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A Coming of Age

By: soleful



Sally worked for my parents as domestic help. I always found myself drawn to her. She was unusually tall at an even 6 feet. Her features were quite attractive but she always dressed in plain clothes with no makeup with her hair tied in a severe bun. Did I mention that Sally also belonged to my parents? She was a robot, which were common domestic companions in 2027.

It was a few days past my 18th birthday and mom and dad finally had the confidence to leave me alone for a week in the summer. They left me with the usual warnings and told me that I could only have Sally’s help to clean up the house as a servant, but not to fully activate her to autonomous mode. 

The robot's modes:

Level 1- (Passive Mode) Robot will not initiate any activity. Will sit passively or will walk holding hands. External stimulus will be recorded at all levels (1-4).

Level 2- (Slave Mode) Android can respond to commands only. She may only ask questions to clarify orders.

Level 3-(Companion Mode) Sally is allowed to initiate activities and question her owner's motives, but only with permission.

Level 4 (autonomous mode) Sally may initiate activities without permission. She can make decisions based on her own morality algorithms. She may even enforce her decisions on humans if necessary. There is usually a long training period before an android performs in this mode.

My parents had no idea of my other plans … 

Three weeks earlier, I had gone out and done some shopping at a few local thrift shops for my favorite robot.

When their car cleared the driveway, I counted to 100 in case my parents returned and went to find Sally. She was seated as usual in the basement in what we called her passive mode (level 1). Sally would walk with you if you held her hand, but would not initiate any kind of action.

Quickly I lead her upstairs to my bedroom. I could have activated her into companion mode (level 3), but did not want to engage her. We had only owned her for 2 weeks and I was rarely alone with her. 

Slowly I removed her baggy jeans and sweater and noticed that she had a firm and very shapely body that gave off warmth and had a skin like texture. Her legs were long and smooth with thin thighs and shapely calves that reminded me of some of the girls on track. 

Nearly falling over myself, I recovered the clothes from their secret hiding place that I had fantasized seeing Sally in for so long. First I pulled out a matching rust colored suede skirt, blazer and thick leather belt. They were supposed to have minor defects and found their way to the thrift shop. The same shop had an n ornate white silk blouse with an attached bow that reminded me of one of dad’s pictures of Igmar Bergmann. 

First I put the suede skirt on Sally and found it to be about a size too large but thankfully the thick belt made up for the slack around the robot’s thin mid section. The white blouse was a bit too tight, but her skin seemed to mold to it. The bow was a delicate black ribbon that threaded around the collar and was secured at the throat with a tiny black snap forming a small cross. Next I put some thin knee socks on her which would hopefully make the next job easier…

My favorite piece of clothing for her were the BOOTS! The second vintage store had a pair of dark brown thigh boots with a high vamped arch and stiletto heels of 5+ inches. These leather boots tapered sexily toward the toes giving an elongated look. As Sally sat on the bed staring vacantly into space I sat at her feet and unzipped each of the full-length zippers on her boots. Next I kneeled on a towel (my floors were hard wood) placed a long boot over one of her legs. First I thought that it was too small but with a firm pull the boot slid onto her foot with even a little extra room. I then proceeded to smooth the shaft out over her long leg. The zipper was a little stubborn around her ankle, but nearly zipped itself to its final destination about 6 inches above her knees. The other boot went on with even less trouble.

The next thing I did was to smooth and straighten her knee length skirt so that the boots disappeared up under it, making them appear endless. Next I straightened Sally’s while blouse, tucking it into her skirt and tugged on the sleeves. 

The next thing to do was to take her hair down. I removed the bobby pins holding together the tight bun and slowly let her hair down, not knowing it’s full length. When I was finished, delicate shiny chestnut brown hair flowed about half way down her back in a loose spiral perm. Her hair color nearly matched the boots. I took a moment to admire Sally's face. Her skin had an alabaster glossy tone. This was a practice done to distinguish robots from humans. Robots could also be distinguished because their facial features were usually just a little too perfect as shown by Sally with her firm chin, delicate features and fine white teeth. 

I activated Sally to level two where she could follow verbal commands and with my voice faltering, asked if she knew how to apply makeup and put on some perfume. She nodded dutifully and asked if it should be heavy, light or medium. Being the young boy that I was, heavier had to be sexier so you know what I said. Sally abruptly stood up and took a step in her high-heeled boots. Her forward boot heel slid forward and she went into a forward split. I almost laughed, but was afraid that I damaged her. With no hesitation, she just straightened up again just using her leg muscles like a giant scissor and seemed to decide to take shorter mincing steps instead of her accustomed long strides. 

At this point I was getting extremely worked up and decided to get myself prepared. I found a special pair of Dr. Denton pajamas (with feet) that I purchased downtown at an adult shop with my fake id. The pajamas were special in that they had about 50 tiny vibrating surfaces around erogenous zones and could be controlled remotely through a switch box or a converter. The pajamas also had small but powerful magnets around the wrists and ankles, of which purpose I was unsure. I read about these once in an adult story and decided to save for it by my cyber newspaper route.

I was so excited that my body was literally shaking with anticipation. I decided to strip naked and wait for Sally to return.

Several minutes later I heard the unmistakable clicking sound of boot heels approaching. Suddenly the door to my bedroom swung open and the robot stood before me totally still with her eyes placid, only in a mode to receive commands. Her eyes appeared much larger due to the coating of mascara. Her eyelashes were also enhanced which looked very coquettish. A really cool touch was the dark brown outline around her full red lips. Now Sally was physically unrecognizable from a very sultry female human.

In my nakedness my cock sprang to attention. I felt like a very small boy next to Sally who now looked so sexy. She was all made up wearing her elegant clothes and her tall high-heeled boots while I stood totally naked. Another factor was that I was only 5’4” tall and my robot makeover creation was now standing over a foot taller than me. 

I stuttered out the words,”Sally coulddd you please dress me in my pajamas, I’m felling a bit chilly”. The robot immediately unfolded the pajamas and then with total gentleness grasped my wrists so that my arms were pointed straight up. She then slipped the pajama top over my arms and head and slowly buttoned me from top to bottom. Next she took my hand and coaxed me to lie down on my bed applying light pressure to my chest. She rolled up the pajama bottoms and slipped them over my leg dressing me from bottom to top. I was hoping that she would tuck in my raging erection, but it didn’t happen.

Next I threw on a light jacket and found a few more goodies for Sally. The vintage store had a long pair of brown gloves that nearly matched Sally’s boots and hair. What was really cool about them was that they were made of super soft leather and went most of the way up to the elbow. I remember the store clerk saying something like ,”ah lambskin!” I asked Sally to put them on and after some of my tugging and smoothing they slipped over the thin silk sleeves of her blouse. Next I helped Sally put on her suede blazer and had to stop from relieving myself right there on the spot.

I gathered up my bag of tricks and held Sally’s cool gloved hand, finding that she would squeeze my hand back and tightly as I grasped her. I lead her to the garage where our second car was parked. The doors to the car were unlocked. I asked the robot to get in the driver’s side and found that I had to adjust the seat back to fit her long booted legs. She sat passively with her arms at her side and just looked down, oblivious to her surroundings. I hurried to the other side and jumped in. 

I then popped a circuit card into the sound system adapter. This would set up a path from the controls on the sound system allowing them to control the mechanical devices on my special pajamas. A blinking green light on the card told me that the connection was active. I placed Sally’s remote control next to me on the seat. This maintained her operational status, which for now was just to respond to verbal commands. I felt my palms begin to dampen, which was familiar when I was anxious.

I handed the car keys to Sally and asked her to put them in the ignition. She missed the slot so I guided her soft lambskin glove to assist with the task. I liked the fact that her hand was a little larger than mine was. I wanted to pretend that Sally was driving me somewhere. One of my fantasies is to have a booted and gloved woman take me for a car ride. 

Next I asked Sally if she would pretend to drive the car by stepping on all the pedals and touching all of the controls in the car. Just being another command to the robot, she first positioned her high-heeled boot over the gas pedal and readjusted herself to a taller posture in the seat. She proceeded to step all of the way down on the pedal. The boot seemed to be molded to her shapely legs and produced delicate crinkles around her ankles that changed shape as she pumped the gas up and down. After a few pumps on the gas both boots were now busy pumping on the combinations on the gas clutch and break creating delicious leather creaking and stretching noises. It was at this time that I noticed that Sally’s boobs were larger than I thought and were heaving exquisitely against her tight blouse and blazer due to her pedal pumping.

As requested Sally began to gently touch every button, knob or lever within reach of her sleek leather covered hands before deciding to twist pull or press the control. I especially liked the way she grasped the top of the stick shift and tried to pull up on it, as her long glove extended several inches beyond the sleeves of her suede blazer. My penis was more than jealous. The blazer had a formal look with 4 buttons in a line going down a darker suede patch on the sleeve.

At this point I was torn over my feelings. I loved watching Sally do what she was doing, but felt kind of dumb. She was effectively an oversized doll just following my orders. Other guys went out and got the girls and all I could do was play “Big Barbie”. 

Temporarily lost in thought, I notice that Sally is now reaching randomly for the volume control on the sound system, which I rigged to send impulses to the erotic devices on my pajamas. As soon as the robot started to rotate the knob, something unexpected happens … I realize what the magnets in my pajamas are for. My hands snapped together at the wrist. I essentially was wearing invisible handcuffs held by a powerful magnetic field. As Sally’s glove continued to slowly turn the knob all the way, my hands drifted down toward my feet. There were actually many sets of hidden magnets going down the torso and legs of these pajamas. As the volume control was turned they would alternately turning on causing my bound hands to finally rest at my ankles locking in an comfortable fetal position. Due to my sudden bondage, Sally’s control box fell to the floor near her feet in front of the gas pedal ... 

