1 comments/ 12371 views/ 3 favorites The Good Sister By: AnonAndAnon "My girl friend is leaving me," said the most melancholy of the four friends. "I noticed that you chose from the club menu," said the oldest. "I thought perhaps it was just because it's Silvia's time of the month." "No she's at home in tears," said the most melancholy. He looked at the girl who knelt beside him without enthusiasm. She had the large breasts and rear that he favored but she lacked the quiet subservience that he prized. "The maitre'd told me that it was this one's first night on the job. The guy goes, 'I don't know whether to charge more for the novelty or less for the inconvenience. If she proves too bad, we'll punish her for your entertainment at no extra charge.' That's something to look forward too, I guess." Each of the four had a girl. The oldest member's, Heather, sat on his lap. Every now and then she took a sip from his glass and then pressed her lips to his. His doctor'd told him to cut down on the booze. As with smoke, the oldest member explained, second hand was the less harmful. At 38, Heather was the oldest of the four women women by nearly a power of 2 but if it weren't for the lovely Janetta who knelt by the richest member, Heather would have been the one who garnered the most attention, as much for her obvious affection for the oldest member as for her beauty. When it came time to leave, Heather would prove to be quite unsteady on her pins and the oldest would angrily promise to punish her soundly for stealing when they got home. "What's Silvia upset about?" the oldest asked when his mouth was free. "Well, you remember that when I met her she was a college student working in a bar?" asked the most melancholy. "Just like me," Lilly, the young woman kneeling beside him put in. The black collar that adorned her neck buzzed and she bounced. Her breasts wobbled deliciously. She gave a little squeak of pain. "You must only speak when spoken to, child" the oldest member told her in a kindly tone. "Well," continued the most melancholy, "When Silvia moved in with me she stopped working and dropped out of school. Took to a life of luxury like a turtle takes to a sun warmed rock. Wouldn't even clean the kitchen though I told her I'd whip her if she didn't. She goes: 'You'll whip me anyway, so why should I?'" "But what's gone wrong?" persisted the oldest. "Well, every time her mother calls she gets really down and weeps for hours. She's told them nothing, you see. Now her mom and dad've gotten worried and are talking about coming up. Silvia's plan is to move out and start taking drugs. She knows someone who deals. She prefers that to the truth. They'll put her in rehab and in 3 months she'll have her life back the way it should be, she says." The richest member spoke up after a commiserating silence, "Do any of you remember David? A tall guy in his middle 40s? This would have been 10 years ago. His and Clara's situation was similar. Things worked out well for him." "I remember him," the oldest member put in, "And the girl of course. Very tight the one time I had her. She squealed very prettily too. She'd try to hold it in and then it would all burst out. Like a party noise maker." "Then perhaps I shouldn't bore you with the particulars," the richest said politely. "No, no," the oldest said, "My memory is hazy and could do with a refresher. She was a lovely creature. And perhaps it will give our friend some pointers on how to deal with Sylvia." "Not likely," said the most melancholy. "I remember," put in the oldest, just as the richest was opening his mouth, "That David had a tendency to be overly rough with the women. Only a little mind. I mentioned it to him once, he listened but only out of politeness." The richest member waited a moment then said, "Before I start, we should have another round. Janetta!" He prodded the lovely girl who knelt at his side. "And some of those nice crab and artichoke hors d'oeuvres," spoke up the fattest member. Then on reflection he added, "And the brioche? And some of the oysters? I'm in the mood to try them from this young thing's little pussy." He also had taken a girl from the club's menu. The oldest had brought his girlfriend and of course the richest had brought the incomparable Janetta. "We should send two of them then," asserted the oldest. "Perhaps you, my dear," he said to the most melancholy's girl, "will accompany the beautiful Janetta?" The two girls were made stand back to back, sweet ass to ass, heel to heel. Their ankles were cuffed, right ankle to right, left to left. They were sent off on their journey. Their slow progress along the carpeted path, past the other little clusters of easy chairs to the bar at the far end of the room provided much amusement for the 4 friends and for the other little groups of members. On their way back, Lilly clumsily let a foot get tangled between the incomparable Janetta's and down the two went, spilling drinks and food all over themselves and the carpet. Janetta shouted an angry "Shit!" and elbowed her partner in the ribs to everyone's amusement. The barman helped them back up and when back at the bar he rinsed them with the bar siphon, dried them with a towel and reprovisioned them with drinks and appetizers. Half way back they passed a little island of easy chairs occupied by a pair of women. One of them was the sort of slim blond whose looks burned you with desire while freezing you with fear. The other was a plumpish energetic brunette. A young man knelt between each's legs. The men looked a little like turtles themselves as their heads were hidden under the women's skirts. "Come here darling," the blond called, "We would not treat you so." Janetta tried to pick up the pace and nearly caused another wreck. Upon their safe return, after carefully setting the bounty on the table, the girls were unhitched. Janetta sank to her knees beside the richest member. From his pocket the richest took a small paper of pins. He pinched the soft flesh of Janetta's left breast and slid a pin through. She gasped and her eyes teared. For that, he slid a second in parallel to the first, then delicately dabbed the two spots of blood with a napkin from the table. "You could have taken the ladies up on their invitation," the richest told her. "Come to me, said the spider to the fly" Janetta murmured, head demurely bent. This earned her a chuckle and a third pin. "Each pin is an IOU for punishment when we get home," he said by way of explanation. "You were going to tell us about David and Clara," prompted the oldest. "That was a fine afternoon I had with her," he reminisced "Amusing and eventful." The richest sipped his drink, took out his IPhone and handed it to the incomparable Janetta who quickly brought up an app which filled its little screen with text. He opened his mouth to speak but paused to watch the fattest and his girl. That young thing was now perched on the man's cushiony thighs. She took the pale glistening tidbit from an oyster shell, alive alive O, drew it between her cunt lips, shivered deliciously, then dropped it into his greedy mouth. She gave a little yelp when his teeth caught her fingers on the third such morsel. The richest member, looked down again at his phone, "You will understand that I, that is Janetta and I, have all the details of this case on very good authority. David is our good friend and we've had many occasions on which to speak with Clara." The richest had been a