1 comments/ 15549 views/ 3 favorites Brick By: coldsteel Tuesday morning, Operating Room 9. The red-grey tumor stubbornly clung to the sides of the pelvis. For three hours, the two surgeons worked to coax it out. "I've got the view," said Brick. "Two Kelly clamps, scissors and a stick-tie." The instruments danced in her fingers. In seconds, the tumor was out and Brick was throwing one-handed knots deep inside the wound. "Careful with that one-handed technique, Brick," murmured Nina, the senior attending surgeon. "Those knots have to hold perfectly." Brick fumed. She went back to the fuddy-duddy techniques she first learned as a student many years ago. "Great job, Brick. You're becoming an outstanding surgeon. Great to have you on the team," said Nina, stripping off her surgical gown and gloves. "I'll go talk to the family. You all get her closed." After Nina left, Brick started parroting Nina to Sara and Rachel, the scrub nurse and the circulator. "Two-handed ties, Brick. Push the knot down, Brick. Pull the tissue this way, Brick." Shit, she was already a better surgeon than Nina, but the jealous fool wouldn't admit it. Sara and Rachel glanced at each other and rolled their eyes. They had been through this enough times before with Brick to just let it go until later. Tuesday Evening, Cleary's Pub Every hospital has its local watering hole where the staff unwind at the end of a long day. Cleary's was so much a part of the medical scene that the proprietor hung a phone on the wall with a copy of the hospital paging directory for the exclusive use of the medical staff. Dark wood, brass furnishings, leather chairs and banquettes, it was the polar opposite of a yuppie wine bar. Part of the ritual when a new doctor or nurse came on staff included a welcome drink at Cleary's, if for no other reason to make them understand that Cleary's had its own rules. Predictably, the new arrival would ask for a glass of wine. The bartender would immediately glower at the newbie, raise his (or her) eyebrows and shout, "We don't do sissy drinks here! Ya got three choices-a draft, scotch or bourbon! What'll it be?" Sara, Rachel and Brick had settled back into a banquette, draft beers in hand, to watch the show. Sure enough, the chief of staff brought his administrative team and a new face over to the bar. The new guy seemed to have everybody's attention. He looked around, catching Brick's eyes briefly, and asked the bartender for a vodka martini The bartender, a muscular woman who probably had equal the guy's testosterone, pulled herself up to her full height, leaned over the bar and started to bellow. "Sissy-man, this is no sissy-bar! You wanna sissy drink, you go to the sissy place down the street! Beer, bourbon or scotch, sissy man?" New guy didn't miss a beat. "Scotch with a splash. And you know, you're beautiful when you're mad." The bartender turned beet red as the rest of the bar erupted in laughter. Brick turned to Sara and Rachel and remarked, "Great. We have a smart ass in our midst." Sara responded, "Brick, the guy used a little humor on the amazon behind the bar. You might take a page from his book. Word on the street is that he's a terrific surgeon and everyone at his old place loved to work with him." Rachel continued, "Yeah, I got a call from the nurses at Midwest Medical Center and they all say do anything you can to work with this guy." She paused. "I've asked to be assigned to his room." Brick went ballistic. "You can't do that." She looked over at Sara. "You're not trying to leave me too?" Sara bit her lip. "Well, I did ask for a tryout." If looks could kill, Brick committed a double-homicide. She threw a twenty onto the table. Sara and Rachel hurried out. Brick strode over to give the new guy a piece of her mind. "Hello, I'm Brick." She squared her shoulders. "I hear you're trying to steal my nurses." He turned to face her. "Oh hello! You must be the Dragon Lady. My name's George. Pleasure to meet you." Living up to her name, Brick turned dark red. Determined not to lose her cool at hearing the sobriquet, she calmly replied, "You know, I breathe fire before breakfast." George looked at her, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Then you must melt a lot of toothbrushes...." Thursday Morning As it happens when a new surgeon comes to a hospital, a crowd had gathered to watch his first case. George did a straightforward hernia repair. More correctly, George held retractors while he talked two resident surgeons through the procedure. The two residents had a reputation for not being the "sharpest knives in the box", but under George's quiet, steady direction they looked like a couple of pros. After his own case, George wandered into Brick's operating room where another difficult cancer case was underway. He watched quietly as the surgeons struggled to remove the cancer. Rachel, the circulating nurse, came over and whispered something in George's ear. Brick glanced up. Peering over her surgical mask, she said, "Good morning doctor, come to see how the ladies operate?" Brick barked out orders for a couple of instruments, which Sara snapped into her waiting hands. George chuckled, infuriating Brick. "You ladies seem to have matters well in hand. I'll just retreat to my man-cave." An hour later, Brick wandered into the surgeons' lounge. Half a dozen residents were gathered around George, each wanting to scrub with him on a case--news of his teaching prowess had travelled fast. Brick poured a cup of coffee and walked over to him. "I don't get it," she said. "You're here for 48 hours and the residents are throwing