With my head now nearly level with the pedals, I watched in amazement as Sally's powerful booted foot stepped on her control box. Since it was in the way, she stepped down harder and harder cracking the case and shorting it, before knocking out so she could continue to pump the pedals...

Due to an anomaly in the control box, because it was shorted out, she entered her autonomous mode! 

This is her fourth level where she has discretion to act as she wishes.

At this point Sally sat bolt upright as if she had military training and she began to speak, “Prepare vehicle for departure, entering chauffeur mode.” Android is required learn the geography of the neighborhood.

Sally lifted her blouse and an area of smooth skin on her abdomen formed into a slot. A moment later a laminated certificate was printed. Next she said, ”Robot driving license is ready for presentation. She tucked her blouse in neatly and placed the certificate on the dash. 

From my uncomfortable position, I could see Sally scanning the dashboard. She proceeded to efficiently open the garage door with the remote, turned on the ignition, put the car into reverse and back out of the garage! Once in the street, she shifted into drive and we proceeded. (To where I don’t know). 

It was clear that she was a well trained driver as I watched her high heeled boots precisely control the acceleration and deceleration of the car, making them look even more authoritative. Her turns were also well timed and controlled.

After a moment Sally visually scanned the car and looked directly at me. Immediately she smiled warmly and said, “Entering Nanny mode, child on board!” The robot’s gloved hand proceeded to readjust the control that originally put me in the fetal position. To my surprise she rotated the knob just enough to let me out of the fetal position so I could sit up, but my hands were still bound together to a magnets on my thighs! Sally had a very melodious rich deep feminine voice. I was nearly too shocked to speak. I didn’t expect my “fetish doll” to come alive and take charge of things. 

Robert -“Uh Sally, why have you kept me with my hhhands bound together?”

Sally- “Sorry Robert, but my records show you as seven years old. Your daddy entered that in yesterday. I need you to be restrained because young boys get into trouble trying to unlock car doors. Call me Nanny Sally, I’ll take care of you until your mommy and daddy come back. I’m looking forward to getting to know you very well”

So dad figured that I may try something slick with Sally and set her up to deal with me. He’s always a step ahead of me, damn! Sally will probably tell him everything. 

Robert- “Sally, I’m not seven years old, I’m 18.

Sally gave me a look like I should be ashamed of myself for contradicting my father.

Sally “Bobby, you can’t be 18. You needed me to put on your "naughty boy pajamas". Your parents must have gotten you these so you are forced behave in the car and don't try to leave the vehicle. Please don't make me be strict, I think you just need some calming down.

The robot decided to turn on her pheromone subsystem. Pheromones are subtle hormones given off by humans that can affect the moods of others. The company that developed Sally has done extensive research on these hormones and as isolated which categories of these causes love, arousal and fear. To mimic human interaction, Sally can produce these hormones and sample human reaction to her. 

Sally began to emit high concentrations of pheromones from her nose and mouth, which were invisible to Robert. He instantly felt calmer as his robotic Nanny adjusted and monitored his mood to where he felt a cross between a sisterly and maternal affection for her.

To add to the boy's bliss she decided to find a station on the sound system that played some soothing soft jazz or rock. Sally was unaware that her actions would have an affect on Robert’s remote control erotic pajamas. As she changed the stations, Bobby felt a very gentle tingle at the tip of his cock. He immediately broke out of his calm reverie, which the robot became aware of as she continued to monitor his pheromone levels. The robot began to notice that Bobby was not looking at her like a child view a baby sitter. He was staring at her just like his father did. Her processors told her that this gap in her information would have to be amended.

Sally did a lookup on her secondary storage and found that the hormones that Robert emitted included testosterone, which could not come from a seven-year-old boy. Why would Robert’s dad tell her that he was 7 years old if he were not? 

At this point the robot's software indicated that some firmness was due on her part. Sally reached over with her free-gloved hand and turned the volume control on all the way so his pajamas forced him into a fetal position again, then she grasped Robert firmly around the chin and turned his head toward her. (Even though she was in passive mode before she remembers all events.) Getting his attention. Sally fixed Robert with an intense stare that made him cringe.

Sally - "I think that either you or your father are not telling the truth. How old are you and why are you looking at me like that?

Robert- I'm 18 years old. I ahhhhh, dressed you up because I have a thing for certain clothing and you are, ahhhhh beautiful.

The robot sensed that Robert was getting slightly less tense and that he was probably no longer lying to a 90% confidence factor. Driving on a quiet road was allowing her to still grasp his chin though less firmly. Her facial expressions changed from stern to more neutral.

Sally- since you are under 21 I am obligated to look after you. Please do not lie to me because it will make me angry. I am authorized to discipline minors. I have a hormone sensor system that tells me when you are very tense after I ask you a question, so I will know if you are lying. Thank you for saying that I am beautiful, though I really do not grasp this concept. I have not had much training interacting with young human males. I apologize if I seem too strict or behave oddly. I hope that we both learn how to act appropriately around each other. 

Sally- Why did you put me into the car in level 2 mode and why do you like these clothes so much?

Robert- I aaahhhhhh, well, ah ...

The boy had trouble getting the words out. Sally decided to take another approach, letting go of his chin and readjusting the volume control letting Robert out of his fetal position, yet still bonding his hands. Next she gently rubbed his hand with her glove while emitting calming pheromones. She smiled at him and said, "Take your time."

Feeling suddenly calmer, Robert confessed to Sally about how he got her the longs boots, gloves and suede suit. 

Robert- The boots are neat because they make you tall and powerful looking. They give your legs a long sleek shape that regular shoes can’t do. That’s why I bought you a suit where the boots would go under the hem of the skirt and the gloves would continue under the sleeves. I like gloves because they make your hand underneath mysterious. Burglars wear gloves. I like to be driven in a car by pretty a girl wearing boots and gloves.

Sally- the clothing seems permissible for me to wear. Why do you like to see me drive in my boots?

Robert was excited that she referred to them as her boots. Robert noticed that having Sally's attention was quite enchanting. She listened patiently and earnestly with a high degree of intense eye contact, making him feel like the most important person in the world. Also someone must have programmed her to mimic some movie star's million-dollar smile.

Robert- it makes your boots look even more powerful because they are controlling the pedals to take me somewhere. The gloves add to that by operating the controls. 


A Coming of Age



Sally- You really should have activated me and asked my permission before we did this.

Robert - I never really thought you would drive me anywhere. I was going to have you pump the pedals in activation mode 2 (quiescent mode). My parents asked me to keep you in level 2.

Sally- I am just a mechanical servant. If you want to do something non-dangerous, all you have to do is ask me. This is all harmless and I have no need to discipline you for what you've done.

Sally took a moment as she curiously surveyed her clothing. She then stepped way down pinning the accelerator with her right boot for a second. 

Sally- I have verified by a small test that you do indeed like to see me drive with my boots on. Your pheromone gratification levels went way up and I do detect an erection under your pajamas. It seems that it will be easy for me to reward you for good behavior.

This last statement was too much for Robert. He knew that the robot didn't mean to tease him, but he was out of his tree with sensual overload. In spite of her kindness and patience, his shyness caused him to clam up. 

Sally could not really understand why the boy was attracted to her and went to so much trouble to dress her up. As such she started to perform an analysis...

Sally started by feeding her body measurements into one of her utility programs. (72.5” height barefoot, 36” bust- bust protrusion- large ‘C’ cup, 25” waist, 36” hips, calves 16.5”, 14” biceps, apparent 5% body fat, apparent age 28…) It gave her a phrase “tall, shapely, thin, amazon, babe”. She checked her release notes and found that her face and body was designed to be a morph of a younger Faith Hill (from 2001) and Julie Newmar (One of the Catwomen on the Batman TV show) from the year 1967. Looking these names up using her wireless web connection, the first site was called “Babes of Yesteryear” (The year was 2027). Deciding that she had a good chance of being a babe is, she did another web search. The first three links were an old movie about a pig, a baby store, and “The Ultimate Babe Site”. Ruling out that she was a piglet or a baby, she surfed the “The Ultimate Babe Site”. On the title page was a hyperlink that said, “What is a Babe?” The definition read as, “Usually applied to a very attractive females”. There was also an interview of an anonymous babe, which explained how people were drawn to her. The robot also took the babe challenge test, which exclusively asked questions about her looks. She scored 9.78 out of a possible 10.

Sally quickly came to the conclusion that Bobby enjoyed her looks and that this had strong a strong effect on him! Sally began to studied her outfit and accessories and was still a little perplexed. Why did the boy want her to be so tall? She understood that physically they were mismatched, but why did he want to even do it to a larger extent? She recalled the word amazon from one of her previous Internet searches. She was surprised to find some pictures of men submitting to these large muscular women and wondered if Bobby was like that. Though not overly muscular in form, she knew that she was much physically stronger than even large men were if an emergency required it. The word that she constantly found on the amazon sites was dominant. Next she began to type in descriptions of her unfamiliar clothing, i.e. Tall boots, long gloves, suede suits and got some hits on these. Again the words dominant, fetish, and boss lady-underling came up again much of the time. Sally began to get the meaning of dominant and fetish from the contents of the sites and wondered if Robert wanted her to be a dominant amazon babe wearing fetish clothing. 