lawyer before he'd embarked on the entwined lobbying and investing careers that had made him his real money. He could still be long winded. "To give credit where credit is due," he continued, "I will mention that I am having Janetta write my memoirs. Why should those Victorian antiques be the only ones to leave behind illuminating recounts of their lives and loves? She has invented some dialog to make this hopefully more amusing. The principals have agreed that the gist and spirit is correct, even if the words are not exact in all cases. And of course none of the names used are real. The club rules are clear, unless consent is given, anonymity must be preserved." "This all took place 14 years ago. Clara'd just gotten her masters from Cornell. She'd just taken her first job and was living with her younger sister Danielle and Danielle's boyfriend Rob in Danielle's apartment. So you'll know," said the richest, looking up from the phone. He didn't like to omit details, even though Janetta had not bothered with this bit, "Danielle had a waitressing job in the restaurant where Rob excelled as a young chef. Danielle was taking business administration classes at the local junior college. The pair planned to start a restaurant. Which in fact they have done and a very successful one at that." "What's it called?" asked the fattest, "Perhaps I've eaten there?" The richest declined to answer, "Ah, that would break the anonymity rule I'm afraid. I will say that you have eaten there and have come away very well satisfied." Here the lovely Janetta laid a hand on the richest member's knee. He nodded, looked at the IPhone and got back on track. Now and then as he spoke he'd glance down. Janetta leaned on his leg and with a practiced finger scrolled the text. ------------------------------------ Clara was just going out. It was a Saturday morning, late, about 11. Danielle was haranguing her. I am afraid that unlike Clara, Danielle is often guilty of bossiness. Danielle shouted, "I'm not through talking to you Clara, you have me really really worried." Clara paused in the doorway. She was slim girl, much on the lines of Janetta here, perhaps an inch shorter, 5'6" or there abouts. "Can't it wait?" Clara asked, "I'm in a rush. I've got to get to work, this project is just killing me." This reply annoyed Danielle. "Clara it's Saturday. Saturday! If you really have to work, work from home like you used to." Clara replied patiently, "I've explained, this damned project involves dealing with a ton of data. I need the office bandwidth." This point was specious. Clara knew though her sister didn't that she could easily remote control a work computer from the apartment. Danielle continued her attack, "Look Clara, even Rob's noticed stuff. He's like pointed out that you never wear halter tops or tops with short sleeves of any kind any more and you always wear jeans, never shorts." Clara smiled sweetly at her sister, "Maybe I've given up trying to steal him." Danielle scoffed at this, momentarily distracted, "Like you could. If that guy ever did more than look he wouldn't know what hit him." Then as Clara started out the door, "You wait, I'm not done. Rob thinks you're doing drugs." Clara laughed, "That's crazy." "I thought so too, but now I don't know. Last Saturday you wouldn't go out to the parents for a swim. You love that pool. And you weren't working. You were right here. In your room. Rob says he heard you moaning. And Rob says you never sit still. I've noticed it too. You're always squirming about. Danielle hurried on, "Let me speak Clara, Sam and Teal, like from the second floor? They saw you in the parking lot last Sunday. In your car? They said you were acting very strange. I asked if you could've been shooting up and they said definitely." Clara laughed at that. "Danielle I don't have time for this. Later I'll let you and Rob inspect every inch of me. If he decides I'm the better sister it'll be the fault of your overactive imagination." "Crap, look at you now Clara, it's like 95 degrees outside and it's like you've got a wetsuit on. A sweatshirt in August! Let's see your arms." "Bye, Danielle," Clara said firmly and went out into the hall to the elevator. "Clara when are you coming back? We have to talk! I really am worried about you!" her sister called to her as the elevator door slid shut. Clara sat a moment in her car in the parking lot behind the apartment building. Heat built around her. The facade she'd maintained with her sister crumbled. "I should stop this," she told herself unhappily. "I should turn back the clock. Dennis at work wants to go out with me. I bet he's nice." She started the car. Cold air blasted out of the vents. She felt no cooler for it. Clara drove the now familiar route on autopilot. With her car's sound system silent she was lost in her thoughts. She did not notice 495 or 66. For the umpteenth time, she worked on a speech to her sister, speaking out loud in the empty car, trying to keep her voice calm and detached and a bit amused at itself, "Danielle, it would be so much easier if I were gay. How can I explain things without making you sick and shocked and disgusted? "Perhaps because you're the younger, you've always been the rebellious one. You know I always liked doing chores, well, not so much doing them, rather I liked being told to do them and obeying, you always fought. You remember the fights about your room and when it was your turn to help with dinner or to clean the family room? I was the one who studied hard and was top of her class. You ran wild with boys and barely passed. You refused to go to college because you didn't know what you wanted. We are different. Do I like the pain? Of course not, that would be perverse. I like being with him, knowing that I give him pleasure no matter how, that I'm doing what he tells me, no matter what, and not for reward, though he is a good lover, kind and attentive when he chooses." And so on. I won't trouble you with the rest of the rambling speech. Her consciousness focused and she found she had reached the long drive that led to David's house. A hilly pasture spread to the left with a couple horses grazing in the hot sun. A pond and woods were on the right, his large brick house loomed just ahead. Clara stopped in front of the left most garage door. She took her phone from her purse and sent a text and waited in the quickly warming car. After ten minutes, the garage door rumbled into motion. She restarted the car and drove in. Her somewhat battered Civic looked odd next to David's large BMW. Next to the BMW was the Ford F150 pickup he used to trailer his daughter's horses. Beyond that, looking like some dirty green prehistoric beast, slept the John Deere tractor he used to mow the fields and move the bales of hay to the horses in winter. Clara climbed out of her car and stood a moment. She took a deep breath. On the wall before her, on pegs were arrayed an assortment of tools. On a work bench sat a chain saw and a leaf blower and a clutter of containers filled with nuts and bolts and oily metal bits. A snow blower and a rototiller stood to one side with a confusion of rakes and hoes and shovels. She pulled the well worn Cornell sweat shirt over her head. She folded it neatly and laid it on the car seat. Her long sleeve blouse came off next. She wore no bra. She had reason to keep herself well covered. Her breasts were like two small scoops of vanilla ice cream decorated with splashes of pale