0 comments/  11043 views/  2 favorites

K&T, LLC Ch. 02

By: pocketrocket



Author's Note: I have resubmitted Ch. 07 as Ch. 01 of a new volume. Hopefully that works out. There are a couple of formatting changes. To help reduce confusion, the italicized sections are 25 years after the main text.

There is a bit more sex in this chapter. Enjoy.

Chapter 3 -- Meet the New Boss

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

"As I said, no one talks about the preparations for the wedding. Mom and Dad talk about the 'The Merger.' Jason and CC talk about 'The Tour.' Everyone talks about the 'The Catalog' or 'The Sale.' It has always fascinated me that routine words can acquire capital letters and become a name. Only Aunt Jo talks about the wedding much, and she refers to it as 'The Event.'"

Sheila:

Christine and I snuggled and petted a lot that night, but nothing really serious. Even though we were both naked, the night before we had each had some serious and lengthy fucking. We both expected more soon. So, our petting was titillating, not torrid. When it came time for bed, I asked Christine if she wanted to curl up with me or to be tied up on the rug.

Christine looked at me with an odd expression. It took me a moment, but understanding eventually arrived. Christine thought I had banished Tess. I took her face in my hands and kissed her forehead. "Silly girl. Just because Tess will not be living here, does not mean she cannot visit. If it is a bad time, I will tell you." At that point we pulled out the laptops and had a discussion about what my coming marriage would mean. That night, I slept wrapped around Christine. It was nice and it was a shame we could not do more of it. In the morning, Christine woke me with a tongue rimming my anus. That's my girl.

We worked out together. Christine's flexibility was coming along. After we showered, I dropped her at church. I had an hour and a half before I needed to pick her up, so I decided to go out to the Residence. That was a problem. I only had Sean's cell number, and his phone was set to voicemail. Oh well.

I left this message: Hi. This is Sheila Schwartz. I do not have a number for you guys in security, so please call me. Have a nice day. In less than ten minutes, Gerald called me back. Oops.

"I'll make this easy on you, Gerald. In addition to letting you have someone show me around, I will be wanting to see Sean's house and grounds people. Having a recorder running will be handy. Do you think you can arrange that?"

Phone: Ma'am, I know you were never in the military, but you remind me of a Battalion Commander I used to work under. I will have you picked up in 15 minutes, if that is all right. I know a mixed compliment when I hear one.

"Thank you Gerald, but make it 10:30. I have a quick errand to run first. Christine went to church and I need to pick her up. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Phone: Yes, Ma'am. Thank you for asking. Please allow us to pick up your vehicle tonight. Mr. Richards has had a problem with competitors bugging his vehicles, for business reasons. We need to sweep the car and install some monitoring equipment. Think of it as Onstar. Mr. Richards told me to sell it as a tune up and lube."

"Thank you, Gerald. Your candor means a great deal to me. I will let Jason know that you will be coming by for the keys. You and I can pretend they are necessary. I will drop off keys to the apartment when I arrive at the Residence. I trust your men have security company credentials, so I will tell the Super that you are installing a burglar alarm. Is tomorrow soon enough and does that cover everything currently on the menu?"

Phone: Ma'am, I believe I have already told you how much I enjoy working with a professional. One of these days, please let me know how you acquired so many skills.

"Tsk, tsk. Gerald, if you think about what I do, with whom and for how long, you will not need to ask. I may be self taught, but I ain't stupid."

Phone: That is for damn sure, Ma'am. I will see you shortly.

That conversation lifted my mood considerably. Gerald was going to be a big part of my planning. Boring is a good thing in his world, but it gets old. I was anything but boring, so it behooved me to make things as smooth as possible. Besides, I liked him.

As promised, I left word that a security company was expected on Monday. It happened that the owner was on site, so I tracked her down, to give her a heads up on my nuptials. I did not know Rosa Danvers, so I was surprised at her jubilant reaction. I asked for a mailing address, so I could send yet another invitation.

As Han Solo said, "I have a bad feeling..."

Sean:

Everyone headed out. That left me exactly where I had been two weeks before, alone. Only this time I was at loose ends. The big project was as complete as I could get it and the small project was still in the planning stages. I took the Mercedes and drove to Union. Francine Martel was doing her last show of the stop. I hoped to catch her before she left for a wrap party.

I arrived about 10:10 PM. As I hoped, there were a few people exiting, but not the main press. I slipped in a newly vacated parking stall and ran up to the building. A few minutes and $20 found me someone to take a message backstage. Several minutes later I was surprised to see Francine coming. I had expected a message in answer to my note, not the diva herself.

Francine had an explanation, but it was lost in background. We went with the flow. Once we reached my car, I looked at fast food signs in the distance. I asked her if Waffle House was good enough, which it was. Once we we settled, with cups of coffee in front of us and about 5000 calories on order, I asked what Sheila had told her. That earned me a harsh glare, followed by something more calculating.

When she spoke, Francine was as subtle as always, i.e. not very. "So, Richards, what are you doing here? I would think you and Schwartz would be practicing for the honeymoon."

"I would have been willing, but she had unfinished business with CC, whom she is now calling Christine. She promised me a return engagement tomorrow, pardon the pun."

"I'll bet she did. What happened? Did she wear you out?"

Francine was a motor mouth from as far back as I knew her. And raunchy. For example:

"Schwartz said something about a dress and a corset. I asked if you are flying, because Sheila seriously needs to be in the mile high club. Take her in the lavatory and do her against the wall. The position is called the Ballerina, but it's just Splitting Bamboo standing up. You get maximum penetration, which you need. Sean, this is important. Listen to me. Sheila gets off on A zone stimulation. That's back by the cervix. I've seen what you have. It will work, but it's clear at the end of your reach, if you follow me. Go for positions that let you get really deep, like Splitting Bamboo, like Venus Oyster, like Reverse Cowgirl. I wonder is Schwartz has been reading, or just got lucky, excuse the pun."

Eventually, the conversation worked to a point where I could show the soon to be famous picture. Francine glanced at it. Then she did a double take. Finally, she picked it up and scanned it closely.

"Fucking A. This is what tore Sheila up last week, isn't it? She did this, knowing what she was doing, and freaked afterward. Damn, Ricky, it just sucks you in. Is everyone saying this is as good as I think it is? Holy fuck." Sheila had mentioned the sewer mouth, but I had not remembered her that way. Hmm.

Francine finally shook her head and looked up. She glanced at me, then at the picture, then back at me. This was another thing that Sheila had mentioned. Francine got quiet when she was thinking, and she was very good at thinking. The silence stretched as her thoughts went somewhere. I mimed coffee to the waitress, but otherwise bided my time.

When the waitress came over with the coffee, Francine rejoined the world. I suspected caffeine would do the trick. Without glancing at the waitress, she pushed her cup for a refill. Instead of watching what she was doing, Francine watched me. Once we were alone, she continued.

"Schwartz is busy. You're not. You're here. She doesn't know. You aren't here for anything physical, so you have to want something. Schwartz would not approve. You have a death wish. It's is the only possible explanation."

I laughed and told her the truth, as I saw it. I had come on an impulse. I wanted to get a feel for Francine's resources and an opportunity presented itself. Sheila had a lot on her plate. I explained to Francine that Sheila had worked three jobs since forever: the regular fitness clients at the gym; the other business in the back; and the one you might miss, landlord for the building and GM for the franchise. Sheila had always done it alone, so that was what she knew.

I continued, "Now, she wants to get married and have a baby right away. There are not enough hours in a day to do everything and take care of herself, so..." Francine had started nodding, then cut me off.

"Gotcha. You want to do a low key intervention. As I recall, you have some family money. Can you just pick her up and carry her, if necessary?" I nodded. "Good. Forget money then. You want a way to throw people at her problem, which explains that submissive you gave her. I am totally jealous, by the way. People only give me stuff like jewelry. You have a plan." This was like talking to Sheila. No wonder they got along. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em, or get them to join you. So I pitched my half baked idea.

I covered the building, the gym, the neighborhood and my half formed investment group. Francine began giving me an odd look. I reached the point where money came into the picture, and I was suddenly unsure of my footing.

I said, "I suspect we will form a partnership in the next couple of days. If you want to help, and have the money, the easiest way would be to buy in. What?" Francine was laughing so hard she was literally holding her sides.

"Oh my god, Rickey, if you only knew. First, it was funny you started making a pitch. I get pitched about a hundred times a week. Then you hesitated, not because I might not be interested, but because I might not have the money. Start looking for JB Productions on movie trailers. I do not dance because I need the money. I dance because it's who I am. Trust me, Schwartz would understand. And she's right. You are protective as hell. You got a pen. Send a number and a date to this address. I'll get you a check. Invest in Schwartz? Are you kidding? Have you seen what she...OK, you probably do understand."

Francine finally stopped talking and looked at me again. Then, she cocked her head to one side and looked surprised. It did not last.

"Damn. I get it. Who'd'a thought? I checked you out, you know. You have a reputation, but you really are what Sheila says, a teddy bear. God, she's good. This all happened the first day, didn't it? She took one look at you and handed you the keys. That was, what, ten days ago? Did she let you propose? She didn't did she. Oh my god. She stepped on your lines. I swear you are made for each other. And she is such a pussy cat under all the make up."

"Kitten." Did I say that out loud? I must have, because she picked up on it.

"Kitten, yeah. That works, too. Kitten and Teddy. You should name the company that. It will drive people nuts. They'll never figure it out. So, what's the plan?" That got me. What did we need to do next? Start with what you know.

We talked about what I knew of Sheila's plans, including the corset fitting on Tuesday. I had a sudden shiver when I realized that Sheila, Francine and my sister Jo would be getting together to do girl stuff. Ye gods, that was a dangerous group. I had a sinking suspicion that my egghead sister would fit right in. I tried to change the subject,

"Francine, did you say you were in productions?"

"Yes." She was giving me an evil eye.

"Does that mean you have access to costume and set construction people?" That did it. I could see Francine take the bit and run with it.

"Fuck yes. I will have someone down there Monday. You have details on the dress?"

"Drawings and swatches. I can tell you it is an Irish Green plain dress, with white lace over, fitted for a corset. I told them she had to be able to dance in it. Text Helen at this address." I scribbled it on the back of my card. "Also, I own an events company, with catering. Helen can also put you in touch with them. Just remember one thing. I do not want to lose people because they got between you and Sheila. Kitten has creative control. She earned it."

"This is going to be fun." Francine was already miles away. I had to pull her back.

"Yo, Francine. I like you. I love her. Don't make me choose sides. And do not interfere with the other stuff she has to sort out. If it comes to that, shit rolls downhill. Just take some of the load off." Francine did the last thing I expected. She came across the table and kissed me on the cheek.

Dear God, what had I started?

Sheila:

Sean had left several texts. Francine was definitely coming to the fitting with Julian. My stars, that was going to be interesting. She was also going to be able to help with costuming and set design. That had to be Francine's choice of words. I text Francine and asked for details. Then I text Jo and told her to expect a diva at the fitting. She text back: ??????? Since she was available, I called direct.

Phone: Hello. Is this Sheila? She was definitely Sean's sister. He called her the family egghead.

"Yes it is. I wanted to cover the plans for Tuesday. Another of my witnesses will be joining us, Francine Martel. You may have heard of her."

Phone: Oh my god. Sean said you liked to drop bombs, but I had no idea. I love theater and I have seen her many times. She's one of the wedding party. Wow. I am guessing this is not something to spread around, but there had better be pictures.

"You are quite correct that discretion is appropriate. As to the pictures, maybe not Tuesday, but rest assured, we have a camera bug on tap. Justin is really obnoxious with his Nikon."

Phone: Justin, as in Justin Immons? I have heard some rumors about him here at the school. One of the big universities is doing an ebook of ritual and fetish items. Sean as much as said that they were from his auction. Well, not really. You have to be able to read big brother. Justin Immons was the name.

"I will confirm, without comment. How involved do you wish to be in this, uh, endeavor? I understand you have considerable background in the social sciences. I want to do a period theme, hence the corsets. Interested?"

Phone: You cannot be serious. No. My God. Do you realize you are asking an Ivy League anthropologist if she wants to be involved with the re-creation of a period social event? In my, literally, own back yard? I would do this if the wedding was in Sri Lanka, in summer. How many grad students should I bring? The family egghead sounded remarkably like Francine, without the vulgarity.

"What do you mean, grad students?"

Phone: Think of them as slave labor. I can think of three girls, off the top of my head, that could use this for their thesis research. I know half a dozen more that would do it for the fun. You do understand this is what some of us live for, right? I admit, it took a moment, but then I got it. They would be able to play dress up with real people. This was the Shakespeare in the Park crowd. There was one way to gauge the interest.

"Just so they understand that I am a dominatrix in my day job." Silence. Then:

Phone: I can see why Sean likes you. You cut through the crap. He does too, but you knew that already. Ummm. Personal question, and you don't have to answer, what do you call him? Jo was no slouch at cutting crap herself.

"Teddy Bear."

Phone: You have known him, what, less than two weeks, and you call him Teddy Bear? Did you ever have him tied up? Whipped? I flashed to that first day. That final lash, because "I wish it."

"Reverse it."

Phone: Short answers for important content. Good to know. I'm a lesbian, I'd marry you myself if you weren't engaged. I am insanely jealous. OK. Maybe not insane. Sean deserves something nice. Have him reserve six rooms wherever. I will double them up and tell them to use birth control. I am going to like having you as a sister. I assume you want early 20th. Europe or US? I could see why Sean liked his sister.

"US. Pool table green and white. Top hat and tails. Gloves. You claim you want to marry me and you have not even met Francine yet. Tsk, tsk. I will tie them up and whip them, with photographs, signed in red lipstick, as full compensation for their time. You drive a hard bargain. I already have one submissive. $1000 says she can take more abuse than any of them. Tuesday, 9:00 AM at the Residence. Be there." Click.

That was fun. I was going to like Siobhan. Forget this "Jo" shit. All you had to do was pronounce it correctly. Common courtesy is, unfortunately, not common.

For a change of pace, I went to the Residence, to meet with the staff. I won a bet with myself, when the man opening my door introduced himself as Gerald. He was 6'4" and dishy, in a George Clooney-with-scars sort of way. This was a happy event, since I was able to dump the news of the expected arrival of a dozen Ivy League grad students. To really ruin his day, I told him of the appointment at 9:00 AM Tuesday. This did not have the expected result, which awakened the Yiddish matchmaker in me.

However, I had other priorities. Gerald handed me a wallet sized card, full of contact information. Then he introduced me to the brothers Gilbert. They led my off for a tour of the grounds, which was both interesting and alarming. They led me down to the gazebo, the boat house and the lake shore. This was clearly the easy part. Anyone could see that the Gazebo needed only a coat of paint. The side of the boathouse near the gazebo was pretty much the same. The waterfront looked untouched. Alarm bells were going off.

Standing at the waterfront, I looked up to the house. The most obvious architectural feature was a row of french doors facing the lake. Two sets opened to a flat area near the house. The third onto a banistered terrace. I had a vision of formally clad attendees, sitting at tables, looking out over a moon lit lake. That meant food and alcohol, plus entertainment inside. Unless I missed my guess, at least two of those french doors went to the ballroom.

Without a word, I started up the slope to the house. Getting enough seating on that slope was going to be no picnic, but the project was straightforward. The reception would be another issue. The bulk of the activity would be near the house, which is exactly where the brothers were steering clear. A telltale slump of the shoulders confirmed my worst fears. That area was not fit for public viewing. I simply went to the french doors and waited. To give him credit, Mitchell Gilbert did not mistake my meaning.

The ballroom was large, but not huge. Any school had a bigger floor for basketball. However, it would do for its intended function: formal dance. Looking by the door, I saw the first issue. There were no switches. Mitchell Gilbert quickly confirmed that the room was not lighted to modern code. The room had been converted from gas to electric—in 1923, and never updated. The fireplaces were functional, but there was no cooling, not even ceiling fans. Further, the entire room had only four outlets, which would likely not pass code.


K&T, LLC Ch. 02



Off the ballroom was the former main kitchen. Obviously, the ballroom had once doubled as the formal dining hall. On one level this was better. The wood fired stoves might pass building code. The refrigeration would not, even if block ice was still available. That said, there was cabinet after cabinet of dishes and flatware. I used profanities, to myself, when I thought of the value on Ebay. Table service would not be a problem.

Outside the ballroom was an open seating area, with staircases on one side and the formal entrance on the other. Doors led to parlors, a coat room and the old library. These rooms were all furnished, with hand carved wood and leather upholstery that had seen decades of neglect. The entrance was a covered coach area that did not have even 1920's lighting.

This was going to be the core of my wedding reception, in less than one week.

Sean:

I drove home in a somewhat bemused state. Visiting Francine had been a bit of a whim, but I have learned to listen to my urges. Regardless of the ulcers she might cause, I had a feeling Francine would be able to lend some genuine aid. Considering the schedule, we would need it.

Sunday was usually my day to take stock of the week and plan the next one. Right. I went to service, then to the office. I sent some formal messages, then met with Rick Williams, my head of Special Events. Together we toured the warehouse.

I tell people I own a catering firm. It saves time, because everyone understands the concept. Anyone that wants more than catering will ask what other services we offer. In fact, catering is only about 20% of our billings. Rentals and performance fees bring in more. I was thinking of getting some of the big tents, as well as the needed tables and chairs, when I stopped dead. It was one of the carousel horses.

I knew we had it, though no one ever seemed to use it. Events had a whole side show from a defunct carnival. As we had grown from private parties to conventions and trade shows, things like dunking booths fell aside. I told Rick to start promoting us for corporate retreats and team building events. This was just the thing to keep kids busy, while Dad was playing softball. I made a mental note to tell Sheila. Heaven only knew what she had planned, but entertainment would be part of it.

Then, I inquired about the old stuff. Richards Enterprises predated the Civil War. Special Events went back nearly that far. There was bound to be a place where no one bothered to go. There was. Rick told me it was not on the cleaning schedule, which I took to mean the dust would be heavy.

We had to wait while security brought us keys. As expected, the dust was thick and mostly undisturbed, save one corner. There was a set of parlor furniture, which had seen some use. Rick was upset that someone had been sleeping on the job, but there were two sets of footprints. I had to admire their ingenuity. I told Rick not to worry about it. I would be sending him an Ivy League anthropologist to make a study. Rick had never met Jo. She would be punishment enough.

After some more discussions, about outdoor events and portable power sources, I headed home. On the way, I text Sheila and Gerald. Sheila, unsurprisingly, was already at the house. Gerald confirmed this and noted full cooperation. That took me aback. Gerald was never free with praise. For any security wonk, full cooperation is a big deal. For Gerald to say it spoke volumes. Did I say I loved this woman?

As the car pulled into the drive, I noted that the Front Entrance was open. That had to be Sheila, so I had George drop me there. I ascended the steps to the main entrance. For the first time, I was struck by how impressive the house was, from this viewpoint. It made sense. The original house was supposedly one of the largest in the colony, precisely to impress the neighbors and visiting business partners. Several things slipped together in my mind. I knew what Sheila wanted to do.

Stepping into the gloom of the foyer, I could hear voices from up the hall. A little investigation brought me to a parlor full of cloth draped furniture. If anything, the dust was deeper than at the warehouse. Back lit in the window was my Kitten, looking very unimpressed as the brothers Gilbert pleaded their case. Sheila did not bat an eye. It was definitely a wink. When she finished her spiel, I gave it back.

I said, "Gentlemen, I see you have met your new boss. How are things going?"

Chapter 4 -- Clean Foyer √ Polish Brass √ ...

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

"All these things are self evident, except the Merger. You can clearly hear the capital letters, in the vocal inflections, when Mom or Dad talk about the Merger, but there are two things with one name.

I think it can be easy to overlook what Mom needed to do. She was a middle class girl, with aspirations to art, not money. Dad dropped her in the middle of the zoo he called home. They make movies about situations like that."

Sheila:

Meeting Gerald had been a genuine pleasure. We understood each other on a very basic level, much like Sean and I did, but without the fireworks. Gerald was someone I could feel safe around, which is one of my highest compliments. His comparing me to a senior line officer was of similar weight. Gerald would have my back as long as I had anything to say about it.

That warm feeling lasted about two minutes. Then I was introduced to the Brothers. Mitchell and Michael were not twins, but they acted like it sometimes. Mostly, it was by ganging up on an unsuspecting person and playing tag team. Though Mitchell was House and Michael was Grounds, they were happy to trade off in each other's demesne, at least if there was an edge to be gained. Expecting such things does not make them ineffective.

That morning they were set to impress me with their knowledge of my plans, the house and grounds, and the extent they could be of assistance, or not, given the regrettable schedule. They walked me through the house, back down to the lake and back to the entrance. To hear them tell it, the house was a palatial estate, in premium condition. There were, unfortunately, some minor difficulties, which would seriously impair the utility. Their efforts would be herculean, of course, but the possibilities were limited to a couple of dozen people on the grounds, and the house not at all. Regrettably.

The longer this went on, the more I was convinced that neither should be allowed much discretion. They reminded me of a librarian—whose ideal had every book in its place and no students to mess things up. I was about to detail some specifics, which they could undertake immediately, when I saw Sean walking up behind them.

I winked at Sean and gave them some rope. "Gentlemen, we seem to have a lack of communication here. Major revisions of the house and grounds are not needed to handle as many as a couple of hundred guests, for the wedding, and sixty, or so, for the gala in the ballroom." Then, I looked over their shoulders, tagging Sean. He did not let me down.

Sean said, "Gentlemen, I see you have met your new boss. How are things going?" I could kiss him. However, the iron was hot and Sean had tagged me into the ring.

I said, "There you have it. First, you need to contact everyone on each of your staffs. Personally inform them of the nuptials and the party. Anyone that is not already out of town is expected to be here at 5:00 PM. Anyone that can get here earlier will be put to cleaning, at premium rates. Sean will handle payment, as always, but I have creative and artistic control. All issues, other than payroll, come to me." Sean backed me up again.

"Gerald says she can deliver a thirty minute briefing in fifteen seconds. What do you think? Get busy. This lovely lady and I have some necking to do." The brothers were, literally, standing with their mouths open when Sean spun me into an embrace. He gave me a nice dip for the kiss. My Teddy Bear.

As we left, I threw one more thing over my shoulder. "By the way, expect Siobhan tomorrow, with a dozen Dartmouth students. I may have creative control, but she will have hands on responsibility." Let them try blowing off a family member, especially one like Siobhan. Sean chuckled his understanding. "You should torture people for a living. Oh, wait..." I punched him, then kissed him.

Sean then gave me the tour that I had not gotten earlier. The room, where we had met the Brothers Gilbert, was the Formal Salon. Across the hallway was the Library, which was in much better repair. Sean explained that he had a reading room, for convenience, but the main Library had never fallen into disuse. I expect that Siobhan had had something to say about that. In any event, it would stand public scrutiny. The biggest issue was likely going to be Siobhan's grad students.

Down the hall was the powder room, which was dusty, but perfect for my Bride's Room. Off the entrance foyer was a cloak room and an open area, which was called the Smoking Lounge. This room had a huge fireplace and tile floors. I suspected it was a mud room. Even this far from the coast, New Jersey weather could get quite nasty. In colonial times, a place to shake off the snow and remove the boots was essential. I saw it as the barroom.

On the other side of the foyer was the Parlor. This room had french doors and several windows. I suspected the real name was Smoking Parlor. There was a massive leather sofa, which probably could not be removed without unframing windows. Amazingly, the leather was intact. Outside the french doors was a small banistered porch, surrounded by evergreen shrubbery. Smoking indeed, but cigars and pipes only.

Next was the grand staircase, which I put off. I did not plan to use the second floor, so the upstairs area was unimportant. Across from the staircase was the other entrance to the ballroom, the first being opposite the foyer. Further down was a door, probably leading to the service areas: kitchen, linen, pantry, etc. This was enough, though the lack of bathrooms would have to be addressed.

My plan was to stage a turn of the century wedding gala. Parking would be off site. We would engage a small fleet of horse drawn carriages, to bring the guests to the main entrance. They would be greeted and ushered through the ballroom, to the hill above the gazebo. After the ceremony, the flat area near the house would be used to seat the guests. On the nearby porch would be a live ensemble. Inside would be dancing.

We went back into the entrance foyer. Sean led me to the cloak room. There was nothing to see. I turned questioningly to him—and saw him pulling down his pants. I did not know where this was going, but my pussy was suddenly very moist. Lifting my skirt, I pushed down my panties and stepped out of them. Sean held out his hand and said one word, "Foot."

I placed my foot in his hand. Sean pushed it up til my ankle sat on his shoulder. Doing this cold made me glad of my workout that morning. I was about to ask a question, when Sean put his hands behind my ass and entered me. Then all thoughts of questions disappeared.

Sean's first plunge was a short one. He took a moment to reset his feet, which allowed me to reach his shoulders for leverage. When Sean started his next thrust, I pulled myself toward him, leaning into the split. This doubled the force of the thrust. Sean's slammed in, all the way to the hilt. The tip of Sean's cock reaching the end of my cunt, with a now familiar surge of sensation. I saw stars.

Sean did two more thrusts, developing his timing, then another deep thrust. More stars. My pussy grabbed Sean's cock and tried to pull it out—with the root. Sean gasped and shot his seed.

As we stood gasping, Sean asked me, "Do you want to join the Mile High club? Francine says that is the perfect position for doing it in a lavatory." That brought a wealth of images. One of them was Francine trying to do it with some one Sean's height. It was so funny I cracked up. Sean must have been following my train of thought, because he snickered. "Francine did say that she was too short for it. It's perfect for you, though. It's called the Ballerina." Oh my.

As Sean pulled up his pants, he also snagged my panties. He stuffed them in his pocket with a definite look of satisfaction. I was certainly willing to cede the point. Like my wake up call the day before, I would use the cloakroom as the standard for quickies. Entry to exit could not have been five minutes, but I had come twice and Sean had come once. I could barely wait to see what Sean could do with some time to tease me a little. Suddenly I was moist again. Sean must have smelled it.

"Down girl. If you keep that up I will have no choice but to take you to the parlor, so Gerald can record it." I blushed all the way down.

However, what he said gave me an idea. I had Sean take me to Security Central, which, unsurprisingly, was in the same wing as the Master Bedroom. We passed through a door and moved from the old house to the new wing. The visual impact was stunning. We left 200 year old hardwood floors and paneling for tile floors and painted dry wall. It felt like a time machine. At the top of a wide concrete staircase was Gerald's domain.

On one side of the hall was a ready room. On the other was the monitoring room. I was pleased to see that Gerald was waiting when we arrived. His gaze flicked between us and his nostrils flared, but all he said was, "This way, ma'am."

Gerald introduced us to Albert, the tech on duty. Albert showed us all the visual feed for the new wing. A couple surprised me: inside Sean's closet and the sink area of the master bath. I endured the details of how things were recorded and stored. Eventually Albert ran out of things to show us, that he thought relevant. I asked about the old house.

Security in the residential wing was oriented toward personal protection. In the old house, theft was the primary issue, and the feeds showed it. However, the placement of cameras was surprisingly thorough. I asked Albert about the quality of the feed lines and the recording equipment. The first was very good quality, which made sense, since they were difficult to replace. Using the best available made good sense for the long haul. The cameras and recording equipment were not only dated, but were second rate from the start.

I stood up and looked at Sean. Sean looked back, then we both looked at Gerald. Gerald looked at both of us, then sighed. Albert looked confused. Gerald patted Albert on the shoulder and said, "Cheer up Albert. You will be getting new toys to play with." Then he looked at me. I held up four fingers. Gerald held out his hand. I fished out my office keys.

Then Gerald looked at Sean, who had been watching this interplay. Sean said, "Colonel Harrison?" Gerald nodded. Sean looked impressed. Gerald had already made a comment, but still...

Fortunately, Albert's confusion saved me some embarrassment. Gerald explained that a crew would be going to my studio, removing my precious video cameras, with the recorders, then mounting them in the old house. This raised the question of where, exactly, we could get the best results. In turn, this led to a discussion of placement, exterior cameras and recording bandwidth. I think Sean was bored before we finished.

Once that was done, I dropped the big news. "Gerald, plan to vacate this hallway in the next nine months. Also Christine has been hired as the nanny. She will need a room next to the nursery." Albert's mouth dropped open. Gerald put his face in his hand and shook his head. Then he asked Sean, "She's getting the big ring, isn't she?" Sean only smirked. Gerald sighed again.

I had to throw one thing out, as Sean and I left the room. "Gerald, I expect the renovation of the old house will fall under Siobhan's purview." Sean snickered and rushed me down the stairs. Once we were safely in the bedroom, I asked Sean about the reference to Colonel Harrison. Sean thought for a moment, then told me of William the Silent. My mouth was not open, but only because I was paying close attention to it.

Sean was not finished. "He likes you a great deal. Gerald is hard to impress and careful with complements. I don't know if you caught it, but Gerald's name took the wind right out of Michael and Mitchell's sails. He scares then shitless. Gerald was a good place to start conquering the house. By the way, that shot about Jo was perfect. My sister terrorizes everyone, even Gerald. I hope you two get along." My smile was just to myself. Gerald was not the only one a bit afraid of Siobhan.

Then Sean showed me his Walgreen's bag. How sweet. Sean is such a teddy bear.

Sean:

Sheila was not impressed with Michael and Mitchell's protestations. Clearly, she could have handled them easily, but my weight quickly closed the deal. So. We had a five o'clock briefing for the staff. That left much of the afternoon to do other things. We started by walking the house.

I do not think Sheila was aware of her hands as she moved. When we reached the entrance, she waved the doors open, then gestured the people in. Her hand movements were subtle, but you could read a great deal if you paid attention. Her ideas for the wedding quickly took shape. I had to tip my hat to her. Sheila thought big, even though our invitation list would be short. Perhaps she thought, as I did, that everyone and theirs would choose to attend.

I particularly liked her idea of having the bar in the house, rather than outside. That would keep it away from the children. Making the Parlor into a smoking lounge also had appeal. It would give the crotchety businessmen someplace to meet and talk shop. It was close to the bar, but away from the music. The big sofa had to stay, but a great deal of additional seating was in various rooms under cloths.

Once we finished with the basic plan, our steps drifted back to the entrance. Once there, my eyes fell on the cloak room door. Something Francine had said came to mind. It would not be the Mile High Club, but a cloak room is a great place for a quickie.

I led Sheila inside and deliberately left the door open. Sheila looked puzzled, until she saw me fumbling with my pants. Then, she hiked up her skirt and took off her panties. They were utilitarian cotton panties, but that meant she was planning to work. Grabbing some nookie at work would get you fired, but I knew the owner. With a grin I asked for her foot.

Sheila gave me her foot without comment. In passing, I noted a lovely black open toed pump. I put it on my shoulder, then grabbed Sheila by the ass. In her heels, we were almost exactly the same height, which was important. I was able to enter her on the first attempt. The thrust was awkward and did not penetrate far. I corrected that on my second attempt, which went all the way back. Sheila shivered all over.

As before, Sheila's cunt was extremely tight. I sawed a couple of misses, which led Sheila to help adjust our positions. My next thrust nailed her to the wall. The sensation of my head meeting Sheila's womb jolted me, but it had Sheila in near collapse. I held her for a moment, then started to pull back. Her pussy grabbed my cock and jerked. My load came shooting out and I came close to collapsing myself.

Then we were putting our clothes back in order. I grabbed Sheila's panties, but she did not seem to mind. I mentioned the possibility of repeating in an airplane lavatory. That got me a wink. I threatened to do it again in a monitored area, which earned me a nice blush. Then, it was back to business.

I had shown Sheila all she wanted to see of the old house, so we went through the door into the new wing. I had found it amusing that Sheila had a rabbit hole. It was her secret path between studio and gym. As a kid, "rabbit hole" was my name for this door. The change of centuries is pretty abrupt. Sheila took it in step as I led her into the center of surveillance and Gerald.




K&T, LLC Ch. 02



During the week, Sheila had made a good first impression on Gerald. That impression was reinforced through their subsequent interaction. This was my first chance to see them together. I was not disappointed. Gerald introduced us to one of his geek squad, Albert. Sheila was all business, as Albert showed his system. The first words she spoke were to ask about the old house. Since we had just come from that area, Gerald would have guessed at our interest, but Albert had not.

Though we both knew Sheila was capable of ripping Albert a new orifice, she did not. Instead she followed his pace and explored the system's potential, or the lack of it. Only when she had run things to the ground did she look up. I was more lucky. I could see the smile twitching at Gerald's cheek.

When she did look up, it was to look at me. The question was obvious. Should we use her fancy equipment to upgrade the house system for the wedding. Hell yes. We both looked at Gerald. He nodded and looked at Sheila. By this point Albert was waking up to the unspoken conversation. That was OK. Gerald took pity and informed Albert that he would be receiving some new equipment. There was a sense of deja vu as Sheila held up four fingers.

I asked, "Colonel Harrison?" Joseph Harrison was the company commander when Gerald and I met, Fort Sill, Oklahoma. As a major, he already had a reputation for pulling more out of visual-only tape, than anyone else could see. After the fact, we could sometimes reconstruct the clues he had seen, but often it seemed like magic. The reverse was true. He expected you to draw information from him, without verbiage. His interrogations were usually full of raised eyebrows, skeptical looks and one or two word questions. It was unnerving to watch. From a spook, like Gerald, a reference to Colonel Harrison represented the highest possible praise.

Then the conversation got technical. That was again like Colonel Harrison. He could talk when he wanted to and it was usually in detail. Long and tedious detail. Tech speak is not one of my skills. Sheila is fluent. It is one of many reasons I treasure her.

They finally ran down. I dragged Sheila away before they could think of something else to talk about. Sheila was not quite finished, and her Parthian shot was beauty. Even Gerald treads lightly around little sister. I took her back to my room, though we did not have time to do much more than we had already done in the cloak room. Instead, I explained the reference to Colonel Harrison, in terms Sheila could google.

"William the Silent, Prince of Orange and King of the Netherlands, was known to give military briefings with just a map and his finger. Technically, we would call them "oral" orders, since they were not written, but no word was spoken. William would point to a man, or men, and then at a map. They were to go to the place on the map and do what needed to be done. Colonel Harrison was often compared to William the Silent. In case you were wondering, the Prince is remembered as one of histories great generals."

Sheila was visibly trying to restrain disbelief, which was not inappropriate, so I told her my impressions of Gerald's reactions. I had particularly liked her parting shot, since even Gerald is a bit afraid of Jo and her wit. Hell, I was too. Why did I feel Sheila was laughing at me?

To change the subject, I pulled out the bag of shampoo's and such that I had purchased for my bath. As I expected, Sheila was not prepared to move in yet. When she was, there would be a truck to unload. For the next few days, hopefully, this would have us covered. It seemed like a small thing to me, but my Kitten was very touched. I needed to remember how many things she had had to do for herself.

I checked the clock. It was 3:12 PM. We told the bothers Gilbert to assemble the staff at 5:00. That gave Sheila and I only about 90 minutes to flesh out the plan. Even in bare bones it was daunting.





K&T, LLC Ch. 02



I removed the mask, but before I released Sean, I ran through a few stretches, including a full evolution of First Position on the bar. This was purely for the cameras. Sean said he wanted a picture of my ass, so I posed for a few. He must have liked it, since his cock was starting to rise again. Then I released his leg restraints and gave his penis a little attention. Sean spoke for the first time, one word. "Hands." I had already been considering it, so I also released the cuffs.

Then, I turned my back to him and leaned far over. Sean's wonderful hands grasped my ass and guided me down. I gasped as Sean penetrated me once again. It took a few moments to settle down completely, but eventually, I felt the tip of Sean's cock find my cervix. I just sat there, letting the sensation of small movements wash through me. Sean was more active. His hands moved my hair aside and his lips were brushing the nape of my neck. I shivered all over.

Then Sean began to to rock, back and forth. Remembering my manners, I used my pussy muscles to try milking his cock. Soon we developed a rhythm. That shifted to a syncopation. The movements were slow and small, but the tension kept building. Sean's hands caressed the front of my bustier. My nipples could feel the pressure, even through the quilting. Sean spent a lot of time nuzzling my neck, but once he reached out and nipped at my earlobe. I had a little earthquake. Sean had a sympathetic tremor. Still, the tension built.