themselves at you." George smiled at Brick as the residents scurried away from the Dragon Lady "The surgery is the easy part. Figuring out what people want and meeting their needs, that's the challenge." George went on. "I see you're a terrific surgeon....". Brick started to turn red. "The only need in my operating room is to get the case done." George chuckled again. "Brick, you don't even acknowledge your own needs. How can you acknowledge others'?" Brick flushed deep crimson. "Oh, and you know my needs, Doctor?" That damn chuckle again. Then, George's voice turned steely. "Brick, go wash your hands." Brick looked at him. "What did you just say?" George replied, "I'll say it once more. And only once. Go wash your hands." Brick replied, "And if I refuse?" George's voice mellowed. "You won't. You can't. Inside the Dragon Lady lurks a woman who desperately wants to be controlled." Brick replied, "You are such a bullshitter." She walked out of the lounge. She made it about 25 yards before giving in to the uncontrollable need to wash her hands. Friday Morning Brick's first case was a no show. In George's room, the residents were busy with an intestinal resection while George once again simply held the retractors and talked the trainees through the operation. Brick, who was not easily impressed, had to admit that George seemed two steps ahead of the residents and was able to anticipate and prevent errors. He also anticipated her question. "It's just a matter of knowing what they need, and giving it to them." He shrugged his shoulders and turned back to the case. Later, in the surgeons' lounge, Brick turned to him and asked, "What exactly do you think I need?" George replied, " I think you need to follow instructions." Brick started to redden, when George said. "Just stop. Tomorrow's Saturday. Hit the gym. I'll see you at lunch." He named a local restaurant. "1 p.m. And wear a skirt." Saturday Brick woke up, fed her dog, pulled on her shorts and sport-bra and headed to the gym. Feistier than usual, she forced herself through an extra-hard workout. Still, she could hardly shake George's voice from her mind. No way was she going to show for lunch, much less in a skirt. She glanced up at the clock. 11:45. Suddenly, she felt hungry. She drove home, and started to the refrigerator to make herself a sandwich. She finally gave in, closed the refrigerator door, and ran to the shower. She made it to the restaurant exactly at 1 pm. She walked in and saw George seated in one of the booths, pecking out a note on his Blackberry, a plain manila envelope at his side.. He hit send and glanced up. "Ah, there you are. On time. I like that. Sit." Brick sat down. " I ordered for you. Steak. A Salad. A Diet Coke." Brick started to speak. George stopped her. "I know. You think you want to protest. But you actually want to be told what to do. Don't you?" Brick nodded wordlessly. "Will you trust me?, " asked George. Brick nodded again. George smiled. "Then I think you've got email." Brick extracted her Blackberry from her bag. The note George had been writing was to her. "Brick, you are to follow my instructions to the letter. If you violate them, we just have a pleasant lunch and part ways. But that's not what you really want, is it? Take the manila envelope and go to the ladies room. Inside you will find something that looks like a pager with a wire connecting to two odd contraptions, a silver egg and a plastic disc. You'll also find a little lubricant. Put the egg into your cunt. Put the disc on your clit. Put the pager on your belt. And come back and put the empty envelope on the table." She stared at George. Once again he said, "Will you trust me?" She headed off to the Ladies' Room. She emerged five minutes later, placing the empty envelope at his elbow. "I'm back," she said. George looked up and smiled. "Sit down and be comfortable." George held something that looked like a car key fob in his hand. As she sat down, he pressed one of the buttons. Brick gasped as felt the first vibrations. She glanced around to see if any of the other diners noticed, and then at George. George spoke quietly. "That was level 1. We'll see if you make it to level 5." Level 5? Brick was wondering what she had gotten herself into as the soft drinks arrived. She took a sip of the Diet Coke and swallowed it down just as George's fingers flicked to the buttons. She squirmed as the vibrations resonated with her now-throbbing pussy. They made small talk about the weather, work and the latest movies. Or at least Brick thought she was making small talk. That thing--George--his fingers-- kept toying with her cunt. Her panties were now moist and she wondered if others could smell her sex. As if he was reading her mind, George sniffed the air. "I do believe we're warming up, aren't we?" Brick nodded, hands clenching her drink. George was pulsing the buttons and she was very close to cumming. The salads arrived, and George paused a bit. Her appetite had become intense, and she ate greedily, not knowing when George would start again. "In fancy restaurants, they give a little sorbet to clear the palate. This is better, isn't it?" George bumped the vibrations to Level 3 and gave her ten seconds of continuous stimulations. Brick could feel her eyelids begin to flutter. "Oh no, not yet." Brick couldn't decide if she was angry or ecstatic, teetering on the edge of an orgasm in the middle of the now crowded restaurant. The scales tipped towards anger when George spotted an acquaintance and waved him over. "Harry, great to see you!," said George. George introduced Brick and the