strawberry sauce. Similar reddish patches showed under her throat and on her flat stomach. David was fond of candles and wax. As she moved, bending to pull off her shoes, the red lines left by David's applications of the cane slid over the bones of her shoulders. Her wrists, now in plain view as she unbuttoned her jeans, had red bands where she'd yanked against rope and cuff. Sympathetic bands revealed themselves around her ankles when she took off her pale green tennis shoes and white socks. She pulled off her jeans and underpants. Her bottom looked like a child's globe. The bruises marked the continents. The red lines were the boundaries of countries. The butt plug which vanished rudely into her interior was the peg which let the toy spin on its axis. The plug was held in place by a chain that ran down behind and then up between her delicate cunt lips. The chain connected fore and aft to a black belt that was cinched tight about her waist. She undid the belt and pulled the plug out, wriggling her bottom a bit with a sigh of relief. She cleaned the black thing with a disinfectant wipe, dropped it in a plastic Food Lion Supermarket shopping bag and laid it neatly on top of the pile of folded clothes on the car seat. She left her purse and phone sitting on the passenger seat. From the back she took her laptop and then walked the path between the tools and the vehicles to the door into the house. The cement felt cold and gritty. The air was hot and still. She climbed the steps to the door, pressed the door bell and waited. It felt an eternity. She resisted the urge to ring again. She shifted from foot to foot. Twice, three times, she bent and brushed the soles of her feet to knock off any grit. The door clicked and she stepped in. She stood in the entryway to a large kitchen. A small half bath opened on her left. On the wall on her right were pegs for coats. The only thing hanging from them was a slim blue velvet collar. She took it and put it round her neck. She sank to her knees on the gray kitchen tiles. She shifted so her legs were spread. She could see herself vaguely reflected by the tile's polish. She blushed in embarrassment. What a sweet sight she made! If you compare her to young Janetta here, she has the same small breasts, the aureoles perhaps a tad wider. Her stomach is just as flat and toned, her legs as slim, her sex perhaps more delicate, its lips more pursed together, shyer. Her eyes are hazel instead of blue, her hair a darker brown, [Here the richest member rustled the incomparable Janetta's dusty locks], her lips are as soft, her nose perhaps a trifle longer. Her cheeks are as smooth and as quick to color. [The richest member paused and sipped his whiskey and soda. He sighed then continued.] From some way off Clara could hear David's voice, the only sound in the house. She listened carefully. Her lips were parted. She was clearly nervous. His seemed the only voice. It had the slightly hard tones a person uses when on the phone. She heard him say, "The number of bug reports that came in last night is simply unacceptable. Your team has to do better..." She relaxed slightly. He was talking to an overseas group. She set her laptop on the floor between her thighs. She shivered from the air conditioning. Normally she worked while waiting. She thought of her sister and her parents. Those thoughts were uncomfortable. Equally bad was imagining the afternoon to come. She thought, "I should leave. This is so crazy. So completely messed up. I should leave. Drive back the way I came. This so bad." She felt tears well in her eyes. She shivered in the chill and wished he would come, even if he punished her for being idle, even if it meant what was to happen was about to start. She looked at the list of tasks that'd appeared in her instant messenger. She shook her head. The first was documentation for a project at work, boring but it would keep her busy. She brought up Word and began to type. ------------------------------------ "So you see," put in the oldest member, speaking to the most melancholy, "That their situation is much like yours. She's hiding her relationship with David from her family and, being a good girl, she's unhappy about it herself." "She's not living with him," pointed out the most melancholy. "Ah," said the richest, "The reason for that is that David didn't want his daughter to know. In the summer, his daughter came out most mornings to ride. Even if there'd been nothing else, he wouldn't've wanted her to know he was involved with a woman little older than herself." "Why doesn't she move out then? Get her own place?" asked the most melancholy. "Janetta?" said the richest member. "Clara says she thought of looking for an apartment of her own," Janetta spoke in her soft heart stopping alto voice, "But never did anything about it. She says she really wanted to be found out. She figured if her sister told her to stop or, even more shameful, if her father told her to stop, then she would. On the other hand, if it stopped, it would stop and she didn't want that so she did her best to hide the signs." The Good Sister "A hopeless situation," stated the most melancholy "But what's going to be done to her?" asked the fattest. "He's gonna have her ass," spoke up Lilly, forgetting herself, "I don't blame her for being unhappy. I hate that myself." Her collar buzzed. "Shit!" she cried out and bounced deliciously. "I shall get to that next," said the richest, ignoring the interruption. "Wait though," said the oldest, "I've always wondered how Clara got into such a relationship. She seemed quite a shy girl. When David brought her here to the club, which he sometimes did, she could never be comfortable, not that his antics helped any!" The richest member sighed, "Well, in the interests of time, I was just going to proceed to the concluding events which show how they resolved to everyone's satisfaction the issues our friend finds so hopeless, but if you have no objections, I'll be happy to relate the whole history. Janetta has written it up in full." There were no objections, but the fattest put in, "We need more supplies. Another round and this time some of those tasty scallop jobs as well and a double order of the brioche?" So Janetta and Lilly were once again dispatched. This time they returned without misadventure, though the same woman called to Janetta as they passed, "The offer's is still open, sweetpea." The richest member recommenced: "They met when she interviewed for a job at David's company. The conference room where she was interviewed had glass for three of its walls. One side looked to where the receptionist sat, one side looked out over a maze of cubes, one side had a real window that looked out over the parking lot. She said she felt like a guppy in a fish bowl, there solely for people to look at. "She said she managed all right when it was just her prospective peers and her prospective boss. But when at the end, three hours later, David came in to speak to her, she says she all but lost it. "She did not know who he was and could only remember that he was important. He offered her a bottle of spring water and though she desperately wanted it, the book of interviewing tips she'd read said not to accept such things so she shook her head, unable to manage even a 'no thanks'. "He asked her to describe what she'd done one summer when she'd worked on an NSF funded research project at Stanford. She managed a couple words and then petered