It took time, but that was a good thing. We were in no hurry. My breath came faster and faster, while Sean's breath was hot on my neck. When I determined we were both about ready, I leaned forward, gaining a small bit of elevation. Then, in what was quickly becoming my favorite move, I dropped down on Sean's prick. His penis head met my cervix and the world went white.

When the room stopped turning, I had a little burn, probably from my own pepper sauce. Sean had some philosophy to ponder. He said, "If you kill yourself during sex, how will you ever have a baby? If you kill me, who is going to raise him? Jesus, Sheila, have you any idea what that does to me?" Does to him? What about me? I'm the one that keeps passing out.

I slowly rose to my feet and dragged Sean to the video room. As I hoped, there were several good shots of my ass. I cropped a few and printed them. There was also a great shot of me deep throating Sean's cock, but I saved that for later. The best shot of all was my face in orgasm. You could just make out Sean's face through my hair. I printed that one too.

Finally, I chose a shot of Sean and I kissing. I opened the special effects menu. This one I mapped into relief. In that mode, you could see our profiles and that we were kissing, but you could not tell we were in the middle of coitus. Not for certain at least. I saved the image to my thumb drive as Relief1, then smiled at the unintended pun. Harold would love the idea, if I ever told him.

As Sean drove us home, I said, "We will need an album for these, and a safe to lock them in." Sean's laugh had almost as much to do with promises as it did of humor. I looked forward to a long night coming, and coming again.

Sean:

I needed to remember never to be at a loss for words around Sheila. I had been thinking of a way to kill an hour before heading for bed and more practice. Sheila wanted to go to her studio. Clearly understood was that I was not going to call shots that night.

On the way, we stopped for carry out food. I thought nothing of it at the time. Sheila had me undress, while she peeled down to that corset thing I had come to know so well. She sat me in a wooden armchair. At that point, smoothly and with no sign of uneasy balance, Sheila put one foot on my shoulder. In a tribute to our first session, she placed her hands on her ankle and stretched out fully. Then she repeated with the other foot on my other shoulder. It was hot as hell.

After she finished, she picked a sleep mask and blindfolded me. My legs were bent and bound together, so that my toes were off the edge of the seat. My arms were bound behind the chair back. My legs were not bound to the arms, so I could have closed them, but what would be the point? I sat with spread knees and my manhood fully exposed.

I do not know what I expected, but it was not a Thai dinner fed with chopsticks. Bite by patient bite, Sheila fed me my whole meal. Then, I sat and listened to her eating her own food. It could not have taken long, but it seemed to be very long. Again, Sheila was reminding me of our first encounter, when I had left her alone for several minutes. The simple sounds of her eating were a lifeline. Occasionally, her toes would touch my thigh. We were that close together.

Presently, Sheila stopped eating. With a rustle of sound, she moved. Whatever she was sitting on must have been moved, because the next sensation I had was of her lips on my prick. Having her stretch against my shoulder had gotten me aroused. Even the many minutes it had taken for both of us to eat did not completely kill the erection. The first touch of her lips brought me back to attention.

At first, it was like her mouth play of the other night. Sheila was not skilled at oral sex, but she paid attention and learned quickly. She even sucked my balls. I was starting to slide back and enjoy—when the peppers soaked through. Blessed Lord Jesus.

There is an old joke. A man reaches for K-Y jelly and gets the Ben-Gay. The punchline is June Carter-Cash's Ring of Fire. There is no doubt that Sheila intended exactly this reaction. It worked. The burn of the peppers merged with my arousal. Soon the peppers were secondary to other things. The burn was not forgotten, but the friction took priority. Soon, my heart thundered in my ears. Sheila was deep throating me when I shot my load. Funny, I had heard deep throat took a lot of practice.  

Of course, that was only act one of the drama. Next, Sheila removed the blindfold. Instead of releasing me, she went to her workout out area and did stretches. I had already told her that I loved the shape of her ass. From what I could see, she was trying to show it off. Then, she came and released my legs.

I would have been dead not to respond to Sheila's little workout routine. However, to respond properly, I needed my hands, so, at my request, Sheila released them. Once she had, Sheila stood in front of me and presented her ass. This was what I wanted my hands for. I complied with Sheila's obvious wish. After a few moments of kneading, I guided her to my waiting cock.

Back when I was getting semi-regular sex, about ten years before, my lovers were generally older and much more experienced. One would think they knew most of the positions. Yet, I had only experienced chair sex once, and that was a quickie in a restaurant. Given what came next, I was at a loss to understand why.

It is a given that Sheila's twat was very tight. She sank down till the head of my penis rubbed her cervix. This was no quickie. It was a long period of slow movements, with both of us rocking, sometimes together, sometimes in counter point. My hands were free to explore Sheila's fabulous tits, while my lips could caress her neck. She could turn and kiss me over her shoulder. I received a bit more of the Thai hot sauce from her lips. From time to time, Sheila would shiver, which I took for a mini orgasm. Once, she clenched enough that I shivered with her. All the while, Sheila was milking my prick with her pussy.

They say time flies when you are having fun. In this case, time stretched til it seemed eternal. I could tell we were getting closer to a climax, but there was never any rush—at least not til Sheila decided to end it. Instead of the swaying movements we had both been using, Sheila put weight on her feet, and stood part-way up. With no hesitation, she dropped her weight, so that my cock went in as far as humanly possible, which was a fraction of an inch too far. Penis met cervix with a jar. I saw stars as I blew my wad.

Sheila was in no better shape. In fact, she may have passed out. Normally, that would be a stroke to my pride, but she got all the credit for this one. In any event we were both limp in that hard wooden chair. When she finally show signs of coherence, I told her that killing me with sex was counter productive, while killing herself was worse. That earned me a half hearted groan.

Then, both of us still undressed, Sheila took me to the video room and worked her magic. I knew that Peter and Justin were a bit in awe of her. This was the first time I had seen it in action. Almost faster than I could follow, she ran through four recordings. Every few seconds, she would stop, enlarge a section and crop it out. In under 10 minutes, I had a small book of shots on CD and a dozen printed photos, which highlighted Sheila's ass.

There was one other print. It showed her face at the moment of orgasm, with mine peaking through her hair. I would ask him, but I already knew what Justin would say when he saw it. It was another prize winner. I was going to need a special cabinet in the safe.

Sheila picked out one more picture. It was of her twisting to kiss me. This one was cropped to just show shoulders up. Sheila used a bas relief filter to make a 3-D effect. She saved the image to a thumb drive and put in her purse. I had no idea what it was for and I did not ask. It was tough.

Getting home was a bit of a chore. We could have showered there, but we had no clean clothes. I suggested that my shower was better equipped, which was only truth. We pulled on enough for modesty and headed for my car. I had a perverse urge to take Sheila back to the ice cream store, where she had flashed the clerk, but it was late for a Sunday. They would not be open.

There was no repeat of our shower scene. I washed Sheila and shampooed her hair. She returned the favor. Then we went to bed. Even if Sheila was interested, I was out like a light.

Monday morning, I woke to lips on my prick.

Sheila:

Sean may have been half joking when he talked of being killed by sex, but there was an element of truth there too. After all the French call it le petite morte, the little death. I sympathized. Even having fifteen or more minutes to recover, I was a rag doll when we left for the Residence.

Sean had suggested putting off showers, which made sense. We were both too wasted to take advantage. By the time we hit the bed, Sean was literally staggering. Before I had a chance to say good night, he was snoring. I made a mental note to buy some Breathe Right strips. I made sure he was lying well and covered, then I slipped out of the bed.

Amazing as it seemed to me, the time was still short of 11:00 PM. Our time at my studio had taken about an hour, plus driving and clean up. It was still early by Francine standards. I text her a quick note to get a PC and IM with me. By the time I was online, so was she. Naturally, Francine wanted all the details, but she had her own way of saying it.

Hold on for a second. Let me get the ass plug in. Double penetration makes a more satisfying orgasm. There. Now, tell me the whole scene, slowly, in loving detail. I want to be able to direct this scene on stage. I would have told her to fuck herself, but that was her idea.

So, I told Francine the events of the day. She was very taken with the quickie. in the Cloak Room. It was a position she had always wanted to try, but had never found a lover short enough. I liked the name: ballerina. As Sean said, we would have to try it in a lavatory some time. Francine also loved my use of stealth peppers. Somewhere along there, she climaxed and told me about it. I wished her many happy returns. Francine sent me a raspberry.

I went and retrieved the CD I had burned. I only sent the shot of my orgasm, but that was enough. Francine "Motormouth" Martel was speechless for over 15 seconds. Then, she got over it.

Holy fucking shit, Schwartz. I am so jealous. Holy Mary, Mother of God. That is...You are... I am so jealous. Tell me again, exactly what you did to reach that point. Jesus. Did you pass out? Oh. My. God. You can see Sean's face. He looks ready to explode, too. Was he as bad off as you were?

I allowed that I may have lost consciousness, for a moment, and that Sean was a limp rag afterward. When I said he was asleep before he hit the pillow, Francine indicted all men on that score. At that point I was able to move on to the wedding preparations. This was very informative. Sean had mentioned a meeting with Francine, but not that she had access to a full production company. That would simplify the dress code a great deal.

For my part, I told her about Siobhan, mentioning that everyone called her Jo. This was not something Francine needed to have explained. When I told her that Siobhan was bringing a dozen grad students, Francine was ecstatic. She had experience with volunteer help for Shakespeare productions. Then I told her about the corset fitting.

Francine needs no underwear, except to prevent chaffing. I had given her a piece of mine that did not fit. Even tied as tightly as possible, Francine could move around inside it. That is why I was surprised when she gushed excitedly. Francine wanted nothing less than a custom made push up corset. As much as I hated my oversized breasts, I could understand why Francine hated her flat ones. A tightly laced corset would give her a figure. Odd that a mid 30's woman would need one, but there it was.

By this time, we had been messaging for an hour and I was drooping. In jest, I promised to lace her tightly, gag her, strap her to a rail, stick a vibrating plug in her ass and fuck her with a baseball bat sized dildo. Francine replied, Schwartz, you say the sweetest things. I'll take you up on that, but after the wedding. Get pictures. Francine is not of this world.

I crawled into bed, but never made it under the covers. It did not matter, since the temperature control was excellent. Still, I woke about 6:30 AM. This time I was more traditional. I woke Sean with a blow job. In return, he gave me a full length back rub. I owed him on the exchange. After that, we made love again. Instead of missionary position, I split the bamboo. As usual, Francine knew her positions. 



K&T, LLC Ch. 03



Chapter 5 – Sheila Renée Schwartz, hereinafter the Bride...

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

"When Mom talks about the Merger, she is referring to the household staff. Dad means business. After all, it's still his thing. Mom had all real property. Dad wanted to make sure they both got a fair share of the company. I gather this was not trivial."

Sheila:

Showering together was nice. There was no sex, though a fair amount of pinch and tickle went on. What was nice was having someone to shave my hard to see places. In return, I lathered Sean and shaved him, top and bottom. Actually, I only trimmed the pubic hair, but I had his undivided attention. 

Once we had dried each other, it was time for my daily ordeal with the bustier. This was made immeasurably better by having two sets of hands. Sean had me sit at the vanity, while he fastened me up the back. Once it was hooked, he leaned forward and told me to enjoy it. Once I became pregnant it would no longer fit. That sent waves of conflicting emotions through me. I was still conflicted when Sean showed me the small kitchen, where I found hot water on demand. 

Then it was off to the gym. I half expected to find Christine waiting outside, but kneeling in the workout area would have been second choice. I told her to take ten minutes and email me a report. I caught a slight twitch of her lips. Christine already had one sent, or at least ready. I was loving that, not that I would tell her for a while.

Shortly after, I led Christine through the rabbit hole. On the other end, I found Claudia Johnson waiting. I forestalled anything she might say with a smile, a wink and finger to my lips. As I moved past, I grinned to myself. The cruelest thing you can do to a bright person is give them a little information, but not enough. Claudia did not know it, but she was in the middle of a job interview.

My morning was booked solid. After last week, it was inevitable. This was stressful, but it allowed me to quietly pass word along about both my nuptials and the pending move. Christine did a very nice impression of furniture. 

I made a point of looking up Sharon, the yoga instructor. I thanked her for her time the week before and informally invited her to the wedding. Sharon surprised me greatly by throwing her arms around me and exclaiming how happy that made her. Since we had never been close, I was taken aback. I was not sure what role Sharon would take in my life, but I planned on finding her a bigger one. Good friends are worth gold, and I was surprised to find one had been next to me all along.

Once my chores at XTreme Fitness were complete, I drove Christine to Martha's clinic. Martha was another friend and I wanted to invite her personally. It took a few minutes, but finally Martha poked her head out, with a worried expression. I ran up to her and gave her the hug I had gotten from Sharon. The mother's in the waiting room stared at us, some with hostility, until I held up my ring finger. Then everyone wanted to congratulate me. When I mentioned Sean's name, some of the smiles turned plastic. 

Martha's reaction was more telling. She heaved a big sigh and hugged me for real. That got some interesting expressions from the ladies. At least two of the ones that that had frowned at Sean's name looked shocked when Martha hugged me. Then Martha introduced me to the group.

"Ladies, this is Sheila Schwartz, the best personal trainer in town and a genuine good egg. She is marrying one of the few men in town that might be able to do her justice. Hopefully, in a few years, she will be sitting where you are now." She turned to her receptionist. "Carol, give Miss Schwartz my cell. Whenever the wedding is, clear my schedule." Oh my stars. The rumor mill just shifted up a couple of gears.

As we left, I could not help but notice Christine's expression. She practically glowed. When Christine saw me looking, her face became more controlled, but I could still see that she was deeply pleased. For a moment, that made no sense. Then I realized that Christine linked her status to mine. In her own subtle way, Martha had just given my debut party. G_d, I loved that woman.

Our next stop was Richards Enterprises. At Christine's urging, I took out Sean's card, which he had put in my pay envelope. The two of us went to Human Resources. I went up to a woman, whose desk ID said Barbara Johnson. When she looked up, I handed her the card. Another woman, whose desk ID said Barbara Kennedy, came over to look. 

Barbara Johnson cleared her throat. "When did he give you this?" 

I said, "It was in my pay envelope last Friday."

Ms. Kennedy said, "Pay envelope? What is your job here?"

"I was a contract hire: Art Director for the auction."

Ms. Johnson asked, "So you worked for Justin?"

"Well, technically, Justin reported to me. Christine said I should bring the card straight here." Ms. Kennedy was openly staring, with her mouth slightly ajar. Ms. Johnson swallowed before she spoke. 

"Did Mr. Richards say anything about your position?" 

Without a word I pulled out the antique ring. By this time, there were three other women and a man hovering nearby. Another woman, whose demeanor said Boss, was walking up. Even she stopped and stared. 

I said, "Sean Richards and I are engaged. Christine thought this would be a good way to let everyone know. She may have been right about that. It was fun. Now, would someone get Helen on the line?"

The woman who looked to be the department manager waived me forward. She held out her hand, which I shook. "Emilia Lucann, HR Coordinator. I suspect we will be working together. You can call from my office." As we went to the office, Emilia noted, "You know that they will be useless until everyone in the building knows?" I said nothing, but Christine looked smug.

My conversation with Helen was typically one sided. "Helen, Sheila here. Let Sean know I am in the building. I have a drawing of our invitations for his approval. We will need a mailing list no later than close of business. Do you have a preliminary copy?" Helen grunted an affirmative. "Good. I will take a look at it when I get there. Do Sean and I have any appointments?" Another affirmative sound. "Just text me the details. Christine and I let the cat out in HR. You should be getting feedback by now. Anything else?" Negative sound. "I'll be there in five." 

Ms. Lucann was watching in open admiration. "How long have you known Helen?"

"We met last week. Helen does not waste words. Now, I have something for your department. Sean's sister Siobhan will be arriving later today or tomorrow, along with a dozen grad students. They are going to help set up the wedding. It would be helpful to put them on as minimum wage general labor, so that they get worker's compensation coverage. Run it past Legal and copy Sean, on my say so. By the way, the wedding is Saturday at the Residence. Any questions I can handle?"

Ms. Lucann stared at me for a moment, then shook her head, as if to clear it. "If I did not know you weren't related, I would ask which branch of the family you were from. It is funny that you mention Miss Jo. You sound just like her. To answer your question, no. This will keep me busy for a while. Helen will keep me up to date. Everything goes through Helen, but you already seem to know that. By the way, congratulations. He is a good boss and seems to be a good man." I thanked her and we left. Outside, I complimented Christine on her instincts. That had made the right sort of waves.

When we reached Helen's desk, Helen handed me a list of names and I handed Helen the two rings. I was pleased to see that no one obvious had been omitted. Many of my clients were on the list, including Harold and Martha. Also included were my mother, Claudia Johnson, even Sharon. Lower down was a list of names with question marks. This list included Mario and Charles. I checked off all but a couple of those names. The only name I added was my landlady, Rosa Danvers. It was a long list, but still short of 200 names. Somehow I expected 200 would not scratch the surface of the attendees. For one thing, there was no media names that I could see.

Then, it was time to face the lawyers.

Sean: 

Saturday had been a special wake up. Sheila had climbed aboard and played cowgirl. Monday was more of a traditional fantasy. Sheila woke me with a blow job. It was so sweet, but I really had to pee. I came back and we made love. This time, Sheila put her leg on my shoulder, much like she had done the day before in the cloak room. She informed me it was called Splitting the Bamboo in the Kama Sutra. I suspected we would need a lot of bamboo halves.

In the shower we had a lot of touchy/feely, but no sex. Instead, she shaved me, including a trim down under. I shaved her more difficult places. It was comfortable and unforced. Helping her don the foundation garment was less comfortable. I reminded Sheila that a baby would change her figure. Sheila's expression would have gone perfectly next to a dictionary definition of ambivalent. That was good with me. I also had mixed feelings about my fiancée's passion for intricate, and difficult, support undergarments. I resolved to inquire about maternity wear, if such a thing existed. 

At the time I simply introduced her to my favorite morning toy, the flash boiler. Sheila loved it—no waiting for tea water. I made a mental note to get an egg cooker. Sheila does oatmeal and a boiled egg religiously. My preference is whole grain toast, with a sunny side egg face down in the middle. We agreed on the orange juice. As the saying goes, I could get used to mornings like that.

Someone once said, "If all work is play, then play would indeed be work." I had a job and so did Sheila. Actually, Sheila had three jobs. Given our schedules, it was amazing how much quality time we had already managed. Fiery, I use the term advisedly, orgasms were wonderful, but intimacy is made up of little courtesies and helpful thoughts. 

In a small epiphany, I realized that this is what was lacking in all my previous lovers. They may have been technically gifted, but they were not putting me before themselves. To be fair, neither had I. With Sheila, it seemed the natural thing to do. It also gave me a chance to play with her tits, which she liked to hide in a bank vault. As I gave her our parting hug, an evil thought was growing in my mind.

Work was an odd hash that morning. The weekend had been uneventful, in many ways, at least for the businesses. With the catalog finally approved, nothing significant was pending on the auction. No major overseas issues were underway, and the routine dealings were handled at a lower level. It was, for my job as CEO, a slack period. Ordinarily, this would mean several meetings where various people pitched ideas. 

Instead, I was on the phone with bankers and local businessmen—Sheila was the only female expected to attend—discussing the agenda for our meeting that afternoon. Attendance required $50,000, paid into an escrow account. When it comes to separating businessmen from dalliers, all that is needed is a demand for money. When I am doing a deal, talk is not cheap. It says something about my reputation that only one potential player begged off. 

Sheila did not know about the cash up front requirement, yet, because I posted her portion as well as my own. It was one of the details we would need to iron out, which was why I went to Legal. Curtis had several things for my attention, beginning with Sheila's prenuptial agreement. That went quickly. After that, Curtis and I discussed Sheila's idea about forming an LLC. Curtis promised to get busy on a set of charter documents, which meant he was 100% behind the idea. In passing, I mentioned the day we met at the DMV. Curtis gave me an odd look. He told me that except for the birth of his son, it had been the most important day in his life. Everyone's mind seemed to be on babies.

Helen had her usual list of items, broken down by priority. LM Bujold had a wonderful rating system—garden snake, venomous snake, hissing venomous snake. I added a fourth level, involving the hissing snake and soft anatomical parts. For an important day, the herpetarium was surprisingly quiet. There was a pair of messages from Francine. One was a note mentioning $100,000 and requesting bank routing. The other was contact information for her costume and construction people. Down the list a ways was arrival information from my sister Jo. I had to get those two together.

Getting Jo was easy. We kept up with each other, so her private number was on my cell. I told Helen to work the numbers Francine had provided til she got her in person. Twenty minutes later the three of us were conference calling. My part was purely for introductions. After that, I barely managed the proverbial edgewise word. Given that Francine has a high school education and Jo is an Ivy League PhD, the two sound surprisingly alike. It got worse. The longer they talked, the more the similarity grew. Sheila was taking both of them to get corsets fitted for the bridesmaid dresses. The thought of the three together was frightening.

Eventually, the first rush wound down. Francine would have people swarming by morning. Jo and her dozen of handpicked graduate students were arriving that evening. I mentioned Sheila's idea of using the party boat as a floating stage. That had both of them going for a while. Jo had some interesting ideas for fun and games. It seemed that one of her grad students specialized in the Amish lifestyle, which uses no electricity. She gave me a list of people to contact. 

I gave both of them Rick Williams number at Special Events. He could kill me later. I also mentioned the dust covered side show Rick and I had found. More excitement. Sheila had wanted horse drawn carriages. I suggested hiring Amish carriages and Amish young men to drive them. This led to a discussion of food service and Amish young women as servers. In turn, this led to more discussions of costuming, then dress code. 

Finally, we reached our first decision. The invitations would need to go out by tomorrow morning. They started discussing the Reception Ball, which would be fully formal. At that point, I bowed out. There was no telling how long they would be at it. I called the number Jo had given me, which turned out to be a Mennonite church near Philadelphia. The Amish are to Mennonites like Orthodox are to Jews. The Amish are a smaller, stricter portion of the whole. I spoke to an Elder Neufeld, who was raised Amish, but no longer kept the strict observances. I had explained the situation and asked if the time frame could be made to work. As an after thought, I asked about boat restorations. 

He was not very helpful, until I told him about the boat. Woodworking has great pride of place in Mennonite communities. For that alone, he was prepared to meet me. As for the rest, something might be arranged, if I was willing to hire a couple of train cars for a special run. Elder Neufeld promised to know more when we met.

After that unusual conversation, I checked back with Helen. She informed me that hurricane Sheila had arrived. Sure enough, there was a long list of emails awaiting my attention. Most, but not all, of them were from HR. Sheila's intention may have been to put her name in the rumor mill. If so, taking my card to HR was inspired. I suspected I had CC to thank for that detail. What Sheila did with the suggestion was even more spectacular. With all the gossip that had to be running, I hoped we managed some work.

Emilia Lucann was the only one that required a response. I sent a confirmation of the nuptials and copied everyone and their house pets. Almost immediately, I received word from Helen that Sheila and CC had arrived. Time to revisit Curtis.

One thing I loved about Sheila was her ability to make an entrance. Her outfit was very much in keeping with that tradition. It was closely fitted, which was not surprising given the bustier. She wore three inch ankle strap navy pumps. The suit was a cream colored linen, with a deep red blouse. Instead of earrings, she had simple sapphire studs. On the left breast, she wore a red and blue brooch. Her hair was up, but loosely, secured with a vintage comb and three long ivory pins. It framed her face very well. Her makeup was just mascara and red lipstick, which matched the blouse. 

I gave Sheila a quick hug, which she pressed, then stepped back. I glanced at CC. When Sheila shrugged, I suggested that some time back in Auctions would be helpful. Sheila sent CC off with just a glance. Seeing them together reminded me of something. I told Helen to find out about au pair training and to get CC enrolled. Sheila's smile was like a sunrise.

Signing the prenuptial agreement was no fun, but such things rarely are. Curtis' contract reserved the house, grounds, contents and my stock portfolio, particularly in Richards Enterprises. Sheila's section reserved the warehouse building, franchise rights to the gym, contents of her studio and personal property. The list was fairly impressive, much of it wearable. Jo would love the contents of Sheila's vanity.

With that chore done, we could turn to our real estate interests. The new company was to be called K & T Properties, LLC. Sheila was to contribute the warehouse. I would contribute the fair market value of the building plus the reasonable going concern value of the XTreme Fitness franchise. This amount was to be determined, but not less than $100,000. I produced the statement of deposit for the escrow account. I proposed this amount constitute the first $50,000. Sheila looked mildly surprised, but agreed without comment. 

After that, we haggled a bit on officers and meeting requirements. The state will not let you have a company that does literally nothing. At minimum, there have to be regular meetings, with minutes taken. Sheila gave Curtis the name of her accountant and signed a disclosure document. Then the three of us moved to the car and headed to the meeting.

The meeting was the usual gathering of businessmen. George Ablot claims he never made a dollar in a suit. He made his money clipping coupons from his father's ConEd bonds. Fred and Frank Fitzpatrick never wear anything but a three piece suit, then take off the jacket and tie. Fred was an architect and Frank was a general contractor. James Jameson used to own the newspaper, before he sold to Gannett. More recently he runs a list of rental properties and parking lots. Michael Weston—he hates the jokes—made his money in construction. He sold that company and started a new one that specialized in restorations. The only lawyer in the group, not counting the advisers, was J. Harlan Lipton, loosely related to the Lipton Tea family.

It was not the biggest or most powerful group the city had ever seen, but it would do. Everyone at the table, except Sheila, myself and George Ablot had held city office at some point. The Fitzpatricks and Weston stayed up to date on all zoning and proposed zoning. Ablot had family ties with various state and federal agencies, plus a brother who was a major concrete and paving contractor. If someone was in our way, these men could rock their boat. 

Sheila rocked them. I do not think any of them recognized her at first glance. Having seen Sheila in Cynthia mode, I was not surprised. Because of this, they were taken aback, since she was a completely new face. Nor was her name a help. Only Harlan Lipton recognized it, though I could see that several of the advisers also made the connection. However, when she spoke, four sets of eyes widened suddenly. Their sudden glances were met with a Cynthia smile. Jameson, Weston and Ablot all swallowed. Lipton smiled even wider. Interesting reactions.




K&T, LLC Ch. 03



As instigator of the activity, I had the gavel by default. The first order of business was to elect an acting chairman, which turned out to be me. I called the meeting officially to order. The first order of business was to declare assets. They eight of us had placed $400,000 in the escrow account. Sheila was revealed as owner of the warehouse. This property, and the fitness franchise it housed, was central to the entire deal. Faces lit up all over the room. Finally, I noted that we had a New York investor that had pledged $100,000. I was watching Sheila closely when I said it. There was never a flicker.

Once the cards were on the table, things relaxed. With Sheila on board, the anchor property was secured. In a smart move, Harlan Lipton moved we release Sheila's escrow, in exchange for her agreeing to give the group right of first refusal on the property. This was carried unanimously. Again, I was watching closely, Sheila made not a twitch when the escrow was mentioned. Once the motion carried, she thanked everyone. Then she mentioned that she had offices in the rear of the building, which she would need to move. Several faces blanched. 

I proposed the Parker Heights school as an alternative location. Sheila allowed it as a possibility, then asked about zoning, construction permits and other legalities. The others practically knocked each other over trying to be helpful. Within twenty minutes, the purchase of the school was contracted, using the $50,000 the group had just released from escrow. Once again, Sheila thanked everyone, then turned business back over to me. 

I did not mention our engagement til the meeting broke up. Somehow, word had gotten around by then. Everyone congratulated me, including the various advisers Not surprisingly, there were some odd looks in the process. Everyone promised to attend the wedding, even though Sheila announced that the reception was a formal dance. George Ablot joked that he would have to get his boiled shirt out of the attic. Sheila told him not to forget the starch.

As we left, I commented on how smoothly it had gone. Sheila had been a big part of that. Did she even know? I loved this woman. 

Sheila: 

The trip to Sean 's lawyer proved surprisingly easy. I had a list of my properties. Curtis, Sean's lawyer, had a list of his. There were provisions for settlements in case of infidelity, divorce, natural disaster, political unrest, nuclear war, etc. Sean and I both signed, and that was that. Sean did not look relieved, which was something I would have to think about—later. The next item on the agenda was our proposed new company: K&T Properties, LLC. 

I was glad to see that Sean, or Curtis, liked the idea of doing an LLC instead of a simple partnership. It would allow greater flexibility as we grew. I anted the warehouse. Sean chipped in cash, in the amount of $100,000, with the possibility of more. Then Curtis produced a deposit form for $100,000. This was money in escrow for our meeting later. Sean proposed that my half of this, $50,000, would count as paid toward our LLC agreement. I could have declined, but it was a nice gesture to front me the escrow money. By charging my debt against his, two things were tied off rather neatly. 

That done, it was off to the meeting, or rather, The Meeting. This would be my initiation into local high finance. I was more than a little nervous. The drive over was quiet. George was driving, with Curtis sitting in front. Sean and I shared the back, but did not touch. It would have been distracting.

The meeting was at a downtown club. We were greeted by a young man in a club jacket—a waiter. Without asking, Sean ordered me bottled water and a glass of ice. Perfect. Most of the other players were already seated. I was shocked to realize that I knew almost all of them on sight, and most by name. Sean had called this a "heavy hitters" group, as witnessed by the $50,000 price for a seat at the table. It took me a moment to realize that I was the only female in the room, even counting the dozen or so advisers. 

Sean started the meeting by making introductions of the principals. Clearly they were all familiar with each other—and curious about me. I could use that. When Sean gave me the floor, I used my Cynthia voice. The reaction around the room was electric. Of 20 people, counting myself and Sean, only four were unfamiliar with my voice. Twelve of them were either current or past clients of my studio. The others had met me in some other professional capacity. As they say, the whip was in my hand.

Sean, showing his usual grasp of timing, let this settle for a moment, then started the meeting. The first thing up was defining the group assets. When he revealed that I held title to the key building, it was like the sun coming up. Understanding dawned, so to speak. When Sean announced an additional $100,000, from a New York City investor, I may have been the only one that took notice. That money had to be from Francine.

While everyone else was digesting the news, Harlan Lipton showed why he once had been a favored client. He smoothly moved to release my escrow, in exchange for first refusal rights on my building. This was shrewd on several levels. Releasing escrow money cost the group nothing out of pocket. The money was mine already. However, for a group like this, a right of first refusal was valuable insurance. It guaranteed that control of the key property would stay with the group. This earned him brownie points from both sides. Things relaxed significantly

Then Sean, like the Ringmaster introducing a circus act, put me on the floor. I was ready. All it took was a mention of my "offices" behind the gym. The exact nature of my offices was clearly understood. Faces paled. Then I mentioned an anticipated move. There may not have been a lash in my hand, but the pattern was very familiar. Show the threat and give the alternative. The reaction was equally familiar.

Sean was the one with the alternative, Parker Heights school. The reaction could not have been scripted better. They fell on the problem like a pack of hungry dogs. In short order, my $50,000 was recommitted to the purchase of the old school building. Along with that came assurances of greased rails with the zoning board and building inspectors. I had a lot of work to do, but the red tape had been cut. It was such a rush. I understood why Sean called them the "doers". 

Having them jostle each other, for the privilege of doing me a favor, was something I would remember a long time. It was with an unsteady voice that I thanked them for their efforts and turnrd things back over to Sean. After that things were rather mundane—mostly a schedule for meetings and such house keeping. Then Sean announced our engagement. Unsurprisingly, everyone was unsurprised. The gossip line had done its work.

After the meeting was closed, congratulations rained down. Even the aides had at least a salute or a wave. George Ablot made a joke about getting a boiled shirt from storage. I told him that it would fit in perfectly, so long as it was stiffly starched. That earned me a laugh from the group and a sour look from George. The odd man out was Harlan Lipton. He stood aside and watched everything unfold. I would have to keep an eye on him. 

That was for later. Right then, I wanted Sean to put me against the wall and have his way. This would be a perfect place to conceive a child. Instead, we got in Sean's car and drove halfway across the state.

Chapter 6 – Arriving at Gate 216

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

After the meeting that launched the real estate group, Mom and Dad drove to Newark to pick up aunt Jo. On the face of it, they were worlds apart. Mom is artistic and athletic. Aunt Jo is an ivory tower bookworm. Middle class vs. old money. High school education vs. PhD from Yale. Skirts vs. slacks. Tea vs. coffee. They do not even like the same music. Naturally, they became inseparable. 

First they had to bring a gaggle of college kids home from the airport. I get a headache thinking about it.

Sheila: 

On the trip to Newark, the one saving grace was that George was driving. Sean and I could at least sit together and practice kissing. I discovered that little nibbles along the jaw line drove me crazy. Sean seemed to like having his lower lips sucked. Eventually, Sean had to call a halt before clothes starting coming off, not that I would have stopped. Still, it was good that one of us had some control.

At the airport, Sean told George to stay with the car. I was not sure if that was to save time after we picked up luggage, or to save George's bad knee. What ever the reason, I also took it to mean that Siobhan did not travel with a mass of luggage. Since I knew she had a room at the Residence, she may have kept a change or two there. That said, some people always pack for a long ocean voyage. My guess was that Siobhan was not "some people."

We arrived at the gate just as the plane was pulling up. I had time to check my messages, but not much else. Jason and Christine were in Reading, PA. I suspect it was to meet Roxanne. Jason said she was the winner of the blow job competition. Christine took her duties very seriously, which meant that she would want to learn from the best.

That train of thought was interrupted by a voice I knew. Siobhan was calling to Sean. I turned to introduce myself and stopped cold. I must have been expecting a female version of Sean. Wrong. Siobhan was at least as tall and outweighed Sean by thirty pounds. She was wearing cut up jeans and a torn Theatre of Tragedy concert shirt, with no bra. Her boots did not even match. 

She also sized me up and I saw the family resemblance. Sean stood aside, grinning widely. Siobhan's first word was "Spiffy." Presently, she went on, "I bet your workplace is immaculate, though maybe not your apartment. Good taste. Impeccable. Clean. God you move well. Sean said you danced, but he understated it. Not intimidated by the Bitch of the North. No nervous talking. And something else." She looked at Sean. "You too. What did you two just pull off? The cream is showing on your whiskers."

Sean laughed and pulled her into a hug. Siobhan lifted him off the floor. Together they said, "I've missed you. Why don't you ever..." Then they both laughed again. I smiled and relaxed a bit. Siobhan noticed immediately. "God Lord, Sean, she's relaxing. I give her the third degree, and she doesn't flinch. I drop her to get friendly with her fiancée, and she relaxes. Where did you get her? I want one, too. Sheila, I know you can talk. I heard you on the phone. Say something."

I had to say something, so I asked the first thing that came to mind, "Luggage?"

Siobhan stared at me for a long moment, then howled with laughter. It was no act. She was soon clutching her sides. When she finally managed to control herself, Siobhan said, "OK. You got me. I was going over the top, and not just a little. Sure. Two bags. You're good. I can make most people react."

I must admit, Siobhan's front was difficult to ignore. However, she was working at a disadvantage. I had theater training and Francine as a role model, so I could see the tormented geek inside. Siobhan was not fat so much as generally large. For a young girl, particularly one lacking social graces, it would have been torture. I had a twinge of sympathy. I hated my breasts. Siobhan hated her whole body. 

I said, "Sean, after we meet with Julian tomorrow, Siobhan, Francine and I will be going into the City to shop. Make sure she has some money to spend. Siobhan, you are going to love my assistant, Christine. You have already used up her allotment of words for this month. George is waiting." 

Siobhan did not stare at me with a slack mouth. Her jaw was clenched to prevent it. Odd as it may seem, my heart reached out to her for that. Go girl. Don't give an inch. I could see that Sean was doing his best not to laugh, much. 