two men exchanged pleasantries while George repeatedly pressed the buttons. Brick bit her lip to keep from cumming. Finally, Harry rejoined his lunch companion. "You bastard," Brick fumed. George cut her off. "Brick, when we're out socially, I own your pussy. You--and she--do what I let you --and she--do. Are we clear." George turned the vibrations up to Level 4. He only had to push the button once. "You...own...my...pussy." Brick's eyes were glazed. "Eat your meat," George commanded. Brick sliced into the steak, her surgeon hands swiftly cutting the strip into bite sized pieces. As she chewed, George started to finger the buttons repeatedly. "MMmmmMMMMMmmm--tthat's wwwooonderfullll." Brick, ordinarily quite vocal, fought hard to keep quiet as her body shuddered with pleasure. George filled in to diffuse attention. "Yes, the chef here does wonderful things with steak!" Brick's breathing slowed and deepened, the glow from her orgasm fading. "I'd order coffee, but you look like you can use a nap." George called for and paid the check. They walked together to the parking lot. George held the door for her as she got in the car. "As I said, I know what you want. What you need. What you crave." Brick nodded as George pushed the buttons again. Her pussy started to twitch. "Drive safely. You have my permission to go home and play with your cunt and clit as much as you want. But remember, when we're together in public, you wear your toys and keep the receiver switched on. When we're together, I own you...and your cunt." Brick nodded once more. George turned away and walked to his car. As Brick started her engine, George sent one last pulse to her sopping cunt. She looked at him, and though she couldn't hear him, she felt him chuckle. Saturday, late afternoon Brick stretched, rolled over and looked at the clock. 5:15. She startled momentarily, then remembered that is was Saturday afternoon and not Monday morning and the events of the day. She had driven home pushing the speed limit. Once there, she fed her ever-ravenous dog Manley, rushed up to her bedroom and tore off her clothes. The silent remote control toys were replaced with her favorite silver bullet toy as she stroked herself from one climax to the next fantasizing about George. Brick wanted to cup his butt in her hands, stroke his balls, take his cock in her mouth and tongue his slit. She wanted to slip a finger inside his ass, stroke his prostate and suck him until he exploded. She... Brick had fallen asleep, and now awakened completely rested and relaxed, more than she had been in months. She stretched again, luxuriating for a few moments in the glow of the setting sun, before padding off to the shower. Her thoughts danced as the water streamed down and off her skin. She wanted to hold him, but more than that, she wanted to look into his eyes, to talk to him...just the two of them, just for a little while. It wasn't the sex--not that she didn't want to be naked in his arms, cuddled and held strong--it was something deeper, even more primitive... The shower turned cool, startling Brick into realizing that she had run the tank out of hot water. She wrapped a towel around her waist, and other around her hair and used a third to dry her breasts. She noticed the red light flashing on her Blackberry. George had sent her a note... "Brick...Hope you enjoyed lunch as much as I did and had a relaxing afternoon. I look forward to great times together. I'm a man of my word, and at the hospital I want to keep our relationship purely professional. I respect you too much to do differently. Socially, it's up to you where this goes. You have our toy. I have the controller. I can own your pussy, but only if and when you let me. Your call....G" Brick read the note ...twice...and fell back on the bed. She felt the delicious tingle of arousal in her cunt, reached for her Blackberry, and started to write ... "Dear George...I would not care if you were a salesman, a stockbroker or a special ed teacher. I want your arms around me. I do not want to make decisions. I want to surrender to you. I want to feel you around me, enveloping me, inside me. Do you understand? I want to not be the Dragon Lady. You are my Master, and I want to be your sub. I need this. I crave this....Brick" Sunday morning Brick awoke at dawn, splashed some water on face and pulled on her workout clothes. For the first time in months, she felt wonderful. She had a purpose to her life outside of work and church...she had a Master! Sure, she would work out for herself, but she would also be working out for him. She wanted to be in shape, fit and strong when she was naked with him. She was still grinning when she pulled into the parking lot of the gym. The cardio section was almost empty. She skipped the bikes, knowing that she had a spinning class coming up, and selected one of the tougher elliptical machines. She plugged in her headphones, and within moments found her groove. Beads of sweat formed and coalesced before trickling down. Her breathing deepened as she pushed harder, smiling to herself as she recalled the events of the previous day. Except she wasn't just smiling to herself. About fifteen minutes into her session, Sara and Rachel had also come into the gym and had started on the machines on either side of Brick. As Brick started the cool down, she opened her eyes and looked around. "Good morning, Sara! Good morning, Rachel! You two are here bright and early!" Sara and Rachel glanced at each other. The last time they had seen the dragon lady, she had been spewing smoke and fire at Cleary's. Now, she had a