out. "He asked about the work she'd done for her masters project. She'd built a test bed to teach undergrads about multiprocessing systems. All she could manage to say was that her adviser liked it. "He asked how much experience she'd had with unit tests and she forced out 'some' after several attempts. "The only thing that saved her was that next he gave her a programming problem to do. Somehow she got up and made her way to the white board. The problem turned out to be interesting and she forgot everything while working it out. She didn't even consider how she looked to him, especially when stretching to write at the top of the board. "When she finished and turned to look at him and saw him looking at her, she said she was struck dumb again. Her insides melted." "So she just fell into his hands right away," said the oldest member with some disappointment. The richest sipped his whiskey, "David says he came away from the interview with the impression of a very competent but very nervous person and little more. He admired her (who wouldn't?) and before she'd started on the problem, when he'd been thinking "no way are we going to hire this one", he'd been idling some thoughts in his mind on how to approach her after she'd been turned down. "When they hired her, David put all such thoughts away. Business always came first for him." ------------------------------------ For several months little happened. She did her tasks quickly and well. She learned that the mystery man who'd interviewed her was the company's president and major stock holder. The company had gone public the year before. He was her boss's boss's boss. He'd interviewed her because the VP of Engineering was out of town. Would she have met him otherwise? Most likely not as her cube was as far from his office as it could be. She saw him a couple times in the parking lot, once on the other side of the cafeteria, and once when a bunch went out for drinks after work. He'd been far down the table then, with a couple executive types. Every time she saw him she felt hopeless. She checked him out on the web. She found business bios and after digging, a couple pictures of his daughter, one of her winning a prize at a horse show. She was a pretty blond girl who was attending Sweet Briar College. She made a comparative timeline. David graduated from Princeton in 1975. She was born in 1975. He got married in 1977. She was toddling in 1977. His daughter was born in 1980. She started kindergarten in 1980. He and a friend started his first company in 1985. She was in 4th grade. That company was sold for 500 million in 1987. She was in 6th grade. He started his second company in 1988. Her periods started. His marriage broke up and his second company failed in 1991. She was a sophomore in High School. He started his third company in 1996. She was a junior at Cornell. In 2000, he interviewed her. She took the job. The last was of no consequence to him. She felt depressed and hopeless, like time had cheated her. Since his divorce she could find nothing about his private life. She thought about what the two failures must've been like for him, so close together. Why did she keep thinking about him? Partially it was the humiliation of that interview. She couldn't believe it when she got hired. She didn't like anyone to think she was a complete moron. It wasn't from some fixation with her father. Though he was her father's age, David didn't look at all like her Dad. David was tanned and tall and in good shape. Her Dad was on the short side and tended to weight if he didn't watch out. David's hair was brown and thick. Her Dad's was gray and vanishing. Being attracted to an older man seemed wrong. Passing through the kitchenette at work on coffee runs, she kept her ears open for gossip. She overheard that he was thought to be dating the weather person who graced the Richmond CBS station. She learned he lived out in the Virginia horse country on a hundred acres. When the company'd had its first profitable quarter, he'd thrown a barbecue which the longer time workers still sometimes spoke of. When the company had gone public, the bash had been at the Ritz-Carlton in Tyson's Corner. When reminiscing, the barbecue was rated much higher. The chatterers always griped about his meddling. He told her later that he got as involved as time allowed in testing the company's products. He actually had assignments from the QA group. He felt this was the best way to keep in touch with what was going on. A person would say anything about a project's status in a meeting but there was no hiding code that didn't work. His terse, couple line, out of the blue emails about defects were what people objected to most. Twice she got such e-mails. One reported a stupid mistake of hers. The vexation nearly brought her to tears. 10 seconds to fix, days to forget. The other pointed out a miscommunicated requirement. That one took her all night to sort out. Then he sent her mail about problems in a project she had nothing to do with. She went to her boss and asked. Linda frowned briefly then shrugged and laughed. She said that he did that. Ran roughshod over the organization. It was annoying but he was usually right. She told Clara to hop to it as it was critical to have that bit working. What Clara found was a mess of poorly written code thrown together in haste. She found that the test code had been patched to let the thing pass. She spent the weekend on it and got it working at 7 Monday morning. She had time to shower, ignore an incredulous Danielle and leave for work. Outside she found herself in the midst of a particularly vile ice storm. Freezing rain coated the walks with ice, tree limbs sagged and snapped. She'd had no idea this was going on. She had just her sweatshirt for protection. She'd hunched over and proceeded anyway, slipping and sliding to her car. She barely managed to inch out of the as yet untreated parking lot. Her windshield was a blur of ice. No one else got into the office before noon. Though she was mad enough about the code to spit, all she said to her boss when asked was that it'd just needed a different pair of eyes to sort out. She heard in the office kitchen, while getting the coffee she desperately needed to keep her head off her desk, that David'd broken up with the weather person. "That's why we're getting this run of shit weather," one of the chatterers'd said. She'd felt a jolt of hope. In her exhausted state, it felt almost like the thrust of a cock. She'd banished the feeling quickly. So far she'd heard nothing from him, not even thanks for spending the weekend hunched over her laptop and then needlessly braving ghastly weather to come in to an empty office. Two weeks later the project she was now entangled with was still a mess. Some of the code had been written off shore, some in the office and it looked like no one had spoken to anyone while writing it. She got an email from him asking her to come to his office. She walked down the path between the cubes. It felt like the Appalachian Trail it was so long and arduous. She stepped into his office. He had his phone to his ear. She stood in front of his desk. She felt so nervous. "Great," he said, "Thanks so much Nathan." He said to her: "My neighbors can feed my daughter's horses. You're OK for tonight?" Her eyes widened. She felt confused but hot with unlikely hope. Her gaze darted over his features then down to his desk. His expression was opaque to her. She