Once Siobhan had her face under control, she turned to Sean. "Is it always this bad?" Sean nodded and said, "You know Gerald, our head of security." It was not a question, but Siobhan nodded understanding. "Gerald worships the ground Sheila walks on. He uses words like "professional" and "precise" when he refers to her." I was not sure exactly how to take that, but this time Siobhan's mouth did fall open. What sort of reputation did Gerald wield?

On that note, we reached the escalators to Baggage. Several minutes later Siobhan's bags appeared. One was a well made backpack and the other was a military duffel. Bags indeed. Sean gave George a call and we lugged the bags to the curb. George pulled up and popped the trunk. Siobhan calmly tossed in both bags, as if they did not weight fifty pounds each. Then we drove to Avis, where Sean rented a van, almost a small bus. 

George took the van, while Sean drove the car. He quickly maneuvered us out of the airport and into a residential neighborhood. We stopped at restaurant called Casa de Espana. Checking his watch, Sean said, "We are a bit late. I hope it is not overcooked." No more explanation was forthcoming, so I followed him in. Annoyingly, Siobhan seemed to know what to expect. She looked pleased, so that was one point. 

At the door we were greeted by the usual request for name and number in the party. However, before the door attendant finished asking, a man hurried up. "Senor Sean, welcome. Senorita Jo, welcome." When he came to me, he paused. Sean said, "Eduardo, may I present my finacée, Sheila. Sheila, this is the owner, Eduardo Garcia y Ortiz." Eduardo looked surprised. He bowed deeply, took my hand and kissed it, then he led us to our table. Already laid out were three places, a basket of bread and a carafe of rose wine. Sean poured wine for himself and Siobhan. 

I handed Sean my glass, showing an inch with my other thumb and forefinger. He obliged with a splash of wine. Siobhan raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. I held up the glass. "A toast, to the first sister I have ever had." Siobhan looked surprised, the held up her glass, saying, "My first as well." We drank and settled back with warm bread and honey butter. Siobhan asked me, "Are you being careful already?"

I smiled. "I wish, but it is not possible yet. Give us a week or two. I am certainly ready. I felt like having Sean up against the wall, after our meeting this afternoon." Siobhan snorted and Sean sprayed water all over the table. I was glad he had not taken a drink of wine. As Sean leaned over, coughing, Siobhan said, "I am glad someone can shock him like that. Sean has become a bit jaded. Against the wall? Seriously?" This time I was the one blushing, while Sean looked like the cat with the parakeet in his mouth. He said, "Sheila is very limber." I did my best to die of embarrassment.

Before Sean could pile on more heat, our food arrived. Sean's remark now made sense. It was a huge pan of paella, with shellfish, snails and something that looked sort of like chicken, but turned out to be rabbit. Sean picked up the serving spoon, paddle really, and held out a hand for our plates. 

If you have never had well made paella, find someone that knows how to do it. It was my first experience, but it would not be my last. The crunchy rice is to die for. I ate entirely too much.

Siobhan: 

I flew into Liberty International in Newark. The reason was that my big brother was getting married and I was going to help do the wedding. I hope it worked. Sean had been burned before and he deserved some happiness. My brief conversation with Sheila was encouraging. She was quick and bright. Sean can be domineering, but Sheila did not come across as anyone's pushover. Still, she was talking about corsets and vintage dresses. I could envision a stiff, proper lady, with her nose high in the air. My choice of attire reflected my conflict.

Normally, I like to dress comfortably. Jeans and T-shirt are standard garb for a TA, except when teaching. I chose the ratty jeans I use for ratty clubs and a Theatre of Tragedy concert shirt. I went light on the jewelry, just a chain and a couple earrings, but wore the combat boots and a headband. The point was to jar her, not scare her. 

Luck was with me. I was exiting behind a short Hispanic woman, so I could see over her head. When I spotted Sean, I looked for Sheila, then my heart sank. The beautiful woman next to Sean was straight as an arrow, and I do not mean her sexual orientation. Her posture was like an illustration in an etiquette manual. Her makeup was immaculate and her hair was artistically disheveled. She wore a cream suit over a dark green shirt. The close tailoring displayed her trim, athletic lines. In short, she could have been sent from Central Casting, as a trophy wife.

I went to hug Sean, which was only natural, but it allowed me to size her up. Most women flinch when I do that. She did not. So, I made the inspection more obvious. I commented on her likely habits, something I have a noted skill at doing. It did not faze her. Finally, I asked her to say something. She asked about my bags. It was too much. I cracked up.

Once I had let the tension out, I acknowledged the hit and told them that I had two bags. Sheila gave back my whole scene, with topspin. Instead of addressing me, she told Sean. "Sean, after we meet with Julian tomorrow, Siobhan, Francine and I will be going into the City to shop. Make sure she has some money to spend." I swear to God, she acted like I was his ward and needed pocket money. Then she addressed me. "Siobhan, you are going to love my assistant, Christine. You have already used up her quota of words for this month." Before either of us could say a word, she changed the subject, saying, "George is waiting." 

I asked Sean if performances like this were unusual. When I did, I almost added a punch, because he was laughing so hard. Instead of answering directly, he referred to Gerald, our oh-so-exacting head of security. Gerald and I get on each other's nerves. If Sheila got along with Gerald, I was prepared to be impressed. It was worse than that. Sean said, "Gerald worships the ground Sheila walks on. He uses words like "professional" and "precise" when he refers to her." My mouth fell open. Gerald using the word "professional" was bad enough, but "precise"? About another individual? It boggled the mind, yet, it rang true. Sheila had just cut me to bleeding shreds and used only four or five sentences—short sentences with lots of one syllable words.

Fortunately, Sheila did not gloat. That was almost as impressive as her performance. Instead, we went down to camp in baggage. Eventually, my flight came up on the board. Sean alerted George and we met him out front. George knew me well enough to stay behind the wheel and let me get my own bags. However, Sheila looked surprised. Interesting.

The next part of the routine was new. Since I had a small zoo coming down, we needed transportation. Avis did for that. Then we went out into Newark. Within moments, I knew where we were headed, but Sheila was at a loss. I have a Yale PhD. It is not often that I loose a bout of verbal fencing. It stung. It may be petty, but I took some pleasure in seeing Sheila off balance. That was a funny metaphor, because thinking of her physically off balance did not compute. Sheila did not walk, she glided.

Casa de Espana is something of a family tradition. I forget who discovered it, but some of my favorite memories from adolescence revolve around a table full of paella. Senor Eduardo has just the right touch, so that the rice is crunchy, without being hard or dry. It was almost worth leaving my car behind, just to get a meal there.

We had an amusing moment when we entered. The girl at the door, who could not have been more than seventeen, did not recognize us. Senor Eduardo came rushing up, before things could get awkward. Sean introduced Sheila as his fiancée. Eduardo gushed and kissed her hand. I would say it was nauseating, but it really was not. I needed to restock my cute repellent. Points to Sheila, again, for not lapping it up.




K&T, LLC Ch. 03



Our table was ready, as usual. Sean poured for me and himself, but not for Sheila. That struck me. How long had they been dating? Sean had never mentioned her before last week. In any event, Sheila asked for a small amount of the wine. It was to toast me, as the sister she had never had. As corny as that sounds, it was delivered with full sincerity and I was genuinely touched. It was so strange. She was treating me like a girl, and I was responding. What was worse, I had to ask, "Are you being careful already?"

Again, Sheila refused the usual path. Most women either proclaim their pregnancy or take offense at any mention of the possibility. Sheila simply smiled a little sadly. "I wish, but it is not possible yet. Give us a week or two. I am certainly ready. I felt like having Sean up against the wall, after our meeting this afternoon." Woh. Not a sheltered rose after all. Sean was more than ready to add his part. He sprayed the table with his drink. That made me feel better. Sean is no slouch in the verbal cut throat.

While he recovered from coughing, I said, "I'm glad someone can shock him like that. Sean has become a bit jaded. Against the wall? Seriously?" Finally, a point for me. Sheila turned vivid red, while Sean looked insufferably smug. "Sheila is very limber." I thought Sheila might pass out from blood loss. I was beginning to understand what they had going, which was a huge relief. The kind of women that Sean used to date would never stoop to doing it dirty. That was yet another point on Sheila's tally. Somewhere along there I quit counting.

The food came and we gave it the reverence it deserved. Sean had ordered the traditional Valencian paella. Originally, the dish was done with game and snails. Fresh water mussels were a bit of a stretch, but I was not going to be picky. Sheila had clearly never eaten paella before, but still ate only a small portion. If she had not looked genuinely stuffed, I would have felt slighted. She must eat like a bird.

After dinner, Sean had them box the leftovers. The flight was not for another hour, so we had a chance to sit and talk. The obvious subject was the wedding, but it never came up. Instead, we talked politics and Ebay. On one hand, it was appalling to find how disinterested Sheila was about national political events. On the other, it was shocking how plugged in she was to the local scene. In Sheila's world, politics was about the influence of individuals, not organizations and corporations. That was background. 

Ebay was another story. I knew a fellow junky when I met one. It started with my "look." I told her that the T-shirt was from the band's Last Curtain Call tour. Sheila found that interesting. When I said it had come from an online auction, she became avid. We discussed goth and metal influences on urban fashion. As an anthropologist, studies of fashion is part of my toolbox. It was surreal having the focus turned on my own college life. 

That led to Sheila's own outfit. For a woman that clearly devoted time, money and effort to her appearance, Sheila was shockingly dismissive of her linen suit. She blew it off with, "I had it made in Hong Kong", as if that was uninteresting. Even online tailoring is made to order. Then, I discovered that she had purchased it five years earlier—and it still fit. Sean showed a knowing smirk, then he flipped his head toward the restrooms. For the first time in my life, I was invited to powder my nose.

Once in the lady's room, Sheila took off her jacket, then unbuttoned her shirt. Underneath was an ecru silk foundation, with boning in the sides. It was beautiful. I had dated girls that wore corsetry as fetish wear. This was something else entirely. Sheila said that it enforced her diet, which was obvious. Suddenly, her tiny plate of food did not seem so picky. 

Without meaning to, my hand went out to touch the fabric. Sheila permitted the intimacy, which was something that kept me up all night. At the time, I discovered that what I had taken as B cup tits, were actually much heavier, more like mine. I am a 44D, but Sheila was maybe a 34, more likely a 32. On her thin frame, D cups would be massive. I thought, why hide them if you have them? Then it hit me—Sheila did not like her breasts.

Right there in the restroom, I went into full scholarship mode. The clothes were not decorative, they were defensive. I could relate. The excellence of the fit and fabric helped her to stay faceless, like chameleon coloring. The tight fit was comforting, supportive even. Another coin dropped.

I know a bit of about human nature and psychology. It is impossible to be a good social science major without picking it up. That said, I was not a trained therapist. Insight, like I had just reached, would usually take weeks or months of interaction. I was not either talented or experienced enough to pick it up in a few minutes. That meant Sheila was showing it to me. Damn she was good. 

I chewed on the nature of relationships as we went back to the table. One of the few invariant elements of successful relationships is communication. I knew that Sean was gifted as a listener. His faults tend to be in the other direction. If Sheila was half as good as she seemed, they would make one hell of a team. I felt my lips twitch up a bit. In response, I saw Sheila smile, just a bit. Yep. Sheila was no slouch picking up signals.

All good things must come to an end. Much too soon, it was time to head back to Liberty International and pick up my herd. 

Sean: 

The trip to Newark was not something I looked forward to. The prospect of dealing with the gaggle of girls Jo was bringing would be bad enough. That paled next to the prospect of Sheila and Jo butting heads. Sheila is no one's patsy, but my sister could plow a deep furrow. In some ways, the two could not have been more different. I knew that they had conversed on the phone, without incident, but Jo in person is a different experience. I loved my sister, but I wished she had learned how to blend in.

She saw me first, so we started with Jo's calling to me across the lobby. Same old, same old. Jo was wearing ancient, mismatched military boots, ratty pants that were once jeans and a torn red and black concert shirt. No bra. Jo was not trying to hide what she was. At least she was only wearing half a dozen earrings and none in her nose. Whatever cut she was wearing was covered with a bandana. Her pierced nipples, clearly visible through the shirt, had small posts, rather than the big rings. Jo was trying for effect, not impact.

She came up and gave Sheila her patented inspection. First the long look over, then a critique. It is always completely fair, but also uncomfortably close to home. Jo is sort of like Debra Winger in Black Widow, but aggressive rather than diffident. Jo nailed the part about Sheila's apartment not being as neat as the office. Good one. I particularly liked the line about our meeting. Cat with milk on the whiskers indeed. 

She was doing a good job on Sheila. I pulled Jo into a hug and she tried to break me in half, as usual. We both said "I missed you" at the same time, then laughed about it. But Jo's attention was still on Sheila, who had not risen to the bait. In fact Sheila loosened up a little. Jo noticed and commented on it. Finally, she asked Sheila to say something. Sheila replied with one word, "Luggage?"

That did it. Jo howled with laughter. There is no other word for it. People stopped and stared, which was nothing new. What was different was that Jo had trouble stopping. She was holding her sides before she regained some control. Got any tension, sis? When Jo stopped laughing, Sheila took her turn at bat.

First, she told me to make sure Jo had money for shopping, as if there was a school trip and I was Jo's parent. She told Jo that she had already said more than CC did in a month. Then, before either of us could comment, she reminded us that we had a car waiting. Having been on the receiving end of Sheila's wit, I could sympathize. The cuts were so smooth that you almost did not feel them.

Jo's jaw did not drop, not quite. After she took a second to recover, she asked me if this was normal for Sheila. It was a good question. Jo has survived Ivy League office politics, where the subtle put down is an art form. Even in that context, what Sheila did was impressive. I put it in terms that would sink in fast. "Gerald worships the ground Sheila walks on. He uses words like "professional" and "precise" when he refers to her."

Jo is large, loud and prone to making chaos. Gerald is compulsively neat and organized. They clashed from the moment they met. Jo understands what Gerald does, and respects him for it, but there is no affection lost. At best, they avoid each other. At worst, you can hear Jo all over the house. At the word "precise", Jo's mouth did fall open. 

Sheila was the one that saved us, simply by heading toward Baggage Claim. There, we had a while to wait, but the fencing was done for a while. Eventually, the flight went up on the board, so I called George and told him to come around front. As usual, Jo disdained getting a cart, so I lugged a loaded military duffel to the front curb. George popped the trunk and Jo threw her bags in. That concluded round one, which went to Sheila 4-0. 

Next it was Avis to rent a people hauler. Then, we had two hours to kill. In Newark, that means only one thing—I was going to introduce Sheila to paella. The family had been going to Case de Espana since Ronald Reagan was President. I had called ahead, so the preparations would already be underway. I hoped we would not be late.

There was an awkward moment at the door, when a teenaged receptionist did not recognize us. Senor Eduardo came rushing out of the kitchen, to rescue things. I introduced Sheila as my finacée. Senor Eduardo bowed and kissed her hand, which was nice. Then he led us to our table, already set, with a carafe of wine. 

I poured for myself and Jo. Surprisingly, Sheila asked for a splash. She explained by holding up the glass and saying, "A toast, to the first sister I have ever had." I knew Sheila, so I could tell she was sincere. I also knew Jo. Those words could easily have been flung back. It was a measure of both of them that Jo replied in kind, "My first as well." Maybe I was the only one with a sense of crisis averted.

Dinner conversation almost did not get started at all. Jo saw that Sheila was not drinking the wine and made the obvious assumption. Rather than take offense, that someone assumed she was pregnant, Sheila turned wistful and said not yet. Again, I know my sister. That shocked Jo as much as anything that had been done or said so far. Then, Sheila said she wanted to do me up against the wall. It was too good to pass, except I was coughing up half a glass of water. 

While I was coughing, Jo stole my cue. "I am glad someone can shock him like that. Sean has become a bit jaded." Foul. Low blow, pun intended. Then Jo asked a serious question. "Against the wall? Seriously?" This time I was ready. "Sheila is very limber." Sheila did an excellent rendition of "Death by Embarrassment."

Anything else was lost when the food arrived. I served and both Jo and I watched Sheila have her first experience. It was almost as erotic as the jokes. Yet, Sheila stopped before she cleared half her plate. There is no room in that thing she wears. As it happened, the foundation was relevant the subject that had arisen. 

Sheila and Jo are both dedicated online shoppers. Having seen some of the things Sheila buys, I can flatly say that this is a good thing. Jo, not so much. In any event, Sheila mentioned that her linen suit was tailor made in Hong Kong. Normally, this would be a boast. Jo caught that it was not. When Sheila said it was five years old, Jo was becoming incredulous. I knew the reason, so I suggested that Sheila show Jo exactly how she stayed on her diet. I swear, Sheila asked Jo to come powder their noses. 

They were gone a while. I brought George up to date and promised him leftovers. I would have faced a mutiny if I had not. The flight would be on time, so we needed to wrap things up, in order to deal with security. I called Senor Eduardo over and settled the bill. Then, I sat. 

Just as I was beginning to fret, Sheila and Jo came out. I wish I had a photo. Their faces would be worth a dissertation or two. Sheila was looking as open and vulnerable as I had ever seen. Jo was thoughtful. Underneath that, Jo was profoundly shocked. What the hell had they been talking about?

There was no time to consider. We needed to get back to the airport, through the teeth of traffic. Maybe we were lucky, but I pulled up to short term parking just in time to see George walk into the terminal. We reached the waiting area as the plane taxied to a stop. Sheila came to stand beside me. Jo put on her TA face and went to the exit area.

As promised, there were a dozen grad students: four male and eight female. I wondered how the twelve paired off, since I had six rooms reserved. Jo brought them over to where Sheila and I were standing. Some of the pairings were already obvious, while others would be thrown together. One of the guys was taken by a female. Two others were paired. I wondered how Jo would handle the fourth one. It was none of my business, but such things are an issue with my company. 

Jo simply assigned pairings without regard to couples. She even broke the two gay men into different rooms. On second thought, maybe she was taking relationships into account. I was morally certain that some of the females were lesbian. My guess is that those pairs were broken up as well. Then, Jo introduced Sheila and I to them, not bothering with the reverse. She did introduce us to Shandra and Evaine, because they were riding back with us. 

Baggage was a chore. Three of the girls had a buggy full of suitcases and a couple others were close. I smiled to myself. Sheila squeezed my hand, meaning she got that byplay as well. Jo trouped the offending girls to the lockers and told them they had 15 minutes to get down to two bags. It was either that or a $500 cab fare. Two of the girls took her up on the cab. One of the others was Evaine. She was elbow deep in a lingerié case when I left. Sheila stayed to help. 

I collected Shandra, who was looking quite smug. She had two bags, but both were trunks. I told her that she would need to ship them to the motel, since my car had no roof rack. That stopped her for a moment. Then she pulled out a cell phone and a credit card. Good God, was I ever like that? 

By the time the dust settled, six of the students had arranged alternative transportation, though George would be carrying luggage for two of them. They were sharing cabs to make room in the van. Eventually Evaine and a girl named Elspeth climbed into the back of the Mercedes and we headed out. The plan was to caravan, but one of the cabs pulled off at a TGI Fridays. Soon after another pulled into a strip mall, then the third headed toward downtown. Both our girls were staring out the back window as if they had been abandoned.

When we got to the motel, reinforcements were waiting. William and Russell had come to help handle luggage. With the extra hands, our six students were quickly installed. Jo collected the six in the hallway. She told them to be up washed, dressed in work clothes and fed by 8:00 AM. The motel served a cereal and waffle breakfast, if they wanted it. Across the street was an IHOP and a Dunkin Donuts. 

It was at this point that it occurred to me that Sheila, Jo and Francine were going to be gone most of the next day. 

Siobhan: 

I will not dwell on the disaster at the airport. First, I had room assignments. This meant either isolating a couple of unpaired students, allowing couples of mixed sex, or pissing everyone off equally. That was an easy choice. Then there was the baggage snafu. I said two bags only, knowing they would ignore me. Even two bags was too much for our hauling capacity, but I figured on some attrition. When the smoke cleared I was down to one guy and five girls. They were all scholarship students, so cab fare was not easily available. I had hopes at least some of them would be ready to work in the morning. 

Sean and Sheila took off with two of my girls. George and I followed with the rest. The cabs with the others followed a ways, but soon peeled off. I hoped they were not hung over too badly. Tuesday was going to be a feeling out day as it was. I was beginning to think that was optimistic. As we pulled into town, with the motel in sight, it occurred to me that I was committed to be with Sheila the next day. Oh fuck.

Sean had arranged extra help for unloading. That was nice. Afterward, I collected my scholarship students and told them to be ready to work at 8:00 AM the next morning. I could see it go in one ear and out the other. Oh damn. This was shaping up to be a cluster fuck. My worry is that it would be one, literally.

Sean, Sheila and I finally headed back to the house. I was about to tell Sheila I was going to be unavailable. Before I could get started, she held up her hand then dialed her cell phone. What the hell? Whoever it was had a speed number. I could only hear her side, but it was enough.

Sheila said, "Gerald, Sheila. How are you set for NCOs? Any Drill Instructors would be excellent. We have a dozen grad students to herd and I am not available. Six came with us. Six are following in taxis. Do the math." Holy shit. Sheila paused, but not long enough for a tirade. 

"Oh-eight-hundred. Give them to the Gilberts and sit on them. They can leave on their own dime, but not come back. Siobhan will deal with them back at school." That was an idea I could get behind. I was beginning to like the way Sheila thought. 

"Gerald be nice. She is going to be my family and I like her." Huh? What had I done to be liked? 

"Tell you what. I have $20 that says she not only dances with you at the ball, but that you will want her to." Sean yelled from the front seat, "Sucker bet, Gerald." Sheila went on, "Fine. Make it $50. Just get our kids dirty tomorrow. All I want is eight hours of hard, dirty work. Hooyah?" Hooyah? Seriously? 

"Absolutely. Anyone in military dress will be welcome. They could not fit in better. Good?" Wait. Was she inviting our staff to her ball? That might work. I was really getting to like the way Sheila thought. I almost missed the sign off. 

"No promises, but I can introduce you to a genuine Broadway star. She can dance a bit. Night." That had to be Francine Martel. Dance a little. Oh my God.

After Sheila had hung up, Sean told me, "That counts as leisurely. Gerald said Sheila can deliver a 30 minute brief in 15 seconds. I pity the ones that are hung over. Tomorrow will be a forced march. Some will run. After all, what is a couple thousand bucks you never had to earn. The ones that are left will be worth the whole dozen. Watch." Unstated was the part about me being greeted as the savior the next morning. 

There was one thing I had to know. I asked Sheila, "Did you make that up on the fly?", referring to her conversation with Gerald. The idea of anyone talking to Gerald that way boggled my mind. Gerald is Gerald. He scowls at his shadow. Sheila simply nodded. 

"What the hell do you do for a living?" 

Chapter 7 – That's good. Print that.

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

They got the students back to their hotel and checked in for the night. Evidently, Mom's idea was to let them run free, then have them working through hangovers. Mom can be pretty cold when she wants to be. What no one understands is that Mom turned them over to house security and Dad hires ex-military. The back lawn was boot camp. 

In the mean time, Mom, Dad and Aunt Jo went to check out the gym where Mom was a trainer. While they were there, they swung by Mom's old photography studio. Even before Justin, Mom was doing editing. I am told that mostly stills from when she worked out a client. Aunt Jo saw the whole Jason shoot. It is one of the things that she says changed her life.




K&T, LLC Ch. 03



Siobhan: 

Sheila looked at Sean. He did not even look back. He just turned back toward town. We went past downtown to the bad part, by the tracks. Sean asked, "Front or back?" Sheila said, "Back, first." It occurred to me that I was thinking "what the hell?" a lot tonight. 

Sean parked the car behind an old warehouse. We were on the back side, but there was plenty of light and a clearly visible security camera. Even Sean's vintage Mercedes would be reasonably secure for a while. Sheila opened a blank metal door into the building. There was a long hallway,with side doors marked "Men" and "Women". They were locked, but I smelled moisture. Locker rooms? Further up the hall were a row of large storage cabinets. Sheila went to one and opened the padlock. Inside was... Holy fucking shit. 

Sheila had told me that she was a Dominatrix, but that did not prepare me for what I saw. The cabinet was a Dom's wet dream. Everything in it was some sort of whip or cane. Sheila reached in and pulled a short, multi-stranded whip. She weighed it in her hand, then turned to Sean and dropped to one knee. Sheila said, "In front of this witness, I offer this lash, in the hope it serves you as well as it has served me." What the fuck? Seriously, what the fuck? Sean took the handle. He said, "Rise. Your homage has found favor." That actually made some sense.

$300,000 worth of Yale education kicked in. Sean was all about role playing. When I was very young, I remember him constantly getting in trouble for using the good towels as a cape. He had a phase of comic book super heroes, but his favorite was Edmond Dantés, with a nod to Aramis of the Three Musketeers. If I recalled correctly, he studied fencing at Brown. Playing the Liege Lord was very much his style and taste. 

I did not know Sheila like I knew Sean, but I had eyes and Sheila had gone out of her way to show me things. The tight clothes, that concealed instead of displayed, were a telling point. Sheila was adept at hiding in plain sight. Roles were not an avocation, they were a survival trait. That meant... "Show me the costumes."

I had not meant to speak aloud. It is something the whole family does. Sean is constantly speaking his thought process, though often it is only twitches of the lips. If you pay close attention, it is like reading his mind. In my case, I had been blurting things, and getting in trouble for it, for as long as I could remember. Occasionally, it can be useful.

Sean and Sheila looked up, their private moment broken. Still, it took only a moment for Sheila to rise and open a door further down the hallway. This was no cabinet. It was a three room walk-in closet. There were men's clothes, in many sizes. With the exception of a block of 1960's psychedelia, the bulk of them were suits or formals, mostly in a vintage style. 

That was nice. The point to this exercise was the women's wear. Fashion has never been my thing, but some knowledge is almost required by my discipline. The short version is that Sheila could dress for almost any adult female role, in almost any social mileau of the last three hundred years. That said, there was a definite preference to variations on Mary Poppins: Medium length dark skirt or smock and a very conservative light colored top. 

Then there were shoes. Nothing on that wall was vintage. There was a range from ballet slippers to kinky tall pumps, with a separate section for boots. Colors were all over, but they ran heavily to glossy black and ankle straps. Were those straps a tell tale, or did they just look sexier. I was betting on more symbolic self bondage. That said, these were functional shoes, with very few exceptions. Sheila might be a chameleon—this wardrobe certainly made that easy—but she was one who could move. 

Movement. Sheila did not move, she flowed. She was wearing a skin tight, stiffened, full length foundation, yet she flowed. That made total sense, considering she was one of Herr Gruber's star students. Yet, Sean had said that Gruber had dumped her. Why? It was not for defiance or misbehavior. Gruber tolerated quite a lot of that from his other star, Francine Martel. It had to be something else. But what? 

I looked up and saw Sean and Sheila staring at me. Stares are not unusual, but usually I am acting out of place. Ah. I was being quiet, which is out of place for me. I was about to drop my train of thought, when I caught Sheila's profile. Even with that tight foundation, her breasts were pronounced. I remember thinking how heavy they looked. Oh my God. 

Even six weeks of failed dancing instruction taught me how much depended on balance. Speaking from personal experience, heavy breasts is not a figure of speech. Those massive tits would throw her off. It would not matter to 99% of the world, but Sheila had wanted to dance the big time. At a professional level, it simply would not have worked. No wonder I was getting vibes of sympathy from her. Sheila had major body image issues of her own. Who'd-a-thought?

They must have seen something in my face. Sean relaxed noticeably, while Sheila flowed over to me. We hugged like long separated twins. The thought made me smile. Which of us was Ahnold and which was DeVito? I had told Sheila that I would marry her, if she were not already engaged. That had been flip, but I could definitely see her as a life partner. It did not hurt that she was sexy as hell.

After that I got the five cent tour. We went into the studio proper. After the cabinet full of whips, it was not particularly shocking—big, well equipped, beyond anything I had seen—but not shocking. I could not help but see the stretching bar in the center of things. I looked at Sheila and she caught my glance. 

Without a word, Sheila went to the bar, extended her foot over it and grasped the bar with both hands. My hamstrings twinged in sympathy. Sheila pressed her face to her knee, then began an evolution. Her off hand came off the bar, as her whole torso rotated 90°. She finished with the free arm gracefully arced over her head, nearly back to the bar. If I had not seen it, I would have said it was impossible. Then Sheila devolved to the first position, dismounted and repeated the entire process with the other foot on the bar. 

I was thinking, "Do much yoga?" It must have been aloud, because Sheila laughed. She told me that her yoga instructor refused to even attempt lessons, contradictory as that seems. Sharon was, she said, "good people" and would be at the wedding. With that to chew on, we went into the offices. Sean and Sheila never said a word, but I could pick up subtle clues that Sean was guiding the procession. It led to a very upscale PC, surrounded by data disks. Sheila started up the computer, while Sean picked out a disk, titled Jason. In a day full of shocks and revelations, that disk was easily the biggest.

Sheila started with a selection of still shots. They showed a young man, boy really, gagged, harnessed, and hung from a wall by a stick under his armpits. That would have been enough, but the point was the boy's facial expression. Better yet, the images focused on the evolution of his expressions. The boy, Jason presumably, was watching something outside the shot. I would lay tall money that he was watching Sheila, in her full Dominatrix mode.

There were so many levels of this, I could not begin to sort it out. My first urge was to shove Sheila aside and camp at that computer for the next two days. Since that was not possible, I had to focus on why I was shown this spectacle. That led to who had shown me. The answer to that was Sean. Big brother wanted me to see—what? 

It seemed big brother was not finished. He handed Sheila another disk. This one was dated a week ago, but had no name. Sheila spun it up and we saw the whole scene as a raw security recording. Sheila went through the first part at 8-1 speed. I watched as Jason came in, went to change, came back to be gagged then hung on the wall. I winced as a couple of hulks used that big stick to hoist Jason off his feet. Sheila was dressed in what I took as working clothes, basically bitch-on-the-town mode. Then she left. 

Whatever camera was in use, it had a fantastic auto focus. I got a fleeting glimpse of Sheila's face as she moved out of the shot. The bitch act was exactly that—an act. There was a long pause, even at 8-1, then Sheila came back out, wearing only panties and a bra. Holy shit. Stacked does not begin to describe her. I was getting heated. Sheila spent a long moment rolling up stockings, then unrolling them onto her sculpted legs followed by garters. I was getting very turned on. So, obviously, was Jason. Yet, the main show had just started.

Once she had put on her stockings and pumps, Sheila handed one of the hulks a tray, then pulled out a corset. She wrapped a corset around and did up the busks. The hulk set the tray down and pulled the corset strings tight. I have some experience with fetish corsets. This corset was tightened well beyond that level. I would guess two full inches, maybe three. Once he was was finished, Sheila spent a moment checking everything, then did the same stretch-on-the-bar routine that I had just seen live. It was much more impressive when she was tightly laced. Under most circumstances, my mouth would have dropped open. On that day, it was just another rock on the pile. 

We continued watching at 8-1. Sheila teased Jason with a riding crop, then raised her hand high and brought the crop down on Jason's straining erection. Jason spurted through an entire athletic supporter. Wow. Then the room cleared quickly. There was a brief shot of Sheila, still wearing the corset, heading toward the wardrobe. When she came back, she was fully dressed in one of her Mary Poppins from Hell outfits. Again, my hand itched for the mouse. I wanted to expand what her face was doing. Then it was over. 

Sheila closed down the machine. Sean's hand was on her shoulder, protectively I thought. That would be Sean's normal mode. He was always fiercely protective of me, until I told him to back off and let me fight my own battles. It was another point of sympathy I had with Sheila. Perhaps that was the point, or one of them. There were many layers to what I had seen—and Sheila had re-experienced. The bitch was tough. 

Something occurred to me. There had not been a word spoken in at least 15 minutes. Forget a thousand words. That video was worth a couple of books.

Sheila: 

The situation at the airport was an unfolding disaster. Supposedly, Siobhan was in charge, but that quickly proved an illusion. Sean took over, sort of, and things eventually moved to the vehicles. There were cabs following, but they did not follow far. We made it to the motel with only half the students. Siobhan made an attempt to stamp on the mutiny, but it was far short of what was needed. 

When both Sean and Sheila shrugged their shoulders, I pulled out my phone and dialed Gerald directly. One of the keys to handling high level access is to not overuse it. Less well understood is the need to use it when necessary. What we needed was a little military style discipline, and I was certain Gerald knew where to find it. I was very conscious of Siobhan's eyes on me.

"Gerald, Sheila. How are you set for NCOs? Any Drill instructors would be excellent. We have a dozen grad students to herd and I am not available. Six came with us. Six are following in taxis. Do the math." 

Phone: Good evening Ma'am. I would ask how your day has been, but I expect I know. Somehow your calls always make my day more complicated. When and where?

"Oh-eight-hundred. Give them to the Gilberts and sit on them. They can leave on their own dime, but not come back. Siobhan will deal with them back at school." 

Phone: Will I need to wash the diapers after they leave? I thought Miss Jo was playing momma.

"Gerald be nice. She is going to be my family and I like her."

Phone: No accounting for taste, Ma'am.

"Tell you what. I have $20 that says she not only dances with you at the ball, but that you will want her to." Sean yelled from the front seat, "Sucker bet, Gerald." Much as I like the support, shut the hell up Sean.

Phone: At $20 I might get arrested for vagrancy, Ma'am.

"Fine. Make it $50. Just get our kids dirty tomorrow. All I want is eight hours of hard, dirty work. Hooyah?" 

Phone: Ma'am, you should leave the hooyahs to us grunts. Will my guys be allowed to attend your bash. Some of them still fit their greens or whites. 

"Absolutely. Anyone in military dress will be welcome. They could not fit in better. Good?" 

Phone: Much better Ma'am. Hooyah. If I want to dance with Miss Jo, will she want to dance with me?

"No promises, but I can introduce you to a genuine Broadway star. She can dance a bit. Night."

Phone: [laughter] Night, Ma'am.

I hung up and caught Siobhan staring at me, as if I had a second head. What? Oh, Gerald. I could see how they would not get along. That did not mean I intended to lose $50. Siobhan did not know it yet, but she was getting a makeover.

We pulled out of the motel and headed toward the Residence. Sean explained to Siobhan, "That counts as leisurely. Gerald said Sheila can deliver a 30 minute brief in 15 seconds. I pity the ones that are hung over. Tomorrow will be a forced march. Some will run. After all, what is a couple thousand bucks you never had to earn. The ones that are left will be worth the whole dozen. Watch." 

Siobhan asked me, "Did you make that up on the fly?" What could I say? I nodded. Then, Siobhan wanted to know, "What the hell do you do for a living?" Before I could respond, Sean was turning the car around. 

We went to the rear parking. It is a tough neighborhood, but I have taught the locals that my block is protected. Sean parked the car and I let us in. Sean was calling this tune, so I started with the whip locker. It is generally makes the biggest impression. It also gave me the chance to do something I had wanted to do for several days. 

I picked out my favorite lash, dropped to one knee and presented it to Sean, "In front of this witness, I offer this lash, in the hope it serves you as well as it has served me." Sean responded in kind. "Rise. Your homage has found favor." 

Siobhan looked surprised, then thoughtful. I have mentioned how nervous Francine makes me, when she gets quiet. A quiet Siobhan was terrifying. The first thing she said was, "Show me the costumes." I had tried to show her some things, but that was seeing a lot. 

Once we were in the wardrobe, Siobhan stood silently, scanning the whole inventory. It took a while. Sean and I waited, while Siobhan processed. Eventually, she noticed us watching. Her face was a study of conflicting emotions, easily as complex as our cover shot of Jason. I moved over to her and we hugged, like it was the most natural thing in the world. In my ear, Siobhan said "twins" then snorted. Was she thinking of the Schwarzenegger movie of that name? Arnold was always a favorite of mine, partly because of our last names. I wondered, which of us was which brother?