silly grin on her face. Brick chirped, "I'm going to sling some iron for a while, then off to church. Would you like to have lunch later? My treat." Sara and Rachel exchanged a "she must have gotten laid" look. Sara piped up, "Sure, but we have some shopping to do at the Short Hills mall later." She named a nearby restaurant. "How about we meet you there at 1 o'clock?" "See you!" Brick bounced off to the free weights. Rachel turned to Sara. "Well, that's different." "Yeah, someone must have slipped her some happy pills--or a fat dick." "Speaking of sex, do you think it's occurred to Brick that we sleep together?" "I doubt it. She's too busy operating to think about us in play clothes as opposed to scrubs." "Were you planning on telling her precisely what we going shopping for?" Sara's smile curled into a tiny smirk. "That depends on what happens at lunch, doesn't it?" Later that afternoon Sara and Rachel did a double take when they finally spotted Brick. Brick was wearing a pencil skirt, a simple VS top and a subtle gold-chain around her neck. She managed to look demure while radiating sex. It was a look Sara and Rachel had never seen at--or after--work. Rachel remarked, "Wow, you do clean up nice!" Forty-eight hours ago, Brick would have exploded. Her reply startled all three of them. "Why thank you! The two of you also look great." Sara couldn't stand it any longer. "Okay, out with it. What's his name?" Brick blushed furiously and shook her head. Rachel laughed throatily. "Brick, we haven't seen you this relaxed in..I don't know...ever. It's just nice to see you not breathing fire." She paused. "Let's order." The three women chose soup and salad combinations and a triplet of Diet Cokes. The next table was sure there must have been rum in the drinks, because the by the end of the meal the three of them were laughing so hard that tears were running down their cheeks. Brick, good to her word, had slipped her credit card to the waitress before the other two arrived so a check never appeared. Sara and Rachel complained good-naturedly. "Now we owe you," they moaned. Sara winked at Rachel. "Want to come shopping with us?" Brick shrugged and said, "Sure!" The first stop was the most upscale lingerie store in the area. Sara's vice was fine silk underwear, and she had the body to carry it. She knew exactly what brand, exactly what size and even Brick had to admit that Sara looked incredibly hot. "You look...unbelievable," said Brick. "I've never looked that good in a bra." Rachel said, "Not possible. You're in better shape than the two of us put together." "Have you ever been fitted...I mean professionally fitted?", asked Sara. Brick Brick shook her head. Rachel smirked, "Then we have a treat for you. Sara, go find Madame." Sara returned a few minutes later with a petite woman of indeterminate age, the proprietress. Sara introduced the two women. "This is my friend, Brick. I think you could do wonders for her...and her boyfriend." Brick shot Sara a scowl that lasted only until the Frenchwoman spoke. "Avec plaisir, cherie." Her voice sounded like Lauren Bacall on a bad day. "Brick, is it? Now, off with your top and that old bra. You won't put it on again." The prioprietress asked Brick to place her hands on her hips, then over her head, then behind her neck. Her measuring tape never seemed to stop moving. "C'est tout. Un moment, s'il vous plait." The proprietress stepped out and returned a few moments later with three bras. She adjusted the straps by eye, and slipped the first one on Brick, turning her to look in the mirror. Brick looked. And gasped. It was perfect. She had never looked or felt this good in a bra. "Non. Absolument." Madame didn't like it? Brick let her undo the clasp and shrugged the bra off. The second bra went on. Brick couldn't explain it, but it was somehow better than the first. "Pas mal." Not bad. But the proprietress still wasn't satisfied. So the second bra came off. She adjusted the straps on the third bra. As Brick slipped it on, she felt it conform perfectly to her, caressing her breasts as much as supporting them. She looked in the mirror again. "Parfait." The proprietress was satisfied. Brick was speechless. As for Sara and Rachel, their cunts were cringing. The proprietress handed Brick a pair of matching panties. "A gift from me. To him." She turned and left. Brick slipped her skirt off and discarded her old panties with the old bra--in the trash can. Sara and Rachel got a quick glimpse of Brick's perfectly shaved pussy before the panties went on. Brick stood up and twirled a 360. Mimicing the popular TV show, she said, "How do I look?" Sara answered, her mouth suddenly dry. "Like a million dollar model. Only better." Sara and Rachel stepped out as Brick got dressed. Brick went to the register to pay, but Sara and Rachel had reciprocated. "No, no, no...our treat!" The shopping trip had only begun. "Where are we going next?," Brick asked? "To the toy store," Rachel replied, smiling wickedly. The three women gathered their packages and walked to their cars. Sara gave Brick an address to enter in her GPS, agreeing to meet there in ten minutes. Brick keyed in the address and the GPS came alive. She followed the directions which took her into one of the nicer residential areas. When the GPS announced that she had arrived at her destination, Brick was confused. She was still in the residential area. She was about to turn around when she spotted Sara waving her into a driveway of a striking contemporary home. Brick got out of her car. "I thought we were going to a toy store? This is a residential