wished that she'd dressed better. She wore jeans and a tee shirt, like all the other software types. "You had no plans?" he persisted. He saw her confusion. "I cleared it with Linda. She agreed it was a good idea." His expression flitted through amusement to consideration. "She said she would explain," he said. Clara flushed even more. For a second she wasn't sure she could speak. Whatever he meant, she'd entirely misunderstood. She felt stupid and angry with herself. She forced out: "I was out of my cube. Linda's in a meeting. About our current sorry state I think. There were two emails. One from her and one from you. I only looked at yours." He regarded her a moment in silence. David says that didn't notice her clothes, beyond thinking she looked nice in them. He was quite excited by the flush in her face, by the way her hands kept fluttering nervously about. He thought her like a hidden website full of unknown tunes. His company had the key to one of them. Breaking in would be amusing, he thought, then a quick listen should suffice. "We've got performance problems," he said, paying no obvious attention to her embarrassed awkwardness. "I figure if I run the test code and use the interface, you can watch what's going on and have a chance at figuring out some of the problems. It's the best way I can help. We have important demos tomorrow and if we don't perform adequately or if it hangs up altogether it will be a big embarrassment." They did not leave the office till 1AM. They occupied a conference room, the same in which she'd been interviewed. He ordered pizza. Sometimes he used the interface while the test harness ran in the background and she watched monitors and profilers. Once she called up someone for help configuring more diagnostics. He studied spreadsheets, spoke to an overseas office. The other workers evaporated and the cleaning crew manifested themselves and then also dematerialized. She hardly noticed. She imagined what she would do if he made a pass at her. She imagined being fucked on the conference room table, the only lit object in a dark space. At midnight she shouted "Got it!". It took another hour to code the fix and run the tests. They walked out together through the office. The only light came from the emergency lights which left crazy patterns of darkness. They walked side by side, silent and tired, down the hall to the elevator. As it descended she looked at her feet. Please ask me to come home with you, she thought. He was parked close to the building and she in a far corner. She said "I'm fine, you don't have to walk with me." To her dissatisfaction, he took her at her word and did not accompany her. When she turned, she saw that he was standing by his car. He didn't open its door until she'd started her little Civic and was floating out the empty lot to the highway. That Saturday morning, USPS express mail delivered a package to her apartment. Danielle went down to get it. "What's with this express shit?" she asked. "Work," Clara said, Danielle looked skeptical. Clara took it to her room and closed the door. It contained a GPS with a car charger and a note. The note said, "When you get a text from me, take your work laptop, go to your car, start the GPS and follow its directions. Don't look at the address. If you find yourself driving down a boat ramp into the Potomac or worse, entering Pennsylvania, (these devices are far from infallible as yet), call. The text will have the number. When you arrive, send a text and the garage door will open. Park in the garage. Ring the bell on the door to the house." "Acquiring satellites" was the first thing the GPS said to her. Then, "Turn right on Arlington St." Half an hour later, in rural Virginia, it told her to "Turn left onto Mosby Rd." She looked at the dusty dirt Mosby Rd. She almost stopped and called. However she was definitely not in the howling wilderness. The houses around were large, set far from the road and were surrounded by green immaculate pastures with the occasional pond. She made the turn. A dusty cloud rose behind her little Civic. She felt a little faint when it told her to turn right into a long driveway. There was a mailbox and a fenced enclosure for recycling and garbage cans. She drove up the drive. A pair of horses grazed and paid her car no mind. For the first time she sent the text and the blue garage door rumbled up before her. For the first time she walked to the door to the house. She rang the bell and the door clicked, the only time it would not make her wait. For the first time she entered the large kitchen with it's gleaming gray and white tile floor and shining granite counters. It was empty. She was ungreeted. "Hello?" she called first softly and then a little louder. Hesitantly she made her way through the kitchen. She looked very sweet. How was she dressed? She had dithered about that most of the morning. She'd picked simple. Tan slacks and a light green sleeveless blouse and sandals. She'd thrown a dress in the back seat of her car in case. It would be the last time she'd be wearing summer wear. Over her shoulder she had her canvas messenger bag. It had her laptop tucked away inside. There was a kind of passage way, to the right was a high ceilinged hall, to the left the back door. Sun poured in the back door's window. In front of her was the dining room. David sat at one end of a polished oak table. He had his laptop open. He waved to the other end. "Set up there," he said. She looked at the table. Almost without comprehending. "I've assigned you our top priority bug. You'll find it in your email." "Oh," she said, suddenly feeling dull and misled. So it was just work. She wanted to say, "I'm going home. I can work on it there." Mechanically she took out her computer. The power cord just reached. She sat down. She felt they must look like some ludicrous married couple, sitting on either end of a long polished table, only with open laptops instead of plates. There was even a vase with flowers in the middle. She opened the email and looked at the bug's description. She tried to force her mind into its logical problem solving mode. "I thought we'd make it a bit interesting," he said. "When you've fixed it, we'll share a bottle of wine in the living room. I'll light a fire. If it takes you longer than 2 hours, say if you aren't done by four, it's almost two now, there will be consequences." Clara asked uncertainly, "These consequences would be?" "For me to decide," was the answer. "If less?" she asked, "If I finish before 4?" "You'll have avoided those consequences and have the satisfaction of having fixed a high priority bug. You'll have that satisfaction either way of course and that's the important thing." "I should leave," she thought, but she sat still. "As you work, I will now and then think up little annoyances to impede you. The goal being to amuse myself and to challenge you." He smiled easily, "Ready?" Again she thought, "Leave." She looked at him for what seemed an eternity. She knew if she left, she'd never have another chance. "Tongue tied again?" he asked. "You need to work on that. I'm sure it'll be noted in your review: 'Freezes when spoken to by authority.' Now it's costing you time. Ready?" She nodded. "I need a verbal agreement, Clara." "OK," she said. "Get to work then," he said and looked down at his laptop and began to type. She thought about the word consequences. The annoyances would likely be things like loud music. But the