We went the studio. Siobhan's eyes went straight to the bar. Sheol, I had not done my First Position for the day. So, I did the full, dual evolution for Siobhan. She was a little wide eyed. That look bothered me. I had seen it before, but I could not place it. Siobhan also asked, "Do much yoga?" I think that was another thought that got away from her, like Sean does frequently. I responded, "My yoga instructor, Sharon, refuses to even try." For some reason that was puzzling. I was still pondering it when I realized Sean was steering me toward the video room. Yikes.

We went through the still shots of Jason. Siobhan drew the occasional gasping breath, but she took them in stride. Next Sean gave me the raw take from camera three. I cranked it up to 8x and hoped for the best. Whatever else Siobhan was, she was not one to waste words while she was working. Since, I was the subject of her work, I found this a bit unnerving. Sean must have thought so too, since he put a comforting hand on my shoulder. I loved my Teddy Bear.

Then it was over. I had bared my soul, albeit at eight times normal speed. I could tell it had Siobhan's undivided attention, because she had not said a word in many minutes. It was time to lighten the mood, but I am not good with jokes. Fortunately, Sean had an excellent sense of timing. He stepped back from the monitor and stretched loudly. I decided to demand a back rub before bed. Siobhan was still not talking as I led us through the rabbit hole.

On the far side, I took a moment to put on my trainer persona. Then, I checked the hall. Once the coast was clear, we stepped out into my other world. Sean took up the task of explaining the gym itself. I had to give Claudia credit. Sean knew his way around XTreme Fitness as well as most of my clients. 

Claudia was not working that night, but I did see Sharon. I introduced Sean as my fiancée and Siobhan as his sister. Sharon was graciousness personified. I informally invited her to the wedding, which earned me a smile. Then I dropped my bomb. I asked Sharon to take my client book for two weeks. 

As both an employee and as a manager, I had a good idea how office politics worked. My status, as the only trainer with a closed book, was very high. Sharon's was less lofty. Her specialty was not as respected as it would be some places, plus Sharon is not a forceful personality. Naturally, her first response was to refuse on the grounds of inadequacy. 

I expected that and told her that I was the best judge of what my clients needed. Then, Sharon protested lack of time. She may not have realized it, but that was an acceptance. I told her that there were three trainers she could use as back up, but that my clients would expect her insight and compassion. That stumped Sharon for a moment. I used it to thank her for accepting and told her that there would be a formal dance after the wedding. I hoped she could attend that as well.

As we went on to the main gym, Siobhan looked a bit surprised, but not as much as Sean. I wondered what he had to be surprised about. It seemed a simple enough negotiation. 

After that, we did a quick tour of the gym and bought a couple of bottled waters on our way out. I hoped we would be able to put in a proper juice and smoothie bar soon. It was the one thing I felt the gym lacked. Siobhan was still uncharacteristically quiet. As we walked around to the car, Sean pointed out places he hoped to acquire or that others in our group might upgrade. Siobhan took it all in, in silence.

We were back at the car before Siobhan said anything. First she pulled mr into a smothering hug, which went on and on. Then she said, "God I've missed you, and I don't even know you yet." I totally understood what she meant.

Sean: 

I need not have worried about Sheila and Jo being gone for a day. Sheila dumped it on Gerald's shoulders, quite smoothly. In the process, Sheila and Gerald made a bet about Jo and the ball. Since I would wager serious money against seeing Jo at the ball, I was quite taken with Sheila's position. Obviously a makeover was in the works. That would be interesting. 

I told Jo that this interaction, between Sheila and Gerald, counted as leisurely. I went on to say that Jo might lose some of her people, but the others would be worth it. It was the old Junction Boys approach, not that either of them would understand a football reference. Then, Jo asked what Sheila did for a living. We were not that far off the track, so I turned back toward Sheila's studio. 

Sheila directed me to the back of the warehouse. I parked and Sheila opened the building. I flashed back my first time, when I did not even know it was a BDSM studio. Jo had a least a warning, but the full impact something else. Sheila did not start small. The first thing was the pain locker, i.e. whips and such. Sheila reached in and pulled out a lash. I recognized it as the one I had used on her that first day. 




K&T, LLC Ch. 03



With full formality, Sheila dropped to one knee and presented the lash to me. "In front of this witness, I offer this lash, in the hope it serves you as well as it has served me." It was very like my wedding proposal. In a sense, this was the same thing, but for a different bonding. I could not refuse. "Rise. Your homage has found favor."

Jo had been wide eyed when Sheila unlocked the cabinet. Our little ceremony changed that. I knew Jo's analytical mode when I saw it. That was good. She just needed raw data to analyze. Easy enough and Jo tipped the first stop herself. "Show me the costumes."

Sheila does not have a costume closet, though she tends to refer to it that way. Ten years of dedicated purchasing had developed a full blown wardrobe department. There were three rooms for clothes and shoes, which just included her working clothes. I had not seen her street clothes storage, but Sheila kept them separately. I noticed that the little black flapper dress was out, almost on display. I hoped that night was not repeated soon. 

I had a lot of time to think through all this, because Jo had gone into deep thinking mode. Not much will shut her up, but this was one of them. Jo slowly scanned it all, cataloging as she went. Presently, she returned to reality enough to notice us waiting. Jo was starting to come up from the deep when, quite visibly, she had a revelation. I never did not know what the revelation was, but Sheila almost teleported to Jo's side. Their hug was all about mutual understanding, though they would never tell me what was understood. 

I would have been willing to take a break, but the next stop needed to be the main studio. I need not have worried. Jo had already seen the elephant. In the studio, Sheila moved to the stretching bar and flowed through a routine. It seemed to be built around the position I had given her the first day. In fact, I had called it First Position. 

I had a small revelation of my own. Sheila was, quite literally, still following my instructions during that first session. It was some form of reference point in her mind. I would need to talk to Jo about this. It was a cornerstone of our relationship and Sheila was formalizing specific aspects of it in front of a witness. Heavy.

The next stop was the editing room. Sheila was deferring to me, so I picked up the Jason disk. That would rattle a lot of cages. With Jo it pricked her interest. That done, I had Sheila run one of the raw recordings. She did not misunderstand, even though I did not tell her where to start. She did run it very fast. That was fine. It would still do what I wanted done. 

Sheila is very controlled. It is more the nature of what she does, than of what she is. That day, she systematically broke down someone else's control. Then she went about her routine—til I made her stop. Jo had seen the product. I wanted to give her a glimpse of what it cost, counting on Jo's ability to notice small things quickly. Jo did not let me down. Commenting seemed redundant, after that, but we heeded a breather. So, we went to the gym.

After the studio, the normality of XTreme Fitness was cool relief. I half hoped to see Claudia Johnson, but correctly guessed she would have Monday off. We did see a woman named Sharon, evidently the yoga instructor. Sheila greeted her warmly, but as a trusted colleague rather than as a friend. After introductions and a reminder of the wedding, Sheila dropped one of her patented bombs. She asked Sharon to cover Sheila's workout clients for two weeks. 

One thing I loved about Sheila is that I could use her conversations as sales training. Sharon objected, pleading ignorance of workout equipment. Sheila countered that the clients knew the routines, but needed an experienced monitor to push their limits. Then Sharon protested lack of time. Sheila countered that there was a list of trainers, which Sharon could use for backup, but none of them had Sheila's trust like Sharon did. It was a classic power close, delivered so that Sharon felt respected and appreciated. Perfect.

The odd note, as Sherlock Holmes would say, was the barking dog. Jo never said a word. As we toured the rest of the gym and bought some bottled water, Jo remained uncharacteristically silent. We went out the front and around to the parking in the rear. Just as I was unlocking the doors, Jo grabbed Sheila in a bear hug. Her line was one for the books. "God I've missed you and I don't even know you yet." That summed Sheila up nicely.

Once they were Best Friends Forever, the verbiage started back up. Almost immediately an issue popped up. It was Monday evening, getting late, and we had never discussed our invitations. Harold Johnstead had already agreed to do them, but he needed something to print. Worse, the invitations needed to go out in the morning. 

Here, Jo was in her element. Francine had said, throw more people at the problem. Sheila had some half formed ideas. Siobhan put them into words on paper. In barely two minutes, we had the the text for our wedding invitation. 

Jo can be a raging bitch, quite often, but there are reasons I love her.

Siobhan: 

After the raw power of Sheila's disclosure, touring a gym was a perfect way to cool down and process everything. I loved Sheila's term for her route—the rabbit hole. Like Alice, we were exiting a fantasy and entering the mundane. Once through to the other side, things were pretty quiet. It was just another well equipped gym, such I had seen from time to time. Fitness is not one of my passions. 

It was fascinating watching Sheila go native. Even though the studio was her demesne, she had been deferring to Sean. I know D/s relations when I see them and this was not one. D/s simply did not cover their relationship. It was more of the old fashioned love, honor and obey. Sheila was going to make me rethink my attitudes on traditional weddings, among a few thousand other things. In the gym, she was different. There, Sheila was in one of her work places and Sean was her guest. We met one of Sheila's coworkers—Sharon.

Introductions were standard. I was introduced as a future in a way that did not make my teeth hurt, which takes skill. It was just a taste, because Sheila had a favor to ask and she was not taking no for an answer. No one gets far in academia without learning to schmooze, but this was above that. Sheila was a genuine artist at work. 

She asked Sharon to take care of her fitness clients, for two weeks. I had not been aware that Sheila had clients outside her studio, but that was details. Clearly, Sheila valued them as much as her other clients. This was just a bit professionalism showing through. Sharon declined, then declined again. Again, this is not unusual. Most people actually enjoy doing a favor, but the cost in time and effort sinks most attempts from the start. Ethical people dislike making commitments for exactly that reason. 

So, one could deduce that Sharon was ethical. She was also a yoga instructor, not a personal trainer. I could see that as a valid distinction. Sheila waved it aside. She claimed Sharon did not need to know the routine or the equipment, she needed good judgment about when to push and when to accept. Yoga is all about understanding limits and pushing them a little. The time objection was feeble in comparison. Sheila simply mentioned that there was a staff available. Then Sheila reiterated that Sharon—and no one else—was her choice. 

If it was total BS, it still might have worked. A good enough liar can talk people into a lot of things. However, sincerity is very powerful and most people know the real thing when they see it. I believed that Sharon was the only one for the job, and I did not know her. In any event, Sharon reluctantly agreed. 

From there, we moved through the rest of the gym, to the water bar and out into the evening gloaming. I reflected on the exchange with Sharon. It succinctly demonstrated who Sheila was. She had been focused, ready to handle problems, well prepared and very genuine. It was the sincerity that had sold Sharon on the job. It was odd to think it about someone that spent her life taking colors from the surroundings, but Sheila was genuine where it counted. I suspected she was also a terrible liar, unless it fit a role she was wearing. 

There are very few people that you can just meet and fall into a relationship with. Sheila was not one of those people. Instead, she had taken great effort and care in presenting herself to me. Granted, the effort was subtle. Many people would not have gotten much of what I had seen, but that was a good thing. Sheila had tailored her presentation for someone insightful. It was kind of flattering. 

When I thought that, I realized that it had worked. I wanted, very much, to have Sheila in my life. That she would be family was icing on the cake. Almost without realizing what I was doing, I reached out and pulled Sheila to me. My hug might have been a bit over the top, but that was me being genuine. I think I said something, because both Sean and Sheila nodded. God it felt good. 

Once the tears and hugs had run out, we climbed back in and started talking about the wedding. I could almost see Sheila slapping her forehead. She and Sean needed to get invitations out in the morning mail. They had a printer and Sheila had the design on a thumb drive, but the text had never been started. Sheila had hoped to discuss it with me at the airport, but events worked out otherwise.

The text would be easy. What I needed was a few details, like proper attire and such. Sheila had made the early 20th century theme very clear. However, she had the lovely idea of using rented horse drawn carriages. That needed to be worked in. The reception dance would be very formal. Sean had planned for a number of outdoor events, which would be available to the children. So:





K&T, LLC Ch. 03



When I had my phone open in the car, I noticed that I had been letting the messages pile up. As soon as we were back in the car, I started playing them. Congratulations was a big theme. Also in evidence were queries from clients about their schedule. My little scene with Harold would do a lot to settle that down. My clients might as well form a gossip club. I had introduced Siobhan as Sean's sister, and they all knew about Sean's session with Mario. It was a big part of the reason I asked Siobhan to fill in.

In that theme, there was another message. I had almost forgotten about Richard, the clerk at Petsmart. I had given him a card and suggested he call. Francine and Siobhan might be willing to help for a while, but I needed a regular stand in, particularly if I became pregnant. Richard was my first option. 

It was late, so I replied by text. Richard, I am out of town tomorrow, but I can give you an interview on Wednesday. Please reply with available times. Nothing ventured; nothing gained. Richard replied before I was through with the other messages. I set him up for 10:00 AM. Either Jason or Christine would be available then, probably both. It would be one more new experience for them.

Then, we were at the Residence and my thoughts were on Sean. He gives divine ass massage. Sean seasoned the massage with a few applications of his new lash. This he played off against a tongue bath and a bit of rimming. Then he pounded me like a 16 penny nail.

It is so good to feel desired.

Sean: 

With Sheila, sometimes I feel like a fifth wheel. As usual, I could have played George and waited in the car. Sheila introduced Jo to Harold. We went to his office. Sheila gave Harold a thumb drive and Jo's invitation text. They worked with it a bit, then Harold printed out a nice looking proof. All good. Then, Sheila asked me to step out.

I had been expecting this. There were times Sheila could not play Cynthia with me around. Sobeit. I went to the restroom and did my business, then loitered in the hallway for about ten minutes. The three of them emerged, talking of times and numbers. All done. Harold had his signed picture. Time to get the fuck out of Dodge.

It was near midnight when Sheila and I finally made it to bed. Jo signed off at the garage, clearly making room for us to be alone. I had promised Sheila an ass massage, which I gave her. I also tried out the lash she had given me. It was very nicely balanced, with a genuine shark skin grip. I suspect some of my frustration came out, because I turned Sheila's whole ass pink. In penance I licked and nibbled Sheila's whole derriere, then rimmed her anus. By the time I actually entered her, it was nothing but hammer time. It was the perfect therapy for my pissy mood.

It is so nice to feel needed.



K&T, LLC Ch. 04



Author's Note: This is a girls day out section, mostly. Pretty close to no sexual content. However, if makeovers get you off, we got you covered.

Chapter 8 -- Coffee to Go

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

One thing I have always wished I could have watched is the meeting of Aunt Frannie and Aunt Jo. If you want to talk of odd couples, start right there. Of course, shopping in New York is a great way to meet anyone. Mom and Nanny CC were involved, so almost anything could have happened.

Sean:

For the first time in our relationship, I woke at the same time as Sheila. I put it down to exhaustion on her part. I rolled over and sucked on one of her nipples. This earned me a very un-Sheila like squeal. I told her that I was prospecting for milk. I had found a good site and would keep looking, even if it took months. Sheila blushes so prettily.

It was a full day, so we could not linger in the shower, tempting though that was. We had our usual quick breakfast, then Sheila took off for an early appointment. I sent Helen a message saying that I would be late, because I was checking on wedding preparations. That gave me an excuse to go down to the boathouse and look around again. The progress was substantial.

First, the yard below the house had been sectioned off like a county fair midway. Blocks were laid out for various food providers and entertainment stalls, even one for clown makeup. The boathouse itself had been pressure-washed and a crew was laying drop cloths for the painters.

Inside, I was pleased to see a crew working on the houseboat. Sheila had told me it was silly calling it a houseboat, because there were no rooms. She could call it a party barge if she wished. I hoped I would call it an altar. Five minutes discussion encouraged me on that point. It would, I was told, make a lovely platform for the ceremony. For some reason I flashed to the bible story about Jesus preaching from a fishing boat.

Across the boathouse was the yacht. Much of the draping had been removed, so that you could see the woodwork underneath. The boat specialist, who had just assured me of the water worthiness of the houseboat, followed my gaze to Grandfather's pride. He cleared his throat, so I gave him my attention.

"Mr. Richards, that is truly a work of art. She's a ways from being fit, but the structure's sound. I'd be glad to see about getting her float ready, but you'll be needin' cabinet makers for the woodwork. There be wood in there that ye don't find no more. Put the right people on the job and they could add a quarter million to her value."

He cleared his throat again. "I been meaning to ask, 'cause I seen the name's been stripped off, what do ye call her? T'ain't good luck for a fine boat to have no name." I liked this guy. He thought of poetic things.

I gave it a moments thought. By rights, naming should go to my bride, but I wanted to give her a gift. Sheila would get my reference immediately, and she would love it. I looked at the guy and asked his name. It was Clayton Roberts, "Just call me CR."

I said, "Well, CR, I should let my fiancée name her, but then I would not get to see her blush. She'll be The Other Shoe. I am guessing there are none in the registry yet." CR thought that was quite funny. Then he sobered. "Give me the job. I do right by her." I told him to get me a formal estimate by Friday, but the job was his. We shook on it.

When I emerged from the boathouse, I saw the first of Jo's grad students. It was one of the six we had delivered to the motel, though her name escaped me. She was arguing strenuously with Mitchell Gilbert. As I walked up, they both turned to me. Rather than settle an argument, this was a time to back up my manager—to a point.

I said, "Miss, I do not know the point under discussion. I do know that it is Mitchell's decision. It probably does not matter much, since we are still in clean up mode. Both of you, make some mental notes and we will have a war council tonight. Both of you remember, you will have to defend yourselves to my sister Jo and my fiancée. Choose your poison, because they are getting along like hammer and anvil. God help the first one to try playing them against each other. Now, I need to borrow Mitchell."

I went over the plan for the day. As expected, the rest of the students were present and almost all were hung over. I told him that hangovers crave sunlight and sweat. Then I told him to expect deliveries from my events people. Mitchell said that he had been contacted. I love competent people. I told him that I would have catering dedicate a truck to the project, so that at least lunch was covered. That done, I found Michael and gave him the same speech.

By the time I hit the office, the shit was ankle deep and rising. One of the drawbacks of owning thirty odd companies is that they all have clients. Clients get nervous when there is a change. My marriage was the biggest change in years. Naturally. I had staff to sooth and coddle, but that only works with some clients. The important ones have the clout to get through to me. By the twentieth call, I was looking forward to meeting Elder Neufeld for lunch. I was only asking him to bend his religious convictions for money.

Siobhan:

There are times I hate my brother. Early morning is at the top of the list. If anything, Sheila was worse. I dragged myself out of bed and paged Sean's room, only to find that Sheila had left over an hour before, presumably already having had breakfast. That, at least, was worth a small chuckle. Sheila's idea of breakfast was probably tea and toast.

I showered and dressed, including a bra for a change, and nuked the latest offering from freezerland. During the third cup of coffee I called down for a car. I was told that Russell was available for Sheila and myself. Fortunately, Sean had not left, so I could commandeer the Mercedes. Sheila had mentioned shopping, so we might need the extra space. That reminded me to notify American Express. Any charges would not be in my normal pattern. It is a good idea to let them know ahead of time.

Before we left, I made a pit stop and checked the reflection. I looked like what I was—an oversized intellectual with no pretensions of beauty. My big concession was to wear only two sets of earrings and a newish shirt. I stuck with the boots because they are comfortable. I mentally snorted to myself. As if someone my height would wear heels.

I hoped I would not regret this.

Sheila:

Tuesday at the gym was a new experience. I had appointments with four clients at once. Normally, I believe a personal trainer gives personal service. But, things were not normal. All of this group had declined to cancel or reschedule. Mostly that meant that they wanted news directly from the source, me, but they also wanted some continuity. At least, that is what I told myself.

Watching them together was interesting. This was unfamiliar ground for them as well. They all knew each other socially, but this was not a social occasion, at least not in the usual sense. After a few tense moments, I called for their attention. My informal meeting was brief. I told them that I was getting married and that changes were coming, beginning with substitutes both in the gym and in the studio. I also told them to expect another move. It had been five years since the last one, but heads were nodding. I have good client loyalty.

That done, I had them all move to the yoga studio. Sharon took a moment from her class so that I could make introductions. As we filed back, I told everyone that Sharon was not a trainer, so the routine would be their responsibility. Sharon was going to coach them on limits. That made sense to everyone, since no one trifles with yoga.

Once we finally hit the weights and machines, things went smoothly. Everyone did know their own routine. I just needed to spot check occasionally. In fact, it went better than usual. I think some competitive juices were running. Then, it was over and my other day began.

When my clients were released to go shower, I headed for my studio for a change of clothes. It felt odd to think of it in those terms, rather than a change of costume. At the studio, I untied Christine, so she could help me change. She had been working on the computer during the exercise session. Since flexibility was Christine's current objective, I had lashed her ankles to opposite ends of a pole. That way she could stretch while using the computer.

I often tied clients in uncomfortable, or even painful ways, but it was a new thing for Christine. It would be interesting to see how it progressed. In any event, I gave her a moment to deal with the stiffness, while I peeled off my workouts. The outfit I would be wearing would be textbook turn of the century American, except that it had cheat zippers in the pleats. That meant a smooth fronted blouse, with buttons in the back. The skirt hooked, rather than zipped, but it was still easy. Stockings, of course. I had too much respect for my feet to wear turn of the 20th century style shoes. I was visiting Julian, so the bustier was mandatory. None the less, I brought a pair if garters and a bra. This was purely for changing at Julian's shop.

Christine helped me with the skirt hooks and stocking stays. Then, I asked her to go start the car. As she walked away I checked for signs of bruising in her movements. I was pleased to see her moving comfortably, allowing for a bit of stiffness from her stretching. That would change tomorrow, when I did a session with both Tess and Jason. It was also going to be Richard's job interview.

Julian's studio was in Elizabeth, so we had a bit of a drive coming. Siobhan was going to meet us there, but I needed to pick up Francine. As luck would have it, we went to the last place Christine had worked—the 7th Street Diner. It was an old favorite of Francine's. As we approached the door, Christine tugged on my sleeve, for attention, then held a finger to her lips. She tapped her wrist and help up three fingers. Christine wanted me to wait three minutes.

I was mystified, but complied. It gave me a chance to check my messages. As it happened, Harold Johnstead had sent me a set of images for the finished invitations. I replied. Use your judgment Harold. Time is short. I am sure you will not disappoint me.

C

When I entered the diner, I saw Francine at her usual table, with the wreckage of another huge meal laid in front of her. I sat down across from her. Just then, Christine came up, wearing a waitress uniform. She quietly warmed Francine's coffee. It took considerable control to keep from laughing out loud.

Francine said, "Well about fucking time. Don't we have a 20 minute drive? And where is that cum factory of yours? I thought she was going, too." Cum factory? Just how intense were Christine's orgasms?

I said, "Christine is reading a part today. Wait a minute and we will get some tea and coffee for the drive. In the mean time I have a favor to ask. I know it is an imposition, but I will need someone to cover my special clients while I am, ah, otherwise engaged. It would be for two weeks, ending Monday after next. Here's the drinks."

Christine set two covered styrofoam cups on the table, along with a tab. Francine literally growled as she pulled out $20. "I suppose you expect a tip." Christine was not going to say anything, so I did. "After the way she got you to cum the other morning, I think she deserves one. Don't you?"

Francine stared at me, glanced at Christine, did a double take, then pointed at Christine and started to laugh. Once Francine got started, she may have had trouble stopping, because she laughed until tears were running down her face. When she finally calmed down, Francine threw $20 more on the table. Christine picked that bill up, then did a quick exit.

Francine said, "God Schwartz, when did you think that one up? It was exactly like the one I played on Pedro at his retirement dinner. Angela recognized me, but never tipped off Pedro. He did not recognize me until the middle of his farewell speech, and I had to wave when he mentioned not seeing me. Damn, that was good."

I admitted, "All the credit on this one goes to Christine. She just asked for three minutes. She never told me what she had in mind, but I spotted her warming up your coffee when I came in the door. I tried to throw you a bone by mentioning we would get tea to go, when no one was here to take the order." Christine had come up, dressed for the street again. Since Francine's original $20 was still on the table, I saw no reason to linger.

Once we were in my car, driving toward Elizabeth, Francine asked me what, exactly, I needed done. I laid the bones of a plan out. Christine was available to cover the clerical part of the business, as well as the tedious things like checking the showers and sanitizing the equipment after use. Francine had done a decent job with Christine, Tess if you prefer, though I would not look kindly on another long absence. I also mentioned that Siobhan was willing to assist.

Francine summarized, "So, you want me and Ricky's sister She-o-ban to do the sessions. Miss Cums-a-lot will cover the rest. Is that about it?" Francine was nervous. She is never rude accidentally.

I said, "Please do not make fun of Siobhan's name. I hate funerals. Besides, she answers to Jo, if you can't get the pronunciation down." Yes, that was a low blow, but she started it.

Francine opened her mouth, then closed it. Opened, then closed. Finally, "Damn Schwartz, I forgot how good you were at this. CC, make note. Your Mistress just insulted me at least three different ways, and managed to sound helpful while doing it. You really think she could take me?" Wow. Francine caved after one punch. Now that I thought about it, Siobhan had waved a fast white flag as well. Maybe I was the one that needed to lighten up.

I said, "Siobhan has to be experienced to be believed. For the moment, her preferred persona is bull dyke, with physical strength to match. I gave her a tip that she would be getting a makeover today, but she may not have picked up on it. So, play nice, or you will spoil her moment."

That did not shut Francine up, but it did get her to play along. If there is one thing Francine loves more than a good practical joke, its pulling people out of shells. Siobhan had just become Francine's project of the week. Wait til they actually met.

I had agreed to meet Siobhan, on foot, at a news stand near the downtown train station. Julian's place of business is difficult to find, even with a map and instructions. It is easiest to find a parking spot first, then walk. Francine and Siobhan eyed each other like new dogs at the pound. I simply walked away, forcing them to follow.

About three blocks from where we met is an old Kress department store, which had been converted into a Sisters of Mercy resale shop. Francine would have dived into that, had I not held her back. Up the alley, halfway to the thrift store receiving dock, is a pair of disreputable concrete stairs. The one leading up is to Julian's official business. It is a dress alteration shop, called the Parlor. The one leading down is where Julian performs his corsetry. Make no mistake, Julian was all about performance.

The Parlor is exactly what the name implies, a seating area. He employs two elderly ladies to do mundane things, like take measurements. Occasionally, they also alter dresses. Mostly, they chat with the clients, explaining why Julian cannot, or will not, do whatever the client wants done.

The two ladies greeted us warmly and offered tea. One was named Millie and the other was new to me. Things change in a year. Millie came over and gave me a hug, subtly feeling me over when she did. The other woman introduced herself as Maggie. She shook hands with Siobhan, then invited her to step into a booth. As Siobhan moved away, Francine called, "All of it. Even the panties."

I do not know how Francine knew, but she was correct. Julian needs many measurements, all taken from skin. From what I judged, Siobhan would be very heated before they were done. I suspect Millie was a closet lesbian, and it would not surprise me if Maggie was as well. It is all part of Julian's particular genius.

Millie asked Francine and Christine to be seated, while I was with Julian. Suddenly, I was nervous as a best man that cannot find the ring.

Siobhan:

Sheila wanted to meet near the main train station in Elizabethtown. I had not given much thought to our plan, until I climbed in the Mercedes and Russell pulled out of the garage. It was all very well to say "fitted for a corset" as if I knew what I was saying. Corsets were rather common among my usual group at Dartmouth. They are used as party wear, to give a bit of fetish flavor.

Sean had said that Sheila almost never went without a foundation garment of some description. This was something that was important to her. Somewhat to my surprise, that made it important to me. Once the reality began to approach, I realized that I was completely out of my element and I hate feeling adrift.

Once in Elizabeth, Russell found a parking place and I walked to the rendezvous site. I was first to arrive by a few minutes, which allowed me to see them approaching. Francine Martel was much as I remembered her, both from my short foray into dance instructions and from seeing her on stage. I watched her walk along, barely as tall as Sheila's shoulders, talking at 100 miles an hour. It brought back many memories, none of them were good.

Behind them, taking no part in the conversation, was a young woman. This would be CC. She looked rather attractive in her flowery sun dress and pony tail. She was wearing tall wedgie sandals, which made her almost as tall as Sheila, who was wearing lower heels. Francine Martel was wearing what looked like house slippers. Like me, why would she wear heels.

The trio brought one other thing to mind. CC was wearing 3"- 4" heels, and doing it pretty well. Still, she walked like a woman in heels. Francine Martel flowed smoothly along, despite constantly gesturing and twisting her torso. As impressive as that was, she was a famous dancer, so you could expect it. What struck me was the way Sheila walked. Having a professional dancer for comparison highlighted the effortless grace that Sheila personified. No wonder I remembered her as the more talented of the two.

At that point, Sheila saw me and made a subtle gesture with her head. The three of them changed their direction and I moved to meet with them. Suddenly, everyone was quiet. I am rarely at a loss for words, and clearly Francine Martel could talk, but there was nothing to say. Just as things were getting awkward, Sheila glided over and gave me a hug. Grace is more than just movements.

Introductions were made. I thought I saw a glimmer of recognition in Francine's eyes. It was hard to credit, since I had been ten and she was eighteen or nineteen. Sheila would have been about fourteen, yet they were always paired. Just how good could Sheila have been?

There was no conversation on the walk, but it was only a couple of blocks. I do not know what I expected, but an employee entrance to a decrepit department store was not it. There was a brief break in the tension, when Francine Martel made to go into the thrift store and Sheila warned her off. I felt a twinge of sympathy. A new thrift store is a fine thing.

We went up a run of stairs to a sitting area. It may have once been the employee break room. Two elderly ladies were introduced as Maggie and Millie. Both were wearing corsets, though it was not obvious. They seemed comfortable. Maggie picked up a tape measure and asked me to go into a curtained area. Here goes. Nothing but T-shirts have ever fit me. There was a sign listing alteration prices.




K&T, LLC Ch. 04



As soon as I was through the curtain, Maggie asked me to take off all my clothes. I expected measurements, but this was over the top. I was about to object, when Francine Martel stepped past the curtain. Without a word, Maggie put down the tape and stepped out. Looking at Martel's face, I did not blame her. There was no point in trying for the first punch, so I waited for it.

I did not wait long. "Jo Jo, are you trying to fuck up the wedding or are you just slow?" After being shredded by Sheila, who never raised her voice, I expected better. It is interesting that she remembered me, even though she was close to 10 years older. However, the gauntlet had been thrown. I was no stranger to verbal swordplay. If Francine's approach was more two handed broadsword, I would try for the rapier.

"I am not willing to concede that those are even choices, much less the only two. If you have a point, I'll listen. Speak to this side. It's the deaf one."

Martel started to reply, then snorted a laugh. "Good one. You almost snuck that one past me. No wonder Ricky says you're smart. OK. Are you going to do this, or are you going to quit again?" That was much better. We could converse at this level. Still, I was not yet ready to answer her question.

"I'm impressed that you remember me. Sheila doesn't."

"Schwartz didn't have a crush on your brother, back then. That brings me back to my point. You have a tough fucking road ahead of you if, and I emphasize if, you can do it at all. I have not seen any sign you even understand what you are up against." Finally, something I could be clear about. I could cop to not understanding what the hell was going on. Martel must have seen something in my face, because her expression softened—sort of.

Martel continued, "That's better. I can teach, but not if you already know everything. I won't lie to you. It will be a cast iron bitch, and you need to start five minutes ago—literally before you walked in this door. So, you need to decide right now. If its any comfort, Cums-a-lot will be doing it with you, but she is way ahead in several important areas and does not have your physical issues. It will be a fucking death march, if you do it right, but you'll also learn a fucking lot." With most people, I would be inclined to make a sarcastic remark about sweet talk, but this was Martel's version of calm and reasonable.

"Where do I start?" I asked.

Francine nodded. "Good question. Maybe you do have some brains. Posture. You've been slumping for twenty plus years and we have four days to fix it." Then she started a well used lecture on how vertebrae stack, muscles align, balance improves—with a call to Maggie somewhere in the middle. Then she said something that grabbed my attention. "Bad posture throws your balance off and makes you clumsy."

That made too much sense to ignore. I have always been big for my age and especially for my sex. I have always been clumsy. The two were always linked in my mind. Moreover, it was always Mother's favorite scold. Following Martel's logic, if I was off balance, I had to spend resources to keep from falling over. That meant fewer resources in a crisis situation—such as Aunt Beatrice' Ming vase. I had liked Aunt B, so I still felt bad about her favorite vase.

Movement brought me out of my reverie. Francine Martel was doing ballet en pointe—in street shoes. As my eyes bugged, Martel was saying, "Of course, I will never be like Schwartz. I won't say no one is, but you have to understand, I know the very best. What?"

I looked down at her feet. Martel snorted and said, "Hell, that's nothing. Just fooling around. Watch this." She raised her left foot off the floor and brought it vertical, without using her hands. Then she put her foot on my breast. "I always wanted to fuck in the ballerina position, but I'm too damn short."

Before I could think, I said, "Do a girl with a strap on." I'm a lesbian. That sort of comment is natural—among friends. My face heated like an oven. Martel smiled very wide, then, still with no hands, she bit my nipple. That shifted my heat much lower. Before things could go further, our audience cleared her throat. It seemed that Maggie had returned. Even Martel blushed. Then, without a word in parting, she turned and walked away, still en pointe.

Maggie was smiling a knowing smile. I no longer needed to guess that she was lesbian; she was advertising the fact. Her tongue peeked out of her lips as she motioned for me to strip. Damn. It had been a long time since I was asked to show it all. Even as my face heated, so did other things. Maggie was old enough to be my mother, and then some, but she still had eyes.

I peeled off my T-shirt, then kicked off the boots and dropped the pants. Now that I was down to underthings, I had a twinge of shy. Meanwhile, Maggie had moved behind me. I was about to reach behind for the hooks, when Maggie said, "Allow me." Even before the bra slid off my arms, Maggie had her tape around my torso.

It would not be correct to say that Maggie was completely professional, but it would not miss by much. She started at my hips and took measurements every 2"-3" all the way up. When she reached my tits, Maggie asked me to take the weight off them, but not to pull them out. Then, she measured over the top, situating the tape directly over the nipples. There might have been an extra adjustment or two, but Maggie did not linger.

Once the latitudes were covered, Maggie started getting vertical measurements. Hip to armpit I could understand, but why naval to sternum? Then Maggie pointed to a chair and asked me to bend over and place my hands on the seat. With my tits hanging, Maggie measured the circumference in three different places, plus top to bottom and the full U. Finally, Maggie pulled out a large caliper and measured front to back and side to side. By the time she finished, I was sweating.

Maggie smiled at me and said, "Don't worry Ducks. You aren't the first and shan't be the last. You're tall, I give ye, but everything else is normal. Julian'll have nae troubles. That little slip of a thing has had to be full custom, not that she truly needs it. Dancer is she? She moves very well, though not like Miss Sheila. Tain't never seen her like, nor likely to." With an accent like that, it was a wonder she did not go by Peg.

I said, "Miss Sheila is marrying my brother. That slip of a thing is world famous, named Francine Martel. Sheila may have mentioned her. She, Martel I mean, told me I had a lot of work before the wedding Saturday. Was that the real deal?"

"Oh, aye. If ye wish to stand up with the likes o' those two, ye best wear the piece morn to e'en, or e'en at night. If ye wish, I'll include a posture trainer. Scolds mask would be better, but ye could nae speak." Maggie snickered. "Bound up like wee Miss ye'll be." That had to be a reference to CC. Martel had said I could learn from the submissive, but this was not how I took her meaning.

I had to ask. "Maggie, is there a reason that they don't call you Peg?" She smiled and said, "Many have wondered, though few ask. Me name hight Magdela, not Margaret. Ye send in the Lady Dancer. She'll take but a moment." In appreciation I said, "I am Siobhan." Maggie was one person that would get the pronunciation correct.

When I stepped out of the booth, I saw what Maggie had meant. Martel had CC doing something that looked like yoga. It also looked painful. I looked at Martel and flipped my head. She broke off, in mid lecture. Instead she told CC, "Show Jo Jo second position. It's good for beginners." I might have taken offense, but I suspected it was not meant as an insult.