neighborhood." Sara responded, "Oh, it's an adult toy store, and a private one. C'mon." Rachel was waiting for them at the doorway and rang the bell. A few moments later, the door was answered by a handsome, trim man with grey eyes, dressed toe to neck in black. Brick guessed that he was in his 50's. He welcomed Sara and Rachel by name. They, in turn, introduced Brick simply as their 'friend'. "Honey, we have guests!", the man called out. A few moments later, he was joined by a strikingly beautiful woman. At six feet tall, she bested her companion by three inches. She had perfect olive skin and piercing green eyes. Her hair was cropped short, colored blond to being almost white. She wore designer jeans that accentuated her height and a teal colored gauze top. She indicated to the women that they should remove their shoes. Brick took off her boots. "Hello again, ladies." She eyed Brick, appraisingly. "Is she...?" "No", laughed Rachel, "she's just a close friend. And she has a new boyfriend she won't tell us about." Is she what, Brick wondered? At that moment, she realized that Sara and Rachel were lovers. "Ahhh. She'll tell Nicky. Everyone tells Nicky." The man called from another room. "Tea is served." The four women walked through a spectacular living room with a central fireplace and chrome and leather furniture. Abstract sculptures seemed to flow living bronze. Equally abstract paintings graced the walls. It was as if the room took on the shape of each person in it. The dining room was as traditional as the living room had been modern. The table was antique cherry, and there was a matching hutch containing traditional services. The table was set with pure silver—real silverware, a traditional tea service, and silver candelabra with traditional white candles. The only hints to modern technology were a gas fireplace on one wall, and dimmer switches that the tall woman immediately used to darken the room, allowing the firelight to take over. "Make yourself comfortable, ladies." The women took their seats, and in a few moments the grey eyed man appeared carrying a large tray of tea cakes. It wasn't the tray, nor the cakes on the tray, that had Brick's attention. It was the fact that the man was wearing an elegant leather collar. Or, to be more precise, he was wearing nothing besides the collar. He has a muscled chest, powerful arms, manicured hands and a cock that was nicely sized and proportioned. "Milk, lemon, sugar, honey?" Brick was jolted back to the moment. "A little honey and lemon, please." The tall woman poured the tea, and then, a small pitcher in each of her hands, allowed the lemon and honey to flow from above into the cup. As Brick processed the scene, she looked quizzically at Sara and Rachel and then at the tall woman. The tall woman spoke. "Brick, is it? Call me Nicky. Welcome to our home. Here, we have no pretenses. We have no need for fantasy because we acknowledge reality. We are all sexual creatures, each with needs that must be met, desires that must be satiated. Sometimes I need a woman's mouth. Sometimes I need a hard cock. Sometimes I need my own hands. Sometimes I need toys. Sometimes I need all of that at once." Brick remained silent as the woman continued. "Every one in this room has needs. We simply need to find ways to meet them that enhance our lives and do not hurt others." She gestured at the man. "He wants to serve, something that he cannot do in his worklife as CEO." She named a familiar corporation. "He also craves the taste of fresh pussy. Don't you?" He smiled and nodded. Brick shivered. Nicky laughed. "No, he won't touch you without your permission. Nothing here happens without your permission." Sara broke in. "May we please see the new toys?" Nicky looked thoughtfully at the three women. "Fine, but remember the house rules. What happens here, stays here. Agreed?" All three agreed. "Then let's head downstairs." Nicky escorted the women into the hallway and stood before a large tapestry mounted on a wood panel. She touched it in four places and then reached up to slide the panel to the side. Behind lay a carpeted ramp. Beyond, Brick saw a soft glow. "Welcome to our play room, ladies." The room was large, perhaps 20 feet by 30 feet. The floors, the walls, the ceiling were all carpeted in a rich taupe textured with abstract patterns. The furniture in the room—was mostly burgundy in color —leather, fabric, overstuffed chairs and couches. There were a number of wooden pieces that Brick did not recognize, all carved from ebony and polished so that they gleamed even in the soft light. Yet none of this captured Brick's attention. She was transfixed by the large wall. There were four shelves along the length of the wall, and on each shelf there was a display of every imaginable sex toy. There were conventional vibrators, dildos, and butt plugs. But there were all manner of other objects—blindfolds, latex clothing, exotic-looking clamps, whips and crops. There was a half shelf of footwear with high spiked heels. Brick's imagination quickly spun out of control. At the same time, she noticed that she felt quite warm. As if reading her mind, Nicky said, "Yes, we keep the temperature a bit high here. You're overdressed a bit." When Brick turned around, she saw that the other women had stripped down to bra and panties. She hesitated, and then remembered the lovely set that she was wearing that Rachel and Sara had given her. She shrugged and followed suit. While Rachel and Sara were handling an elegant looking vibrator, Brick wandered over to one of the wood pieces, two interlocking beams that