Sally- you’re too old to have me as a Nanny, but as a minor, you are in my charge. I apologize that I can’t free your wrists and ankles, since we haven’t built up a kind of trust I’m afraid that you’ll try to leave the vehicle when we make a stop. Also since you are under 21, I must stay activated until your parents come home. 

Robert- if you stay activated until my parents come home, I’ll be in trouble.

Sally-My directives require me to block de-activation to care for a minor, but I promise to deactivate when I confirm that your parents have arrived, which will be when I hear them before they see me.

Robert- will you tell my parents about this?

Sally- one of my features is to never tell one human another’s secrets. 

Sally noticed that Robert's pleasure hormones had abated somewhat and decided to wait for a request from the boy as to how she might please him. She felt bad that he became quiet and sullen on the way home and didn't know quite what to do, only that she was provided with data that teenagers could be moody and needed space, so she complied. After driving back for a half an hour they returned home.

Back Home

As she watched Robert withdraw to his room, Sally decided to change back into her normal blue jeans and wash off her makeup. Her concern was that Robert might feel forced to be with her if she followed him around in her suede suit and accessories.

Robert felt very frustrated, about not being able to confront Sally as he relieved himself several times and just fell asleep on his bed.

The Next Morning

Sally appeared as yesterday in no fetish clothes, just checking in on Robert a few times asking him if he needed anything. Both times he said no even to a sandwich.

The Next Afternoon

Robert woke up from a late afternoon nap to find Sally sitting on his bed staring at him intently. Robert was extremely embarrassed because he slept naked. Sally sensed embarrassment, but did not know that he was naked under the covers. She asked if she should leave. Bobby being speechless could only shake his head no.

She had evidently decided to change out of her blue jeans...

Sally had donned what appeared to be a chauffeur’s outfit. It included an extremely well tailored blue blazer with matching skirt. She wore a red dress tie around her neck that added to the formalness. What struck the boy next was her shiny black leather English riding boots. They looked like an expensive pair that tapered exquisitely toward the toes. Her hands were covered with white leather gloves. Robert noticed that the blazer was fully buttoned but that there was no blouse under the tie.

Sally- Robert, is there something we should discuss? I think that you are ignoring me. I have upset and displeased you!

Robert- I'm more upset at myself.

Sally- please explain.

Robert- you're kind of like a real girl. I don't know how to ask girls for certain things. Robert was so shocked by her new outfit, that he forgot to ask her where she got it.

Sally- when we were in the car I detected that we showed friendship behavior. If you trust me, I can take care of your needs. I have failed at this the last couple of days.

Robert- Sally when I look at you, especially when you're "dressed up" I have certain urges.

Sally-Please share these urges. 

Robert (stuttering) - I have alot of thoughts. I want to touch you in pppprivate places, but I also want to kkkisss your boots. I also want to be touched by yyyyooou. 

Sally- I can see that you are very physically attracted to me. That pleases me. We can try some of these things. You can teach me about human touching. 

Robert was dying to remove Sally's blazer, but felt too awkward. He basically stared at her and began to shake.

Sally- Bobby, I was able to download some state of the art sexual intimacy software, for my operating system, from one of companies sites this morning with a secret code. Should I help you along?

Robert nodded as his body continued to shake uncomfortably with anticipation. Sally adjusted his mood by emitting a high concentration calming pheromones as she caressed his face with her white lambskin gloves.

Sally- Robert, I think that you'll find me to be special. I won’t judge you or hurt your feelings like a real girl. I can catalog your body reactions to me and sooth or stimulate you as much as I think you need it.

When Robert calmed down a bit, Sally pulled away the covers to reveal Robert's nakedness. Her eyes lit up when she saw his healthy erection. She purposely ignored his embarrassment and decided to begin to work on him.

Sally- Robert, you have a nice firm body also, please remove my blazer! It's time for your lesson; you're old enough now.

Sally straddled the boy, her knees on either side of his hips, lowering herself so he could unbutton her blazer. She helped him by shrugging it off revealing a gossamer black bra over her very ample bosom. Her white leather gloves were opera length, covering both elbows and biceps.

The "mechanical servant" teased the boy by licking her leather index finger and slowly slid it "southwards" from his forehead down, lingering over his nostrils. The gloves had small seams on the fingers that Sally used as skillfully as anyone could use their fingernails. For another sensation she would twist her finger slightly and expose the boy to the smoother leather. Robert found it unbelievably arousing as Sally continued to trace her finger down the hairy center of his stomach. She then suprised him by attacking the ticklish areas of his skin, with her glove seems between his groin and waist. She purposely avoided stroking the boy's cock and decided to massage his balls and gave them a soft squeeze.

Sally dismounted from Robert and coaxed him to a standing position. She still towered over him in her riding boots by 8 inches and took a moment to study him with a clinical expression. Pulling him close, she gently stepped on his foot. The robot gently caressed the top of the boy’s foot with the treaded rubber soles of her riding boot. He felt slight pain from the treads but just enough to stimulate him. She then stepped down again gently rubbing her boot shafts against his sensitive leg hairs. Robert being thoroughly distracted did not see Sally start to knot the bottom of her tie. 

Sally stroked a line up and down Robert's penis with her white lambskin glove before she grasped it by the head between her thumb and index finger with a feathery touch. She proceeded to slip her knotted tie around his member at the base with a firm double knot. Robert was a bit scared by this, but Sally took his hands and placed them on her gossamer black bra, diverting his attention...

Sally began to crouch down partially and guided Robert to a kneeling position. 

Sally- from my profiling of your behavior, I have decided to have you submit to some basic dominance. Please lick my boots. If you perform poorly, my tie will put much strain on your penis. Tap me three times on a boot to stop this. Please start down below and work your way up my boot shafts.

Bobby began to lick Sally's boots with great passion but found that his tongue had gotten dry rather quickly which caused him to slow down. Sensing this Sally reached out and rubbed Robert's nipples causing them to enlarge enough so she could apply soft pinches. Robert's nipples also felt an amazingly erotic tingling caused by a low-level electrical current administered by the robot. (Her gloves contained tiny electrical conducting particles.) Simultaneously she began started to stand up, which caused the boy's cock to stretch due to the tie wrapped around it causing mild discomfort. This continued several more times before Robert tapped Sally's leg three times indicating that he could no longer service her black riding boots.

Robert's robot riding mistress then removed the tie from his cock and easily lifted him off the ground holding him like she was cuddling a small child. He was then placed on his bed and Sally moved the boy's arms to his side, sitting on the bed next to him. 

Sally- I need to understand more about your behavior when I was chauffeuring you in the car Robert.

Robert- Ahh? Whhatt?

Sally- I require for you to totally trust me. I have a procedure for training you. I will reward you for answering my questions and will withhold your pleasure if you hesitate. Also you are not allowed to move. You need to be comfortable in my control.

Sally soft white glove began to masterfully stroke Robert's cock head as she spoke. There was also a slight current being applied to his member causing all of his nerve ends to feel sensation in unison. Sally was aware that this was shown to be clinically addicting to humans, causing erotic feedback where a human would continue to cum indefinitely. She did not wish to sustain this form of masturbation for too long.

Sally- please explain to me about your bad boy pajamas. Why would a young man wear something like that at 18? Aren't they only for children?

Robert hesitated and Sally stopped her stroking and stood up starting to walk away.

Robert- Sorry, I'll tell you.

Sally returned and continued her stroking.

Robert- Sally, I wanted you to put me in bondage using the pajamas and then stimulate me by remote control using the sound system. It goes along with my fantasy of being taken away by a booted and gloved kidnapper.

Sally- Thank you. That's a cute fantasy! Please relax now.

After more of Sally's attention Robert was able to cum twice and after some cuddling and kissing, he rolled over and fell asleep...

The next thing Robert remembered was waking up in a sitting position. It was dark out and it took him a few seconds to release that he was sitting in the passenger seat of his car moving along a highway unknown to him. As his eyes adjusted, he saw some movement. Sally was taking him for a ride wearing her suede outfit from before having also donned her brown thigh boots and brown lambskin gloves. She had also put on opaque mirror sunglasses. He noticed that he was wearing his bondage pajamas again with his hands bound together. He had a scarf wrapped around his face that hid a ball gag in his mouth. He was also wearing headphones playing strange old mood music unknown to him. (The grateful dead.)

Robert began to panic and strained to free his bonds. Sally, who was otherwise completely ignoring him, reached over and raised the volume of the stereo, which also caused the magnets in the boy's pajamas to put him back in a fetal position. Feeling that his straining was hopeless, he calmed down.

Sally had remembered seeing Robert configure the car stereo to activate the sensors in his bondage pajamas and had done the same. The robot decided to sample Robert's reactions, by manipulating in turn, all of the controls of the stereo system using her sleek brown glove. Robert was teased and stimulated from his ears to the tips of his toes by Sally for a several minutes before they arrived at their final destination...

Sally had turned the car onto a dirt road that went directly into a forest. She turned at several forks in the road and took a narrow winding road that ended in a clearing. The robot then stopped the car and turned off the ignition, freeing Robert from his bondage pajamas.

Sally preened herself by flipping her long hair forward and then backward again causing it to look well styled but vampy. She then licked her lips sensually and turned to Robert, helping him remove his scarf and ball gag.

Sally- Robert, this is the last step of your training. I want you to make out with me and stimulate me; you make the moves this time. Don't worry about messing my clothes.

Feeling less shy with Sally now, Robert removed his bondage pajamas, leaving him naked.

Sally pulled a level under the seat that brought it way back, then lowered it. She was able to push the steering wheel into the dash in the new model car.