consequences? What would they be? Sending her home was the worse she could think of. She shook her head. Five minutes had marched past. She opened a secure connection to the office network and brought up the project and began to work at reproducing the problem. He picked up his cell and was shortly talking, "Hey Sashii, I need a report on the progress..." Definitely an annoyance, she thought, but easy to deal with. After 10 minutes he said, "Come here please." She rose and walked hesitantly down the length of the table. "Closer," he said. When her knee all but touched his chair, he took from a pocket a slim blue band of velvet. "Put this around your neck." She did. "Tighter," he said. Its velcro made a ripping sound as she undid and redid it. "Back to work," he told her. She had no sooner gotten her mind back on the problem then she heard a buzz and felt a sharp pain where the collar pressed her throat. "Shit, that hurt," she said glaring at him. "Not so much," he said calmly. "I tried it on myself when I purchased it. That was some time ago, but I doubt it's grown worse from use." He made another phone call. She had trouble concentrating. The collar felt tight on her throat. The meanings of words annoyances and consequences had changed. The phrase "worse from use" echoed in her head. The collar had stung other women before her. "Do I want this to continue?" she asked herself. She had just forced herself to think again on the bug when he said, "Please stand." And when she had, "Now undress." "What?" she asked. Again she told herself to leave. She stood still, staring at him with wide eyes. "Just 2 English words Clara, what was there not to understand?" Her fair skin flushed an unlikely red. "Can't you follow instructions, Clara?" That struck a chord. Her hands moved to her waist and she freed her blouse from her slacks. She felt the cool air conditioned air on her stomach and back. "My God I'm going to do it," she thought to herself in surprise. She unbuttoned and shrugged out of her blouse. She folded it neatly and laid it on the table. Then her bra. She looked at him then, wondering if she had the nerve to be a little slow and flirtatious. He was looking at his laptop. With a frown of vexation, she pulled down her slacks, hooking her underpants so they slid off at the same time. While bent she undid her sandals and took them off. She folded her pants with quick neatness and laid them on the blouse making a neat square pile. She bent and picked up her sandals and set them on top as if to keep any stray breeze from disarranging her work. The Good Sister It struck her that her clothes made a very small pile. She hadn't been wearing much. She flushed and hurriedly sat and pulled the laptop close to the edge of the table and tilted its lid for the most protection. "Did I say to sit?" he asked. "You're delaying me," she complained. It came out of the blue. He laughed, surprised at her. David says that until that moment, he'd planned to have her out only once or perhaps twice. He said, "We'll give you till 4:05 then. Stand back up. And hands behind your back." She did as she as told. It felt strange and wrong to be naked outside of her bedroom or the bathroom. She felt excited. Like she was outside herself. With the couple men of she'd slept with, there'd been only a half dressed instant as she dove for the bed. During the event and after she'd made sure the covers were up to her neck. "Turn," he commanded. She rotated, intensely aware of the motion of each bone and muscle. She imagined with shame and excitement how her bottom looked to him as it swung in and out of view. "Back to work," he said to her. There came the buzz and the shock and her little gasp and jump. Her small breasts bounced. Back on the phone, he said, "About Monday's presentation..." A while later he said, "Come here again." She stared at her laptop a second, imagining how far the short distance would seem. Halfway to him she noticed herself in the mirror that hung on one wall over a sideboard. She stared at it with astonishment. Who was that person she saw reflected? When had she ever felt so hot and excited? Close to him, her sex, with its fringe of curly hair, was but inches from his arm. Her breasts were but a foot from his eyes. She looked down at his smoothly combed brown hair. She could see his scalp showing pink at the part. She longed and feared to see further, to see what he planned. He opened a case that lay on the corner of the table and took from it a silver bell, ornamented with red and yellow silk flowers. The bell hung on a little chain from a clamp. Touching her for the first time he cupped her left breast with his right hand and squeezed her nipple between his index and middle finger. With his left hand he deftly attached the clamp to the nipple. She watched each move, his hands large in her vision. It wasn't until the clamp bit hard as he tightened it that she really realized whose flesh was being abused. She hissed at the sting and stamped a foot. "What the hell am I doing?" her mental voice asked in the emptiness. He adorned her right breast with a second matching ornament. He reached for a third bell. Her eyes grew even wider. "No" she thought. He touched her sex then teased out her clit. His touch was intimate but his expression was cool and clinical. "Shit! Oh God!" she called out as he attached the clamp. The pain was sharp. The bells hanging from her breasts rang cheerfully as she jumped. "Back to work," he instructed. The distance back along the table seemed even longer. The bells swung and tinkled. She felt them bounce against her ribs and her thighs. What a strange woman she saw in that mirror! "Get out of here," she told her reflection. When she sat and looked in the mirror it appeared that her copy'd taken her advice. But then she couldn't see her end of the table in the mirror so it wasn't certain. She could only hope. She looked back down the table at him from her chair. This time he was watching her. She squeezed her thighs to put pressure on her sex. The bell pressed into her flesh. "I'm really really excited," she thought. "Can you give me a status report?" he asked. "I keep getting distracted," she said. "Focus," he told her instructively, "is key." Then his phone rang. "Hey," he said, then "Yeah, we should emphasize the success we've had with our partners in that area..." At three he again told her to stand. "Spread your legs, Clara" he ordered, then, "Now bring yourself off." "What?" she asked. "It'll help you concentrate." "It's not fair. You're cheating," she protested. "You're keeping me from working." "We'll extend the deadline to 4:15. Now bring yourself off. Your fingers need to do something besides type. It'll be good for them." She couldn't move. "You seem to be having trouble following instructions this afternoon? Not a good sign." She surprised herself again. She brazenly lifted her eyes to his. Then she lifted her right hand to her mouth and wet her fingers. He grinned at her and looked back down at his computer. She felt a shaft of affection for him marbled with desire. She dropped her hand and did what she could never have dreamed of doing anywhere but under the covers of her bed or behind the closed door of the bathroom. The bell swung and rang as her hand knocked it. The clamp made her sweetly familiar little clit feel unreal. Had she ever felt so excited? She clamped her jaws to keep from making a sound. In less time than she could imagine