formed a 6 foot tall "X". She reached out to touch the surface, which she found amazingly smooth and cool. She felt Nicky's presence behind her. "Yes, I thought so," remarked Nicky. "Thought what?" replied Brick? "You want to be on that cross, don't you? You want to be tied onto that cross and submit. You want to be pleasured until you can't stand it anymore, don't you?" Brick's mind assembled the scene in a fraction of a second. She said nothing, but her nipples hardened, telegraphing her excitement. Almost without thinking, she put her arms up, spread her legs and leaned back onto the cross, feeling its cool surfaces along each of her four limbs. Brick imagined herself naked, limbs bound onto the cross, George standing in front of her, a glass of Scotch in his hand, his white shirt casually unbuttoned, calm and cool. She felt her cunt lips swelling, becoming moist and juicy under his gaze. She began to wriggle her hips against the cross, as she imagined him reaching out and using is finger to part her lips and begin to caress her clit... Nicky spoke. "Yes, you have needs, real needs. I wonder if your boyfriend knows about them. Even if he knows, I wonder if he knows how to meet them." Brick opened her eyes, finding Nicky standing a few inches from her. Brick saw the pulsations in her neck, felt her heat and her power. She recoiled against the cross. Nicky stepped back just as quickly, disappearing through an alcove. Brick relaxed. Sara brought Brick a glass of water while Rachel fetched a cool washcloth. Sara said, "So that's why you're so intense in the OR. We had no idea what you had bottled up inside?" Rachel spoke soothingly. "It's okay, you're among friends, and what happens here stays here." She continued. "It's confusing the first couple of times, letting your feelings, your imagination, you needs take you where you want to be. It's not how we're raised. But it's okay." Brick reached out, hugging the two women. They went to pull on their clothes. As they finished straightening themselves, Nicky reappeared with two small shopping bags. She handed one to Rachel and Sara, who offered gracious thanks. She then turned to Brick, handing her a bag of her own. "Brick, welcome to our lives. You have a journey ahead, if you choose to take it." Brick's confusion was apparent. Nicky continued. "This is the toy store. Toys are not magic. They are simply artifacts that enhance our play. Children have their favorite toys. We adults need to have ours. We need to play and sex is the way adults want to play, need to play, have to play." Nicky dropped her voice an octave, growling softly. "It would feel delicious, Brick, wouldn't it, to have a nice fat cock in your cunt right now?" Brick's face reddened and she turned away. Nicky's voice changed abruptly into hostess mode. "Ladies, it's been wonderful having you over. Let me help you find your shoes and coats." She escorted them to the door, giving each of the three women a chaste kiss as they departed. Nicky stood at the window, watching the taillights of the cars recede into the darkness. The man with grey eyes moved to her side. He said, "She's different, isn't she?" Nicky nodded, "A volcano. Molten lava simmering beneath the surface. She's close to erupting. This man of hers has no idea of what will happen next.." The man with grey eyes responded, "More so than ours?" Nicky answered, "Perhaps, my love, perhaps." She pulled the curtain shut, stripped naked, and sprawled into a chair. She spread her legs wide apart, exposing her perfectly shaved pussy. "Eat me. Hard. Now." The man with grey eyes smiled, uncoiled his magnificent tongue, and set about meeting Nicky's needs. Sunday evening Brick drove through the night, her emotions swirling with the fog that enveloped her car. Twice this weekend, she had relinquished her need for total control. Twice this weekend, she let eros seize her mind, permeate her body, invade her soul. Her mouth watered as she replayed the moments from memory. She felt a hunger unlike any she had ever known. She pulled into her driveway. Manley was there, as always, to greet her. "A dog's needs are so simple," she thought as she filled Manley's dish. "Food, grooming, play and whatever affection I can offer." Manley, reading her thoughts, licked her hand. Brick laughed as she went to the computer to review the next day's operative schedule. Brick logged off an hour later, collecting her bags and headed upstairs to shower. She stripped down,, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror and allowing herself a momentary smile as the new bra and panties came off, and stepped into the steaming spray. She turned her face upward to face the flow,spread the foaming shower gel into every crevice and scrubbed herself clean. She shampooed twice before rinsing her hair, Purified, she toweled off, dried her hair and slipped between the sheets. Later that night Brick's first dream found her walking on a white sand beach on a cloudless day. Couples and families were scattered under colorful umbrellas, quiet murmurs punctuated by laughter and squeals of delight as children chased each other and built castles in the sand. That Brick herself, as well as all of the other people on the beach, were completely nude seemed natural and ordinary. In the distance, she saw Sara, Rachel, Nicky and the man with grey eyes having a picnic. As they waved her over, she turned and saw her shadow split into two. She glanced over her shoulder, realizing that George had been with her all along, matching each of her steps. She turned to face him only to find herself looking