Robert kissed Sally square on the lips feeling her warmth and was turned on as she reacted with a very womanly sigh. Sally caressed Robert's back with her lambskin-covered hands and then slipped her tongue into his mouth. The boy enjoyed the faint almond taste and felt bad when he slobbered on Sally a bit. 

Robert pulled away for a second and Sally gave him a sweet smile and told him to suck in when he French kissed. Sally soon pulled Robert back to him, but first rolled up her skirt so he was straddling her while sitting on her lap. He really got hot feeling the tops of her thigh boots against his butt and being held against Sally's ample chest.

Getting more comfortable Robert began to kiss Sally on the ears and neck while she let out a series of ecstatic moans. Her body felt like human skin. Feeling confidant, he began to remove her blouse clumsily with impatience, anticipating the fruits hidden within. After her blouse was removed Sally helped him undo her gossamer black bra. This released her large round breasts, which sagged just enough making them a masterpiece of boob jobs. 

Robert began to lick the robots large pinkish nipples causing them to enlarge dramatically. Her moans turned to low screams and she gripped Robert’s hair, pulling him roughly into her chest. He felt like he was riding a wild steed. Her booted legs flexed up and down as she maintained a sitting position while he straddled her lap.

Sally- Robert, please eat me.

Sally removed her lacy panties.

Robert complied and kneeled before Sally still sitting up in the driver's seat. He stuck his head between her legs and he felt a movement. The robot had stretched her legs out and was trying to rub the boy's cock with her boot shafts as he licked away. Her crotch tasted subtly like bazooka bubble gum. Sally grabbed Robert by the back of the neck and began to scream loudly. He heard her mumble under her breath "Make me cum like a real girl!” Robert soon felt the wave of her orgasm as he thought that she would rip his neck off.

After Sally's orgasm, she pushed Robert back under the dashboard and positioned her boots on either side of his cock, resting her heels on the ground in front of his testicles. Since he was well lubricated and nearly gone himself, Sally needed only about 20 strokes of a very dexterous boot job to bring him off.

After, Sally asked Robert to step out of the car and lick his cum off her boots. When she was satisfied to coaxed him to stand again. Sally towered about 13" over Robert and began to hold him tightly.

Sally- Robert, you were fabulous. This concludes your lesson.

Robert- Sorry?

Sally- I hope that you will now be more comfortable with human girls. My work is done.

Robert- you mean we cannnn’t you know what you?

Sally- No. A robot is not meant to be a crutch for a human being. I am your servant, but not your call girl. Go find humans for your pleasure using what courage you learned from me in overcoming your shyness.

Robert was very distraught. 

Robert- but Sally. I love you.

Sally- love me like a friend's big sister that showed you once how to please her.

Robert- does this mean no physical touching, you wearing boots or anything? Sally; please don't reject me like this. I beg you.

Sally- maybe we can play again on your birthday or I'll indulge you if I know that you tried with other humans. 

Sally had decided to share a wireless message at a frequency shared with her sister robots. It related her experiences and how both father (chauffeur’s outfit) and son had bought her outfits. She recommended that humans sometimes preferred to be handled with kid gloves. (:) With lambskin gloves and boots preferably.)

Robert felt dejected and did not see the light right away. Two months later asked out a shy tall student librarian (Jillian). He was sure wore boots sometimes under her long skirts. After 10 dates she admitted to him that she had a thing for boots and wondered if he too did after she caught him staring at her boots trying to figure out their height. Boot kissing commenced on date 10 of her over the knee, flat leather boots. Date 11 included bondage pajamas, a familiar suede outfit with accessories worn under a long leather brown trench coat, and a long car ride.

Sally did keep her promise and would occasionally indulge Robert until he was engaged with Jillian 4 years later.



A Coming Of Angels



Hollywood: August, 1982

"This isn't me," he thought, as he threaded his way through the evening traffic. The nimble little Turbo Carrera responded instantly to the touch, propelling him effortlessly down the broad expanse of Hollywood Boulevard. It seemed he merely had to envision a gap between vehicles in one lane or another and the speedy coupe teleported him there in the blink of an eye. The speedometer's final hash mark on the MPH scale read: "180". He had no doubt a quick trip up to Mulholland Drive would confirm it – if he didn't plunge off the hillside first. Most men would be oozing from the thrill the hideously-expensive wunderkar provided. He was not most men and he was already bored.

This was supposed to be a good time; the first day of a self-imposed one-month vacation. He didn't even want to think how long it had been since he had taken time off - from anything. He had purchased the car, on impulse, scant hours before; saw it through the showroom window, went in, wrote the check without so much as a test drive and drove away, leaving his mother's Sedan de Ville behind. He had mixed emotions about that. On one hand, he felt somehow disloyal to his parents' memory; on the other, he had grieved long enough.

They had been dead two years; killed in a fiery auto wreck on the way to the ceremony marking the end of his final surgical residency. That, following so closely on the heels of the stunning denouement of the Moscow Olympiad, made it the worst year of his life. He had trained so hard – for both – to make his parents proud. The then-26-year-old prodigy, sole heir to a family legacy five generations in the making, voted by his high school classmates as "the one most likely to exceed", threw all his energies into his new practice – it was all he had left. One way or another, he was going to justify his claim to the family name and heritage; if not in their eyes, at least in his own.

His practice had really taken off. Everyone in Hollywood knew he was the go-to guy if they wanted anything from a little touch-up to a major overhaul – and, of course, there was his specialty. It was a new procedure that was sweeping the nation and the world. Many surgeons were now performing it – with mixed results. He had championed it from the beginning of his practice and had established himself as its most skilled and artistic practitioner. All of Los Angeles was his for the taking, but they came from as far away as New York as well; the adventurous, the ambitious, sometimes the desperate, seeking from him what Nature had denied. He was only too happy to help; for him, it was a labor of love. 

He had a vision for the future, too. The architects had presented him with the drawings the previous day. He had no doubts whatsoever he would get his clinic built. Money? As the sole heir to the family estate (five generations' worth), the only problem remaining was what to do with it all – and that was before he added in his own earnings.

So why was he cruising Hollywood Boulevard on the first night of vacation, like some damn high school kid, when he could be on a beach anywhere in the world? That's easy, Dummy, he thought to himself. You didn't bother making plans to go anywhere because you have no one to take with you. For all his wealth, success, and fame, he was alone.

There had been opportunities, to be sure. There seemed no end to the eligible socialites (some eligible for the second, third, or fourth time) who wanted to add his name to their own – at least, long enough to qualify for community property ("Let's see; fifty percent of everything is..."). He could have taken his pick – and been as quickly bored with her as he was with the car. That would be one Hell of an expensive lay, he thought with a chuckle. In truth, he would not have had time to become bored with her because time was one luxury he did not have in abundance. The hours he put into his practice would destroy any marriage. He often joked about being married to his career, and how demanding a bitch she was. No, he had other needs, special needs, the kind you didn't find in Beverly Hills. 

He ought to know; he had lived there all his life. He still did, in the same house he had grown up in; part of the legacy from those who came before him, whose vocational and social traditions he continued to flout. He knew exactly the kind of woman his parents would have – had – wanted him to marry: one of their own kind. They had certainly set him up with enough of the vapid vamps over the years. The very thought of coming home to one of them every night revulsed him. Even the straightest of arrows has at least one little kink; his wasn't so little. Finding the right woman, one with the right attributes was not easy. 

At least he knew where to look – which explained his presence on Hollywood Boulevard. He knew in his heart she was out there, somewhere. His fantasy woman was bad to the bone. She would make him ooze on sight and do things to him no Beverly Hills Barbie would ever dream of doing. Even if he could not have her for a lifetime, he could at least have her for a night. His previous experiences had all been disappointments. The women had all been willing enough, but there was always some intangible that had been missing. Perhaps this time, he thought wistfully.

***

She was nineteen and newly-arrived in El Norte. She was exquisita; so the men had told her a thousand times. Her thick, lustrous copper hair cascaded past her shoulders in a full, fluffy mass of skillfully-crafted curls. Her delicate facial features were offset by prominent cheekbones, full, plush lips and sparkling emerald doe eyes. At 5'7" and 38D-22-36, she stopped traffic wherever she went – an asset to her current vocation. So, too, were her voracious sexual appetite and animal intensity. She didn't have to be working that street corner; not anymore. She made enough dancing for the rich Norteños (rich to her, anyway) at the gentlemen's club on Pico to live comfortably – but not enough to finance her dream.

When she was very young, her abuela recounted stories of what her family had been, in the golden years before la Revolución. They had been patrónes then; the hereditary governors of Oaxaca. That title had been bestowed upon her ancestor by his cousin, Fernando de Aragón. Their lands extended as far as the eye could see. They had hundreds of peónes working the fields, tending, then harvesting the crops. Her family had lived in a manner befitting their royal lineage. 

Their fall from grace had begun when her great-great-great-great grandfather had thrown his support behind the Usurper, Maximiliano. The vengeful Juárez had stripped him of his governorship after the emperor's execution. The disgraced patrón had been lucky to escape with his life and some of his land. Even that had not lasted. After la Revolución, all but one meager parcel of land had been 'redistributed' to the peónes. The family fortune and all accoutrements of it were gone. Only the proud patrician name remained of their lost heritage. The little girl dreamed of those times, of wealth and privilege she had never known, and vowed she would one day find a way to recapture that lost glory.

The Dream had sustained her through the dark times. It had begun to take shape eight years before, with an early puberty. She knew no Inglés then; she had no idea what the word precocious meant. She knew only that she had a hunger she could never quite satisfy – and that men had begun to hunger for her. If she hadn't run away to Mexico City three years later and found an outlet for her proclivities – one that paid reasonably well – she would probably still be in the nondescript little village in Oaxaca, all the men using her as their all-too-willing fucktoy por nada, which is what her life would have amounted to. The dream had beckoned her; distant, yet alluring.