Whatever the intent, CC moved with alacrity. Before Martel had crossed the room, CC had settled into a common submissive posture. Given our earlier conversation, I noticed that CC's back was flagpole straight. Perhaps that was the point. CC managed to make it look comfortable, but I knew my knees would hate it. My big mouth had done for me again.

I lowered myself to the rug and realized that my boots were still in the booth with Maggie and Martel. That was OK. To do this, I would have needed to take them off. After much work, I was seated on my heels. I put my hands behind my back and grabbed one elbow, which caused my spine to pop in four places. After two tries, I managed the other elbow. Then I squirmed, trying to get halfway comfortable. When I had a moment to look around, I noticed CC had gone somewhere. Her body was there, but she was not in it. Crap.

I had no time to even think about doing something, because Martel came back out. Maggie had not been kidding. As she followed Martel out, Maggie said, "Ah. That be right good, Miss Siobhan. Ye'll get your back straight in no time. Now, if ye'll call the little Miss back. I be ready for her."

It took a moment to get CC's attention, but she popped up with no trouble. I could already tell that I would not be so lucky. When Martel turned back to me, I thought I caught a trace of a smile, but then she was all business. To give Martel her due, she appeared to know her shit. She coached me through some small positional adjustments, which allowed me to settle a bit more comfortably. The key appeared to be stacking the spinal vertebrae properly. Once that was done, my big issue was my knees.

Martel was completely professional, even clinical, the whole time. With each adjustment, she told me what she was doing, why and what sensations to expect. I learned more anatomy than I had picked up in my required biology class. Then she told me what to expect from the corset. That was TMI (too much information).

In passing, Martel mentioned that Sheila had spent a day corseted, at least eight hours of it tightly laced. I did not have to ask when that had been. From my brief conversations with her, I already knew that the scene with Jason had left a deep impression on Sheila. She would view the tight lacing as self discipline, possibly an act of contrition. Sheila was not Catholic, but the concept of penance can be found in every culture. This little taste had me thinking about what Sheila, and the others, considered normal, or even routine.

About that time Martel dropped to sit cross legged in front of me. She searched me closely for something. Whatever it was, she found it. With a bit of surprise in her voice, she said, "You get it. I didn't think you would—especially after seeing you—but you do." Get what? "We should get to know each other. I'm Francine." It appeared the hazing was over. Now, for the hard part.

"I'm Siobhan."

Chapter 9 -- 'Tis Fitting...

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

It may be hard to believe now, but Aunt Jo was once into the punk/grunge/goth look. She still has a mismatched set of Army boots, which she claims to have worn through six years of grad school. Aunt Jo also claims Aunt Frannie tried to get her to leave them behind and go shopping barefoot. Knowing them both, I believe it.

There is also something about Aunt Francine telling a story...

Francine:

I had not been thrilled when Sheila told me that Sean's kid sister would be in the wedding party. I remembered a ten year old brat that did not want to learn dance and made sure everyone knew it. Such girls came and went. I would never have paid any attention had Ricky Richards not been picking her up after practice.

Truth be told, Jo Jo Richards had more reason to object than most brats. At ten, she was already five feet tall, which made her taller than me. Some of the growth must have been recent, because she was very uncoordinated. While not heavy, she was also not thin or athletic. For all its beauty, dance is intensely physical. For Siobhan Richards, dance was not a suitable choice. Fourteen years later I wondered about suitability all over again.

Jo Jo had not stopped growing til she reached at least 5'11". While she was not as catastrophically clumsy as I remembered her, there was no grace or balance to her movements. While potentially attractive, she made no effort to use her assets. Worse, Jo Jo saw herself as big, strong and ugly—and dressed accordingly.

Body image was central to the problem. There were raw materials, but no vision and hardly any time to build one. If Jo Jo was not sold on making the effort, there was no chance to make anything work. So, I waited til Sheila was busy and confronted Jo Jo with my worries. Her reaction was gratifyingly appropriate. Admitting ignorance is rarely easy, especially for college types. Jo Jo also showed some spark, which she would need.

I started her on posture. It was easily the worst of her issues and several others were built on it, such as balance. She needed all the help she could get, which meant wearing heels. I had jokingly told Jo Jo that I would train her with CC, however it was not a bad comparison. When we met, CC also had dreadful posture. One week had seen significant improvement. However, CC was the most biddable person I had ever met. Jo Jo was well toward the opposite extreme. It was a case of the psychoanalyst changing the light bulb.

As the saying goes, make it march. After our little tete a tete, I returned to CC. She was attempting some stretches, without much luck. The ones she was doing required an open floor. I showed her how to lock up a section, so that she could flex at the edges. It is much like yoga, without the fancy names. I wished we were doing the Kama Sutra. My little tiff with Jo Jo had gotten me started.

After a few minutes of doing pretzels, Jo Jo came back out and signaled for me. I told CC to show Jo Jo Second Position. That would have been good for a laugh, if it were not also the perfect starting place. I went off with Maggie the Brogue while Jo Jo struggled to sit on the floor. CC was already in Second Position and starting to zone out. There is something other-worldly about that submissive.

Maggie had me doff the top. Per the usual, I had nothing under it. Maggie took a couple of measurements and promised me the corset equivalent of a padded bra. One of these day I will have to get pregnant, just so I can have tits for a while. Funny, the thought of breast feeding was getting me hot. Hormones were in the air.

Back in the parlor, we had to I call CC back to this world. Only a submissive would associate a display position with deep meditation. Her form was impeccable. I would have to tell Schwartz. Jo Jo was another matter, but at least she was making the attempt. I had half figured that she would refuse and the other half that she would give up, so this surprised me.

The next step is always reaching for the feel. Either she picked it up, or we could quit here. Some people never do catch the sensation when everything is stacked properly. Miss Meditation was a natural. Jo Jo was more normal, but at least she was coachable. Once she had something close to the correct position, I copped a squat so we could talk.

I had to admit, "You get it. I didn't think you would—especially after seeing you—but you do. We should get to know each other. I'm Francine." Something intense went on in her face, but she simply said, "I'm Siobhan." Why did I feel we had just done a pinky swear?

Moving on, "I was not shitting you. This is going to be Hell Week. Your posture is awful, intentionally so I think. You have no balance, no sense of center, no symmetry. That is a lot to learn, especially since you need to forget what you have been practicing for a couple of decades.

"I would say that you walk like you were in Army boots, but that's literally true. You know the worst part? I don't think you're really lesbian. You play it well, but you also notice guys. That makes me think that you got slapped down pretty hard in the high school dating scene. Since Ricky was popular, that must have been a real bitch. Speaking of real bitches, I remember your mother. I would say you couldn't be more different if you tried, but you obviously did try—hard.

"But, you're a grown woman now. It's time to put growing-up shit behind. Pick a star and steer by it. Let me tell you a story. It's about a hot shit disco queen at seventeen." I told her the truth and damn near the whole truth. For someone that can talk like she can, Jo Jo, Siobhan was being very quiet.

"The story is not very surprising. I have seen and heard hundreds of variations on the basic theme. I had was almost seventeen, entering my second year of high school, dancing every weekend at the local clubs. I had spent a summer with a touring troupe, doing a musical comedy, earning great reviews. Then, Sheila Schwartz entered my life.

"Sheila was only twelve and she had very little formal dance instruction. Oskar Gruber was a skinflint who almost never gave away anything. To Sheila, he gave a full ride. Naturally, I was pissed. Who was this too tall neophyte grabbing all of my well deserved attention? It would be below my status to complain, but making life miserable for the newbie was perfectly acceptable. Even then, I had a reputation as someone not to cross. For two weeks, Sheila Schwartz could not tie her shoes without me commenting rudely.

"Then I saw it. The position is not important. The thing to understand is that it is hard as hell to hold steady. I had never managed it without twitching. Until that day, I was queen of the floor, because no one else had managed it at all. I came into the studio and there was Sheila, holding it steady as a rock. I distinctly remember thinking that it was impossible. I saw it and I knew it was impossible. I owe much of a rather successful career to that moment.

"Oskar Gruber taught many things. Most things he taught well enough that he regularly sent dancers on to college programs and occasionally the big time. He never taught critical self-observation. Sheila taught me that. First, I watched her doing what everyone was trying to do. Once I had noticed, it was clear how far she surpassed everyone else. Then, I watched me. Dance studios have mirrored walls for exactly that reason. It was a humbling experience.

"There is no easy way to describe what Sheila Schwartz brought to the dance floor. She was good, but not great, athletically. I was inches shorter, but could jump half again as far. I was probably better at sense of balance, though that may have been the years of experience. I knew the positions and how to move between them. With anything that could be taught, I had an edge. It was like owning the first inch of a yard stick.

"One thing that set Sheila apart was an unerring sense of place, size, proportion, angle, whatever. She always knew exactly where something went, at tempo and without looking. To say it, that does not seem like much. In practice it manifested in a fluid grace that I have only seen equaled, never exceeded. I came to think of it as processing speed. Sheila saw life in wide band, while the rest of us used dial up. Her ability to do the impossible reaches and maintain the unendurable holds tied in somewhere, though some of that was just physical strength.

"Whatever the source, I suddenly had a standard that I could not reach. I tried. Mary, Joseph and Jesus know I tried. Even Oskar Gruber recognized the effort. I spent an entire spring semester trying to copy Sheila's walk. I eventually came to understand it well enough to do a reasonable imitation—provided you had never seen the genuine article. God only knows how many millions of dollars it has made me through the years. From my first New York Times review, 'From the moment Miss Martel appears on stage, she commands attention. Simply watching her walk is an experience for a dance connoisseur.'

"For three years I focused on Sheila Schwartz and struggled to catch up, with the certain knowledge that I never would. Midway through the second year, auditions were held for small parts in a Lincoln Center production of The Nutcracker. Of those chosen, I was the oldest and Sheila was, by far, the tallest. The producer wanted dancing dolls that were tiny and petite. Sheila was neither, but there was no question if they would take her. The question was whether they could afford to use her as Clara. Her performance as the Sugar Plum Fairy stole the show. Every single review focused on it.




K&T, LLC Ch. 04



"From that point on, everyone recognized Sheila as the star of the studio. It would not last. Sheila was still fourteen when she played Lincoln Center. Six months later she was in the depths of puberty. You had to be knowledgeable and attentive to see the difference, but Oskar Gruber and I both fit that description. For a while it was treated as a phase. Sheila would grow to her adult height and bust, then she could relearn her body. There were dance and theater companies waiting—with blue faces.

"All dancers grow breasts at some point, even if they are half filled A cups like mine. Month after month, Sheila's just kept growing. As a B cup they were manageable. As a C cup they were problematic, but endurable. Once they reached a D cup, things became grim. The only avenues still open smelled of sleaze. Sheila was a scholarship student and Grubber Gruber was the benefactor. He cut the string.

"I held Sheila long into the night. I have seen people loose close family or dear friends and endure less grief. Lincoln Center had shown Sheila heaven, but her own body had barred the way. I suppose I should not have blamed Gruber for the disaster, but I did. To a degree I still do. He should have done more to prepare her for the possibility that things would not work out. He had plenty of notice.

"After Sheila left the school, I became serious about auditions. I was good, and I knew it, but I had seen the best, so I knew my talent could not be my only ticket. From my first small part, I was camped at the directors elbow, looking for anything that would make me useful. Certainly I was called a brown noser, but that is not the reputation that stuck. My early reputation was as a dedicated trouper—with talent. I succeeded because Sheila Schwartz showed me what it would take."

Once I finished my story, I waited a moment, then said, "Now it's time to think about yourself. Become aware of where you are and how you feel. I know there is joint pain, but feel past that. Understand how an erect spine feels. Slowly release and lower your arms. Good. Now roll forward on hands and knees. You should be able to get up.

"That was quite good. You spent about twenty minutes in that position. Given your physical conditioning, I expected less. Did I tell you I have studied hypnosis? I have studied a bit of everything. Now it's time to get you a proper outfit, even if it has to be off the rack. Sheila's back."

Sheila and CC were both back. Maggie was holding out a package. My guess was a posture trainer. That was a good idea, but something with medical origins would be better. Jo could keep the leather brace in case some kink was ever called for.

I asked, "Lunch?" Everyone winced.

Sheila:

I was not sure which was the bigger source of anxiety—seeing Julian for a fitting, or leaving Francine and Siobhan alone. I had hoped they would hit it off, but I knew that they would have to try each other. Julian's lair was certainly the place for that. Francine would be in her element, but Siobhan would be outside of hers, so I expected Francine to fire both barrels. Siobhan was willing to try, but there was always the question of where she drew her lines and how far she was willing to move them.

My other question was more selfish. I knew that both Francine and Siobhan were working together on something, but I did not know what. It likely had something to do with the wedding, but that was just the issue of the moment. They were both strong willed, adult women. At best, I might make suggestions, such as Siobhan's makeover. Actually, I expected that would be one of the things Francine raised while I was with Julian. In any event, Christine would tell me everything.

Julian's workroom was the same millinery disaster I remembered. Julian himself looks like an unmade bed. His workspace is even worse. Bolts of fabric are stacked like books at a barn sale. There were ranks of unused sewing machines, some of which predated the World Wars. Most of the light came from various bare bulbs. Some of the unused bulbs rivaled the sewing machines for longevity. I shudder to consider the wiring.

In the center of this was a simple table, lighted with a pair of florescent desk lamps. It was covered with green silk taffeta, cream colored damask and a dozen, or more, spools of thread. Next to the table was Julian, holding one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. It had to be my wedding dress. That was wrong. My dress was not scheduled til Friday.

Julian moved, as if to embrace me, then shied. He held out the dress to Millie. As we embraced and Julian kissed both my cheeks, he sighed. "Cheri, you are beautiful as always, with the grace of a sculpture by Déga. This is a bittersweet time. Weddings are so joyous, but then you will wish a child. For such events, I am no use to you. But come. There is much to do. Remove that covering and let me see my proudest creation. Then we shall see if my humble efforts can approach it."

Julian calling his work humble was a many layered irony. First, Julian makes only a show of modesty. His pride in his craftmanship is solid as bedrock. Second, the bustier is an amazing piece, which took a month to make and cost me three weeks profits. Sean can throw such amounts around, but I have to scrape and save. Finally, it was my most prized possession. Now that Sean had the flogger, it was not very close.

Removing the outfit was simple. Expecting to do some shopping, I had worn a costume top. The skirt was naturally simple to remove. That left only the bustier above the waist. I turned around while Julian deftly undid the hooks. As he held the piece to the light, I could not help but compare this disrobing to the times Sean had done it. My skin burned a bit in memory of the lash. I needed to do something about that.

Julian completed his examination. He clucked at a couple of things, then tossed the bustier on a pile and told me it would be ready next week. I had expected this and brought a bra in my purse. The first time Julian had seized his old work, I had to wear a cotton blouse, with nothing under it, til I could buy a bra. That had been at a dollar store, where I had a choice of too large in the strap, or too small in the cup. I put up with too small for the rest of the afternoon.

While I had been reminiscing, Julian had raised my new piece. At first glance, it was a simple short corset, in ecru silk. There was extra space for my oversized tits, of course. The busk in front and the strings in the back looked completely normal. However, there appeared to be a row of extra busks around the bottom. That puzzle would have to wait, because Julian was holding it open.

I turned and raised my arms. Julian thrust the open corset around me. I knew, from experience, not to fasten the busks. I simply held it up while Julian fussed with the back. Millie, who is old enough to be my grandmother, eyed my exposed breasts. This too was familiar. Presently, Julian came around to close the front.

There is something sensual about having a man stand very close. Julian is about as monosexual as his staff—not very—but when he works, there is nothing but the work. His pushing and pulling of each tit, in succession, was purely business. That did not mean that I did not notice, or that Millie did not appreciate it. It was all part of Julian's performance. For Millie, at her advanced age, it might be the only thrill she could still have. I would have to do something for her.

Julian finished fussing and stuffing, and started closing the busks. As always, in a properly fitted corset, it was already snug. Rather than motion me to the iron pipes that serve as a tightening brace, Julian pulled out a strip, which looked like a wide belt, with busks along the top. It was an extender for the corset. Again, I held it in place while Julian fussed with the back side.

This time he pushed my panties down low enough to show the top of my trimmed bush. Millie was absently licking her lips. Damn that woman. I would fix her tail, or perish trying. Given her obvious proclivities, it should not be difficult. Julian finished in the back and came to the front. When he stepped between me and Millie, her disappointment was comically obvious. Wait til she saw what I had to show.

It was time to tighten the laces. I went to a large pipe, which ran floor to ceiling, and grasped it with both arms. The extended corset had three strings—two in the corset proper and one in the extension—so this would take some time. I spent it thinking of my times with Sean. The first day had been on my mind. Bound as they were, my breasts remembered the pressure of Sean's hands and the feel of the lash.

My mind quickly moved past that. Instead I focused on the feel of his fingers, on my back as he gave me a massage, or when he shampooed my hair. The thought of his dandruff shampoo made me smile. Then, I thought of the feel of his cock slamming into my cervix and warmth rushed through me. It was enough for even Julian to take notice.

He said, "I would have said that he was a lucky man, which he is. But, it appears that you are a lucky woman. Now cease your squirming." He slapped my ass hard enough to leave fingerprints, which caused another orgasm. Naturally, I blushed from embarrassment. When I snuck a peek at Millie, she was breathing so hard her mouth hung open. I said, "Flies, Millie." and winked. Then it was her turn to blush.

Once the tying was complete, moderately tight, Julian had me walk for him. Julian had often said that he could watch me walk all day. This was high praise, since Julian was an avid ballet enthusiast. This caused me to mention Francine. Julian nodded and said, "Ah, yes. The one that copied your walk." Say what?

I had no time to wonder, because Millie brought the dress forward. Close up, I could see it was not complete. The seams were basted and none of the trim was in place. Still, it was beautiful. The green silk was a shade darker than the pool table felt, which I had used as a reference, but of the same family. It was almost stiff enough to stand alone. Over the top was what appeared to be hand crocheted lace, made from ivory colored cotton. The light on dark effect recalled forest filtered sunlight on verdant undergrowth.

I held up my arms, so that Millie and Julian could get me into the dress. It did not quite fit like a glove, but very close. For a first fitting, it was outstanding work. I took a moment to adjust the hang, but there was little to do. So I composed myself, again, to wait on Julian.

Once again, Julian went around, checking the fit and lay of the fabric. Then he picked up a green ribbon and tied my hair back. As always, there was no mirror. However, Julian pulled out a Nikon digital camera and took pictures from every angle. Normally, that would have been the end of it. Rather than wait, I snapped my fingers and gestured to the camera. There was a brief contest of wills, until Julian reluctantly surrendered the camera.

To say I was stunned would belittle my reaction. I knew my reflection, but somehow it was different on the little screen. The woman could not be me. I knew I had a good build and correct posture, but the only word that seemed to apply was regal. I stared for a moment, then noticed my own mouth hanging open. This time a glance at Millie found tears in her eyes. Even Julian had nothing to say.

I emailed the set of pictures to myself. Then I returned the camera to Julian. I told him to shoot some more. This time I stood on my toes, to simulate taller heels. Julian merely nodded and shot more images. I also told him that I could stand another inch, meaning a tight lacing. Again, Julian nodded, this time with a small smile.

After that, everything went in reverse. After about five more minutes I was back in my street clothes, including the bra from my bag. As Millie escorted me back to the parlor, I pulled up a picture on my blackberry. It was the one I had sent Sean, so I could genuinely tell her that I did not own it. Millie's hands flew to her face, while her mouth opened in an O. I left her on the stairs like that.

Inside, I saw something unexpected. Siobhan was sitting on the floor in Second Position. The truly unexpected part was the she was doing it correctly. I would not have guessed Siobhan capable of it so soon.

In front of her was Francine, in full dramatic mode. She is quite good at this. Among her many talents, Francine is a voice actor. She had done countless radio and TV commercials and at least one regular Saturday cartoon. I had never asked why she did it, because Francine has a standard, one-size-fits-all answer. She would say her acting or dancing talents were marginal, so she needed other skills. Right.

Then I noticed that Siobhan was barely moving. This was normal for Christine, who has a Zen quality and trances easily. Listening to Francine I realized two things: Siobhan was in a light hypnotic trance and Francine was talking about her time with me. Francine winked at me, but never dropped a syllable.

My return was why everyone was waiting. Christine had just been measured, so she was standing by. Francine pulled Siobhan out of the trance and helped her unfold. Given her state of stiffness, I wondered how long Siobhan had been sitting like that, not that I objected. Siobhan needed all the posture training we could cram in. Still, it was a lot for a first session. That put it uncomfortably close to what had happened with Tess. This was not the time, but Francine and I would need to talk. Instead I showed everyone a few pictures.

Francine suggested lunch and I almost choked. I have never understood how someone could be half my size and eat three times as much? Instead, I asked Maggie and Millie about dress and shoe shops nearby. Francine asked about medical supplies. That one went over my head, but Maggie seemed to understand. We soon had three destinations within walking distance.

The closest, therefore the first, was a shoe shop. Francine had tried to get Siobhan to leave her favorite boots at the Parlor. I felt otherwise. They should be a display piece, set high on a wall in her room. In that neighborhood, Siobhan needed something to protect her feet, at least for three more blocks.

Once inside the shoe store, I took Siobhan and Christine to the fitting area. Francine attacked the rest of the store. For Siobhan, I decided that the look Christine was wearing would do. That meant sandals. Christine had been using four inch wedgies for three days. I chose a simple one inch heel for Siobhan. Baby steps. In addition, I picked out taller heels in black, blue, red and white.

When the attendant arrived, I asked him to get a bag. Siobhan's boots went into it. She started to protest, but I gave her my best evil eye and she subsided. Francine came up behind her and pulled on her shoulders. Looking a little sheepish, Siobhan straightened to almost straight. Francine pushed her away from the chair back and helped settle her in place. I had never noticed, but Francine had real skills as an instructor. One demerit for me. I should have noticed what her time with Christine had yielded.

I had the salesman, boy really, start with the heels. My idea was to get her up in them, but allow her to leave in the shorter sandals. Siobhan bit her lip and cooperated. What the hell had she and Francine been talking about? In any event, starting with the ankle strap pumps was a good idea. I helped Siobhan to her feet, tucked the T-shirt into the pants, squared her shoulders and walked her to the mirrors.

If you have ever seen The Princess Diaries, think of Anne Hathaway's expression on seeing her reflection the first time after the makeover. That was almost exactly like Siobhan seeing herself standing straight in heels. Before either of us could speak, Francine's "Told you" floated across the room.

We spent an hour trying on shoes and could have spent all day. Christine acquired three pair and Siobhan five. The boots stayed in the bag. Instead of the low sandals, Siobhan wore a pair of strappy Naturalizers, with a two and half inch heel. Christine, of all people, coached her in how to center over them. They walked side by side as we left the store. The shoes looked good on Siobhan, but we needed to do something about the clothes, quickly.

The next place was a medical supply chain. Francine told us to wait outside. She went to the counter and soon came back with a small box. She had been gesturing about her head, so I assumed it was something for Siobhan, but I said nothing. Neither, for once, did Francine. We moved on to the furthest place on our list. This turned out to be a fashion warehouse. I pulled out my phone and told Russell to get soup and sandwiches and bring the car close to the store.

Inside, Francine and I looked at each other and shook our heads—so much to look at and so little time. We needed to be back at Julian's before four PM. I pointed to myself and said, "Sundress, separates and extra tops." Francine nodded and said, "Formals and accessories." That was cheating, since Francine had a bag full of accessories from the shoe store, but she was also a master costumer. I let it go. I said, "But first,..." Francine chimed in, "Lingerie."

We were in luck. The store had Bali seconds. Among common brands for full figures, Bali is one of the best. Francine snatched six boxes, in different colors, and dragged Christine and Siobhan toward the changing room. I turned and headed for summer wear. Christine was already wearing a sundress, so I went a different direction. I started with a pair of roll up jeans, capri pants and a halter top. To this I added a clingy spaghetti strap top and a more sedate button down shirt. On a whim, I grabbed a red Hawaiian pattern and a yellow tank top to wear under it. Then I got the same pairing in Siobhan's size.

For Siobhan, I lucked out. Top brand names, like Pierre Cardan and Armani, will unload excess product under generic brand names. You get the quality that goes into an elite brand at a discount chain price. The tags did not say Burberry, but the tailoring did. I grabbed four suits and headed for the dressing rooms.

Francine was waiting outside. She turned to me and asked, "Well? What did you...Oh, my fucking God!" Francine and I had been shopping many times, back in the day. I had almost never scooped her on a bargain. She was gone before I could open my mouth. When I handed Christine the capri pants and button top, I heard Francine shriek "Michael Kors." Naturally, other shoppers wanted to see, so shortly I was alone. I said to Siobhan, "Step out. Francine has called everyone away."

Siobhan had put on the Burberry suit. I would have chosen a skirt suit, but that was not the current style. On Siobhan, I could see why. On her long legs, the slacks barely covered her calves. With ankle straps, that worked quite well. On another women, the jacket would be very long, but here it was perfect. I had not brought a top, so Siobhan was still wearing the black T-shirt she had come with. Oddly, that worked too. It looked sassy.

Francine walked up, carrying the Kors jacket she had screamed about and an Armani silk skirt. I guess I had not scooped her. The skirt was in my size. She handed both to me and said, "I'll find a top." When she left, she was towing Siobhan. What was with those two?

Francine had returned with an organdy and cream striped top. I did not recognize the name, but it looked like Elle Tahari. I had to admit, the colors worked well, especially for a thrown together ensemble. The best part was the Armani skirt. It fit like a glove.

When we left, Francine and I almost had a fight over who would pay. Sean had dropped a mid five figure amount in my bank account. I could get anything I wished. Besides, Christine was my responsibilities. Francine could float a cruise ship on her petty cash, but that does not mean I want her paying my light bill. Siobhan settled things by stealing the check. I can accept that from family. Sean would have done the same thing.




K&T, LLC Ch. 04



I was glad the car was close. We could barely cram all the packages in, even with Francine in Siobhan's lap and Christine in mine. We picked up my car, with Siobhan going ahead in the Mercedes. This late in the afternoon parking was wide open. As we exited the car, Francine slapped Christine, "for being fresh." Christine only grinned. Some submissive.

Siobhan was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. I could understand why. Those stairs are treacherous and Siobhan was new to heels. Francine and I went up, while Christine helped Siobhan. I was once again glad that I had refused to take Christine on as a 24/7 slave. I would have had to order Christine to do that. It means so much more when it is a free decision.

Francine and I waited, so that we could all go in together. When we walked into the Parlor, Millie and Maggie looked at us like we were aliens. More exactly, they looked at Siobhan that way. Truly the transformation was that impressive. To think, we had not yet tackled hair and make up. Maggie led Siobhan and Christine to Julian's lair.

While we waited, I asked Francine what she had purchased at the medical supply store. Francine pulled out her phone and called up a website. It had been a posture trainer, in the medical sense. It strapped high on the arm and went behind the back. It was possible to move the shoulders forward, but the strap was strong elastic. This was not the first time that Francine had to correct a serious slump.

Two days later, I also discovered what else Francine had been doing. I received a delivery of pregnancy pants and nursing bras. There was a note. In case I can't make the shower. FM Francine can be a bitch, but I love her.

Siobhan:

Francine had me kneeling on the floor, with my hands behind my back. I would have said it was uncomfortable, except I had just seen CC damn near comatose while sitting in the posture. Posture was the word. I could feel my shoulders creak and complain. Rather than listen, Martel corrected my position in subtle ways. I could feel the moment when everything was stacked. Suddenly, I had no need to hold myself upright. The moment did not last, but I knew what to look for.

As I tweaked my position, Francine dropped to the floor in front of me. With most people, that would be a figure of speech. Martel simply crossed her ankles and dropped. She wanted to talk. I would have preferred doing it in chairs, but I had promised to make an effort and Francine had warned me that it would be difficult. So I stayed.

We chatted for a few minutes about how things had been. Then, Francine began to tell her story. It started two years before I met them. Francine was second year in high school, but Sheila had just begun middle school. Yet, Sheila was too gifted to ignore, so Francine made life difficult. At some point that stopped, because Francine had an epiphany. Sheila was not just better, she was much better. I could relate, though not about someone five years younger.

Francine told her story well. While I knew she acted, I suspected she also did voice overs. The quality of her sing-songy voice was that good. In fact, it was hypnotic, because suddenly both CC and Sheila were back and my knees hurt like a bitch. Francine was telling me to notice how my spine felt, because it was correct. How about that. Then they all helped me unfold from my posture. I hurt, but I also had a sense of accomplishment. Go figure. On the way out, Francine mentioned food, as if were not barely 11:00 AM.

Our first stop was a chain shoe store. As I feared, Sheila went and grabbed a bunch of girly shoes. I wear Army boots, because they are comfortable and they last. The last thing I wanted was a closet full of shoes I never used. Still, I had promised. Dutifully, I put on the towering pair of heels—why would I want to be taller—and needed help standing up. Sheila gave me her hand, corrected my posture, again, then we shuffled over to the mirrors.

If I did not recognize the woman in the mirror, no one would have blamed me. However, the Ramstein T-shirt was the same, so it must be me. I just did not look like me. I looked damned attractive, in a grunge mode. With the right hair and makeup, I would not have to pay for a drink all night. For me, usually things have worked the other way around. Sheila's look of satisfaction said "I told you so." louder than the same words coming from Martel.

We left the shoe store with an armload of boxes and my Army boots in a bag. I had a surprisingly comfortable pair of medium tall sandals on my feet. Oddly, it was CC walking beside me, helping my balance. Her heels were at least an inch taller, but she wore them well. I was shocked to learn that she had only worn them a few days, which was encouraging. Martel and Schwartz could have walked on toe point, as Martel had demonstrated. I found that CC's advice had more practical value.

The next stop was a medical supply store. Francine went in alone. I had an idea what she was getting, so I was glad the others stayed outside. Then, it was on to the warehouse store. This was rather like one in Concord, New Hampshire. The one up north is a great place to get concert shirts and name brand jeans, at half what they cost near campus. At this one, I doubted we would be getting either.

Sheila and Francine were both salivating like Pavlov's dogs when we came through the doors. They quickly divided the chores, but first headed for the bra rack. I own bras, and use them occasionally, but they are not my favorite thing. Francine came back with three each for CC and I.

Dutifully, I went in the changing room and put it on. It was more comfortable than most I had used. When I remembered to stand up straight, I could see it spreading my rack. They looked like tits, not dugs. I resolved to ask for more information. Plainly I had been buying the wrong brand, or size, or something.

About then, there was a commotion outside. Shortly, Sheila called me out of the changing room, saying that Francine had called everyone away. Fortunately, it was true. However Sheila thrust a pair of slacks and a jacket at me. Sighing, I kicked off my shoes and went back in the booth. Surprisingly, the slacks sort of fit. They were very short, but that is a style I have seen. I did not have a top, so I pulled the Ramstein shirt back on. Then I pulled on the jacket. It was too tight across the tits, but otherwise OK. Sheila passed me the shoes, then dragged me to a mirror.

Earlier, when I first put on the heels, I thought I looked like a different person. Silly me. The real new person was in this mirror. I looked like one of the faculty. I concentrated on standing straighter. Even that little bit added to the image. Francine came up with clothes for Sheila. I had to see myself with a proper top. Sheila was already heading for the changing rooms, so Francine and I headed out to get me one.

The next couple of hours were a blur. For the first time in my life, I was having fun shopping for girl clothes. It made the thrill of finding a rare concert shirt seem pale. In the end, we did not get that first suit. It was tailored for someone much shorter. What surprised me is how well other clothes fit. Sheila said that I fitted normally for a full figured woman. That last word was the key. I had never fit anything intended for a teenager, unless it was supposed to be baggy. Who'd'a thought I would improve with age.

We finished shopping, mostly because of the time, and headed for checkout. I was wearing a russet suit, with a maroon silk shirt and a white belt. In my arms were a pair of khaki slacks and a navy blazer, which I had just removed. I was trying to figure the difference between a jacket and a blazer, when Sheila and Francine started arguing over who was paying for what. We had a pile of clothes, not to mention belts, bags and some low end jewelry. The total was close to $3000. While Mutt and Jeff were distracted, I slipped the clerk my family gold card. Normally, I hate using it, but unexpected expenses were why I carried it.

CC and I started trundling the load out to the car before Sheila and Francine realized they had been upstaged. That alone was worth using the card. I figured Martel was worth something, but it was interesting that Schwartz could toss off this sort of money. Everything I had seen said meticulous money management.

At the car, Russell had soup and sandwiches. I checked my phone. It was after three. How had we missed lunch? I took one of the (cold) soups as did CC. Sheila, coming up with Francine, waved off even that much. Instead she opened a package of crackers. It did not matter. Francine inhaled three sandwiches and washed it down with cold soup. I glanced at Sheila, who merely rolled her eyes.

We were due back at Julian's studio at 4:00 PM. I was not thrilled with the prospect of wearing a corset for the rest of the day, not to mention future days, but I was beginning to understand what was going on. It may be cliché, but damned if I would be the weakest link.

Chapter 9 -- They also Serve, who only Stand and Wait

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

If you get down to it, Mom, Aunt Frannie and Aunt Jo only had three days to pull the wedding together, unless you count Saturday morning, the day of the event. Friday was spent on the dresses and similar things. All that was done in the City. That leaves just Wednesday and Thursday. I know they are all good at getting things down, but damn. Excuse my language.

Dad claims he had nothing to do with it, because he was at work all week, getting ready to be gone. I have never quite accepted that.

Sean:

About 10:00 I received word, from Russell, that my sister Jo had met up with Sheila and company, near downtown Elizabethtown. I mentally scolded myself for forgetting that the city had officially dropped the "town" before the Civil War, no matter what people call it. This, in turn, set me wondering where my head was at.

Business was odd. We had released the catalog to the printers on Friday. Harold Johnstead had done a special weekend press run. Monday had swamped the staff with mailing details. That was all done, but the response had not had time to filter in. Other than the new real estate project, the agenda was clear of new business. My staff had stacks of ongoing projects, but they were all handled below my level.

On a personal level, the invitations would come back from the printers before noon. Helen and her minions had a mailing list. Someone would have to approve the print work, but it would not be me. Most likely, Sheila would do it by phone.

I seriously considered taking time off to go home, but it is rarely a good idea to jog your manager's elbows. I had my best people on the job. There was nothing more I could do. Then I reconsidered. I had an important part of the plan scheduled for a meeting. If Elder Nuefeld was willing, I could take him to see the property, and get a good look myself. Management by walking around. That was a plan. I told Helen that she was on her own for the next few hours. If nothing else, I could go early to the meeting. Elder Nuefeld was arriving by train, and I might need some services from the railroad.

George dropped me at the new freight yard. I walked into the Conrail office and asked to speak to the manager. This caused the usual inquiry about my problem. CYA is a universal trait. I did my best sales smile and told them there was no problem, but potentially some new, time sensitive business. This brought me a man wearing a name tag: Howard Fitzpatrick, Shift Supervisor. He was about twenty five years old and did not introduce himself.

I said, "Howard, can we sit? I was planning to get some coffee. Do you want some?" That should get his salesman radar pinging loudly, which was exactly what I wanted. We took our cups into a break area. Howard sat first. Before I sat down, he asked, "What are you selling?" Bingo.

I smiled and spread my hands. "Nothing. However, I hope to be needing a special car or two, if a lunch meeting goes well. We are talking car rental and routing, each direction, later this week and early next. Are you the man?"

People call me the Bear. I never knew where it got started, but I think the look on Howard's face might have been involved. I had sandbagged Mr. Fitzpatrick, so now I had an opportunity to operate in an information vacuum. It is a tactic I have employed successfully on several occasions. In a way, it is a bit odd. The response, "I can put you in touch with the right person." is almost never wrong. However, it is also almost never used.

Howard Fitzgerald tried for a middle approach. "I see. I would need to know the details, but something might be managed." Poor kid. Anything but "No" is a green light.