into an endless sea. In her next dream, Brick was in a bungalow. She could hear the waves, stronger now, beating against the shore. The late afternoon sun that had filtered in through the sheer drapes darkened, and she felt the approaching storm. George sat in one of the wicker chairs, nude except for a white shirt contrasting against his tan. He held a drink in one hand, and book in the other. His cock was neither hard nor soft. Brick sat at right angles to him in another chair, her heels up on the arms of the chair and her cunt completely exposed. Her fingers played lazily with her clit, and she felt her juices begin to flow. She heard a stirring in the next room. Another woman stepped out, dark-haired and dark-skinned, with eyes the color of coal. Curvy, frankly voluptuous, and also completely nude, she tapped George on the shoulder and motioned him onto the bed. She glanced at Brick, and knelt at the foot of the bed. She began to knead his inner thighs. Her tongue reached out to take a long, languorous lick of George's balls. She took his cock in her mouth, and within moments sucked him up to full erection. For the next ten minutes, the dark-haired woman inhaled George's cock. As his sighs and moans became deeper, she tugged on his balls and blew cold breath on his cockhead. Each time she pulled George back from the brink, his cock swelled. His cock became pink, then red, then deep purple. His voice became guttural, incomprehensible. Brick masturbated hard, her cunt quivering. The dark-haired woman glanced up at Brick and nodded imperceptibly. She took George's cock in her mouth and his balls in her hands, sucking, pumping and squeezing until he exploded. The sight and sound of George's ecstasy pushed Brick over the edge, and she too began to cum with his pleasure. George seemed to faint as the dark-haired woman sucked all of George's cum into her mouth. She looked up at Brick, grinned and went over to Brick's chair. She kissed Brick full on the mouth, sharing the salty, sticky sweetness of George's cum between them. They kissed until each had swallowed George's cum completely. The dark-haired woman then knelt at Brick's cunt, inhaled her scent and drank greedily from Brick's pussy. Her tongue explored the folds of her cunt, found Brick's clit and sucked until Brick exploded in another orgasm. Through glazed eyes, Brick saw George smiling broadly as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. As her orgasm subsided and her vision cleared, she saw the reflection of the dark-haired woman in the mirror. When she turned to face her, she had vanished. To be continued Brick House Pt. 01 Prologue All content copyright 2012 Ted Szabo This is part one of a longer work, "Brick House." While this part does not have erotic content, many of the other chapters do. It is included for the convenience of readers interested in the larger story. Prefix Notation "I don't really get it," I mumbled. The painting consisted of three blue dots formed along a vertical path and a jagged, dripping red slash that ran from the top right corner of the canvas to the lower left. It looked like someone had used a chainsaw to maim the frame and there were deep, serrated gouges along one side and uneven strips of wood ripped off all along the top. Executed in garish, highly saturated hues, the watercolor was one of several similar works that lined the gallery wall, each one sporting a similarly simple geometry bordered by what appeared to be heavily vandalized moulding. The paintings were displayed in an assiduously professional manner, spaced tastefully and illuminated by tiny, extraordinarily bright halogen lamps suspended at the end of curved brass arms. The gallery was near campus, and the show had attracted a less stuffy crowd than some we had attended, despite the requirement for formal attire. There were a fair number of other students, mostly undergrads, and I recognized a couple of adjunct professors, both with significant others in tow. The event was well-attended, and a collective murmur of conversation melded with the clinking of wine glasses to form a more-or-less continual undertone of background noise. Kate, a lithe co-ed I had been seeing for several weeks, was on my arm, resplendent in white hose and a dress that sported a long, enticing vent that ran up one side. She enjoyed the periodic gallery show, and I enjoyed her, so I often found myself musing artistic efforts such as ones presently on display. The week before, we'd found ourselves wandering a garden of large basalt sculptures that had been chiseled into the forms of various body parts, and I remembered being mildly amused by a five foot high thumb that stuck straight up, as if beseeching passers-by for a lift. Some sort of mica laminate had been used to form the thumbnail. "It's a commentary on the intractably contentious nature of the human spirit," Kate said, peering thoughtfully at the same painting that had caught my attention. "Look at the way the frame has been weathered, like the painting itself is the focus of some destructive force." I perked up at this, as it was actually somewhat relatable. "Right," I said with some confidence, "it's like 'Damien.'" "What? Damien who?" Kate was wearing her please-don't-be-a-complete-idiot-in-public face, which I was admittedly fairly familiar with. "You know, classic 70s horror schlock, devil child, nuns hanging themselves." This comment earned me a disparaging sniff from a thin, gray-haired woman who appeared to be prying meaning from a concentric set of orange octagons that had been created with electrician's tape