The five years spent working the streets of the Districta Federal had matured her far beyond her years. She had met another like her. Lola was two years older, beautiful in her own right and already "street-smart". They bonded and became best friends. With Lola's help, she had learned Inglés – and so much more. Lola had impressive skills in hairstyling, makeup, and creating beautiful sculptured nails – skills so important in their line of work. The younger girl had learned some of those hair and makeup skills; enough to transform herself into a seductive siren who rapidly gained notoriety along the Avenida de la Revolución. She understood men now, had an instinctive feel for their minds and moods and knew how to manipulate both. Even so, men were fickle; whether they stayed ten minutes or ten months, they always left; moved on to newer, fresher thrills or returned to their wives and families – until the next temptation came along. Still, there were always other men....

It had been Lola's decision that they had to get out now. The teen temptress hadn't seen the need and said so. Lola explained that she wouldn't until they put some distance between themselves and the streets. The elder enchantress added they could both do better going north to los Estados Unidos. The Dream called to her at the mention of that fabled place. This time, it seemed closer than before. She had to admit; the once-wondrous Ciudad de México had lost much of its perceived luster.

She and Lola had escaped together. They had dazzled the Border Patrol agent in San Ysidro with their spectacular beauty, forged documentation, and well-rehearsed pitch. Their Inglés was nearly flawless; their personal grooming and dress equally so – in the flamboyant, Latina style. They had been visiting relatives in TJ, they had claimed. The childhood friends had both been born in Santa Ana, shared an apartment there, and attended cosmetology school in Lake Forest (Orange County, don't you know). They paid the bills working at Mr. J's on Ettinger, just off the Fifty-five freeway – Lola as a cocktail waitress, her friend as a dancer – and you really must stop in and see us sometime when you are not working. The Mister J's business card, acquired from a Norteño trick some weeks before, had been the crowning touch.

Once through Customs, they were on the bus for San Diego's Union Station, where they boarded Amtrak's Coastliner for the trip north. They waved and blew kisses at the station in Santa Ana as the express train passed through. It seemed like a nice enough place; it just wasn't enough. They settled back in their cushioned seats as the iron coach carried them ever closer to their goal. That they chose the City of Angels was a given; it was much closer than Nueva York and had a large Hispanic population they could blend into. 

After only a few weeks, Lola was already on-track towards realizing her dream. Her cosmetology and tonsorial skills had landed her a job at an upscale salon in West Hollywood. The auburn-tressed temptress had a different ambition. She had gotten the job at the gentlemen's club even faster, having been hired as soon as she walked through the door, newspaper ad in hand. The Dream was now enticingly close at hand.

The new videotape technology was changing the face of the entertainment industry. Fresh faces who had little chance of breaking into the multi-billion-dollar motion picture business could now be viewed on television screens all over America and the world via dozens of start-up video companies operating out of nondescript offices or homes on shoestring budgets. Nowhere was that more evident than in the field of adult entertainment. 

The porn video market was new and wide open; just waiting for someone to stake a claim to superstardom. She had studied the available tapes in depth – was this what the Norteños called a "pun"? The current crop of video vixens was attractive enough, but most appeared to be sleepwalking through their sex scenes. She didn't understand how any man could get turned on by such lackluster performances. The comely concubine determined there was an oportunidad to be exploited. The catch was, as with all new things, she would have to move quickly.

She could have been a star right then; just walked on, done an "audition" and been hired right away – but for one small detail. The existing 'stars' had at least one thing in common; they were all legal residents. She was not. Her forged birth certificate and driver's license had been good enough to pass the cursory scrutiny of the bored border agent and an unscrupulous club manager who knew the score and wasn't above taking advantage of it (part of the price of doing business, she told herself), but would never hold up under an official inquiry. 

That was the thing about adult video; as with any new "fringe" market, it was subject to constant prosecutorial harassment. Actors, actresses, directors, producers, even adult theater and bookstore owners were being arrested left and right on knee-jerk morals and/or obscenity charges ("I can't tell you what it is, but I know it when I see it"). They all had lawyers to get them out – a benefit they might not willingly extend to an "illegal" if that omission might cut them a better deal with the District Attorney. And once the dreaded INS got their hooks into her.... She put the thought out of her mind.

Her ambition was being threatened on yet another front. Although she was a natural for porn, "natural" was no longer good enough. Another new technology was sweeping America in general and her industry in particular; breast augmentation surgery. The reasons for this epidemic were simple: 1) Men had all the money, and 2) Men loved big boobs; the bigger the better. More and more D-cups were appearing every day. Several of the girls at the club had already gotten "done", as had some of the current video porn stars. True, most of them had gotten cheap cut-and-paste jobs that left noticeable scars and asymmetrical bustlines. Still, she would soon be just another filly in the D-cup derby – unless....

 No one in the business had it all; the looks, talent, erotic appeal and the kind of aesthetically-pleasing fantasy chest that made men ooze. The ambitious vixen had resolved to be that "it" girl; she would get the "boob job" to end all boob jobs and take the video industry by storm. Once she was a star, she reasoned, the rest would fall into place. 

After a careful investigation of surgical options, she knew she would never be able to afford the surgeon she really wanted on a dancer's pay alone. She made contacts all the time at the club where she worked, but most of them were sleazoid scam-artists who demanded much more than they could deliver in return. She wanted nothing to do with such men – at least, not on their terms. Commercial loans were out of the question. First, they were not being extended to women for breast enhancement surgery. Second, there was the issue of the credit check.

She determined she would raise the money through a method she already knew well. She had had misgivings about slipping back into her old ways. It wasn't that she hated The Life; quite the opposite. Unlike other girls (including Lola), who did it because they had to, she adored it – perhaps too much. She thrilled at being the bad girl, living on the edge, having anonymous sex with strangers and getting paid for it.

 Lola was horrified at the news. The concerned cosmetologist cautioned it would be the death of her, that she was a sex addict, had gotten hooked on it once before and had barely escaped with her health and sanity. The streets of Los Ángeles were even meaner than those of the Distrícta Federál, Lola had warned; death for a girl like her came quicker – and uglier - here. 

The auburn-haired angel had countered that nothing made her feel more alive. Verdad, there was danger, but that was part of the thrill. Yes, many of the men were forgettable; boom, boom, done and gone, next, please. But every once in a while, there would be one who was muy hombre, muy rico, y muy largo, one that rocked her world even as she rocked his. She lived for such men. 

Every women fantasized about a knight in shining armor who would sweep her off her feet and carry her away to his castle to live happily every after. Her white knight adored her perversions as much as she and lived in a posh, luxurious mansion (so much more comfortable than a cold, drafty stone castle), where they would live happily and kinkily ever after. It was a nice fantasy, but a fantasy nonetheless. 

Still, she had to admit her older, more-experienced friend had a point. She had a goal now, and a plan to achieve it. She had to make her money and get off these damn streets before her constant cravings consumed her once more, prevented her from fulfilling her dreams of success.

***

He spied the dazzling red-headed hooker casually strolling the corner. It was as if she had just stepped out of a casting call for a "B" movie; tight black leather micro-miniskirt, low-cut halter-top, seamed stockings, stiletto heels. Her makeup, hair, breathtaking long fingernails – she was the one! His heart skipped a beat. If he could have given physical form to his recurring fantasies, his modern-day Pygmalion, it would be her; the complete antithesis of the chic, couture coquettes he had known all his twenty-eight years. This was a bad girl, a slut-for-hire, and he craved her with every fiber of his being. 

The sudden swelling in his pants bore evidence to his desire. He knew nothing about this exquisite stranger, of course. There was no earthly reason to believe she would be any different than the others. He had only his instinct to guide him – and one split-second to make a simple choice. He chose - and almost totaled the Porsche cutting across two lanes of traffic, angling to pull up beside her.

She couldn't miss the familiar sound of screeching tires, indignant horns, and angry curses behind her, so reminiscent of the Avenida. She turned to observe the silver flash of sport coupe as it pulled to the curb, its twin turbos winding down. She strutted confidently to the passenger window. The click-click-click of her stiletto heels beat a staccato rhythm on the sidewalk. She placed both elegantly-manicured hands on the sill and leaned over, flashing her cleavage. The scent of Shalimar wafted about her like a seductive veil. 

With practiced eye, she duly noted the dealer sticker on the opposite window and pristine, fresh-from-the-showroom smell. But it was the driver himself that really caught her attention. She appraised him with a long, lingering once-over from head to toe. He was exactly the kind of man that made her ooze; a thick head of sandy blonde hair, piercing baby blue eyes, handsome, powerfully-built (an athlete, perhaps), expensive-looking shirt and pants.... ¡Dios Mio! It was all she could do to avoid staring at his crotch. The enchantress hid her excitement, did some quick mental arithmetic, arrived at an appropriate number and vowed to not let this "catch" slip through her fingers.

The arrangements were quickly made. Her accent was so thick it could be cut with a knife. She had discovered most Anglos – at least, the ones she met out here - found a Hispanic accent really attractive, especialmente when it belonged to a zorra like her. Her practiced come-on was all jiggly tits and breathy, whispered desire, so full of urgency (which was not a lie in this case). Money was almost an afterthought – by careful design. 




