which I despised more than spinach, and that’s saying something. I prepared myself for the inevitable question.

“What was it before?” She asked, immediately seeing the look on my face and withdrawing the question. “Never mind, sorry.”

“Not a problem. It’s a legitimate question, just not one I’m keen to answer.” By then the first scheduled act had taken the stage and our conversation was limited to short bursts of conversation between acts or if something, in particular, struck a nerve with either of us.

Before we knew it, the stage was open. Jennifer begged me not to bring her up there first, so I granted her that request. I almost wish I hadn’t. The scene was awkward and unpolished, and I worried that the poor sub was going to end up scarred for life. The emcee eventually stepped in before the overzealous domme did him any real damage.

The stage went quiet for a little while, and the emcee seemed to be taking a break. I saw this as the perfect opportunity to make a discreet entrance with Jennifer. She looked at me strangely for a second, as if having second thoughts, but then followed me dutifully up the stairs. It took only a few seconds for the chatter to calm and the club to fall silent.

I had taken the liberty of entering from off stage, where I had stripped Jennifer naked. This time it was all the way down. She didn’t argue and even seemed keen, to be honest. When I asked her to go to centerstage alone and stand, hands at her side facing the audience, I got a bit of a look, but I would have been surprised had I not.

Only when there was utter silence, their eyes glued to this perfect specimen of femininity did I make my entrance. There was a slight buzz as I came to stand behind her, allowing my hands to drift up her torso and settle under her breasts. I pressed upward as if offering them to the crowd, which brought a slight round of applause. I leaned forward, laying my head against her shoulder, and whispered in her ear. “Ready?”

The slightest of nods permitted me to continue, and without too much warning, I slid a chair to the center of the stage and onto a revolving platform. She didn’t waver or look back, even though I knew she wanted to. Guiding her onto the small platform, I eased her into the rather plain-looking chair, something you might have seen in a classroom.

Her naked cheeks slapped wetly against the wood, and I smiled, knowing the place was so mesmerized, and that it was so quiet. Reaching between her legs I was not disappointed to find her slot completely soaked. I opened her legs, displaying her arousal to the curious onlookers.

Bringing my fingers to my nose and then to my lips, I was going to have to be careful. It would be so easy to get carried away. I smiled to the crowd, expressing my pleasure, and began to fasten my charge to the chair with rope. This wasn’t going to be a lesson in Shibari but I was going to do a reasonable job of it.

When I was done with her, every limb had been encased in rope. I turned the revolving platform she was on so that the audience could see her from all angles. Again, some polite applause at the job I had done.

Having not forgotten my skills as a girl, I quickly braided Jennifer’s hair, from the peak of her crown to the tip. It was an impressive braid, thick and long with only a slight diminishment from top to bottom. It was when I began to braid a length of rope into that braid that I could see Jennifer getting nervous.

I lowered a hook that was normally used for suspension from the fly loft, the chain rattling through the advantage, bringing it close to the top of Jennifer’s head. She looked up at me meekly as I inserted the hook through the end of the braid and began the process of pulling it skyward again.

As the long braid began to pull up from Jennifer’s head, the crowd was again enthused, thinking they knew what was about to happen. If they only knew. As the braid cinched up so that it forced her chin to her chest, I stopped, the sudden silence revealing the excited conversations taking place in the room.

I left her that way for a few minutes, alone, walking off stage with instructions to observe her carefully. The emcee nodded when I returned, but he was startled as he saw my attire and what I carried. Giving me a warning look, I raised a palm, assuring him that everything would be fine.

Jennifer sat exactly where I had left her, but the crowd seemed restless, wanting something to happen to this lovely young beauty. “Lecherous Swine,” I said, audibly. Silencing the most of them effectively.

Kneeling before her in my gi, my katana resting across my thighs, I looked up into her eyes. “Remember your hometown, my darling.” Her eyes widened as I pulled the deathly sharp instrument from its saya, the tsuka’s braided winding biting into my fingertips, my grip was so intense.

A hush fell over the people behind me as I stood, raising the sword to my side as my training had taught me, and turned away from Jennifer the blade cutting through the smoke-laden air with an oscillating hum that only the sharpest of blades could muster. It was one of my most prized possessions, and it demanded respect. One false move with a sword that sharp would be a disaster.

For show, I worked through an abbreviated kata, demonstrating that I at least knew what I was doing, whilst poor Jennifer sat, trussed, and naked at center stage. I wondered just how wet the seat of that chair was now and whether she found my preparation arousing. In her eyes, fear, but her expression was nothing short of lustful.

I had to let her know what I was about to do; some sort of sign that she could understand. My dance brought me directly behind her, standing on the platform, the katana resting, blade up against her head. Her long braid grew upward next to the folded steel, the contrast almost too erotic.

I knew she understood as a small gasp escaped her lips, but I failed to hear her utter that word, the name of the small town from whence she, and I, came. I reached out to test the braid held rigidly vertical by the hook, some three feet over our heads.