or want, she felt the pleasure burst, she shook and had to grab the table with her free hand. A choking squeak escaped her. The little bells all rang merrily. Her numbed nipples stung again. "Wash your hands then get back to work, the clock's ticking" he told her. Feeling weak, she floated into the kitchen. With a little laugh that was half sob, she went to the sink rather than the half bath she'd noticed coming in. She felt quite brazen. She washed her hands then wet a paper towel and wiped herself. The window above the sink looked out on a hot sunlit field sloping up a hill. A pair of horses stood heads lowered under the shade of a spreading locust tree. Their flanks gleamed with sweat. Their tails whipped suddenly now and then. The mesh fly masks on their heads made the horses themselves look like strange gigantic insects. That world through the window looked impossible and unreal to her. The world outside his house had become a dream. Of a sudden she realized how to fix the bug. "Time's a wasting, Clara" he said on her return. "Go to hell," was her reply. At quarter to four she said, "Done," in a satisfied tone. "You've run the tests to make sure you didn't break anything?" "Yes." "Aren't you the clever girl," he said. "Come here." As she walked, the distance seemingly magnified by her excitement, she looked only at him, was aware only of him and her need. She thought, "Now he will fuck me." He ran a hand up her thigh. His fingers slid between her sex lips. She thought that he must be aware of how wet she was. The thought of how depraved the situation was excited her immensely. He put his hands just over her hips, just where the hour glass of her shape belled out. He bent forward and put his lips to her cunt. She felt his tongue for the first time. She moaned and gritted her teeth to suppress the sound. She put her hands in his hair. "Bend over the table," he instructed. She obeyed, flushed with expectation. She wished he'd take her upstairs to his room and bed. She desperately wished for something not weird and perverse. Smack! Her bottom flamed with pain. The bells swung from her breasts and chimed. The bell between her thighs hit the edge of the table in its enthusiasm. "Hey," she yelped, trying to rise. He put a hand on her back to hold her down. There was another smack and she looked around. He held a wood paddle. "Shit," she said and clutched at her bottom. "Support yourself on your arms, Clara," he told her. "Your ornaments might scratch the polish." "Hey, I was done with twenty minutes to spare." "Well," he said, in a calmly amused tone, "You avoided the consequences of being late. However as that deprived me of the pleasure of punishing you, there's a consequence for that. And support yourself on your arms. Don't make me repeat myself. This is an expensive table." She lifted herself onto her elbows. She gripped the far edge of the table with her fingers. She could see the reflection of her face in its polish. Wild and dark and strained! His laptop looked odd from her perspective. She gasped despite clenched teeth as the paddle struck again. She craned her head to look over her shoulder. In the mirror she could see her splayed bottom, its pale pearl color patched with red. He stood to one side, a hand on the small of her back. Her sex was a dark blur where her thighs met. She watched his next swing. She closed her eyes just before the slap and the hurt. She sobbed. She suffered two more blows, then she felt his hand grip her left ankle. He lifted her leg up and held it wide to the side. She teetered on one foot. She felt his cock butt up against her. She was so wet and excited that she didn't know he'd slid all the way in until her bottom stung when he collided with her. She rocked unsteadily and gripped the table all the harder. Her heart thudded. If she had not clenched her teeth and pressed her mouth to her arm she would have moaned and squeaked like a porn star. She had a sudden memory, vivid as an hallucination, of the time her last boyfriend had made her watch porn videos in the hope that they would loosen her up. If that guy could see her now. She laughed and choked and bit her arm to keep from screaming. Her pleasure exploded. She tore her leg out of his grasp. It slit along the table top and hit the vase of flowers sending it careening over the edge. There was the crash of breaking glass. He slammed twice against her then he came as well. His fingers dug deep into her side. After a moment during which the only sound was his panting and her helpless stunned sobs, he pulled out and rearranged his jeans. He helped her up. He removed the bells, hurting her afresh. He soothed that by kissing each nipple and then kneeling to kiss and lick her little clitoris. She couldn't stop crying. She breathed the air with desperate gulps. He guided her into the kitchen. There he opened the refrigerator. She felt the wash of cold air over her sweating flesh. He poured her a glass of ice water and helped her drink it. Then he led her upstairs. To the right she saw a bedroom largely decorated with horse stuff, including a large cavalry troop of My Little Ponies on the top of a dresser. He led her to the left, into an impersonally decorated bedroom. He helped her into its bathroom and started the shower. While the water warmed, he kissed her shoulders and neck and lips. He removed the collar and lay it on the counter by the sink. He helped her into the shower. He watched her for a moment through the translucent shower door then he was gone. When she stepped out of the steam she felt a moment of disorientation. She had neither robe nor clothes to put on. She bent and felt a little ill. The bathroom door stood open. The draft of dry air conditioned air made her shiver. She shut the door and dried herself quickly. She stared at the towel. To wrap herself in it was temptation. She knew it would be a mortal sin. She hung the towel neatly and then fastened the collar tightly around her neck. She stepped into the bedroom across the hall. All the horses stared at her. She felt they, especially the wide eyed brightly colored chubby plastic ones, were not pleased to see her. She backed out. The room at the end of the hall was clearly his. The walls were decorated with photographs of old computer equipment: card readers, line printers, tape drives, CPUs as large as a room. On the bedside table was the framed picture of a pretty blond girl. Clara recognized his daughter and felt a pang of jealousy. Around the bed lay a litter of books and business journals. It was a pleasant room. The sun poured in and lit the king sized bed. She stared at the bed with longing. "Soon," she said in her mind. "I'll surely get to know you better tonight." She saw herself in the mirror, naked and small. She felt out of place and ashamed of herself. She made her way back down the stairs. She heard his voice in the living room. She looked the other way, into the dining room. He'd cleaned up the mess from the broken vase. Her little stack of clothes was on table next to her laptop. She imagined herself hurrying in there, pulling them on, then rushing out to her car and escape. She entered the living room shyly. A hand over her small firm breasts, a hand between her legs, face aflame. He had made a fire. She could hear the air conditioning as it worked to compensate. He sat in a chair beside the hearth, phone to his ear, laptop on a low table beside him. A glass of wine was beside that. On