A Coming Of Angels



As expected, the trick hadn't batted an eye when the tantalizing temptress offered to show him "a real good time" for $250. She tucked the cash into her ample cleavage with practiced tease, slid into the supple leather passenger seat, and closed the precision-engineered door with an effortless click. As the Porsche pulled out into the evening traffic, she guided her 'date' back to her motel room. All the while, her own anticipation grew, commensurate with his, as she massaged the massive bulge in his expensive, tailored slacks.

It was supposed to be strictly business. They knew that. It was supposed to be strictly sex. They knew that. It was supposed to be strictly physical. They knew that. What neither knew was how to rein in the surging electricity between them. Any thoughts of "emotional detachment" were forgotten in that first explosive coupling. He was all she craved in a man, and then some. She was the embodiment of all his dreams, and then some. She wanted him again and again; he desired the same. Each fought the same inner demons, their heads battling with their hormones, even as they reached for their shared Nirvana.

The tantalizing tart reminded herself; this one was just a 'date' like all the others. Soon, he would have enough of her, get up, and go back to his beautiful home, beautiful wife, beautiful life, as all the others had. Still, she had her cravings; if she hadn't gotten the money up front, she might have done him all night for free, caught up in the rapture of sex with such an Adonis.

He had no illusions; he knew he was just another 'trick' to her. He had paid her to get his rocks off and she had. Oh, God, had she ever! It didn't seem like she was ever going to stop! He felt he had found what had been missing from his life all these years and didn't want to let her go. "This is crazy," he thought. "It couldn't work. She is a child, not even out of her teens. I mean nothing to her. Only one more thing would make her perfect. OK, two more things...." For the first time in his life, he wasn't sure what to do.

Dawn was breaking before they did. Somewhere along the way, they had introduced themselves; Chaz and Marísa. There was an awkward moment as each seemed to defer to the other to make the next move. As he began making motions to get up, the thoroughly-ravished seductress's well-honed instincts took over. She impulsively grabbed her paramour by his cock – which instantly sprang to life – pulled him to her and looked him straight in the eye. "This belongs to me now," she intoned. "Don't even think of sticking it in some other bitch's cunt. You want it? You come to me. I have what you need, and always will – for a price." 

Her words struck exactly the right chord in the aroused Anglo's ears. In a daze, he extracted ten $100 bills from his wallet, rolled them up, and slipped them into her ample cleavage. No words were necessary on his part; the look in his eyes said it all. Even so, he told her to call it a "retainer" for future services. She rewarded him with a soul-searing kiss, grinding her body against his. 

The wicked wanton extracted a business card from her purse. The cards had been a suggestion from the girls she worked with, one of two they claimed would pay for themselves many times over in business "on the side". Her choice had been sinfully extravagant; heavy stock with a shiny clayed surface, embossed with a blossoming red rose above a centered, scripted legend:

Marísa Duarte

 Specialties

The telephone number in the lower-right corner was that of the answering service which fielded her calls – a must in the days before pagers and cell phones and the second of her "business expenses". She jotted the address of the club, her personal phone number (she regarded the phone in her room as such) and the words "CALL ME!". 

After he was safely out of earshot, her reaction was anything but indifferent. The auburn-haired enchantress leaned backward against the door, planted a passionate kiss on the bundle of $100 bills, extended it arm's-length into the air, and let out a whoop of joy in celebration of striking gold. She didn't know if she would ever see him again; tricks will promise you anything, then disappear off the face of the earth. If she didn't, the night had been marvilloso – and she was that much closer to her goal, as well. But maybe, just maybe.... She dared not put a voice to her wish, for fear of hexing it.

"Chaz" appeared in the audience that same night. She almost fell off the catwalk in shock and delight. The first visit begat a second, a third, an endless string of nights. Each was the same; she danced for dozens of men, yet only for him. He was her most devoted admirer and most generous tipper. After her shift ended, they left (discreetly separate, per club rules) and rekindled their mutual lust.

At first it had been just a prolonged fling. He was richer, better-looking, better-mannered, and better-equipped than most 'dates', but she didn't read anything more into it. She did not even know his last name. He knew hers, from the card she had given him, but never dwelled on it. She had the private telephone number he had given her, but never used it. There was no need; he was calling her several times a day and she adored the attention. 

There was an unspoken agreement between them, to live for the moment and not have any unreasonable expectations for the future. She knew the rules; apparently, so did he. She enjoyed the hours spent with this handsome, unpretentious Anglo, knowing his boundless generosity would soon enable her to obtain her cherished 'boob job'. She had not approached him on the subject, not knowing what his reaction would be. With Anglos, it could go either way; they could be either wildly enthusiastic about the prospect or Puritanically opposed to such "fakery". She didn't want to rock the boat just yet, but if she played him carefully, she might even persuade him to finance the surgery outright, saving the money he had already given her as a nice bonus.

The days and nights became a blur of passions yearned, sated, then yearned anew. Marísa marveled at this amazing man of means who apparently did nada for a living. He had told her little about himself, but he was obviously well-known and held in the highest esteem by the local elite. She was unnerved as he took her to decidedly high-class restaurants, clubs, even shops along the fabled Rodeo Drive, where well-to-do people greeted Chaz on a first-name basis. She could only imagine the kind of life he led. He had not spoken of a wife or family, but the men in her life rarely did. An absurd notion repeatedly tugged at her consciousness: if he married her, she could get her boob job, instant legal residency AND respectability. Each time, Marísa dismissed the thought as an insane delusion, only to have it return, teasing her.

On one occasion, the pair had encountered an acquaintance of Chaz's while they awaited seating at Ma Maison. The polished, patrician woman had flirted with Chaz right in front of her, ignoring the ravishing Redhead as if she were a mere decoration on Chaz's muscular arm. The snub had been subtle, as such women were wont to do, but Marísa had instantly picked up on it. Chaz had spoken of these women before and his derisive label for the breed had stuck in her mind: society sluts. 

He had been gracious, even cordial, in their repartee – and imperceptibly tightened his grip on Marísa's arm, bringing her closer to him. He introduced the Latina to the inconsiderate ingénue, addressing his paramour as "Sweetheart" and presenting her as though the two of them had been together forever. Marísa was enormously flattered by his response – and mortally offended by the temerity of the cunt's affront. 

That the teen temptress flashed a less-than-sincere smile, as well as her long, elegant fingernails, was both instinctive and cautionary to her would-be rival. If Chaz had left her side for even a moment, the comely courtesan would have ripped the hussy's eyes out of her skull with her crimson talons. Just then, the maitre d' announced their table and Chaz deftly defused the situation by excusing them from his admirer.

In retrospect, that animalistic reaction – and the realization of its cause - stunned Marísa. She had been instantly, insanely jealous of even the smallest bit of attention Chaz had paid the bitch, and possessive – no, territorial – of Chaz himself. She had never felt this intensity of emotion before, not even in the old days in the Distrícta Federál, when another puta put the moves on one of her dates. And Chaz had risen to her defense like, like... like a knight in shining armor! 

Marísa knew at that moment she was falling in love with him. Her imagined machinations aimed at insuring legitimacy, residency, even her cherished boob job now seemed inconsequential; she wanted him! Even now she harbored thoughts, hopes, prayers of making him hers alone - but how? She had now seen the face of the competition – and the teen tart was afraid.

Marísa had shared everything about her whirlwind romance with Lola. Now she broached the subject of a "makeover", reasoning that if she, Marísa, became more like the elegant women that inhabited Chaz's world, she would have a better chance of keeping him. Lola recoiled in disgust at the suggestion. She placed her hands on her younger friend's shoulders, held her close, and looked her in the eye.

"Querída, I love you like my own flesh and blood. You know how I feel about your whoring around, how much it frightens me. But you are what you are; flashy, provocative, a puta, who lives for the thrill of flaunting yourself for all to see. This man has been good to you, is good for you, and I want you to be happy with him. 

"The change you propose is so not you. You would despise it in a week. More to the point, I think he would despise it inmediatamente. From what you have told me, he could have his pick of such women anytime he chooses. If that were his desire, would he be spending all his time - y dinero - on you? Me paréce que no. Even if he were just...como se dice...'slumming', it wouldn't matter what you look like; he would return to his world and his kind anyway. 

"My advice to you is, be yourself. That is what attracted him to you in the first place. That is what will make him stay – if he is to stay at all. Venga, let me show you what I think he really wants."

Marísa danced at the club that night. Lola's ministrations had had the desired effect – on everyone. Even the dazzling dancer herself was aroused by the cosmetologist's enchanting, erotic 'creation'. Taking her best friend's admonition to heart, Marísa slipped into her first dance costume - and the persona that fit her best; that of the libertine, streetwise strumpet who lived for carnal pleasure and could not be satisfied by any one man. It was that incarnation that drove most men wild in the past; it would be that puta on which she would now hang her hopes for the future. The puta knew she would have sex with someone that night, whether Chaz or another. Against that knowledge, she tucked a spare motel room key into an inner pouch in her garter, designed for just such a purpose.

The teen temptress's "come-hither" seductive appeal and sensual body movements struck the audience like a bomb. She had no time to look for Chaz; she was overwhelmed by requests for table dances, lap dances – and more. One tall, muscular black man just kept slipping twenty-dollar bills into her garter until she promised him his requested 'couch dance' in the V.I.P. suite upstairs. 

Club rules were explicit; dancers were not allowed to have sex with patrons on club premises. Still, there were exceptions to any rule – or at least ways to get around it – and this man was really attractive, on a par with Chaz. Surreptitiously, shielded from view between their bodies, his hands were not to be denied their gentle, yet insistent exploration of her most private parts. The lovely Latina was already halfway to Paradise as they mounted the stairs. Her suitor was not far behind.