and then torn up using a parallel set of long, razor-sharp implements—or perhaps claws, I thought— that had shredded parts of the underlying canvas. "Hmm, werewolves no like dumb art," I muttered to myself. I had decided I rather liked the horror motif as an overarching perspective through which to enjoy the show, and resolved to stick with it. Kate gave me a good-natured jab with her elbow, hard enough to forcefully expel most of the air I had just breathed in. "Dipshit. This is serious work. Why do I take you to these things?" Straightening up slowly and inhaling with care, I scratched my chin, adopting my best thoughtful, contemplative look—a "Thinker" pose but with more clothing. "Because," I responded, "... because I'm so super-cool that being seen with me will fool people into thinking you might be cool too?" Kate threw me another elbow, a bit less forceful than the last. I could tell she was pursing her lips together to suppress a smile, though. "OK, maybe not, maybe not. I'll figure this out, though. Is there a multiple choice section on this quiz? No, wait, I've got it—it's my rugged but unconventional hunkiness. You drag me out to these things to be premium arm candy, and because I'm cheaper than an escort service." This time Kate had to cover her mouth, and I could tell there was a big, shit-eating grin hiding behind her daintily positioned hand. "All right, not there yet? Wait, I am there, prepare for me to hit a bull's eye on this head-scratcher. Here it is: My snarky opinions are not so inane as they first appear, and are in fact the musings of a keen renaissance intellect with a brilliant instinct for texture and composition." Kate was now unable to completely bottle up her mirth—it was sneaking out as a sort of Muttley the Dog hiss-laugh. She took advantage of her grip on my arm, trying, and mostly succeeding, at twisting it behind my back with some crazy Ju-Jitsu move. I started chortling as well, whirling and backpedalling to avoid the arm lock, and felt myself impact someone. It was one of the waiters who had been shuttling hors d'oeuvres around the gallery floor. "What the freakin..." said the tuxedo-clad server, trying frantically to maintain control over a large, circular platter of drinks. "Oh shit, sorry, sorry..." I said, reaching for the tray in an attempt to provide some assistance, hoping at the very least to keep the glasses from sliding off altogether. The waiter, peeved and in no mood to accept help from a hooligan such as I, was further incensed by the fact that I was now gripping his serving dish, and jerked it out of my grip. With that abrupt motion the glasses started to skitter erratically. One crashed to the floor, most of it exploding into a collection of long, even shards on impact. Wow, I thought, real crystal, not cheap glass. A few ounces of Chardonnay splattered across the tile floor and several people, trying to keep the spreading liquid off their feet, hopped around in surprise. One of these was a portly gentleman with a handlebar mustache who ended up staggering back into a pretentious oil monstrosity that looked like something Monet might have vomited up after an acute absinthe bender. I made grabs at the other glasses, trying to keep at least of few them from joining their unfortunate vanguard. It worked to some extent, but the situation still became pretty unpleasant. Handlebar and the waiter ended up yelling expletives at each other and the floor was a mess, random puddles of various wines and liqueurs scattered about in semi-random fashion, punctuated by chunks of shining crystal in various states of destruction. One lucky glass of Bordeaux had actually managed to land perfectly upright and was largely undamaged; a single white crack running from its gold-rimmed lip all the way down to its base. I thought I could just barely see tiny droplets of wine making their way through the fissure. In addition, one of the women in the area had somehow managed to lose her shoe: a complicated, organic-looking affair that looked like it might been grown in some kind of unnatural garden where straps were extruded from misshapen seeds and writhed along the ground like vines, eventually intertwining to take on chaotic yet utilitarian forms. The pump was heel-up, and the upper inch or so of a smashed goblet was looped around that heel--a glistening, dangerous-looking ring of shards like the storybook crown of an unfortunate king. I stepped to the side, just outside the danger zone, and shouted "Watch out, everyone keep away! Move back, move away from the mess. Broken glass!" A number of lookie-loos were coming over from other parts of the gallery, attracted by the noise. "Stay back, you guys. Seriously, stay back," I told them. For the most part, people seemed to be cooperating, especially after they realized what had happened. Kate stepped back to my side, still experiencing some jocularity suppression issues despite the carnage. "Well, it's a hell of a mess," she said, "but at least you managed to keep people from stabbing their toes on all those splinters." I looked at Kate with wide eyes and my best mock-serious expression. "No, no, you've got it all wrong. You don't understand, I'm not trying to keep people from slipping or getting injured, I'm trying to protect the art." With an expansive gesture, bending low and spreading my hands slowly over the ruined floor section, jazz fingers waggling, I formally presented my masterpiece. Kate pressed her hands to her mouth, but it was still obvious to all that she was sniggering like a lunatic. A short time later, we were asked to leave.