The crowd, finally understanding what I was about to do was awash with murmurs and whispers. I smiled at the emcee who was standing nervously at the side of the stage, seemingly ready to close the curtain should anything go awry.

I leaned down to Jennifer’s ear, whispering so that only she could hear. “You must be still; perfectly so,” I warned, my tone even in so airy a voice left no room for misunderstanding. For a moment I saw her mouth open, as if she might call everything off. As her lips pursed closed, I saw her swallow with some effort. She had had her opportunity but had granted me my prize through her omission.

I stood quickly, stepping back off of the platform, the footing required for such a move needing to be firm and sure. The katana held high over my head, I turned with lightning speed, the blade contacting the base of the braid for only a fraction of a second, before it flew away from Jennifer’s head, the hook carrying it high and away.

The tension no longer holding her chin to her chest, Jennifer’s head abruptly righted itself, and she found herself facing the audience once again, her drastically abbreviated locks falling forward in a jagged, chin-length bob.

Its purpose at an end, I immediately sheathed the blade safely within its saya, resting it on the platform at Jennifer’s naked feet. I looked up as the braid slowly undid itself, the fullness of her hair unable to be restrained once severed.

Jennifer stared at me, and I couldn’t decide whether it was rage or shock over what I had done. Her long, gorgeous hair was no longer attached to her head, and I wondered if she might have regretted having made so personal a suggestion earlier in the evening. If she only knew that her fate was sealed long before then.

But now, as the rope slowly unwound from the braid, Jennifer’s silky locks began to rain over us from above; unfettered and free of their binding. It really was beautiful to behold as the intensity of the shower of hair increased, eventually covering us and the center of the stage with all that once crowned her head.

When the hook was empty, I once again withdrew the sword, slipping it into the coils of rope, and rotated the blade so it rested tenuously against them. “Stand now,” I ordered, loud enough so that the audience heard me clearly.

The simple pressure of her pressing forward against her bonds caused the blade to slice through the rope with ease, releasing her. Jennifer very nearly toppled over, but caught herself, bringing some titters from the crowd. Still utterly naked, and without her hair to drape over her torso, she felt keenly exposed.

Thinking she had had quite enough for the day, I led Jennifer off the stage, a round of vigorous applause ushering us into the wings. As soon as we were out of sight, Jennifer turned to face me.

“What the hell! Why did you do this to me?” She spat, her eyes suddenly daggers.

“Because you wanted me to, Jennifer.” I continued past her to the green room, but she followed close behind. Resting the katana on the counter I began to strip out of my gi, leaving me as naked as her. She simply watched from a few feet away, struggling, I think, with what to say.

“Look at me.” She grumbled, looking in the mirror that ran the length of the well-used countertop. With several of the framing lights burnt out, it gave the place a less-than-glamorous allure. “What the hell am I supposed to tell my boyfriend?”

“You could always tell him you cut it off in a fit of frustrated rage,” I suggested, which elicited a slight chuckle from her. “Or… you could just tell him the truth.”

“He doesn’t know… not about any of …this.” Jennifer stammered.

“Maybe it’s time he learned just who it is he’s dating?” I suggested. Pouting, she tugged at the severed hanks of her once glorious mane. “I could at least even things out for you, if you like.” I offered, picking up a handy pair of scissors from the counter, opening and closing them enticingly.

“After you did this to it?” She hissed. “I think not.”

“I’m quite handy with these,” I assured her, indicating a chair, not unlike the one she was released from moments before.

Staring at her own reflection, she dropped her shoulders with a sigh. “Well, I can’t go anywhere looking like this.” With some reluctance, she sat, looking up at me with anything but trust in her eyes. “Do a good job,” She demanded, but then fell back into step. “…please.”

I examined the choppy bob, trying to decide how short I would have to cut to make things at least presentable. The katana had sliced the hair cleanly, but because it had been braided, it left everything at odd lengths. In the back, the hair barely covered her hairline, and I knew that the only choice was to cut it into an inverted bob. I started there.

“Isn’t that awfully short?” Jennifer asked, still naked, although I had donned my jeans and flannel shirt.

“I’m only cutting enough to even it out, Jennifer,” I explained, snipping another lock, and exposing more of her lovely nape. I would have to deal with the underlying hair at some point, but continued with the scissors, taking the length longer as it swept forward, the longest strands grazing the corners of her voluptuous mouth.

I doubted she had ever had a haircut that exposed her ears before, but this transected them, half her pinna and lobes fully exposed. Combing out the result, I was satisfied that she would at least accept what I had done. But the last bit remained to be cut, and I searched for anything to accomplish that.

The only tool, aside from my katana, which would have been far too dangerous, was a safety razor that had obviously been used before. I rinsed the thing thoroughly in the small bathroom before returning to Jennifer, who was busy trying to see herself in the mirror. I had deliberately moved the chair out of the line of sight of them. “You can wait until I’m done.” I directed, wielding the razor menacingly.

“What are you going to do with that?” She asked, nervously.