I smiled and replied, "Excellent. I will forward your name to Helen. She is Mr. Richards Executive Secretary. Everything will be done on his personal account, not on the Richard's Enterprises corporate account. This will be one animal car for horses and one box car for carriages. That would be from northern Pennsylvania, Amish country, to this location on Thursday, with the return on Monday. I realize I do not have final approval to proceed, but how soon could you have a firm estimate?"

Oddly, that speech relaxed young Mr. Fitzgerald. Perhaps, shipping Amish carriages was not entirely new. He replied, "Given the time constraints, there may be extra charges. However, I can ballpark it now. If we assume a Thursday morning pickup in York, return the same, exclusive of the car rentals, we have..." Howard slid a calculator across the table. My eyes widened a bit, but I was prepared to go higher. Howard smiled. "It's the price you pay for doing business with them. I take it this your first time?"

I had to admit defeat. "Personally yes. Richards Enterprises is thirty companies. I am sure some of them have done so before. Auctions maybe. As I said, this is personal, for the wedding." This time Mr. Fitzpatrick's eye got wide, but he did not ask. I guess the dots were easy to connect. Instead, he pulled out a business card and wrote a pair of numbers on the back. One was labeled "Cell"; the other was "Expedite".

He rose from his seat and extended his hand. "Pleased to do business with you, Mr., ah..." I shook the hand. "Clarence Richards, and yes, I am one of the lesser family scions. But, whatever you do, do not cross the bride. I have heard stories." Howard merely nodded and walked away. Sorry Sheila, my devil made me do it.

As I walked back to the car, I called the house. After a couple of holds, I was finally put through to Michael Gilbert. I asked what we had available for stabling horses. Fortunately, Sheila had given him a heads up. Provided we had a suitable tent, arrangements could be made for hay, feed and water. He then flipped the question back to me. Would we need to house personnel, and if so, how many. I promised to raise the issue at my meeting.

At the Amtrak station, Elder Nuefeld was, to me at least, surprisingly young. Perhaps 40 - 45. He was a big man, at least 6'2" and 275 pounds. He wore the expected black suit and straw hat. What was less expected was an antique meerschaum pipe, which he was not smoking. I asked him if he would like to step outside and smoke during our conversation, he nodded graciously, and perhaps gratefully. If this went well, I would have some good quality pipe tobacco sent his way.

The negotiations went slowly. What I was asking was easily doable, if he chose to authorize it. However, Elder Nuefeld wanted more in depth reasons. Rather than reply, I asked if he would be willing to accept a ride in my car. This he accepted, with a patently false show of reluctance.

Once we reached the house, I had George pull to the front entrance. Normally, this would be useless, since the door is kept locked, but clean up was in full swing. He took in the activity without comment. Once again I was reminded that a simple lifestyle is not a sign of stupidity. Usually, this reflection applies to some third world country, but we also have odd communities in the USA.

As we walked through the house, I pointed out things that had come down through generations. I could tell that Elder Nuefeld was quite comfortable with many of our old pieces. In particular, he seemed impressed with the quarter sawn, tiger eye maple paneling. I asked if he had a family history in woodwork. It turned out he did not, but recognized the wood from the home of a family named Yoder, who were woodworkers.

As we progressed, I explained Sheila's concept. The Amish are non-electrical by choice. This would fit well with a turn of the 20th century theme. I never did explain why I wanted the horses and carriages. As I said, the man was not stupid.

When we went through the ballroom, I explained that there was to be a formal dance. It would not be one suitable for Amish to attend, but the concept would be very familiar. Dances are a principle way young Amish men meet marriageable Amish women. I apologized that the dance floor would be unavailable, except on Sunday. On the spur of the moment, I offered it as a temporary meeting hall for their services and family time afterward.

Elder Neufeld stopped and looked at me shrewdly. At that point I knew we had an agreement in principle and only needed to work out the details. He asked how many men I expected to need. To answer this, I led him outside.

Mitchell had several crews working. My events people had delivered the side show booths, and crews were busily unpacking them. Again, these were vintage items, of a sort he would recognize. I told him that I hoped to have whole families. One man for each carriage of course, but boys to attend the horses, girls to run errands and women to run the food booths. I stated that, should the church deem it suitable, and subject to other uses, the families could make use of the preparations. Then the dickering got serious.

In essence, the deal was for twelve carriages, with horses and drivers. In addition, a block of money would be provided to the church for services rendered by dependents of the drivers. I was responsible to arrange three train cars and minimal accommodations, meaning tents, water and portable toilets. Since I was already planning to rent two train cars, an additional passenger car was probably cheaper than the dozen round trip fares. I allowed the Elder use of any additional space in the train cars.

What the Elder was getting was a paid vacation for at least a dozen of his families. They would have to bring food, though I promised certain staples like beans and potatoes. In addition, they would need bedding and all the other things you need camping. Provided the setup was finished, the Amish could hold a dance in the ballroom on Friday night. Likewise, the midway and paddle boats would be available, if ready. There was no limit on the number of people they could bring, but only the basic twelve would get paid.

I did not tell Elder Neufeld that I felt like a manor Lord authorizing a gypsy camp, in exchange for entertainment. He would not have been amused. He was amused by the houseboat. Like Sheila, he thought the name was too grand. The yacht he plainly admired. I mentioned that there was going to be skilled woodworking jobs in the near future. Elder Neufeld promised to tell the appropriate people.

I had George deliver Elder Neufeld back to the station. Then I found the Gilbert brothers and we exchanged updates. This done, I asked to assemble Jo's grad students. One of the boys had refused to get out of bed. Most likely, he had arrived in Portland already. Two of the girls had simply taken their bags and left. The remaining nine were, per Sheila's directions, dirty. I thanked them for sticking it out, which brought a laugh.




K&T, LLC Ch. 04



I asked if any of them were specializing in the Amish. None were, but it happened that one of the girls, Evaine, was from a neighboring county in Pennsylvania. I asked her if she had any experience working side by side with them. She did. The Amish support Mennonite Disaster Services, which had sent a crew to a tornado clean up in her home town. I told everyone that Evaine was designated the liaison to the Amish women. I then explained the plan Elder Neufeld and I had roughed out that afternoon. Evaine promised to handle the details. I crossed my fingers and went on.

The day of grime had acquainted them with the effort we needed. Evaine told everyone to expect the Amish to work very hard, especially to prepare the dance floor. She wanted to attend that herself. One of the boys, I had not caught the name, asked where they would be staying. I told him that I had arranged for some big tents in one corner. One of the girls asked why they could not use the rooms upstairs. To which several heads nodded.

Michael said that there were both old family bedrooms and servants quarters, all unused. It would be enough for a sizable chunk of the expected crew. Naturally, they had been closed for years, so extensive cleaning would be necessary. I pulled out my phone and called George on his Bluetooth. He passed this on to Elder Neufeld. I suspected, we would be getting a free housecleaning in exchange for indoor quarters.

Then, it was on to practical issues. Which power sources were usable and at what load? How would the room occupancy levels be monitored? Where would food be prepared? Michael vouched for the gas stoves in the big kitchen, but there was no refrigeration and the lighting was not up to code. One boy suggested a bottled gas walk in refrigerator. I had been thinking refrigerated box truck, but his idea suited me fine.

That led to a string of suggestions, which was why Jo brought them in the first place. It was after 3:30 PM. I told them to go wrap up their current projects and break for a meal at 5:00 PM. They could rough out some proposals over beer and pizza. That brought cheers, except from one girl. Since she appeared Indian, I guessed either no pork or strict vegetarian. I told Michael to be sure to make kosher and veggie part of the order. The girl's quick smile told me I was correct.

Next on the schedule was Gerald and how he was doing with Sheila's cameras. Oh joy.

Siobhan:

I looked different dressed in a suit and standing so it hung properly. While we were still at the warehouse store, I spent a couple of minutes in front of the mirror, playing with the differences that heels and posture made. I could, easily, make a nice outfit look like ill fitted bags. My companion/coach in this was CC, who rarely said a word, was deferential to a fault and completely helpful. I began to understand the relationship CC had with Sheila. I was also getting turned on—again.

Getting to Julian's parlor proved challenging. There was only the one car. We filled the trunk and back seat with clothes and shoes, then crammed five people into one front seat. Fortunately it was only for a few blocks. When we reached Sheila's car, the other women climbed out and Russell drove me to the Parlor. This late in the afternoon, parking was looser.

I was wearing tall heels for the first time in my adult life. I managed to climb out of the car and up to the stairps, but there I stopped. Julian's steps were crumbled and slick. I did not want to risk them alone. It was not a long wait. When the others arrived, inevitably CC was the one who helped me up. Sheila and Francine waited so we all entered together. When we stepped through the door, an animated conversation stopped dead. Maggie and Millie both stared; Maggie went slack jawed.

Still, she found her voice first. "Sure it is, Miss Siobhan, that ye are a fine looking woman. Right handsome, I say. I did nae think these two were wee fairies, but perhaps I'm bein' mistaken. Wait there. Mr. Julian will be seeing you first." Fine looking woman? The Dean of my college would have a heart attack to hear it.

Maggie bustled over. She and CC helped me down the stairs. Descending turned out to be more dangerous than climbing. Julian's studio, if it deserved the title, was almost homelike. Change the fabric to books and paper and it could be any of a dozen TA group offices on campus. Julian, in this context, was exactly what I expected—a specialty absorbed genius, with ego to match. We got on fine.

The first order was stripping to my panties. I had expected no issues with that, but having Maggie watching made me shy. Oddly, CC had also stayed, but I was completely ready to get naked with her.

Julian had me raise my hands. He thrust the sides of the corset past me, but scolded me when I sought to fasten it. I had done research on corsets. This was a simple underbust training corset. Contrary to most uses, the term "training" is reserved for serious corsets. It means that garment is suitable for figure training, not merely occasional use. They also cost three times as much. The underbust part meant that my tits were in the open, so I would be wearing a bra.

Julian stood behind me, pulling and poking. To my front, Maggie was paying close attention, while she hung my new suit on hangers. She was almost old enough to be my grandmother, but she found my tits fascinating. I wonder if this was the usual service, or if she preferred Raphaelian women. CC, standing to her side, was smiling faintly. I could not tell if she was laughing at me or at Maggie.

Presently, Julian finished his ministrations and came around to close up the front. This was not easy, even though the laces were still loose. I suspected that was a good thing. There was a bit more fussing with the front, then Julian directed me to a heavy iron pipe near a corner. I grabbed it and Julian started to pull. There was a talk as he did this, but I did not listen. I was to involved with the pressure on my middle.

If there were any doubt that this was real corset, it took only moments to disappear. It felt like a too tight bra, only much wider. Very soon I was gasping for breath. That would mean that my diaphragm was constricted. No arias for a while. The pulling stopped, so I started to step back from the pipe. No luck. There must be two strings, This one started at the bottom and worked up. Oh boy.

Eventually, it was over and I was able to consider dressing. CC stepped forward, startling Maggie considerably. She helped me with my bra, which felt loose. I had CC overlap the back one more hook. Then I stepped into my skirt—I had been wearing heels this whole time—and fastened it up. It literally fell to my ass. I had CC hold it as I brought the belt in two notches.

Once I had everything positioned correctly, it was time to negotiate the stairs again. CC held the door for me. I felt I must be a dreadful sight, but the others disagreed. Francine was grinning ear to ear, but Sheila cocked her head to one side and pursed her lips. Then she went to her clutch and pulled out a slimline camera. With this she proceeded to shoot a number of shots. Then she went past me and down the stairs. That was when I realized Maggie and CC had gone, presumably to CC's fitting.

Sheila came back with a laptop computer and another skirt. She handed the skirt to Francine, who jerked her head to the changing booth. Well, with the corset on, the skirt I was wearing was a couple of inches too large. Francine helped me out of it and into a brown, mid length wool skirt. It was rather warm for the weather, but it had a more adjustable waistline. At least I would not have to worry about it falling off.

Then Francine pulled out a makeup bag and and did a few touch ups. I had worn makeup at least half a dozen times, so this was not a new experience—not exactly. I was unsure what a little blood colored lip gloss and some eye liner would do, but it was a day for letting things happen. Ye Gods, I was wearing a corset, high heels and designer clothes. Only the corset had been expected when I got out of bed.

When we came out, Sheila had the laptop open and an photo processing program running. She shot a couple of additional pictures, then pulled the memory card out of the camera. Before I considered what to expect, the first of her pictures came up. For a long moment, I wondered who the picture was of, before the suit registered. At least twice that day, I had looked in the mirror and seen an image that could not be me, but was. This time, I literally did not recognize myself.

It was hard to place what had the biggest impact. The suit was certainly a large part of it. I had been a jeans and T-shirt girl since I was in preschool. My posture made a huge difference, and the heels added to that effect. Well and good, but I had seen that before. This time I had shape. I looked like a girl. The clothes hung correctly. Something hot was on my cheek, which made me realize I was crying.

Naturally, a girl moment like that brought tears all over. Francine came over and hugged me around the corset. Damn that woman is short. In heels, I was at least a foot taller. Then I realized she was also silent, as was everyone else. There was an aura of ceremony about the moment. I was being initiated into their little club.

I picked Francine up and hugged her properly. Then I set her down and kissed her on both cheeks. Sheila flowed into my arms and we repeated the ritual. Then, she whispered into my ear. "CC has had a little experience with women, but she has had no tutelage in cunnilingus. I'll loan her to you tonight, provided you expand her skill set." I think my ass blushed. Everything else did.

Once we were finally sitting down, I asked the big question. "Where did it go wrong." Sheila and Francine looked at each other, then Sheila deferred. Francine launched into a long, rambling explanation, full of reverses and asides. I was lost fairly early on. After a while, CC came back, so Francine had to go do her fitting. I wished, for a moment, that I could watch. Instead, I turned to Sheila, who was laughing.

She said, "I love Francine dearly, but she is a blond at the worst times. The problem is simple—you are not cute." Well, duh. Sheila must have caught my reaction, because she gave me a Mistress Cynthia look and said, "Think it through—Doctor." Ouch. What did the most obvious fact of my existence mean?

When I was a small child, other girls were getting pinafore dresses and bow ties in their hair. They made me look ridiculous. Some of my earliest memories were the mockings of the pretty girls. I must have tried, but it was hopeless. My place was with the misfits. As I grew, the lesson was reinforced many times. I was not pretty. The cute...there was the word.

Let us equate pretty and cute. From early age I was neither. The social hierarchy decreed that only attractive girls could fit in the elite cliches. Attractive, for preteens at least, also equates with pretty and cute. Then came puberty. Oh my God. The first year I had tits was the worst. I had never been thin, but suddenly I was called Fat Cow, in addition to Horseface and Stiltwalker. They felt threatened, because I had larger breasts than any girl in the school. I distinctly remember deciding to not wear a bra, precisely because of the hazing.

Add another ten years. I had a firm place in the outcasts. I was firmly convinced that I was unattractive. My large size was a backhand asset in my chosen group. I could play the male with the lesbians, which was another reason to keep my tits in plain view. So, here I was at twenty four, realizing how the past twenty years had gotten me to this point. What that did not explain was why I looked as good as I clearly did.

Just as I was about to ask, Sheila gave me the next part. "Maggie said it, you are handsome." That was the rest of it. I looked good, but not cute, not pretty. The suit made me look confident. Powerful. Damn, I really was Sean's sister. A smile spread over my face.

There was payback coming and I really am a bitch when I want to be.

Sheila:

Bargain hunting with Francine was as much fun as ever, but the real pleasure came from watching Siobhan blossom. Getting her to stand straight did amazing things. Siobhan had seen that. Heels are one of the few things that make everyone look better. Siobhan had seen that. Properly tailored, properly fitted and suitable clothing made a big difference. Siobhan had seen that. The corset was the cherry on the sundae.

I had worried that she would do one thing or two things, then balk. Siobhan knew that we were coming for corsets. Even there I had doubts. A training corset is not at all like the fashion pieces worn to clubs. Clearly, she had a meeting of the minds with Francine. Like Sean, once Siobhan committed, she gave it all she had. More importantly, Siobhan was paying attention. There was a fine mind in the grunge/punk package.

Of course, the best laid plans often fail. Truth be known, I had hoped to show Siobhan a small piece of her potential. That had happened at the shoe store. The suit at the warehouse store was a revelation, even to me. That made the fitting at Julian's a real revelation. My first move was to send a picture to Gerald, with a caption that said "Pay up." Then, I had to hug her.

On impulse, I also loaned her Christine for the night. Siobhan would need a dresser in any case. We all had a very touching moment. Then, Siobhan asked the obvious question. This allowed Francine to bury her in verbiage, which went on for several minutes, til Christine returned and tapped Francine's shoulder.

In the quiet that followed, Siobhan repeated her question. I told her simply, "You're not cute." Siobhan frowned. I told her, "Think it through—Doctor." That was a bit harsh, but Siobhan needed to understand. Nothing is ever as clear as something you worked out for yourself. The truth was that Siobhan was not beautiful, and never would be. She was, as Maggie had said, handsome. If ever a woman was born for a power suit, it was Siobhan. She would scare the shit out of my clients and G_d help the kids back at the Residence.

Francine had gone for her fitting, which would be either short or long, depending on her mood. That meant that Christine was back. I informed her that she would be acting as dresser for Siobhan. I also mentioned that Siobhan had some skills and experience in the area of pleasuring other women. Finally, I reminded Christine that any mark on her skin was to come from me. Christine was almost bouncing with excitement.

Clearly, this was not the reaction Siobhan expected. I was not sure if I could explain it, but I tried. "You know how Francine exudes energy?" Siobhan nodded. "While I give off..." Siobhan filled, "Smooth." I would have chosen another term, but it would do. "Siobhan, my dear, you exude raw pulsing power. I am scared shitless of what would happen if Sean ever hooked up with Christine. You are from the same bloodline. Just standing near you makes her shiver. Just watch. Christine, let Siobhan hug you."

Christine wasted no time moving up to Siobhan. At that point, it was a competition between eagerness and embarrassment. I said, "Siobhan, please sit there. Christine, you have been a naughty girl. Pull down your panties, pull up your skirt and present your shameful ass for discipline. Siobhan, the trick is to whip the finger tips. If you do it right, your hand will be tingling for an hour, but first, check the oil. She ought to be well lubricated."

Siobhan seemed to know the basics. She plunged three fingers into Christine's slot without any workup. They glistened when they came out. More importantly, Christine jerked when she did it. Siobhan's eyes found mine, then a slow smile spread. She was definitely Sean's sister. I suspected Christine would be reminded of that twitch, but that was for later.

Siobhan gave Christine a couple of good whacks, then borrowed a page from my manual. "CC, dear, I did not hear you call the count. Now we will start over and, this time, do it properly." I added, "And don't you dare cum." I don't know if Siobhan understood what verbalizing the count meant to Tess, but she might. Whatever the cost, Tess called the count audibly.

When the count reached ten, Siobhan looked up. I made a little circle with my thumb and fingers. Siobhan's grin was positively evil. She shoved two fingers into Tess' cunt, causing another jerk, then Siobhan ran her glistening big finger around the rim of Tess' anus. With no more preparation, Siobhan shoved her fuck-you finger all the way in.

Tess turned red all the way to her ass, but she did not start jerking. That's my girl. I nodded to Siobhan, who let Christine up, but claimed the panties. I reached into my purse and pulled out a dog biscuit. I tossed this to Christine, who caught it in her mouth and crunched it loudly. Christine is such an exhibitionist.

From the door I heard, "Damn Schwartz. Next time you schedule entertainment, let me know." Obviously, Francine was back and had caught the tail end of the show. Millie and Maggie were both fanning themselves. Christine blushed, again. I had Siobhan stand up. Then I demonstrated a proper courtsy. This brought smiles all around.

Then it was time to go. It was almost 6:00 PM and we had not gotten to visit Francine's wardrober yet.



K&T, LLC Ch. 05



Author's note: This section contains a graphic depiction of a very dangerous bondage scene. If you are at all squeamish, please skip the last chapter. There is a plot summary following the chapter.

Chapter 11 -- Old Friends and New

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

What can anyone say about the trip to New York. Maybe it would be that it was to Brooklyn, not Manhattan. Maybe that it was to a warehouse, not anyplace fancy. Maybe that Aunt Francine owned it through her production company. My personal favorite is that Mom met Angela and Pedro de la Garza. You have to be an insider like Aunt Frannie to know what that means.

Of course they also had the bridesmaids dresses made and designed the decorations for the reception ball.

Francine:

I had a plan. Once we loaded up the cart and moved to checkout, I would pay for everything and say it was my wedding gift. Who knew Sheila would be flush and insist on paying herself? Then Jo Jo, the oversized little shit, slipped a gold card out while Schwartz and I were arguing. She and Little Miss Happy started hauling the clothes out, while Sheila and I were still arguing. It pisses me off when someone steals my lines, especially if I am paying good money for them.

We stopped in the lot long enough to snarf a decent sized snack, then stuffed everyone into the front seat and drove to Sheila's car. Jo went on to Julian's studio while the rest of us switched vehicles. When the three of us pulled up, Jo Jo was trying to climb some very nasty steps, in four inch heels. The damn woman was tall enough without them. Schwartz and I left Miss Serves a Lot to help her up.

That let us be inside to watch the M&M girls get their first sight of my work. Siobhan deserves a lot of the credit for the new look—she was wearing it after all—but Schwartz and I had gotten her into in the first place. An audience is necessary for the final judgment.

The look of Maggie's face alone was worth the effort. I could not have scripted her line better, "Sure it is, Miss Siobhan, that ye are a fine looking woman. Right handsome, I say. I did nae think these two were wee fairies, but perhaps I'm bein' mistaken."

Then she collected Jo Jo to get her fitted. CC went along, so Sheila and I were left to pace, and I did not even have coffee. We discussed a lot of things, such as her ideas about set design for the wedding. I had to hand it to her. Doing the actual ceremony on a party barge had a lot of possibilities. It would be easy to do the set and the audience could not interfere. Sound might be an issue, but that was details.

Schwartz was also telling me more than I wanted to know about her business. It was only going to be for ten days to two weeks. I could wing it that long. Hell, negotiating a scene is half the fun. It was a pity none of her outfits would fit me. Sheila told me she had built up a nice wardrobe. Jo Jo might find something, since she could wear things that were fairly normal sized. Maybe not. Things were getting dull when Maggie brought Siobhan back. Whew.

If I was going to be critical, there were a lot of small issues. In a corset, the skirt hung like a bag. Only the belt kept it from sliding all the way off. The hair was an all morning job, followed by an afternoon working on the face and nails. Hell, I could give her a trip to the spa. All that would be criticizing. The transformation itself was stunning.

Siobhan would never be pretty. She was too big and her features were too strong. That said, she did a damn good feminine version of imposing, and there was no doubt about the feminine part. Siobhan was born for the boardroom. Hillary Clinton eat your heart out.

Sheila took a bunch of pictures, then went out the door. Maggie and CC disappeared, probably to see Julian. That gave me a minute to consider touch up. The natural colors were good and very untouched. The hair could be worn up.

Schwartz came back with a more adjustable skirt and her laptop. If she was doing pics, I could do makeup. I pulled Siobhan into the changing room and helped her step out of her skirt. God, this woman's legs were longer than I was. The irony was that jeans would work, provided they were fitted. That was for later in the week. At the moment, I tied her hair in a quick knot and added some eye liner and lip gloss. It was purely icing on the cake.

I brought Siobhan out and Sheila shot more pictures. Then she showed them to us. It was one of those moments you never forget. In some ways it is not quite real til there is an image. Then, Jo asked the obvious question—how had she missed it? That let me explain what had been going on all day, or start. Halfway through I had to leave for my fitting.

Julian was exactly what I expected from a wardrobe genius. I did not want to waste time, so I tossed my top to Millie, who was standing in as the assistant. As I had expected, the corset was a cut down small. Seriously, short of making a new one, what choice was there. It was not like I needed one in the first place. Julian tried to fuss with it, but I closed it up and grabbed a bench. Julian gave a histrionic sigh, but complied.

When I opened the door to the parlor, Jo Jo had CC over her knee for a spanking. I was jealous and not sure of whom. Spanking CC is a lot of fun, but Siobhan was very good at it. I could cast myself in either role. Be that as it may, it was too good an entrance to waste.

"Damn, Schwartz. Next time you schedule entertainment, let me know." Schwartz had Siobhan stand up, then demonstrated the correct form for taking a bow in a skirt. No one does a curtsy any more, but Sheila does one with real style. Then it was goodbye to the M&M ladies and off to Brooklyn.

I once asked why Pedro had built his costume and prop warehouse in the relative sticks of Brooklyn's south side. I expected a money based answer, but he told me he met Angela in a school near there. That made no sense, because Angela is two years older and has multiple degrees. Pedro had a bit of education in Puerto Rico, but dropped out in what would be grade school. He's proof that you do not need a degree to be smart, like Sheila. They could compare notes sometime.

Rather than move the merchandise, we elected to continue with Siobhan in the Mercedes and the rest of us in Sheila's Volvo. Being in Elizabeth helped, since we were already well south. We headed across the bridge to Staten Island, then another bridge into Brooklyn. It was still rush hour, but we were headed toward Town, so it was not too bad.

Once in Brooklyn, we went to Bensonhurst, which is where it gets tricky. I was an old hand and Sheila's driver never lost me, so he was pretty good. In the un-redeveloped part, not far from the beaches, are some old warehouses. I do not go around telling people, but I own three blocks and a few odd buildings. One of the things I do not own is a an old Dutch Reformed church. That was where Pedro and his people were waiting.

If you are not in theater, you may have never heard of Pedro de la Garza. Even if you are, his name is less known than his company, JB Productions, or his wife, Angela Molinari de la Garza. Angela is one of those women that always get pictures in the coverage of the Tonys and Academy Awards, generally with Edith Dryden. Pedro and Edith's escort, usually Deirdre Walters, will arrive separately, so the two beauties can face the paparazzi. Do not be fooled. Pedro and Deirdre was also an interesting pair. Deirdre hung on Pedro the way CC revolved around Schwartz.

When I had called, I was expecting to meet Justice J Smith, Jr. my Manager. Pedro had retired almost five years before. However, 3J's wife was in maternity, so Pedro volunteered. Even at 70, he cannot sit still. Unsurprisingly, Pedro was accompanied by Angela, his wife, and Deirdre, his shadow. I really needed to see Sheila, Sean and CC together, because I sensed the same sort of indivisible trio. Naturally, as soon as we piled out of the car, Deirdre's eyes went straight for CC. Like knows like.

It may be cliché, but Pedro and I first hit it off by comparing short stories. Even barefoot, he is five inches taller than I am, but that is still very short for a man. The thing is, Pedro had a feminine version, Patricia, that fooled even seasoned theater people. In four inch heels, Patricia was a tallish woman. I had asked what it was like being normal sized. We talked damn near til sunrise.

That led to my first profitable side venture. Pedro had a gift for seeing untapped potential, beginning with Edith Dryden. Hard as it is to believe, Edith once considered herself actively unattractive. Think Talia Shire in Rocky. The problem with discoveries is that they know nothing about anything. Edith was an established star by the time I met Pedro, but there was always another young thing who had no clue how to walk, talk or hit a mark. I tutored "deportment." Then I set up a company to do it, so that I could focus on the promising ones. These days Martel Academy has outlets near every major theater and film district. Up to his retirement, Pedro consistently sent me the best prospects.

It was that eye that I wanted to gauge, when Pedro saw our little group. As noted, CC peeled off and settled with Deirdre, who was old enough to be her grandmother. Sheila glided up, as only she could. Pedro bowed low and kissed her hand.

Without introduction Pedro said, "You can only be Senorita Schwartz, of whom we have heard so much for so long. My Francita is green with the envy. Now I see it is entirely justified. You move with the passion and sorrow of José de Espronceda's poetry. It enlarges my heart to hear that you are engaged to marry. Is it not so?" In response, Sheila blushed nicely and gave a curtsy I would kill to reproduce. Fortunately, Jo Richards arrived.

Everyone started toward the car, but CC is the one that made it to the door. She helped Jo Jo out of the car and gave her a shoulder to balance on. Schwartz said, "¿Puedo presentar mi cuñada, Siobhan Richards?" (May I present my sister, Siobhan Richards). Damn show off. That was the kind of thing Deirdre used to do. Pedro responded, "Encantado, mi querido." (Enchanted, my dear). Then, to Jo Richards, "I see much progress, but also much potential. Francita was not exaggerating. But come, we have a few blocks to drive."

The warehouse was a converted produce market. There were loading docks on both sides, then strings of blocky rooms opening out, with a spinal hallway. It was useful for separating periods and types of costumes. You could drive a truck directly to the one you wanted. I owned the place, but it was years since I had spent time there. Pedro led us to the part of the building furthest from the gate. Once inside, I immediately recognized the costumes to Dorian Gray.

You had to know her well to see it, but Sheila was just a step removed from orgasmic.

Sean:

Once I had sent our grad students off for their beer and pizza, I went up to security central. Chaos would be the polite word.

It is a fundamental law that everyone likes toys. For security geeks, high definition, motion tracking cameras almost define the term. Given that Sheila had only four cameras, you would think the project was well contained. Wrong. Everyone wanted in on the job. As their ultimate boss, I drew a shred of respect, but it only cut the din slightly. I just shook my head and went to Gerald's office.

Understandably, Gerald was upset that his staff was behaving like a bunch of boys with a new bicycle. I waved it off. It is rarely a good idea to be a wet blanket—unless there is a fire to smother. Gerald knew this as well as I did. His team would be putting in a lot of overtime in the coming days. This installation would be the highlight of their week.

Instead, I wanted reports from the building professionals that had been nosing around. Normally, this would have been Mitchell's area, but he was busy with our grad students. Richard's Enterprises had a master electrician on staff, so I asked him to come out and evaluate our possibilities. Things were not as bad as I had expected.

Little of the old house was properly wired, but almost all of it had been fitted with gas lights. All that gas piping could be removed and the holes used for electrical conduit. The gas light sconces could be wired or replaced. It was simple work, which would give us basic lighting for the foyer and the parlors. That work was well under way. Lighting the Ballroom was more difficult, because the main chandelier was for candles. An electrical conversion was not doable in our time frame.

Albert, one of my tech geeks, had a solution. Rather than attempt a full scale conversion, use battery operated lights. Given that the room was originally lit with candles, this had merit. Dozens of fake candles could be placed as easily as real ones. A supply house in Philadelphia had sufficient on hand and could deliver next day. I authorized the approach. Since they were available from the same source, I told them to get several dozen small LED lights. Events could supply paper bags. These could be made into luminaries for the driveway and waterfront.

Next up was the Fire Marshall's assessment. He set a limit of 115 people in the Ballroom proper. That ought to be plenty. Given that we expected Amish manpower, he was willing to tolerate kerosene lights, provided they were actual lamps or lanterns. Surprisingly, he signed off on the stoves in the kitchen. Some were gas, but others were wood fired. It seemed that some century old regulations were still in force and the flues passed muster. Naturally, the gas lights were not acceptable.

Ventilation was another area I had worried about. This turned out to be the simplest of all the issues. One of the nice things about competent ancestors is that they think about little things like hot weather. This time of year, the breezes are off the lake, and the house is designed to catch them. Some long unused baffles on the roof needed to be opened, but the Ballroom had flow-through ventilation designed in. Events would be setting up water spray cooling for the outdoor seating. The same air would be pulled through the house. It was not air conditioning, but it would be endurable.

Food service was taking shape. The weather forecast was for sunny and temperatures in the mid 80s. This was ideal for serving a variety of cold food, such as Gerald's sandwich stand, plus cold chicken, potato salad, fresh fruit and garden salad. The only hot items would be bread and sweet rolls. For drinks, we would have tea and lemonade in large stoneware crocks, bottled beer and vintage blend soda in tubs of ice. Supporting all of this were two refrigerated containers, already delivered. One was set for 35° and the other for -5°. They would be an inconvenient, but sizable, walk in refrigerator and freezer. We also had a freezer for bagged ice and a delivery contract.

In a way, it was a depressing report. I had good people and they could see what needed to be done. I was left with nothing to do but endorse their recommendations. It was gratifying, of course, but I felt like a fifth wheel. I recalled one of the meetings at Harold's print shop. My most useful contribution was switching Sheila's empty water bottle for a full one. Here, my only suggestion was to see if an old fashioned commercial size ice cream freezer was available.

Surprisingly, this led to an extended discussion. There was a WW I vintage one lung motor in the garage's machine shop. We could use it for power, provided it was running. The motor's distinctive popping sound would make a great attraction for our little carnival. Gerald thought that might be doable. One of the auto mechanics liked to tinker with old engines. As for the freezer, White Mountain still made them. If necessary, we could get a new one shipped for a few hundred bucks. I could give it to Events and charge the cost against my bill. I also thought the Amish would appreciate churned ice cream.

Feeling a little better, I asked if Gerald had heard from the girls. I was shocked to see him blush. Without explanation, Gerald turned to his computer and pulled up an email. Attached was a picture of an imposing woman in a business suit. The email was from Sheila and had only two words, "Pay up." I was at a loss for a moment, then I recognized Jo's distinctive chin. Sweet Baby Jesus. I stared at it for a while, then turned to Gerald and said, "You have to now."

Gerald understood that I meant. He would have to dance with my sister, but this did not seem to bother him nearly as much as I had expected. Sweet Lord, Sheila had done it again. She had seen what was in front of me the whole time, but I had overlooked. Gerald had a soft spot for my baby sister. True, he had always been harsh and demanding of Jo. The military has an expression for that kind of constant attention. They call it love.

Sheila:

Among Francine's many accomplishments was a driver's license. Considering her lead foot, this was one of the more unlikely ones. Somehow we negotiated rush hour traffic, across the bridge to Staten Island, then across the island itself, then another bridge into Brooklyn. I more or less understood where we were. It was the run down section near the touristy places on the water front.

We pulled into the parking lot of a 200 year old church, where a vintage Lincoln Limo was parked. Everyone piled out of the cars, except Siobhan, who was using a sane driver. Francine put on her company manners and led me to a short Hispanic man. I recognized his wife, so I knew who he was. My knees still went weak. Pedro de la Garza is one of the quiet giants of the New York theater scene and Francine was saying that he was here to see me. Before Francine could make introductions, he bowed and kissed my hand.

He said, "You can only be Senorita Schwartz, of whom we have heard so much, for so long. My Francita is green with the envy. Now I see it is entirely justified. You move with the passion and sorrow of José de Espronceda's poetry. It enlarges my heart to hear that you are engaged to marry. Is it not so?" Where I had felt frozen a moment before, I suddenly burned. I did a cortsy, then turned, because Siobhan had arrived.

We all started for the car, but it was Christine who helped Siobhan out. As they walked up, I indicated Siobhan and said, "¿Puedo presentar mi cuñada, Siobhan Richards?" Mr. De la Garza responded to me, "Encantado, mi querido." Then he said to Siobhan, "I see much progress, but also much potential. Francita was not exaggerating. But come, we have a few blocks to drive."

It was rather further than a few blocks, but eventually we reached a fenced yard, with long, squat building inside. All along both sides of the building were loading docks. It reminded me of a farm market, with each dock being a different grower. Mr. de la Garza headed to the back. Inside we found my costume room—on steroids. It was dedicated to hundred year old fashions. I was in love.

It did not take long for our group to break apart. Francine and Angela de la Garza drifted off, with Francine talking enough for both of them. They were obviously old friends. Mr. de la Garza delegated someone to escort Siobhan to the "Executive Suite." Christine went with them, which left me alone with one of the most famous people I had ever met. Suddenly, I felt incredibly shy, in spite of the fact that Mr. De la Garza was about 70 years old. Clearly, he noticed.

"No. No. No. Such things are for my Deirdre or your Christina. You and I are ones who decide, like your cuñada, Señorita Siovan. I am pleasured to have met her, but this day is about you, no? My Francita, she is very pleased that you have finally found el muchacho verdad, a real man. If this man is Señorita Siovan's brother, then all is explained. But come. You must call me Pedro. I am a poor worker from the sugar cane in Puerto Rice, whatever may have happen since." G_d, the man was humble on top of everything else.