The sensual siren spied Chaz as she descended the steps from the second floor. She excused herself from her patron with a flourish of more-than-casual affection and made her way towards her lover's table. En route, she stopped to flirt with other guests, acceding to a request for a lap dance barely ten feet from her novio. Her body teased, taunted, aroused the enraptured man; her eyes drifted past his ear, locking onto a pair of Baby Blues she knew all too well.

She stood before him at last, having run the gauntlet of aroused patrons. She herself was in a heightened state of arousal; so much so, she made no attempt to hide the glistening wet spot in the crotch of her skimpy costume. She had intended to punish Chaz, make him jealous of the other men's affections – just as she had been jealous of the bimba rica who had come on to him in the restaurant. 

One glance at his crotch suggested an entirely different reaction to her pandering proclivities. Accepting his proffered $100 bill, she granted him a blistering lap dance, admonishing him not to touch her, as per club rules. As she writhed against his body, she made certain he could feel her wetness, hinting it was not her wetness alone that he felt.

The wayward wench, filled with sudden inspiration, barraged her paramour with a stream-of-consciousness patter about her just-completed intimate interlude in the V.I.P. suite. Fact was liberally interspersed with fiction, yet Chaz was none the wiser. She felt, rather than saw his obvious anatomical response. Marisa began to see a pattern she recognized from the past – and thoroughly relished. Perhaps it was not just the look that turned Chaz on. For the first time, the young woman dared to believe she really could make this norteño hers alone. She would be taking an awful risk, but one way or another, she had to find out.

She slipped the room key into his pants pocket, lingering oh-so-lovingly on his aroused manhood. She whispered breathily in his ear, instructing him to go to her motel room and wait for her there. Her instructions went on explicitly, ending with a warning: "You are not the only game in town, mi corazón. Do it my way, or...." 

With that, she ended the dance and walked away, not even looking back. She made her way directly to the table of the black man she had danced for earlier. Alighting on his lap, she encircled his neck with her arms and whispered in his ear as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Hugging him tightly, she then looked back to Chaz, fixing his gaze with her own. He received her unspoken message clearly. He left the club, following her instructions as explicitly as she had voiced them. He wasn't sure how long he waited before she arrived. All he knew was she wasn't alone.

He could see everything; she had made sure of that. He had never seen her look so confident, self-assured, radiant – or desirable. The black calfskin bustier-style minidress looked to be molded to her voluptuous curves. She wore black seamed stockings which followed every contour of her shapely legs, ending in black calfskin ankle-strap sandals with six-inch stiletto heels. 

The man was almost as tall as he; solid, if not as well-defined, skin glistening like polished mahogany. She accepted his money with practiced ease, placing it somewhere out of eyeshot. She returned, unzipped her dress, stepped out of it, and draped it neatly over the dresser. Still clad in garterbelt, stockings, and high heels, she stepped willingly, wantingly, into the man's embrace. 

For what seemed like an eternity, Chaz watched the man take her, have her, use her. He listened to the bed creak, the man's guttural grunts and Marisa's screams and wails as they came again and again, knowing from his own experience she was not faking. There was nothing he could do about it.

When at last it was over and the man had left, Marisa lay on the bed, panting. After a time she got up, strode confidently to the ajar closet door and rolled it fully open on its tracks. Chaz was there, naked, handcuffed to the chair by ankles and wrists, just as she had instructed. She stood before him haughtily, defiantly, her stiletto-clad feet splayed. A dribble of cum oozed languidly down her inner thigh, tracing a lazy path over the top of her stocking. She did not have to ask Chaz's reaction to her "floor show"; his enormous, rock-hard erection spoke for him. 

She straddled his lap and, with a contented sigh, impaled her cum-soaked pussy on his raging rod. The handcuff key dangled from an elastic band encircling her diminutive wrist. She felt no urgent need to use it yet. The temptress cupped her helpless lover's chin in one crimson-taloned hand and held his gaze with her own. "Bueno, mi amor," she intoned. "If it is puta you want, it is puta you will get – with a vengeance!" The rest of the night was sheer bliss.

 From that moment on, Marisa immersed herself in the role that had been a lifetime in the making. She had been in the business long enough to know every man had a 'button', an all-consuming desire that, when pushed, crushed his pride, his ego, his will, and made him do things he would not otherwise dream of doing. Apparently, the other women in Chaz's life didn't know – or care. But she knew – in fact, she had been his 'button' all along. To push it, all she had to do was be herself, just as Lola had admonished. 

Instead of meeting him in the parking lot outside the club, she now had him pick her up in hooker bars where everyone knew her on a first-name basis. She would be dressed and made up brazenly, in a manner that bespoke her 'profession'. The salacious slut made certain a bevy of other men were fawning over her, pawing her oh-so-accessible body by the time he arrived. She would fix his gaze with her own, inviting him, daring him to watch, to see how desirable she was, how easily other men could have her – for the right price. She also made sure everyone – including Chaz - understood he was just another 'date'; if he took her home, fine, if not....

Marisa delighted in devising new variations of the hooker-john game to please her lover. There were the more traditional 'dates' that required him to pick her up on one or another street corner – some in very high-profile, respectable locations. On a few delicious occasions, she mandated the 'pickup point' to be an upscale restaurant lounge or nightclub they had visited before as a couple. 

With Lola's assistance, she now maxed out her whorish appearance and demeanor. She wore only the boldest, most provocative slutwear and skyscraper-stiletto-heeled shoes. Her makeup was far heavier, her hair more dramatic, her fingernails longer and more flashily decorated than even the current fashion trends would allow. The gold neck chains, multiple rings, and three-inch-hoop earrings completed the picture. If she had hung a neon sign around her neck flashing "PROSTITUTE", she could not have been more obvious. 

All who saw them together would know with absolute certainty the true nature of their 'relationship' – which was exactly what the cunning cocktease had intended. The looks of scorn they received from the people who saw them ("Isn't that disgusting? Just look at how he flaunts that trollup!") became a turn-on for both of them. Chaz thrilled at having such a woman on his arm, in his life, and wanted everyone to be jealous. Marisa was equally thrilled to have such a man - on her own terms. After such a thrill, they coupled frantically, sometimes in very public places. He took her forcefully and exploded his cum inside her in torrents – just the way she liked her men.




A Coming Of Angels



In a cramped booth in the rear of an adult bookstore, Marísa introduced Chaz to the world of porn videos. Almost by accident, she stumbled over another of Chaz's 'buttons'; he was insanely turned on by really big-boobed women! She couldn't believe her good luck. It was all falling into place. She revealed her intentions to become a star in the genre, that she was going to get a boob job and become the most desirable, mega-busted, fuckable slut to ever do porn - and he was going to make that future a reality. What followed in that cramped video booth could have put Chaz behind bars on a charge of aggravated rape – if the tempting trollop had been so inclined. As it was, she was much too satisfied to consider it.

Marísa sensed the need in him, his growing dependency on her to give him what he craved. Marisa thrived on the sense of power it gave her. What frightened her most was her growing need for him. He was everything she had ever wanted, needed, desired in a man. When the others had left, she had gotten over them quickly. But Chaz, too, might still leave. 

They had been together less than one month. He had let slip he was taking that amount of time off from everything and everyone in his life and that, happily, he had been able to devote it to her. She had felt a chill in the pit of her stomach then. What – who - was he going back to at the end of the month? 

In spite of everything they had done, said, and meant to each other, there was still that lingering doubt she was not good enough to keep him. If he did leave her, she felt she would be devastated. She would have her boobs and new career, but they would be little comfort for her loss. She was determined she would have him as well, whatever, whoever awaited his return.

Month's end was four days away. Chaz invited Marísa home - to his home - that night. He had told her he had something very important to say. The lovely Latina was stunned - and afraid. She still did not even know his last name. Yes, she wanted desperately to see for herself how this man lived, to see what could be or, at least, what could have been.

Home meant familia. Although he had not specifically mentioned one, how could such a warm, sweet, funny, intelligent, thoughtful, magnificent human being not have una esposa? Was he taking her home to meet this woman, to show her why they could not be together? The thought of meeting this phantom, this otra mujer, was frightening. And what about her? Was she so accommodating that she thought nothing of meeting her husband's mistress? Or was she that confident? She shouldn't be, the young Latina resolved. I am going to make him mine.

As she prepared for this special night, fearing it might be their last, Marisa determined to make it their best yet. On her way to the salon where Lola worked, the teen tart mulled over many different "looks" she could adopt for her lover, something vivid by which he would remember her and this special time in both their lives. Lola's admonishment kept echoing in her head: Just be yourself. In the end, she decided to do exactly that. If this was to be their last time together, then it would end as it had begun....

She had called him that afternoon at the private number he had given her weeks before. He wasn't there; nor, thankfully, was anyone else. She didn't think she could have dealt with that discovery without hearing it directly from him – maybe not even then. She told him what time to pick her up, and that this evening, she would rock his world for all time. 

She hung up without saying another word; she didn't dare. If she had kept talking, her resolve might have cracked. Then she would have started saying what was really on her mind - and ruined the tenor of the evening. She didn't want that to happen for any reason.

Summer was a fading memory. The days were noticeably shorter and nightfall came quicker. It was already dark when Chaz pulled into the motel parking lot. He was concerned to see all the lights off; it didn't look like Marísa was home. He knew she wasn't dancing that night. She had specifically told him she was taking the night off to devote to him. 