“Finishing touches.” I pressed her chin down so it nearly touched her chest and began to shave upwards into her hairline, removing a two-inch swath of finger-length hair.  She was squirming in the chair, and I knew that this was anything but unpleasant for her.

I was careful to leave a straight line that ran from earlobe to earlobe, but everything below that was peeled to the skin. I wanted to kiss that freshly exposed flesh more than anything. Bringing my lips down, I ran them along her nape, testing the base of her scalp for anything but silky-smooth skin. I had done a good job, as she had demanded.

“Now, you may look.” I helped her out of the chair and over to the mirror.

Jennifer turned her head from side to side, fascinated, I think, by the way the longer hair swung across her upper lip. “It’s really short.”

“It’s short,” I ran my hand up the back of my own tonsured skull. “…but not really short.”

“Well… I don’t hate it.” Jennifer admitted, running her hand over her shaved nape. “This is…”

“Hot as hell.” I decided.

Suddenly aware of herself, Jennifer seemed to emerge from the mist of arousal which had enveloped her for the past hour. “May I get dressed now?” She asked, respectfully.

“Of course.” So, she grabbed her clothes from the chair where they were so haphazardly thrown earlier and dressed herself, while I neatly folded my gi, bundling it with my katana.

“Are you really as dangerous as you seem?” Jennifer asked, as she stood in the doorway.

“I’m not going to answer that question.” Seeing the disappointment on her face, I qualified, “I’m only as dangerous as you want me to be.”

“Will I see you again?” She asked, reticently.

“Is that what you want?” I asked, deliberately leaving the ball entirely in her court.

She ran a hand up the back of her neck, and I saw her eyes roll back just slightly as her fingertips reached her shaven flesh. “Yes…” She hesitated, “…but not here.”

I slipped a business card from my wallet and placed it in her open palm. “When you’re ready,” I leaned in and stole a kiss, which she returned, seeming to be wanting as I pulled away. “…call me.”

She turned and walked away, a different woman than when she had entered the club that evening. She seemed unable to stop her fingers from running up her exquisitely long neck as she rounded the corner and out of my sight.

“I’ll be seeing you soon, Jennifer Scott.”

6 responses to “Stealing Jennifer Scott, Chapter One

  1. Stunning though this story was, there are a few New York details that take me out of the story. ruin the emersion.

    It really hasn’t been a hot bed of crime since the ‘70s, and even then that was way blown out of proportion by the media. It’s not that you don’t go places you don’t know, it’s simply that there are certain fairly specific places you avoid specifically after dark or if you are alone.

    Everyone takes the subway, sticking to above ground is extremely limiting. I have known New Yorkers who try to avoid it when possible, but that’s not about crime, that’s about how loud it is or claustrophobia.

    Apartments in brownstone aren’t cheap, but that’s not because anyone would ever describe one as “ritzy.” Brownstones were originally single family homes in the 19th and very early 20th century. Large expensive homes, with servants quarters and stuff, but smaller than homes outside the city. They were chopped up into apartments in the 20th century as the upper middle class abandoned them for large apartments in buildings with doormen, elevators, and amenities; or left for the suburbs when the automobile made that more comfortable. The apartments tend to have awkward layouts, are always walk ups, and never have doormen. The apartments are often in desirable enough location to be filled, but they aren’t ritzy. The high-rises are ritzy, especially on the upper-east side. Since the mid ‘90s, the very rich sometimes buy brownstones and convert them back into single family houses.

  2. Hi Ginger,
    Sorry you found my description of New York upsetting. It was never meant to be a detractor, and perhaps only describes my experiences there, having lived in Alphabet City for five years. I was assaulted once and robbed twice, one time during a break in where I was at home. As far as the “ritzy” thing, I suppose my impression of those places is relative having grown up in a small upstate town. I get the whole crime thing tends to be overblown but having had the unfortunate experiences I had, perhaps tainted my view of the place. Don’t get me wrong, I still love New York, and go there frequently, but I can never be so naive as to forget what happened to me there. I hope the rest of the story tempered your impression of that descriptor somewhat.

    1. Not upsetting, just a distraction from an otherwise very enjoyable story. Honestly, I probably would have jut overlooked these details in many other stories, but I know you play around with ideas here a bit like a sandbox.

      Alphabet City was on the list of places you don’t go after dark unless you know it very well when I was young, so I could see how living there might make one a bit wary, though it like many places was gentrifying quite a bit last time I was there. I spent any decent amount of time there way back in the ‘90s. There was a rather particular trick to living safely in alphabet city, but It’s one I’d rather not mention here.

  3. Nice to see (my) two top authors talking about things which completely escaped me… so that’s my fortune!
    I loved the story, was sucked into it, not needing to scroll down… just savouring every phrase, written so well. Just amazing what you Claire can do with words, it seems so natural…
    Even without haircutting I would have been happy with it. But as we are on this special meeting place, I really liked the braid cutting and the gentle cut bob.

Leave a Reply