K&T, LLC Ch. 05



I said, "Thank you, Pedro. I am honored that you would take your time to meet with us." He was having none of that.

"No. No. Years ago, I meet Francita. She is very talented, yet she work much the harder than anyone on crew. I ask her why this is. She says that she know what real talent look like, but she will never have it. This is truth, but not a truth that one of twenty or twenty one is likely to find. So, we work together. Always Francita, she work very hard. Always there is a vision of what she may never have." My blood was running cold. I could see where he was headed, but I never wanted the responsibility.

He continued, "Ten years I work with her. Many things I teach her. She is best student, and I have many students. Mucho dinero, many businesses have follow. Always, there is the vision and the knowledge of the curse. So you see, I must come and for myself witness the diosa." What the hell? He was calling me a goddess. "I must say, in my life there have been many disappointments. Not esta noche. El gusto es mio." It was all I could do to keep my mouth shut.

There was so much to unpack, but three things jumped out. Francine had said, many times, that she had to work hard because she lacked talent. Pick an interview at random. It will be in there. One of the most influential men in theater was saying that I was the standard Francine aspired to, but could never reach. Second, Francine considered me cursed. That one I could accept.

What I could not accept is that Pedro Miguel Rodriguez Santos de la Garza—mentor of five time Tony and twice Oscar winning actress Edith Dryer, husband of Manhattan heiress, socialite and philanthropist Angela Molinari de la Garza, personal owner of fifteen Tonys and two Best Picture Oscars—not only came to meet me, but was not disappointed once he had. Lord YWHA, compare the results. Yet, here the man was, oozing sincerity. He was not only asking me to call him by his personal name, he was calling me a goddess. I felt like Dorothy in Oz. Shortly, I would wake up with a concussion.

Fortunately, I had shopping to do while the dream lasted. Pedro was showing me the servants costumes from Dorian Gray. Those would not do, because they were too British, but the adjustments were minor. I showed him the ribbon Julian had put in my hair. That gave us a benchmark color for the decorations. Soon we were talking like lifelong friends. Perhaps that was his secret—that Pedro de la Garza could make anyone feel comfortable.

Then I mentioned the party barge. Pedro was all over the idea of a floating stage. At least we thought that much alike.

Siobhan:

The ride to Brooklyn was memorable. Sheila had let Francine have the wheel and it showed. Russell was weaving through traffic like a madman. All the time he was muttering to himself. It sounded like a student reciting lessons. Then I realized that he was reciting lectures from a pursuit class. Russell is trained in surveillance. Following Francine was testing the limits of his driving skills. It was kind of a rush. While we drove, I text a message to Gerald, commending Russell on his skill.

We eventually pulled into a church parking lot. There were people waiting. I opened my door and CC was there to help me out of the car. I had almost forgotten the heels I was wearing. She helped me over to where Sheila was standing. She introduced me to a short Hispanic man in very good Spanish. His reply had distinct gutter accents, but there was no mistaking his authority—or his wife. My family, the Sparks, O'Briens and we Richards do fairly well in our part of New Jersey. We do not hobnob with the likes of Angela Molinari de la Garza. My God, what had I gotten into?

We got back in the cars and drove to what proved to be a costume warehouse. Mr. Pedro led us to a stall containing turn of the 20th century fashions. I could see that Sheila was enthralled. Mr. Pedro delegated an aid to take me to the Executive Suite, whatever that meant. CC tagged along, while Angela and Francine drifted in another direction. Richards may not hobnob with Mrs. de la Garza, but Martel certainly did.

The executive suite was full of power suits. Duh. My first inclination was to wonder why we were here, then I realized that this was supposed to be my look. Oh my freaking god. The aide asked for my jacket, which I gave him. Then he asked for the skirt and blouse—which froze me like a deer in the headlights. Actors are reputed to have little body modesty, so it may have been normal for him. Damned if I would let his eyes stop me from doing what needed doing.

Trying very hard to keep my hands from shaking, I unbuttoned my top. That came off and I handed it to CC. Then I unbuckled the belt, which meant that the skirt tried to fall to the floor. CC stepped close, so that I could lean on her while I stepped out of the skirt. When I stood upright again, I noticed that the aide was licking his lips and sweating at the neck. What was that about? I was still wearing my panties, bra and Julian's corset. It was not like I was uncovered.

The aide shook himself and turned to the racks of clothes. He pulled out a classic black tux, men's style, a padded shoulder pant suit, also black, and a long black jacket with no buttons. I put a hand on a nearby rack and lifted one foot. CC removed my sandal. On a whim, I blew Mr. Aide a kiss while I switched feet. Mr. Aide flushed rather thoroughly. Dear God, was it really this easy?

I took the tux and waived off the pant suit. I had enough shoulders without pads. The aide understood my meaning, and went in search of compliments for the jacket. CC brought me a chair, which let me sit to pull on the pants. They were long enough, but the waist was much too large. Fortunately the waist adjusted, some, and there were suspenders. I put on the ruffled shirt. At first, I thought the sleeves were too long. Then I realized the cuffs were French style. Surprisingly, there was room for my bust, though the waist was rather baggy. CC helped me get that tucked in, then we put on my sandals again. I was just standing to try on the jacket when Mr. Aide returned. His expression was worth all the trouble.

Putting down the clothes he carried, he rushed over. From his pocket, he drew a pair of cuff links. I allowed him to thread them through the French cuffs. While he was doing so, I told CC to go get the boxes of shoes. She left at a run. Meanwhile, Mr. Aide pulled a scarlet bow tie from somewhere and ran it around my neck. That took a minute. By the time he was finished, CC was back, holding the black pumps with four inch heels. While she was slipping those on, Mr. Aide was rearranging my hair. Then both he and CC helped me up.

I stood for a moment to get my balance and find the correct posture. CC nudged me a couple of times, but it was already becoming easy to do—when I concentrated. I had a long way to go for it to be effortless. Mr. Aide added a red tartan cummerbund. Then it was finally time to try on the jacket, which fit looser than I liked, but was nice across the shoulders and upper back. I wondered at the tailoring, til I remembered that I was wearing a corset.

Once everything was smoothed to his satisfaction, Mr. Aide stepped back and gave me an appraising look. I said, "Well?" He stroked his chin and said, "Works. The cut is wrong, but there are not many things I have tall enough in women's clothes. Let me try something." We removed the jacket and cummerbund, then he gave me the long jacket he had brought at first. That one was tight where the men's jacket was correct, but closer to correct elsewhere. Once he had everything smoothed, Mr. Aide nodded. "That is probably as good as we can manage, here and now. You are normal sized and actresses tend to be very petite. Let's go down and get a verdict."

I had almost gotten comfortable walking in the sandals. The pumps were at least an inch taller and not nearly as comfortable. CC lent me a shoulder and coached me as I went. Looking straight ahead seemed counter intuitive, but it helped. I could occasionally feel the step before I took it. Mr. Aide smiled and said, "Running shoes?" I replied, "Army boots." which made him laugh. I wonder how he would react if he understood it was the literal truth. Then he said, "Don't worry. Miss Francine is the best coach anywhere. God knows where Miss Sheila learned. I have never seen the like."

With that to chew on, we arrived at the first stall. Sheila and Mr. de la Garza were deep in conversation. He saw us first and rose to meet us. Sheila pulled the camera out of her pocket and shot several angles. She paid special attention to the leg, even asking CC to pull the pant leg up. She must have wanted to see my ankle.

Regardless, her only comment was, "Hillary Clinton eat your heart out." Mr. de la Garza agreed, saying "Si. She is power in motion, when she moves correctly. Francita will teach her. She is quite good at this. How long is she studying?"

I checked the time, which brought a laugh, until I said it had been five and half hours. Then Mr. de la Garza looked to Sheila for confirmation. She nodded and said, "Self discipline runs deep in the family." I had no idea what she meant, but Mr. de la Garza nodded and said, "Then you are afortunado. No wonder Francita is pleased.

"But, to business. Your choice is difficult. Siovan and Francita could not be more different. Your Christina is yet another form. She will stand next to you, yes?" Sheila nodded. "Then for her, decide."

I was having trouble following that, but Sheila nodded. She pointed at a dress and said, "Ivory, with green piping." The dress was full length. The front was a triangle, running from wide puffed shoulders to a narrow waist, before flaring into skirts. It would look good on CC, especially tightly fitted for her corset. Francine could wear anything, but I dreaded it. Desperately I said, "Could I wear a tux?"

Both Sheila and Mr. de la Garza started to refuse, then stopped and looked at each other. Mr. de la Garza raised an eyebrow. Sheila bit her lip. Then she pulled the ribbon from her hair and looked over at CC, who left at a run. Was I the only one who did not understand? Sheila came over and removed my bow tie. Then she replaced it with the green ribbon, tied in a larger bow. CC had returned with the cummerbund and tux jacket. We put those on again.

When everything was arranged to Sheila's liking, Francine's voice said, "You need emeralds." I looked up and saw that CC had donned the dress Sheila had selected. It was loose at the point of the V. Clearly, It could be fit very well to a corset. Sheila positioned CC next to herself, with Jerome (Mr. Aide) in Sean's place, and myself next to him. We all looked at Mr. and Mrs. de la Garza.

Naturally, it was Francine who spoke. "Good. That's decided. Let's eat."

Sheila:

Pedro and I discussed my idea of using the party barge as a floating altar. He loved the idea. Sound carries well over water, simplifying that issue. Seating space would almost triple. The physical separation from the guests was good for security and would hide small defects in the decorations. The gazebo would give Justin an ideal place to set up his cameras. Best of all, no one had done it before. Purely as theater, it was a no brainer.

When we turned to the bridesmaid's dresses, things became muddier. Christine would stand beside me, so her dress was the most important. When Siobhan arrived—looking brutally handsome in men's slacks, ruffled shirt and a long black jacket—my problem came into fine focus. It was simply impossible to dress Siobhan, Christine and Francine alike and make it work.

Pedro reminded me that Christine's dress was the most important. That was easy enough, so I pointed it out. Siobhan was stricken. It was exactly the type of dress that would accent her harsher features. Pleadingly, she asked if she could wear a tux.

My first reaction was to say no, because it was unheard of in the period. But, I stopped. Pedro seemed to have the same reaction, but he also paused. Siobhan would look damn good in a dinner jacket. In fact, her slacks and shirt were already from a formal. Also, she was Sean's family. There was good reason to put her on the groom's side, particularly if his brother could not make the trip. Pedro raised a questioning eyebrow. What did we have to lose? I glanced at Christine, who darted off.

This set off a flurry of activity while we did a quick change. I pulled the ribbon from my hair to use as a tie, rather than the red one Siobhan had come in with. Christine returned with a jacket and cummerbund. Then she pulled off her sundress and pulled on the dress I had chosen. That decision was one I would not be second guessing. Pedro's aide, Jerome, was handy, so he would stand for Sean. I pulled us into a semblance of the wedding order, then looked to get Pedro's reaction. Instead, Francine called for dinner.

It was not that easy, of course, but the principal decision had been made. Siobhan left, leaning on Christine, to change back to street clothes. Seeing them go, Siobhan in a men's suit and Christine in a floor length dress, the pairing was obvious. I even felt a twinge of jealousy. But, it was only a twinge. I had a man at home, so Siobhan could be my friend, not my lover. That was more than simply right—it was the way I wanted it. For the first time all week, a sense of peace settled over me. It was good to have friends.

Once everyone was reassembled, we said our goodbyes. I could see that Pedro wished to come to dinner with us, but Angela was showing some strain. Instead, Pedro promised a rough set by Thursday morning. Evidently, someone had been to the Residence on Monday to shoot pictures and take measurements. Jerome promised to have all the clothes ready for a final fitting on Friday. By this time, Francine was practically bouncing on her toes, so we went to eat.

The restaurant was closer to the warehouse than the church had been. Francine walked past a line of people waiting for tables and addressed the maitre 'd by name. He snapped his fingers and we were led to a large table looking out over the bay. Before we were settled in our seats, three servers were delivering water, menus and a huge shrimp cocktail for Francine. The menus had no prices.

Siobhan and I exchanged glances. Francine caught the glance. She said, "I own the place. Shut up. I'm starving." Siobhan and I cracked up. It had been a successful day and this was the perfect ending. It was too bad I still needed to drive home.

Francine said, " After we eat is the bachelorette party."

Chapter 12 -- With Girlfriends like These...

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

Weddings are supposed to have bridal showers. That was not going to happen, given the time available. However, Aunt Frannie knows a lot of people, so a bridal bash was fairly easy. It was at a club called Le Chat Noir, which means the black cat. Aunt Frannie claims it was named after Mom. People have called Mom "the Cat"--who wouldn't—but the idea is still silly. Isn't it?

Siobhan:

After the fashion show at the costume warehouse, I changed back to my skirt suit, but managed to get stuck with the tall black pumps. The sandals had been surprisingly comfortable. These shoes were not. Jerome quipped, "If they ain't hurtin', they ain't helpin.'" Live and learn.

Francine took us to a nearby surf and turf restaurant. We waltzed by a line at the door and were seated immediately. Our table had an excellent view of Gravesend Bay. The last light of the day turned the western sky to indigo and violet. The bay water reflected royal blue. It was gorgeous.

Servers brought water and menus before I had was even seated. As usual, CC was at my elbow, helping my balance. Francine was seated so that she could see the room. There had been a shrimp cocktail already at the table. I assumed it was for everyone, but watched as Francine went through it, two prawns at a time. Before she was finished, coffee arrived and they left the carafe. When she realized everyone at the table was staring, Francine said that she owned the restaurant, which did explain a few things.

It was one of those places where the menu has no prices, except for the person getting the bill. That would not be me. Francine had also tried to pick up the $3000 at the warehouse store. Since she was a well known performer, I expected her to be well off, but this was beginning to feel like serious money. It was something to consider. From her story earlier, Francine felt she owed Sheila a great deal. Debts and money go together, unless money cannot be used to pay the debt. With Sheila, that was entirely possible.

Dinner was not uneventful. I ordered steak and lobster—an 8 oz. steak and a one pound lobster tail. CC picked up the menu and pointed to a line. It turned out to be lobster scampi on linguine. Sheila ordered a dozen oysters and a grilled chicken on arugula salad. Francine ordered a 16 oz porterhouse and two whole lobsters, with a side of linguine alfredo.

The oysters arrived first. Sheila indicated that we were invited to share. Francine circled her finger twice. Another two dozen oysters were brought to the table, along with six varieties of hot sauce and a bowl of cut lemons. I had fun feeding some to CC, who was a shell fish virgin. She looked at the first one dubiously, but ate without verbal protest. The second one I doused with lemon. CC enjoyed that combination. For the third, I used Texas Pete, which is a moderately spicy pepper sauce. CC smiled at that one, so I upped it to Tabasco, then Melinda's, which was the hottest sauce at the table. CC was still looking for more.

For you non-pepperheads, Melinda's is a venerable habanero sauce. It packs nice heat, but also excellent flavor. It is generally the line between pretenders, like myself, and serious capsicum hounds. I looked at Francine, whose face drew a feral grin. She held up a hand and a waiter appeared. The waiter returned with three bottles: Melinda's Naga, Dave's Ghost and Mad Dog's 44 Magnum. The last one made my eye's widen. I looked at Francine again. She shrugged and ordered something else, probably ice cream.

Our table was drawing attention, which meant a server was at my elbow. I asked for gloves, which he had in his apron. Thus protected, I opened the bottle of Melinda's Red. This was above my comfort level, but at least I had tried this one. I put one drop on an oyster and offered it to CC. She ate it as if it were nothing, but then her eyes got wide and sweat popped out on her forehead. Like a true addict, she nodded. Blessed Jesus, forgive our sins. I opened the Dave's Insanity Ghost Pepper sauce. Just a whiff made me sneeze. CC did not nonchalant this bite, but it went down.

Francine jumped up on her chair. To the room, she asked who had a stop watch. Many people had a stopwatch function on their wristwatch or phone, but someone had an actual dial stopwatch. Holding it high, she nodded to me. I carefully cracked the seal on the Mad Dog's 44 Magnum and opened the bottle. This stuff was supposed to be close to police grade pepper spray. I took a toothpick and stuck it in the bottle, smeared the sauce on an oyster, then very carefully closed the jar.

The entire restaurant watched CC's face as she tasted the oyster. Her eyes got very wide as the heat hit. Sweat popped out all over her face and neck. She chewed a couple of times, then swallowed the bite. Her face took on the euphoric expression that means endorphin rush. Several people around the room did variations on, "Oh my God." After about a minute she looked around, as if to ask what the fuss was about.

Francine announced, "That was impressive. I am Francine Martel, one of the owners. For the next month, anyone that can do that, for one full minute, will win steak and lobster for four. You will have to buy the bottle and there will be a medical waiver. Ice cream will be included at no charge, win or lose. However, the steak and lobster, or equivalent, has to be ordered and paid before the attempt. I may be short, but I'm not stupid." That brought laughter and applause.




K&T, LLC Ch. 05



At that point, our food was served, so everyone was able to focus on something else. I asked CC to show me her tongue. Sure enough, it was blistered in two places. She also looked decidedly pleased with herself. I leaned over and said, "That was naughty. Do you know what happens to naughty girls?" Suddenly the smell of sex was in the air. Sheila said, "Siobhan, stop playing with your food. We're in public."

Both CC and I blushed at that one.

Sheila:

I had been hoping for a quiet meal and a start home. Such was not to be. I love oysters on the half shell, so I ordered a dozen as an appetizer. Naturally Francine bumped it to three dozen. That would have been fine, except Siobhan started to play pepper sauce chicken with Christine, or should I say, Tess. Two bites in, I could see where this game was headed. They started in the middle and quickly went up the scale. Clearly Siobhan was familiar and, just as clearly, Christine was not.

The problem with playing chicken is knowing when to flinch. Knowing Christine as I did, that would not happen. Hotter sauces were requested. One I recognized by brand, but two I did not. Siobhan did, because she requested gloves. Francine made the final attempt a scene for the whole restaurant. After Tess swallowed the bite, I recognized the expression on her face. It was the same glow she gets from a serious pussy whipping. Fortunately, our food was served. Less fortunately, Siobhan pursued the matter further. I told her to act her age.

The rest of the meal went without incident. My chicken and arugula salad was excellent. Siobhan made the mistake of trying a food race Francine, while wearing a corset. Duh. Francine devoured a large steak and both lobsters before Siobhan finished her lobster tail, much less the filet. Christine ate cautiously, which made me think her mouth had been burned. I needed to keep tabs on where Francine stepped over the line. I would get her, even if it took years. That thought had a calming effect.

After dinner, Francine said she wanted to walk a bit. I knew then that I should get Christine and leave. Perhaps, I am a bit gullible. We walked through the parking lot to a club, which had a black kitty cat clock above it's door. Le Chat Noir. How original. Francine led us in and past the bar. Either she had a room reserved or it was another of her businesses, possibly both. She had warned us that there was a party planned.

On the far side of the room was a door guarded by a bouncer. The door was marked "Kitten's Lair", along with a Dante quote: Abandon Hope all ye who Enter. That very much smacked of Francine. We had to pause a moment, while the bouncer announced us. Once again, I seriously thought of leaving, but I had come this far and I was getting curious. The references to cats should have warned me.

At the bottom of the stairs were two changing rooms. The four of us filed into the female side. Inside we found a girl in a latex cat suit, who handed us each a basket. Francine unceremoniously threw her top and skirt into hers. Christine eagerly followed suit, though Francine stopped her when her hands went to the corset strings. Nice. Corsets were the uniform de jour and I did not have one. Fortunately, there were masks. I stripped down to panties, bra and heels—and hoped for the best. Christine showed interest in the latex suit, which gave me possibilities for another day.

The last one to unclothe was Siobhan. That made sense, since her body modesty was, by far, the highest. Christine was helping her every step. In fact, there was a bounce in Christine's step, which indicated that she might know what was coming, no pun intended. Accordingly, I asked the attendant for a blindfold and gag. Unsurprisingly, she had both.

I handed them to Christine, then asked for her underwear. Need I mention that they reeked. I waved them under the catgirl's nose and asked her when she got off. That earned me a dirty look—and something else. Francine noticed as well. As we exited, she lingered with the room attendant. Francine was definitely one of the owners.

What can you say about a bondage club, that 10,000 erotic authors have not already butchered? Pithy quote: The problem with nudist colonies is no quality control. The problem with clubs is that subs with money can be half assed masters. I spent several minutes figuring out which was which. Christine, needless to say, was long gone. Tess was looking at the whipping post with lust in her eyes.

To give the denizen's credit, at least two of them noticed Tess' focus. Quite correctly, they approached Siobhan. I lay back and watched. At first, I suspected that Siobhan did not understand the dynamics of the club, but then I understood that she was negotiating for position. Tess was the juiciest morsel in the club, and Siobhan was not going to sell her short. Francine caught up with me, but had the good sense not to speak. This may not have been her intent, but we would be going with it.

Siobhan disposed of the first wave of greedy wannabes. I even awarded her points for style. Standing tall in her heels, Siobhan was imposing as hell and she used it. Some of the would be masters really wanted to be in Christine's place, so they did not move far. The genuine submissives and pain sluts were beginning to take notice. Perhaps the evening would not be wasted.

Our little group moved on. There was a scene in progress. An obvious hooker was tied naked on a St. Andrews cross. Her john was whipping her, with a distinct lack of understanding. I snorted a laugh and moved on. Oddly, that was the thing that got me noticed. A heavy German accent asked, "What is he doing wrong?" Francine answered. "What is he doing right? He wants to trade positions, so that they could both enjoy it. But, it will not work out that way. Because he is paying, neither will enjoy the event. Sad."

The large dark haired man stepped into our path. He said, "I am Lars Gunter. You the first to make sense of this are. How you say, scheiss." Francine grinned and said, "Miss Martel. Lars, please wait a while. We should get something interesting sorted out." I had a bad feeling. Francine raised her voice. "Ladies and Gentlemen, Doms and subs, we have in our midst the mistress for whom the club is named. I give you, Le Chat Noir, la Gata Negra, die Schwarze Katze—Mistress Cynthia."

What could I do? I went to the poor streetwalker that was tied to the big X. Leaning close, I said in a whisper, "I am going to give you an easy out. All you need to do is cum when my submissive eats you up. Make it look good, because I will be making a bet with your john." Oddly, that had her breathing faster.

I went to the dickwad with the lash. "I have a wager for you. If I tie you to that cross, I can make you cum faster than a submissive can lick your prostitute to orgasm—and I just told her that cumming would get her out of here." Maybe subs really can tell what I am, because he took the bet. I handed him the gag and blindfold. Always make the subs handle the restraints. In this case Mr. wannabe put them on without any sign of hesitation. I asked for help binding him to the cross.

Since this was the best theater of the evening, I had a great deal of help. In short order, little miss hooker was free and mister john was spread out on the cross. I went up to him, supposedly to test the bonds, but really to let him sense my presence and his inability to move. I had left him his jockey shorts, though a jockstrap would have been my first choice. I asked for a larger gag. As I fastened it around his head, someone said, "Oh my God. It is her. Look." I did not have to look. I knew that the catalog was in his hand. My mask had done no good at all.

Dear G_d, what next?

Chapter 13 -- The Little Drummer Girl

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

There was a lot of bonding that night. Mom, Aunt Frannie and Aunt Jo all say so. Nanny CC does not say anything, but she smiles and looks shy. Mom and my Aunts are all impressive women. CC was my nanny. Yet she was the center of the affair. Whatever she did must have been something else.

Author's Note: This chapter contains a graphic scene involving actions and devices that could cause serious injury. This is an experienced professional using great care. Do not attempt them yourself. If you wish to skip the chapter, there is a plot summary in italics at the the end of the section.

Francine:

I knew that dining with Sheila and Siobhan would not be dull, but ye Gods I never expected a pepper sauce showdown. I would swear that Schwartz' sub had never tried serious hot sauce before, but she went straight through the usual stuff without stopping. I sent for the prime stock. Some of these things cost like perfume, but I wanted them if I needed them. Even the heavy stuff did not stop CC.

I had to make a production of the last option. It is basically riot control spray in a bottle. Siobhan obviously knew exactly what she was holding, but that only added to the drama. CC took it, rolled it around and swallowed it. Blessed Mary, Mother of God. The applause was deafening. CC looked like the cat with yellow feathers in its mouth. That girl is a damned stage hog. I made an announcement. It served to drop the curtain, so we had a chance to eat our meal in peace. Sheila told Siobhan not to play with her food, meaning CC. Damn that girl was good.

Once dinner was over, I had to maneuver them to the Lair. I had named the club after Sheila years before. The private part had always been the Panther's Lair. Sean had given me the better name for my dungeon, so I had changed it last week. The best part was that Sheila was modest enough not to make the association. Unfortunately, it was Tuesday night. Most of my serious players have day jobs, so the clientele gets pretty thin during the week. I hoped for the best and led to to the changing room.

The Lair was everything I feared it might be: sparse and mismatched. There was one naked girl on the wall and she did not want to be there. Forget putting CC/CC up there; I had to fix the problem first. Fortunately a German tourist provided an opportunity. I put Sheila in the spotlight and watched her instincts take over. In less than a minute, Sheila had the hooker off the wall and people putting her john up in her place. Damn that girl was good.

Then someone recognized her. Shit. Sean's catalog had gone out in the Monday mail. I had not expected it to be delivered Tuesday, but there it was—Mistress Cynthia, in panties, bra and heels and a bound and gagged man hanging on the wall. The page even identified her by name. Shit a broomstick. Sheila bailed me out by playing to the crowd.

I have been told that, as a mistress, I lack patience. Schwartz proved everyone right. Where I would have gone straight to physicality, Sheila milked it for time. She fussed with the bonds. She requested a larger gag. She acknowledged her photo and, by relation, the session with Jason. All the time, mister wannabe master was stewing in his juice.

Then someone brought a riding crop. It made sense, since that is what Mistress Cynthia had used in the photo shoot, but it was not what she wanted. Cynthia had blindfolded her victim, but one of the denizens was giving him a running commentary. When the denizen mentioned the crop, the effect on the prisoner was dramatic. He obviously understood the kind of damage a crop could do.

Naturally, Cynthia played it for more time. She went through the whole box of whips, lashes and floggers. At one point she took out the single strand bullwhip, which requires disclosure documents and medical standby. Her gagged prisoner broke into a cold sweat. After several minutes she settled on a short, lightweight flogger. Basically, it was the same as the pompon Sheila had used on me. I felt the ends of my mouth force their way upward.

Before she began, Sheila had to position the hooker. Rather than tie her up, Sheila had Siobhan sit behind her and spread her out. The heels of Siobhan's pumps were set to a notch in the floor, while her ankles held the hooker's thighs open. Each of the hooker's wrists was held in one of Siobhan's hands. The hooker tried to move, but she was not going anywhere. Satisfied, Sheila snapped her fingers, pointed at the floor and said, "Second Position." CC was in place almost before Sheila had finished speaking. A murmur of comments ran through her audience.

Sheila told Siobhan to coach CC, whose duty was to force an orgasm on the hooker. Unspoken, but clearly understood, was that CC would be rewarded based on her service. Only then did Sheila pick up the lightweight flogger and turn her attention to her own victim. Mister john had been watching the preparations with interest. When Mistress Cynthia turned to him, the blood drained from his face. Sheila walked slowly to the correct position, trailing the strands of the lash through her fingers as she went. The john's color returned, and his soldier saluted. Damn, that girl was good.

Once she was in place, swishing the flogger back and forth, Sheila looked to our German friend: Lars Gunter. He had also been watching in fascination, but quickly shook it off. "Reaady, Setzen, Beginnen. Und eins, und zwei, und drei... Gott en Himmel. Wir haben einen Gewinner. Hurra Fräulein. Es ist unglaublich." God that was fast.

Sheila had swatted him once on each nipple. Then Sheila—or should I say Cynthia—gave him a minor flick on the prick and the john shot his wad into his jockeys. With that done, Sheila flowed over to where CC was buried in hooker muff. She stood over them, looking down as the hooker stared up. A slow smile came to Mistress Cynthia's lips. "Let me help you with that." With a negligent seeming flick of her wrist, the flogger stung the hooker's tit. She was rewarded with a screaming orgasm.

Everyone applauded. Cynthia took a bow. Then she reached out and helped the hooker to her feet. The hooker grabbed her in a fierce hug, which Sheila freely returned, then sent her to change. I had to admit, the girl had potential. I decided to offer her a way off the street and sent a message to stop her from leaving. Meanwhile, Cynthia was running the ends of the flogger across CC's shoulders. Act Two was about to start. Gradually, quiet returned as everyone else realized it.

Cynthia said to CC, "That was acceptable priming. I will give you a reward. You may choose your flogger, but choose well. I do not want you incapacitated." CC nodded her head vigorously. Someone brought her the box of floggers, but CC did not move to take it. This caused a moment of confusion, then people started whispering that she had not been given permission to break position. It was a telling point. Eventually, someone started going through them, one at a time, beginning with another short lash. CC chose a cat of nine tails.

In a venue named for a cat, there were options even in this category, pardon the pun. To her credit, CC chose the lightest one. It was still a dangerous device, requiring expert use—unless blood was the intent. I saw Sheila's jaw clench. CC had crossed a line. Cynthia raised an arm, pointed toward a road barricade and said, "Naked."

Her audience practically fell over themselves, getting CC up, stripping her down and carrying her to an oversized orange and white saw horse. Cynthia had CC bend double over the the middle of the horizontal bar. At Cynthia's direction, CC's hands and feet were bound to opposite riser pieces. CC's position was almost inverted. She hung so far down that her hair touched the floor. It was artistically done. Whatever else my clients were, they had knot skills.

The beauty of the position was that CC's weight was almost fully supported by the narrow cross piece of the barricade, placed under her midriff. The barricade was a popular restraint piece, but I doubt anyone had ever been completely off the floor before. I made a mental note that it would not happen again, unless there was prior approval. Just the sight made me wince.

Cynthia was not finished. Out came the clamps, which went on each nipple, both labia and the perineum. Weights were added. Then came the #4 ass spreader. Cynthia took her time and worked it in slowly. It was becoming clear to me that pace was critical to Cynthia's work. Pace and misdirection. While Cynthia worked the ass plug in, she also repeatedly brushed against the weights on CC's cunt.

Sheila dropped to her knee and spoke quietly to CC. I was startled when CC replied. In fact, both Cynthia and CC had stepped out of the scene. I do not know how I could tell, but I could. Having CC speak was startling enough, but what she said shook Sheila. She froze for a moment, then said something to CC. When she rose, she was playing Cynthia again. God, I love to work with professionals.

A cat 'o nine tails is a true whip. The damn things are dangerous, but I needed to have them. There are disclosure documents and release forms. The fact that none of that was in evidence would cause some hard questions later. In the mean time, we all had an artist to watch. The air reeked of arousal. It was a major challenge to keep my hand away from my pussy. Several of my clients were not even trying.

Everyone associates whips with cracking. That is actually the tip of the whip going supersonic. With skill and a single strand, that is possible. The sound of leather meeting flesh is different and very distinctive. It was a sound that would stay in my head for many weeks.

Cynthia took her position opposite the audience, facing CC's back. That meant that the strand ends would wrap over CC's ass and legs, leaving the greatest impact on the tenderest parts. Internally, I winced at what was coming. Cynthia started at one ankle and worked inward. Four strikes had CC's calf and lower thigh vivid red. Some of the ladies were whimpering. Yet, this was just the warmup. With two strokes in quick succession, Cynthia marked the inside of the knees. CC had not been gagged. At the first stoke she gave a small mewling sound. On the second she was silent, but tears streamed down her forehead.

There was a pause. Once again, Cynthia was using pace and anticipation. The pause lasted long enough that the crowd started to murmur. Cynthia said one word, "Come." The cat 'o nine tails slashed again—this time much sharper than before. Angry red welts appeared on CC's ass, but those were secondary. At least two strands of the whip ran up the crack between the glutes and between the open labia major, impacting wetly on the exposed clit and the labia minora. CC gave a single shriek and convulsed in a massive orgasm.

The room was stunned silent for a moment, then murmurs of appreciation, followed by outright applause. There were only about thirty people in the club, but all of them were packed into a tiny space. It was loud. Sheila raise the whip in acknowledgment, then she gestured at CC, who was still upended on the barricade. Several of the watchers ran forward to release her. Sheila dropped the whip and turned toward the wall, stumbling a bit on the way.

Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners. Sheila stumbled.

Siobhan:

Francine was a stage diva and it showed. I do not think the pepper sauce showdown was her idea, but she orchestrated it with an experienced hand. Once we had finished our meal, stuffed to the limits of our corsets, Francine suggested we walk. So we walked—across the parking lot to a club, then down some stairs to a bondage club. I had seen Martel use finesse, but none was showing.

The bondage club was a disappointment. Not even half full. Mostly it consisted of people, dressed for a part, standing around bragging. Christine was hanging on my side. Several of the patrons decided I was her Mistress and approached me. Please. I would not cheapen Christine's loyalty with the likes of this bunch. They were like undergrads wanting special treatment. I brushed them off like the flies they were. A couple of them tracked me, as if they wanted Pet's place, not her services. I did not choose to acknowledge them.




K&T, LLC Ch. 05



There was one unfortunate scene going on. At the college, I was barely aware of the bondage scene. Still, I knew this was all wrong. The girl was a hooker, who was not into the scene. Her supposed Dom was scared of his responsibilities. Odd that I would think of a Dom having responsibilities, but that was the first thing in my mind.

Francine waded in and Sheila was not far behind. For the first time in a while, I had a really good look at my future sister. As soon as I did, I realized that I was not looking at Sheila, but at Mistress Cynthia. That made me look at Christine and my heart almost stopped. I have known a lot of obsessive compulsive people. Christine had that look. Sheila had stepped into a different world and Christine had followed her.

I felt myself turning into Doctor Richards as I watched. It made me smile. I consciously corrected my posture and took an almost military stance. I knew this part of myself. It had come out on a occasion, but for the first time I explored it as a persona, using Sheila/Cynthia as a model. Suddenly, the viselike grip of the corset and the pain of the four inch heels had a place. Doctor Richards worked through pain and remained focused. My Pet noticed immediately and snuggled closer. I could get used to this.

The German was different. In those heels, I easily topped six feet, but he was taller still. I mentioned that a wimp had hired a prostitute to play submissive, but had no idea what to do with her. The German surveyed the scene. With a showing of distaste, he asked where the problem was. I know a pop quiz when I meet one. Francine, bless her manipulative heart, challenged Sheila to fix it. Enter Mistress Cynthia. Even I felt her pull and I am one of the least biddable people I know. Contrast Pet, who quivered like a hunting dog.

Cynthia put the spectators to work, which was a nice touch. She did not act aloof—she personified the concept. Once the hooker had been released and the john tied up, Cynthia deigned to inspect the work and make some fiddling changes. Then she moved to the hooker, who was now unrestrained, and a little embarrassed by her nakedness. Cynthia asked me to immobilize the poor thing. I sat behind her, holding her hands and spreading her thighs with my heels. She fought a bit, but she appeared to like where she was, especially when CC dropped down in her patented submissive pose.

I spoke quietly in the girls ear, telling her that she was safe, that I would not let her go, that we were there to give her pleasure. I might have stretched things a bit, but it was basically true and the girl knew it. No one but me was touching her, and all I was doing was demonstrating my strength. It was enough. The hooker was becoming aroused, possibly in spite of herself.

Our German, Lars Gunter, called the start. CC dove into the girls muff. Her tongue gave the girls inner lips a long lick, then started to suck on her clit. Then, just that fast, it was over. Lars Gunter was swearing in disbelief. Everyone cheered Cynthia's victory. Everyone except CC, the girl and, of course, me. CC never let up the suction. The girl started at the cheering, but I held her back, which brought an immediate flush. Just like that, the girl's excitement went up several notches.