the floor, on the wood at the edge of the hearth rug, was a second wine glass. Sunlight flowed through the west facing windows and across the floor at an angle that left the hearth in shadow. It wasn't yet 4:30 out there. She didn't know what time it was inside. She moved to him and then when he didn't look up, she sank down onto the floor. She sipped the wine. He set his phone down. She asked, "The room across the hall is your daughter's?" "No, it's mine. I love to be surrounded by imbecilic little plastic jobbies." "Stupid question," she said "It is my daughter Jean's. She's in college, Sweet Briar. When she's not in school, like now, she lives with her mother, in McLean. She comes out to ride her horses, early in the morning when its cooler, she's usually here by 7. I've left the room as it was. She hasn't slept in it or lived here for 10 years at least." There was a silence. "Let's be clear, Clara," he told her. "In this house you are not to go into my room or my daughter's. You must follow my instructions in everything. "And remember Clara, work is the most important thing. If I think your work is suffering or if I think my performance is suffering, this will stop." "What is this?" she asked. "What I make it," he said. "At work, in the office, we will be strictly professional. You will come here, on the weekend, when summoned. If summoned you will come. No excuses. Whether you have plans with friends or family or if it's your time of the month. You will drive here, text me, park in the garage, undress, and then wait in the kitchen by the door for me. I'll email your yahoo account with the details. "If you want me to stop at anytime, tell me to stop. I will always believe you and respect your wishes, though I may be mad enough to ask you to leave. For you this mustn't be play acting. It must be real." "For you?" she asked. "I am amusing myself," he said. "Now, we should worry about dinner. What do you know how to cook?" "Anything as long at it's boiled water," she said, "Boiled water with food coloring is what I make on special occasions. For anything else you'll be wanting my sister's boyfriend." "I am not wanting him." David said, then "Into the kitchen." There he perched himself on the counter. "Think of yourself as a computer," he said, "All you do is follow instructions. From the refrigerator take a bunch of scallions. Rinse them under the tap and remove the rubber band." "What am I making?" she asked "Do our servers, when they're asked to add two numbers, care that the end result of all the instructions is a web page? Of course not. Now in the cupboard down to the right you'll find a cutting board..." And he led her through the steps. When she dropped the scallions and garlic and ginger into the wok, the oil hissed and she jumped back. He said, "Did I tell you to do that?" As she followed instructions, rather than harassing her for amusement as he'd planned, David watched her. Just watching her move made him happy and relaxed. He had intended to invite her out just the once or possibly twice. Since his divorce, David says, he'd avoid any entanglements. He'd relied on girls here at the club and call girls for his needs. Not only did he blame his divorce for his second company's crash, but he was worried about his tenuous relationship with his daughter. He both revered and feared that pretty girl. In the end Clara found that she'd made quite a credible chicken dish. "Clear my place at the table and set it, you'll find silverware in the sideboard." She did and served him. She felt almost faint with hunger now. He indicated the table in front of him. When she didn't understand, he said "Climb up." When she had and knelt in front of him, he touched the inside of her knees to get her to spread them. "Hands behind your head," he told her. "I'm hungry," she said, complaining. He grinned, then watching her, he took and ate a bite. He made a show of smacking his lips. The next he lifted up and guided toward her open mouth. She watched his fork much as the astronauts watch the Soyuz as it approaches with needed supplies. It drew close then gravity seemed stake its claim and it vanished back to the world. He swallowed and grinned at her. The next supply mission made it up to her. Its arrival did nothing to bring the world closer. "What do you do for fun?" he asked her. "Take shit from my boss," was her reply. "I'm serious," he said. "I used to play viola" "No more?" "Not since moving down here. I've had no time. I played in the Cornell Symphony and the Cayuga Chamber Orchestra when I was in school." "Any good?" "Technically yes. I loved it. The score and the conductor lay out the instructions. Each note is defined precisely. When I play I feel free. However to be really good, you have to take those instructions and follow them to the letter, but yet also make something more of them. Make them new and your own. I don't do that." He fed her another bite. "And you?" she asked, from her orbit above him. "I work," he said. "Kinda dull." "Well, it's my company and it's what I like. I keep this place up. Care for the horses, mow, plow, handle downed tree limbs, fix the fences." "What about the weather lady?" He laughed. The next supply mission dallied just beyond her reach. "So you've heard about that. She's really my daughter's friend. They met at a horse show. She needed some cover at the CBS station. My daughter asked me to help out and I did." The bite darted into her mouth. "I do belong to a club," he said. The resupply fork dropped from her mouth touched her between her breasts and slid down to touch her sex. She shifted. "I'm too busy with this place and the company to go often. Perhaps I'll take you sometime. When you're more comfortable." That latter made her both happy and deeply unhappy. Happy with the open ended way he saw their future. Unhappy, as the thought of where he would take her made her very uneasy. When the food was eaten, equally shared, he watched her load the dishwasher and wash the wok and wipe the counter. Then he said, "I have something for you to do while I feed the horses." From a kitchen drawer he took a pair of sturdy kitchen shears and handed them to her. He took her to the little hallway and the back door. He opened the door and despite her hanging back, drew her outside. He pointed to a bed of low white barked ornamental trees with many long slim whiplike limbs that arced skyward, up and down. Each tree looked like a white and green fountain. "Cut a dozen or so branches," he said, "About yeah long," he held his hands about two feet apart, "The thinner the better." He turned and headed for a shed by the fence. She watched him fill two buckets with feed. Then she looked at the bent over weeping forms he'd directed her to. She thought, "If I cut the branches, knowing the use they'll be put to, there is nothing I won't let happen. There is neither help nor hope for me." She looked up beyond the field. Beyond the far fence was a line of trees. No houses could be seen. She felt impossibly exposed walking across the grass. The heat felt like a wet blanket that hid nothing. Sweat sprang up on her forehead and upper lip and under her arms. She felt the closely mown grass under her feet. The two horses on the other side of the fence glanced at her but found her of little interest. They perked up and trotted with easy power across the field when they saw David open the gate with their two buckets. Clara watched them and him for a time.