A wave of panic engulfed him. He had feared this moment; expecting to find the most exciting woman he had ever known had vanished without a trace. He exited the car and hurried to the door. A self-adhering note was stuck to the door. Her familiar script was just legible in the glow of the exterior lighting.

Come pick me up, mi amor. You know the place.

A smile touched his lips. He most certainly did.

She was there, on the corner. This time, there was not the slightest doubt in Chaz's mind about picking up the dazzling red-headed hooker. Even so, he almost totaled the Porsche angling in to pull up beside her, so distracted was he. She had been born to wear leather; of that there was no doubt. 

He had seen the dress only once before. Then, he had been helplessly handcuffed to a chair in her closet, watching another man take his place – and his lover. The low-cut bustier front and back served to enhance her curves rather than conceal them. The hem was so brief, he could see the tops of her jet-black seamed stockings, the garter tabs holding them up, as well as a flash of creamy thigh. The whole affair was so tight, he could imagine the creak of the taut calfskin as it stretched to mold her curvaceous torso.

She was perched elegantly on matching black calfskin pumps with wide, buckling ankle straps and pencil-thin stiletto heels. He didn't know how any woman could glide so effortlessly in those six-inch spikes, but she made it look like the most natural thing in the world. Her hair, makeup, long, square-cut fingernails, and gold jewelry all perfectly complemented her outrageously-overdone 'fashion statement'. His cock was so hard inside its tailored cloth prison, it ached.

She strutted confidently to the passenger window. The click-click-click of her stiletto heels beat a staccato rhythm on the sidewalk. She placed both elegantly-manicured hands on the sill and leaned over, flashing her cleavage. Her practiced come-on was all jiggly tits and breathy, whispered desire, so full of urgency (which had never been more true). Her accent was so thick, it could be cut with a knife – just the way he liked it. The unmistakable scent of Shalimar wafted about her like a seductive veil. 

The arrangements were quickly made. Money was almost an afterthought – by careful design. She slipped the proffered $1000 into her cleavage with practiced tease, slid into the supple leather passenger seat, and closed the precision-engineered door with an effortless click.

"You pick the place, Mi Amor. Someplace... private."

The Porsche pulled out into traffic and was gone. The fabulous Redhead already had her lover's cock out of its cloth prison and was conditioning it with her talented tongue and lips for the night ahead.

For all her feigned bravado, Marísa was apprehensive as they drove west on Sunset, leaving the hustle and bustle of Hollywood behind them. She had thought he lived in West L.A., perhaps Brentwood, but this was not the most direct route. With each passing minute, the scenery was getting plusher, the homes larger, and the knot in her stomach tighter. When he branched off Sunset and made his way to Loma Vista Drive, Marísa felt she had been teleported to another planet. How did the Norteños put it? Beam me up, Scottie. The neighborhood left her stunned. The first glimpse of the house itself, with its expansive grounds, swimming pool, stable-sized garage and guesthouse, all enclosed within an eight-foot-high brick wall, took her breath away.

Steeling herself for what was to come, the ravishing Redhead waited for Chaz to open her door, then accepted his hand to help her to her feet. She had taken that hand and wrapped his arm around her, placing the hand on her leather-clad tush. She then strutted elegantly across the driveway, and up the steps to the massive double doors, allowing her transfixed boytoy to feel her tush rhythmically sway to and fro as she moved. Her hand was on his manhood, which she had forbidden him to tuck back into his slacks. He was fully, gloriously exposed, which was exactly the way she wanted him to be when they walked through the door to face - whatever.

Her steely resolve abandoned her as the doors opened. She stepped onto the marble-floored foyer and gasped at the other-worldly milieu within. She explored each room with child-like awe, leading her lover by his cock, absent-mindedly stroking it as they went to maintain its massive erection. They passed from the foyer to the expansive salon, stately dining room, restaurant-sized kitchen, den, and indoor atrium with fountain. Then it was back to the foyer and up the sweeping formal staircase to the second floor. 

The sight of the massive master bedroom with its cavernous walk-in closets and private balcony overlooking the expansive grounds brought tears to her eyes; it was larger than the entire house she had lived in as a child in that nameless village in Oaxaca. The attached bathroom, with its gold-fixtured, sunken whirlpool tub, marble shower stall and vanities, was larger than the motel room she currently called home. There were four other bedrooms, little smaller than the first. Each had its own full bathroom. There was yet another staircase, leading to a third floor ballroom. Marísa had tears in her eyes. Even her dream's wildest, delusional variant had never been like this.

And all of it was empty; opulently furnished from floor to ceiling, to be sure, but not a single soul other than them. They stood once more in the marble-floored foyer. The teen temptress turned to her novio questioningly. "¿Tu espósa no está...aquí?" she asked, hesitantly. He looked at her uncomprehendingly, as if she had just asked him to hand her the piano. The vixen was about to repeat the question in English when her stunned suitor found his tongue.  

"My wife? You thought I was married? Maybe to my job, but.... My Love, this home has been in my family for over a century but I live here alone. No woman in her right mind would want to get involved with me; at least, no woman who planned to stay. I was afraid to tell you how much time I usually work, for fear of scaring you off. I took a month off to regain my sanity. Instead, I have lost it completely, totally, irrevocably – and have never been happier. I have never met a woman I would even consider marrying – until now." 

The roaring in Marísa's ears must have been the blood leaving her head; she felt suddenly faint. Before he could say anything more, she sprang into his arms, wrapping her stocking-clad legs around his powerful torso. With a sigh, she impaled her pantiless snatch on his exposed, rock-hard dong. She doubted they would get much sleep that night, a doubt which proved justified.

A torrid, all-night sexual romp ended as the first rays of dawn filtered through the French doors opening onto the balcony. They made small talk for an hour, still too 'wired' to sleep. This strange pair - the rich, outwardly-respectable Anglo and the exquisite red-headed puta – revealed secrets to each other even deeper and more personal than the wayward relationship they shared. 

She spoke of her humble beginnings, with poverty and despair her constant companions. She spoke, too, of her "escape" to Mexico City where she had been had by any man who would pay her price. Even more perverse, she told how much she enjoyed it. In spite of their 'games', she expected Chaz to be turned off by her revelations of sex with so many other men. He kissed her tenderly and replied she should know him better than that by now, that he found her sexual escapades incredibly erotic. 

Marísa languidly stroked her lover's manhood as he spoke of the loss of his parents, his failed romantic trysts, both amateur and professional (she likened the word to her own triste – sad – and decided it was an apt comparison), the emptiness of his life, and reiterated that he had never met a woman who truly understood his needs, much less fulfilled them – until her. He had been desperately afraid that it would all end in the blink of an eye; that he would seek her out one day, either at the club or her motel, and she would be gone – vanished into thin air like some exquisite dream, without even saying good-bye. He recounted how he had panicked the previous evening when he perceived exactly that scenario playing out. She kissed him passionately and countered that he had misjudged her.

Chaz insisted on making breakfast for them. He bade her to stay and make herself comfortable, that he would return with a tray. After he left, she donned the shirt she had practically ripped from his well-muscled body the night before. It still smelled of expensive cologne and his masculine musk, a combination that made her want him again. 

She settled into the king-sized bed and clicked on the television. Remote control was still a new and wondrous thing to her. She gleefully channel-surfed like a child with a new toy. The local morning show was doing a puff piece on the "Angel Flight" missions to provide free medical care to Central American children who had been in the wrong war at the wrong time. For all her tough, street-smart demeanor, Marisa wept for those tormented bodies and souls. "Damn Samoza," she thought, "that butcher will kill an entire generation of children if he is not stopped." 

She was astonished to see Chaz, her Chaz, dressed in surgical scrubs and being interviewed about the pro bono surgery he was about to perform on a twelve-year-old girl to restore her face. So he was un doctór, a successful norteño surgeon, who donated his time and skills to help los perditos. At that moment, Marísa Nacimiénto Duarte y Aragón knew beyond all doubt she loved the magnificent Anglo with all her heart.

"¡Dios mio!"

The words had slipped from her lips without her being aware of them. A caption had flashed at the bottom of the screen, identifying the interviewee as "Dr. Charles Bradford, Plastic Surgeon". Marísa was in a total state of shock. So that was his last name. "Dr. Charles Bradford," she murmured with disbelief. "Dr. Charles Taylor Bradford." She knew that name by heart. He was the most sought-after surgeon in America for beautiful, aesthetically-perfect boob jobs - and her personal first-choice. First choice? He was her only choice! The prize of a lifetime had been eating out of the palm of her hand – as well as other parts of her anatomy – for a month and she hadn't realized the enormity of her great good fortune!!!

At that exact moment, her good fortune reappeared with a tray of scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and orange juice. Chaz eased onto the bed, placing the tray next to her. A single red rose in a small, cut-glass vase adorned the tray. Next to the vase was a tiny gold box. The upturned lid's white satin lining featured the name "Harry Winston" in gold script. Inside the box was a blue-white solitaire, two carats' worth, set in an elaborate platinum band. 

Marisa simply stared, dumbfounded, at the ring, her mouth agape. 

"We will have to get going soon, My Love," Chaz intoned. "City Hall opens at nine. We can pick up the marriage license on the way to Santa Monica airport. I chartered a Lear to fly us to Puerto Vallarta. It's all set. We will be married at sunset, right on the beach."

She nodded dumbly, trying to comprehend the import of his words. The stunned seductress then picked up the tiny box with one hand, put the palm of the other against the edge of the tray and slowly, deliberately pushed. It went over the edge and fell to the floor with a thunderous crash. She turned to her husband-to-be, thrust her luscious body against his and crushed his lips with her own. The last thing on her mind at that moment was breakfast.