Cynthia came over, dragging the flogger through her thumb and fingers. The girl stared at her like she was death—or salvation. Cynthia looked down at her. In my mind I watched Sheila calculate the variables and the girl's arousal. Then, Cynthia gave a negligent seeming flick of the flogger. The girl went off like a firecracker. I dropped her wrists and let her up. She immediately embraced Sheila, who returned it with feeling.

It was a nice moment, but it could not last. We were not taking the girl home, or even learning her name. Whatever else came out of the evening, I wanted her to know that there were people in the world that would take advantage of her. Lars Gunter helped me up. I told the hooker to get dressed. Many things would happen before I thought of her again.

A big part of that was my future sister and her submissive. Sheila put Cynthia aside for a moment and told CC she could pick a flogger. I think Sheila expected CC to choose the light flogger that was still in Sheila's hand, but it was not to be. CC had not been given permission to get up, either by myself or by Cynthia. This meant that each of the devices had to be shown to her, one at a time. A new scene was building

CC chose a whip, the cat 'o nine tails. A flash of fear passed through Sheila's face, before Cynthia's hard expression took over. Sheila was an expert with these things, so that meant she was afraid she would hurt CC in spite of her own best efforts. However, fear was not going to stop her.

Like before, Cynthia put the audience to work. That left me at the back of the mob, looking over the top. Lars Gunter had never gone far. He drifted closer. "Fraulein, wer ist diese Frau?" (Miss, who is this woman?). I had only two semesters of German, as a freshman, but I could follow that much. I said, "Sie ist meine sister," and spread my hands. Lars nodded, "Ja. Ja. Ihre Schwagerin. Ganz gut." I shrugged and looked helpless, then I saw Jason's picture.

I went and picked up the catalog, which was folded open to a credits page I had not seen before. There, quite recognizable, was Mistress Cynthia. I pointed to her, then to her name. Lars took in the photo scene with a bare flaring of the nostrils. He said, "Sie is beruhmt. Das ist gut." (She is famous. That is good.) He watched and stroked his chin for a moment. "Sie sind stattlich. Sie sind verlobt?" I shook my head. He tried again, "You are stattlich,..." His hands gestured a female shape.

Did he mean stately? My God. He thought I had a good figure. I ventured Maggie's term, "Handsome?" Herr Gunter's face lit, "Genau. Ja. Naturlich. Sie sind handsome. Sind sie verlobt, um, engagé?" That was the wrong language, but English uses the French word. I turned completely red. "Nein. Aber sie ist. Mein Bruder, samstag (No. She is. My brother, Saturday). This is her bachelor party?" Herr Gunter puzzled that for a moment, then followed my eyes to Sheila/Cynthia. "Ah, naturlich. Ich bin Lars Gunter. Und Sie...?" I colored again. "Doctor Richards. Siobhan Richards."

Herr Gunter's eyes widened for a moment, but his head nodded, as if this made sense. He drew himself erect, clicked his heels and gave me a sharp nod of the head. I did my best to curtsy as Sheila had shown me, because there was no way I could bow in that corset. Herr Gunter smiled, at the effort I think. Then we turned to Cynthia's tableau.

It was not a moment too soon. Our stumbling conversation had lasted several minutes, but I had already seen Cynthia play the clock. Her scene was just approaching its climax. I looked at everything and was appalled. CC was spread out on an orange and white street barricade, with ankles bound to opposite ends. Her torso was dangling over the other side, though her arms were bound like her legs. There were weights attached to her nipples and three more on her lips and clit. Bad as all that was, both legs were covered with fine red lines.

I had turned to watch just in time to see the whip catch the back of CC's knee joint. CC whimpered a short noise, but quickly became silent. After a measured time, Cynthia struck again, this time at the other knee. CC did not make a sound, though tears poured out. The audience was murmuring about both Cynthia's technique and CC's restraint. In spite of not being gagged, CC made very little sound. The comments on technique were appreciative and wondered about the payoff.

We waited for it. When the pause was almost too long, Sheila said one word, "Come." The whip came much sharper this time and right down the middle. Lines appeared running up CC's ass, but the real impact was on the genitals. The snap had a distinctly wet sound. Merciful Jesus.

It must have been just what CC needed, because she came so hard the barricade shook. There was a moment of shocked silence. I had not realized how much sound there had been until it was quiet. Then there was a murmur that swelled to applause. Sheila raised the whip, then gestured to CC. I did not care about that. I wanted to see Sheila's face, but she was wearing a mask.

A number of people rushed forward to untie CC. Sheila ignored them and staggered to the wall. Oh shit. Turning, I saw Francine staring slack jawed at Sheila. Shit on sesame crackers. I glanced at Lars Gunter and made shoving motions with my hands. He nodded understanding and started shoeing people toward the changing rooms.

I went to Francine and said, "Snap out of it. I will take care of Sheila. You need to do crowd control." Martel almost physically pulled herself together. She jumped up on a box and addressed the crowd.

"Everyone, thank you for coming. I am your host, Francine Martel. I hope you enjoyed our scene. Please remember that Mistress Cynthia is an experienced professional. This scene should not be attempted at home. This will conclude our activities for this evening. Please exit through the changing rooms. Once again, thank you for your attention."

It was exactly the right thing to say. Nothing any of them could do would compare, so they started filing to the exits, talking as they went. I reached Sheila and she grabbed me like a life preserver. Strength is something I have always had, so I gave it to her. She was crying like a child who has lost his puppy. Through the tears she was mumbling things like "Why?" and "Not worthy."

Eventually she stopped shaking, so I took her to where they were looking after CC. Clearly Sheila did not want to look, but she did so. With a sudden movement, Sheila tore the mask from her face and threw it away. She dropped to her knees beside CC. Then the two of them were holding each other, stroking each other's hair and crying a river.

I felt a presence at my side. I looked over and Lars Gunter was there. He looked at Sheila and CC, but his attention was for me. "Frau Doktor. It ein pleasure ist. Miene card. Auf Wiedersehen." The card read:

Siemens Financial Services

Asset based Lending

Lars G. Gunter

Senior Analyst

Make Your Cash Flow

He was hitting on me, but had the grace to wait. I felt conflicted as hell.

Eventually, Sheila released CC for some first aid. Hard as it was to believe, the skin was not broken. CC would have zebra stripes for a week, but no scars. That impressed me as much as anything I had seen that day. Francine provided slippers and a robe. Presumably they came from the club, because they were much too large for Francine. We helped her up the stairs and into the car. Finally, Sheila explained the scene.

"Christine wanted to give me a wedding gift. All she had was herself. How could I not make it the best gift possible?"

Plot Summary: Sheila decides to give CC/Tess her choice of floggers. She makes it clear that she is not interested in doing a serious scene. None the less, CC chooses a cat o' nine tails, which is easily capable of leaving scarring cuts. Sheila asks CC for an explanation. Much to her surprise, her submissive has a good reason.

CC is spread out, upside down, on a road barricade. After taking time to milk the scene for drama, Sheila administers the whipping. She begins lightly on the tougher parts, but gets heavier where the flesh is more tender, escalating the effect. Before the finale, Sheila gives CC permission to come, then lays a heavy stroke on the tenderest parts. CC comes. Everyone applauds.

Following the scene, Sheila is so emotionally drained that has trouble walking. Francine closes the club for the night. In a side conversation, Siobhan becomes interested in Lars Gunter. At parting, Lars gives her his card. Both Francine and Siobhan want to know what CC had said to convince Sheila to do the scene. CC had offered herself as a wedding gift.



K&T, LLC Ch. 06



Author's note: This is the final installment of book two. There will be a wedding in book three. I promise.

Chapter 14 -- Shift Change

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

After the party, getting home was evidently not easy. I do not think anyone was drunk, but for some reason Mom was not up to driving. This was a problem, since she had early appointments on Wednesday. Nanny CC did not have a license yet and no sane person wants to ride with Aunt Francine. I can tell you this from personal experience. That left Aunt Jo and she had come in the family car.

Sheila:

The poor john was so scared he barely enjoyed it. Three strokes and poof—barely worth the effort. I went to check Christine's work. It was exemplary, though I had to give an assist to Siobhan. The girl was clearly reacting favorably to her brand of soft restraint. All I had to do was give a little prod and off she went.

It was all very well received. People were rushing to be helpful. Siobhan and Francine managed to get the hooker out of the crush and everyone else released the john. I was enough pleased that I decided to give Christine a gift. I would let her choose her flogger, warning her not to go overboard. Christine chose a nine tailed cat, which was right on the edge of me refusing outright.

Christine is a master of nonverbal communication. I could see that she was choosing in earnest and full understanding of my likely reaction. That required an explanation. I had them tie Christine up, then dropped to a knee and asked her what was up. Christine said, "Wedding present. Me."

I almost broke down and cried. If we had no audience, I might have. Instead, I pulled Cynthia around me and went to work. Fortunately, I had a small army of willing lackeys. They already had Christine naked and artfully trussed. That was the problem. They tied up Christine, not Tess. To be fair, I was having trouble being Cynthia. Sobeit. The show must go on. Cynthia may be the mistress of pain, but all her skills are mine. Using a cat, I would need them.

Pacing is so important in this sort of work. I took time to examine each bond and add a few extra touches, like an ass plug. The head of the anal spreader would protect the skin around it. It was a small thing, but important. They were all important, but the time it took to accomplish them mattered more. When I could not delay any longer, I took my place facing the crowd. I had to give a good show, without breaking Christine's skin. Even with a fairly light cat, this would be a serious test of my skill.

The first four lashes were easy, both in technique and in force. Almost certainly there were people watching that would understand this detail. It was alright, because it was foreplay. I built on it. The fifth and sixth lashes were serious in anyone's book. Not only were they barely pulled, I landed them on the tender areas behind the knees. As I suspected there were at least two in my audience commenting for the rest. I gave them a minute to do so, while I gathered my nerve. When I could wait no longer, I gave Christine permission to climax—followed immediately by my only full stroke of the evening.

I fully extended my arm. This was not just to lay the full weight of the whip. I was also trying to hit Christine's bump, which I could not see. Whether I did, or not, Christine's reaction was everything I could have hoped for. I had left her ungagged as both a test of Christine's will and to add force to this moment. Christine did cry out, briefly, but there was no mistaking the magnitude of her orgasm. Even I could see the puddle that was under her. All I cared was whether her tender flesh had parted, or not.

In any form of performance, the very best applause begins with none at all. That is what Christine and I received. I held my breath, waiting for the first response, fearing that Christine's sacrifice would be for nothing. Then it came, growing louder than seemed possible from the small numbers. I raised the lash in salute, then presented Christine for her bow, though possibly only Francine would understand the gesture. Suddenly I was exceedingly tired.

Post performance jitters were not new. I was a wreck after doing Jason, though I had been forced to march on for several more hours. Eventually Sean had carried me home. This was at least that bad and we were not even in the same state as home. I stumbled to the wall before I fell over.

The next few minutes were a blur, but clearly Siobhan and Francine took over. Siobhan came to collect me, while Francine cleared the room. I gave Siobhan a fierce hug, which she returned in Sean-like fashion. G_d I loved these people. Once the initial shock had passed, I was able to walk unassisted. I went to where they were treating Christine. The next thing I knew, I was kneeling on the floor hugging her like my sanity depended on it. Perhaps it did.

Then there was more jostling. Robes appeared from somewhere and I was maneuvered into the passenger seat of Sean's Mercedes. Christine was on the floor in front of me, with her head in my lap. That was nice. We were able to hold each other and Christine did not have to sit on her fresh bruises. We were across the bridge to Staten Island, on the way to New Jersey when I finally wondered what had happened to my car.

I asked Russell to find an ice cream vendor. I was soon enjoying a rum raisin double dip, letting Christine have alternate licks. As I had hoped, Siobhan pulled up in my car. We were able to talk while Francine went in search of another thousand calories. To Siobhan's reaction I offered a word of hard learned wisdom. Francine could eat whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, because she went through life constantly hungry. What was a mere diet compared to that? I had my bustier to keep me trim.

Then I realized I did not have my bustier. Julian did. It was one of the most naked sensations of my life. Even dancing bottomless in a short dress did not compare. Christine took the opportunity to stroke my belly. I took her meaning. Even early in a pregnancy, I would not be able to wear my foundations. I laid my hand on Christine's face. "That's right. You are my support now." Christine smiled like the sun after a storm. Then the smile changed and her had slipped under my panties.

Russell got us home. I will need to ask him about that someday. Sean said the car smelled of sex for weeks.

Siobhan:

We came out of the club and I stopped cold. Sheila was done out, CC was a medical casualty and I was not about to entrust both of them to Francine's driving. There was a bit of a confrontation over who was driving whom, but putting Sheila and CC in the Mercedes made too much sense. It also became clear that Francine had heard commentary about her driving—from police and judges.

Loading Sheila into the front seat was easy enough, but CC was a problem. There was no way she should be sitting. Eventually, we moved some packages to the other car, so we could slide the seat all the way back. Then CC could kneel on the floor at Sheila's feet. Ironically, the symbolism escaped me at the time. Everyone understood it was the way things had to be.

The drive was excruciating. If she were not so obviously intelligent, I would write Francine off as an airhead blonde. Ye gods that woman talked. About halfway across Staten Island, Russell signaled a pullover. We were concerned. Francine even stopped yakking until the car turned into an ice cream chain. Ice cream evidently had some special significance for Sheila. So, Francine started talking about getting a snack.

As Francine had deduced, Sheila was looking much better. I would have been tempted to offer her keys back, except for the possessive way she was stroking CC's hair. I had called CC "Pet" more than once, but clearly the relationship went deeper for the two of them. I had little doubt that CC would be sleeping with me that night, but even less that she would go back to Sheila. Whatever I was to CC, Sheila was her mistress and likely always would be.

After that, I had a few minutes of silence while Francine absorbed her family sized order. Sheila told me that eternal hunger was the price Francine paid for her metabolism. I found this more than a philosophical comfort. It also gave me time to formulate some questions. Francine is much more helpful when there is a question posed. Only about 75% of the commentary is disposable.

Francine told me about the evening she and CC had spent. I knew from experience that Francine was an excellent teacher. This helped me connect some dots. I asked Francine about plans for the wedding preparations. Much to my surprise, she was well informed with the progress, including what Sean had done that day. Having Amish in the picture raised some interesting questions, though Evaine would love it. The Amish could provide a great deal of expertise for what sounded like a circus side show, complete with clowns and rides.

The house itself was getting a major cleaning, obviously, but it did not sound as though many actual changes were under way. As an anthropologist recreating a period affair, this was quite hopeful. The more kerosene light we could manage, the better my students and I would like it. On a personal level, it sounded like a great deal of fun.

There would be a skill booths, where one could win stuffed animals, makeup booths, canoes and paddle boats, horseshoes, volleyball and badminton, races of several kinds and a variety of finger food. I particularly liked Sean's idea of having an ice cream freezer on site. Tea, lemonade, beer and soda all went back 100 years or more. It was going to be quite a party.

One of our companies had most of the booths on hand, as well as a large stock of tents and, of all things, a merry-go-round. This was in addition to things like rope, fencing, tables and chairs. Francine's production company was providing all the signs and most of the decorations, in addition to a couple of professional makeup artists, the clowns, jugglers and a magician.

The orchestra had been hired from the junior college. I had my doubts about that, but it turned out they had a national reputation. One of the instructors would be doing a John Phillip Sousa impression, in full costume. Naturally, we had the Gilbert brothers to ride heard on it all. I was beginning to think I would have nothing to do. Ha!

Thinking about my grad students started me thinking about Sheila's scene. At least two of my girls had some of that wide eyed innocence. What struck me was just how not-innocent CC was at times. I thought of having CC stretch out on the bed, legs fully spread, so that I could rub aloe gel into the the whip burns. In spite of everything, I expected that exact scene to occur in a couple of hours. It was making me hot.

Suddenly, I realized that Francine had stopped talking and was watching me. A couple of datums clicked in my head. Francine chattered as a defense mechanism and she was seriously affected by the scene. Without taking my eyes off the road, I said, "Tell me."

There was a significant pause, then Francine said, "I had to admire the art of the rope tying. CC's legs were fully spread across the length of the crossbar. Her weight was supported by the soft tissue of the midriff, but with a lot of pressure on the pubic bones. Dancers know that area. It will support your weight, but there is a connection to the genitalia. Getting lifted there a lot can make you horny as hell. Of course Sheila left her in that position while she fussed around, killing time. You saw how she played with the john, right? That was nothing compared to the artistry she used on CC. The anticipation was killer."

I said, "That fits with what I was thinking. My focus was on CC, though I am beginning to think of her as Christine, like Sheila does. No one calls me by my proper name, but from her it is a profound gesture. Anyway, Sheila said Christine wanted to give herself as a gift. That makes perfect sense, given their relationship. Think about it. Which of us is the Maid of Honor?"

Francine literally hit her forehead. "Doh. I missed that completely. Schwartz always was loyal as hell. She found—well Ricky found—someone that would return it. I must admit, CC found the perfect gift. For someone with no experience and no education, she reads Sheila perfectly. Naturally, Sheila made a special effort. She had to push the edges, because it would improve the quality of the gift. You got that, right?" I had, sort of.

"Not exactly, but that sums up several things I had been thinking about. For one thing, Christine may be passive and biddable as hell, but she's sharp and observant. Damn, she is almost like the perfect spy, since no one will pay any attention to her. You and I stand out like dykes in the Tea Party." That got me a laugh. "Tell me more about Sheila. Like, why is she so torn up?"

Francine shrugged that off. "It's performance anxiety. You saw her at the ice cream stand—much recovered. What she was doing required exacting control. There was the real possibility of scarring injury. On top of that, it was someone Sheila cares deeply about. For a perfectionist like Schwartz, it does not get any more nerve wracking. For comparison, look at the way she blew off the john. That was Sheila sleepwalking through a performance. Let me tell you about a little scene she did on me."

Francine went on to tell, in great and loving detail, about the night they spent together. I had noted it before, but Francine could really make a story work. I shivered when the ice came out. I ached through the long wait in the dark. I damn near lost control of the car when she described turning the tables. Ye gods that was funny. Then I realized that Francine was hitting on me. I was tempted, but I had a raft of students to put to bed. I also realized that Lars Gunter was the one I itched for. Who'd'a thunk it?

It was a day of firsts. What would tomorrow bring?

Sean:

You have to love GPS trackers. Both the Mercedes and Sheila's Volvo were equipped. As expected, our giggle of girls had gone to Elizabeth for their fitting. Sheila's car stayed parked, but Russell moved the Mercedes a couple of times. Russell updated us that the girls were shopping, while they waited for the tailoring to be done. Then the cars moved through rush hour traffic at speeds topping 70 MPH. That had to be Francine. They stopped in Brooklyn for a while, then moved a short distance. Russell updated us that they went to some sort of warehouse, followed by dinner near the bay. Dinner lasted a while.

Russell did not update us when they started moving again. That came when they stopped for ice cream on Staten Island. I could hear Sheila in the car and almost asked to speak with her. Judging from the way Sheila got along with Gerald, I thought she might not mind me keeping tabs, but I did not press my luck. Once they started moving again, at a reasonably safe speed, I forced myself out of the command center.

I went down to look over the work. TempWorks had a crew down to wax floors and polish brass. This was the second overnight session. Monday night they had done the Foyer, the Parlors and the main hall. Mitchell had elected to do the Library during the day, because of the amount of moving involved. When I arrived, they were moving the last of the rugs and furniture into the Foyer. Mitchell would be positioning those in the morning. That night was for the dance floor.

Still nervous as a cat by a rocking chair, I went out to the garage. As I had been told to expect, the single piston engine was spread out on the maintenance bench. From the look of the piston rings, the eighty year old diesel had another eighty years to go. Near the door sat an old White Mountain twenty quart ice cream maker. The thing was fitted with a hand crank. Oh my back. It would need to be mounted on a base and a new flywheel attached, but we would have fresh cranked ice cream for the reception. Two of my mechanics were arguing recipes—at least til they saw me. I gave them a wink and passed on.

Out on the main floor, there was a team looking at the Bentley. Since we almost never used the big Rolls, that stopped me for a moment. Then, I realized that Sheila had laid claim to it for the post-ceremony exit. It was certainly fitting, even though we would only be driving to the airport. Naturally, it would be decorated for the event, but these things needed to be done correctly.

"Nice. I should have mentioned it, but you anticipated the need. Make sure everything works well and don't overdo the decorations. I would not want you to deal with Sheila after a problem." Sheila's name brought me four variations of red and white. The only one to do neither was George. He wore a self-satisfied smirk. I suspect some money changed hands after I left. Once again I was heartened by the way Sheila was seen by the staff. For a while—a short while, granted—I had been worried. Sheila was merging easily into the flow of things.

Then it hit me. Sheila and I had been talking of mergers for several days, but we were not talking about the same merger.

Sheila:

I had promised Christine to Siobhan for the night. Even if I had not, Christine was in no condition to be alone. That said, I was not about to enter the house in a bathrobe. So, I told Russell to take us to the studio. On the way I text our destination to Gerald, Sean, Siobhan and Francine.

Once in my wardrobe, I had to pause and consider. I acutely felt the lack of pressure on my ribs. Maybe Sean was right—that I used my foundations as emotional support. In any event, many of my outfits would not work without one. My problem is that it was a wardrobe for a dominatrix and I wanted something feminine. Christine was not a problem. She needed something loose and full length, but a workout suit does that nicely.

I was saved, for a moment, by the arrival of Siobhan and Francine. As before, Francine looked at my collection with outright lust. On the spur of the moment, I said. "Pick one Frannie. I'll have it made for you." Francine completely shocked me be coming over and crushing me with a hug. I looked up and both Christine and Siobhan were misty eyed. What the hell?

Francine did not exactly explain herself. "Shut up, you idiot. This was all supposed to be about you. Miss Ivy League and I get upstaged by Miss Cums-a-lot and her zebra thighs. Then you come here and think about me. Why don't you take a God Damned minute for yourself." Huh?

Siobhan was just as bad. "You know that Bridezilla's are focused on making themselves look good, right? This going an extra mile, because your pet submissive wants to make a gesture, is not in keeping with a selfish attitude. Suck it up and do what you want for yourself—for once. Take the car. I will drop of Francine, then I am going to take Christine to my room and rub aloe into her tender places. Grab something that will get you through traffic and go fuck my brother to unconsciousness." Francine snorted.

Siobhan looked at Francine and said, "Really? I was just using it as a figure of speech." Francine retorted, "I don't know about Ricky, but Miss Proper here has a thing about Sean's dick bumping her cervix—hard. She claims to have passed out in the middle of a quickie, in Ballerina position, damn it." Siobhan said, "I always wanted to do a girl in Ballerina, but none of them were flexible enough. Sheila, get the fuck out. Christine and I will show Miss Broadway how the other half lives. I'll see that your car gets home."

It was so contrived that I had to laugh. Too bad my recording equipment was being moved. I had a feeling that Francine had bit off more than she could chew. Siobhan would tie Francine up and gag her before Francine realized that she was serious. Dancers deal with a lot of pain, but Francine was not ready for what was coming.




K&T, LLC Ch. 06



I was out the door before I realized how smoothly Siobhan had paved my way. Damn she's good.

Sean:

An evening of frustration ended when I received word that Sheila was inbound—alone. That said interesting things about what Jo and Francine had planned, but I had thoughts only for my Kitten. I retired to the kitchen off the garage. If I knew Sheila—I ought to by now—she would want a cup of tea when she arrived. I had a big styrofoam cup of Earl Grey waiting for her when she pulled in. It was one of my better decisions that year.

To say Sheila was conflicted belittles the point. She ran to me like I was a life preserver, then grabbed the tea and drained half of it before taking a breath. She said nothing, but "It's good to be home." might as well been stamped on her forehead. It took me hours to realize that Sheila already considered my house as her home. I can be a bit slow with the obvious sometimes.

Oddly, for Sheila, she was not particularly well turned out. Nor was she wearing her foundation, which I had hooked up that morning. I am no shrink, but that told me that the day had been eventful. Even though the back of the car was packed to the ceiling with clothing boxes, I had to assume none were for her. It did not matter in any event. Sheila needed a relaxing massage and a hot shower. I intended to get it for her.

Part of my sense of deja vu was from the two times I had carried Sheila to her apartment. We were nowhere near her apartment, but Sheila was showing the same sort of overload that she had shown then. I flipped open my phone. Gerald was not on duty. None-the-less I ordered a full sweep of Sheila's apartment, including recovering her wardrobe. No time like the present. I sent Gerald an email, but it would not catch him off balance.

With that chore out of the way, I could take my Kitten to get her some stroking. As a masseur, I loved working on defined muscle. Sheila was pure joy in that regard. I stretched her on the table and did my best to put her to sleep. I may have managed it, though she woke for the walk down to the bedroom. I had carried her once, which was my limit. Fortunately, Sheila was ambulatory til she met the bed. Lights out.

When I checked my messages, Jo had sent one. I am keeping Francine out of your hair. You owe me for this.

Chapter 15 -- Ripples

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

I have mentioned that no one talks about the wedding preparations much. In contrast, everyone talks about the press. Three things coincided for a press firestorm—the catalog/sale; the wedding itself; and the new real estate group. Everything had two words in common: Sheila Schwartz. From being very low key and little noticed, Mom was a celebrity overnight. Naturally, she hated it.

But, it did not start with Mom. It started with Aunt Francine.

Tuesday, 9:17 PM ET--broadway.com/divawatch/martel

Where is Francine Martel?

Normally one of the most accessible and quotable members of the Broadway scene, Miss Martel abruptly resigned the last stop of a ten city tour, citing personal reasons. Rumor has it that she is planning to attend a major wedding—but whose? She was spotted at her restaurant in Brooklyn on Tuesday night, in the company of three women.

It was rumored to be a bachelorette party, but the bride was named Sheila Schwartz. According to Google, the only possibly relevant Sheila Schwartz reference is for a performance of the Nutcracker some twelve years ago. Both Schwartz and Martel danced—but Schwartz received the major accolades.

I ask you, who is Sheila Schwartz? Why is Francine Martel throwing her a bachelorette party, with all the trimmings?

Tuesday 10:03 PM ET--http://www.xanga.com/groups/group.aspx?id=XXXXX

Davidspet: Oh my God. I have just seen the scene of a decade. The evening started so disappointingly. Then THEY showed up. There were four. One was obviously submissive, even more than me, but three real power types. One was almost six feet tall and clearly not used to power attire. That said, she had definite presence. One was not even five feet. I recognized her. She was one of the owners—Francine Martel, the Broadway diva. She can whip my pussy anytime.

All that pales beside the third of their group. Remember this name—Cynthia. You may not have seen the catalog yet, but you will. Mistress Cynthia did the cover shot. Oh. My. God. I am so jealous. This guy Jason does not know how lucky he was. Cynthia was wearing a mask and lying back, letting the other two take the lead. The submissive was clearly Hers, even though she spent most of her time with the tall one. There was a sorry scene in progress. Some wannbe had hired a hooker to play submissive. It was just sad.

Anyway, Miss Martel pushed Mistress Cynthia forward. It was like some kind of test. It took a couple of prods, but the scene was so sad. Mistress Cynthia probably could not stand it. The moment she took charge everything changed. She had everyone, even David, running to set things up. The hooker was released, but Cynthia had the tall one immobilize her. I could get off on that. She held the hookers wrists in her hands, while she spread the legs with brand new Boutique 9 pumps. The submissive just dropped into a hands behind her back posture, like she lived in it. She was ready to eat the hooker up.

The john was tied up. Everyone, even David, rushed to help with that. Mistress Cynthia inspected everything, tweaking a bit, here and there, but I think it was all about timing. By the time she got around to the lash, the john squirted on three strokes. Normally, I would be embarrassed for him, but with Mistress Cynthia I totally understood. Over on the other side, her submissive had the hooker about ready to pop. Mistress Cynthia did one quick lash on the tits, not enough to even raise a welt, and the hooker came buckets.

That would have been enough, but things were just getting started. Mistress Cynthia had the box of lashes brought to her submissive. I could see that. If the john had not been a quick fire, the submissive would have gotten the hooker to blow. Anyway, the submissive did not have permission to break posture, so she did not poke around in the box. It took a moment before one of us subs pointed out that the girl could not use her hands. Sometimes Doms can be dense.

Anyway, there was a parade of off the shelf floggers and lashes. The submissive looked at each, but shook it off, until they pulled out a Cat. It was like the whole room went in the freezer. Mistress Cynthia was NOT pleased. The submissive expected it—I could tell. Cynthia just pointed to a horse—one of those orange and white ones they use on roads. Skinny as hell.

Like before, everyone rushed to set up the scene. The rope work was rather artful. They suspended her upside down, with her hair brushing the floor. The ankles and hands were tied to the uprights so that all her weight was born by the midriff, but her legs, thighs and pussy were fully exposed. Mistress Cynthia had nothing to do with that. First she worked in a #4 ass plug, dry, but slow. Once that was done, Cynthia just added touches—mostly weights on the pussy lips, clit and tits.

Just seeing the girl hung there had my pussy running. If David had not forbidden me, I would have had my fingers in my cunt. Like with the first scene, Mistress Cynthia took it very slow. She checked everything twice, using the occasion to tweak the weights and brush the sensitive spots. Check this. They never gagged the submissive, but she never uttered a sound.

When it was time to get real, Mistress Cynthia coiled the whip and walked back to a position opposite us. Everything was set up so we could watch. A Cat is a serious thing, even though this looked like a light one. Mistress Cynthia gave it the respect it deserved. When she used it, there were four strokes, one right after the other. Then she paused. Some of the Doms were commenting on her technique. The strokes were fairly light and spread all the way from one ankle to the other. Someone, it might have been David, said "Foreplay."

Almost at the same moment, the Cat went out two more times. These were not foreplay. They were real shots and they targeted the inner knee area. All the Doms were voicing appreciation of the strikes, but I was noticing where Cynthia had not struck. I was not alone. Before long, everyone was thinking about that exposed pussy. Just before it had gone on too long, Mistress Cynthia gave her submissive permission to cum. Then the Cat bit.

Gods. I don't know how she did it, but Mistress Cynthia placed a full stroke—right down middle—and did not draw blood. The welts on the ass cheeks were livid red—two on one side and three on the other. That left four full on the pussy. The submissive came so hard the barricade jerked. I had never touched myself, but I came in sympathy and I was not alone.

I have never seen anything like it. Mistress Cynthia looked almost as done out as her submissive, who could barely walk. As soon as they were close, Cynthia and her submissive hugged like long separated lovers. Then the Big One and Miss Martel started to clear the room. It was still early, but nothing was going to top that.

Who the hell is Mistress Cynthia and what has she got to do with Francine Martel?

Tuesday 11:28 PM ET—Channel 56 Nightly News

We are at the Crow's Nest, a long time Brooklyn restaurant. Something very unusual occurred tonight. One of the owners, Francine Martel of Broadway fame, was hosting a bachelorette party. One of the party members requested hot sauce for her oysters. Nothing unusual yet. But, she kept asking for hotter sauces until they reached this. [displays a bottle]

This is Mad Dog 44 Magnum Pepper Extract. There is a warning label that says that it is not a hot sauce. It is too potent to be used directly on food. Police inform me that the extract is almost as strong as the pepper spray they are issued. Another person at the table requested gloves just to handle the bottle. She applied it to one oyster using a toothpick.

Miss Martel's guest ate the oyster, chewing it well before swallowing. She did not request water or ice cream. After one stopwatch timed minute, Miss Martel offered steak and lobster—for four—to anyone that could duplicate the feat. Restrictions apply—including a medical waiver.

So, Joan, if you want to impress your boss and have free surf and turf, go to the Crow's Nest. But be warned. There have been three failed attempts already.

Marky Maxwell reporting

Wednesday 9:17 AM ET—collinsn@newyorktimes.net

Bob,

I think I have something for you. There is a wedding planned for this weekend. It's in the boonies of New Jersey. The groom is a serious player in the local business community: Sean Richards of Richards Enterprises. No one has ever heard of the bride: Sheila Schwartz.

Here is the part you will like. The invitations are specifying 1910 attire.

Wednesday 9:23 AM ET—david.wilson@coxandhart.com

Janice,

I just saw the finished catalog from that auction we bailed on. It is a freaking masterpiece. Last I heard, Richards hired a small timer from Philadelphia, Justin Immons, who was running into the same problems that sank us. I thought the project was going down for the count, then Richards turns up this. What the hell is going on? Who the fuck is Sheila Schwartz?

Wednesday 10:07 AM ET—smithrobert@uniquebride.com

Rhonda,

I got a tip from Nancy Collins at the Times. There is a wedding in New Jersey where 1910 attire is requested. I called the local paper—the Beacon. They said the whole town is buzzing. The groom is a 30+ local business hard case: C. Sean Richards, not very affectionately referred to as the Bear. The family goes back to colonial times. Richards has never married. Never even dated seriously. Out of the blue he is engaged to a fitness trainer named Sheila Schwartz.

There is more, but I can't sort it out from here. Schwartz is evidently more important than she appears, but no one will say why. A lot of temp labor is going out to the Richards estate, so the wedding should be worth covering for its own sake. Send someone out with a camera crew.

Wednesday 10:11 AM ET—detweilerr.centraljerseybeacon@clearwire.net

Frank,

I just got off the phone with the events editor of a bridal magazine. He was wanting to know about the Richards/Schwartz wedding. I know it seems to have blown up out of nothing, but evidently there is wider awareness.

I have seen the invitation. It is a piece of work, very classy, completely custom. Johnstead Printing did the work. If this woman is who I think she is, class just flows out of her. The only lead I have is to that renovated warehouse gym by the old rail depot: XTreme Fitness. There are rumors about that whole neighborhood, but I don't know if they are related.

Richards, of course, is the head of Richards Enterprises and all that entails. He is a bit of a shark and very hard to talk to. His secretary, Helen, no last name, says he is unavailable, but did refer me to the company PR department. Evidently, they just released a catalog for a major auction. Run that down too.

Wednesday 10:51 AM ET—smithrobert@uniquebride.com

Nancy,

Thanks for the tip on the central Jersey wedding. I am sending someone out to poke around. This one looks Unique. I'll give you first dibs on the pics.

Wednesday 2:37 PM ET—aldermanna@columbiapictures.net

Ivan,

I just received a catalog. You have got to see it. The cover shot is incredible. The photographer is Justin Immons. He has a solid reputation, but not this good.

There is an art director named Sheila Schwartz. Nothing at all on her.

The catalog is for an erotica auction hosted by a New Jersey company called Richards Auctions. Get this. That 1920s collection of leather from the Candy Box is in this auction. Minimum bid is $200,000.

Wednesday 3:18 PM ET—nevskii@columbiapictures.net

Aaron,

Funny you should mention someone named Schwartz. Dave Zimmer at Paramount mentioned a call from New York. It was about a photo editor, also named Schwartz.

Any chance it is the same person? We have a mess to clean up on the Will Smith project. A fresh eye might help us salvage something.

Chapter 16--Signing Off

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

There was a brief pause before the storm hit. So many things conspired to create that weekend, but there was a lull before they came together. For one night and the next day, there was relative peace.

Of course, in the evening the excrement encountered the rotary ventilator.

Siobhan:

We caught up with Sheila at her studio. Sheila was in the wardrobe, plainly trying to choose an outfit. Francine was looking at the inventory with unconcealed envy. Of course, nothing would remotely fit her. With a start, I realized that Francine had to shop in the Girl's department.

Sheila told Francine to pick an outfit to have made. It was a perfect metaphor for the whole day. This excursion was supposed to be about Sheila and her wedding. Instead, she and Francine had shown me a new me. Francine had taken her to a restaurant and a bondage club. In both places, the star of the event was Sheila's submissive. Now, in her own domain, Sheila was offering us gifts. It was perfect. We all teared up.

Sheila did choose an outfit. She made sure that Christine had the keys, then went home to Sean. There was a bit of an awkward moment when I asked Francine where she was staying. I had not realized that she kept an apartment. Then I noticed Christine grinning. What? She mimed a keyboard. Doh!

Naturally Christine knew the facilities. We went to an office and she started a computer, then opened Hotmail. Francine had a smartphone, but my tablet was in the car. Before I could say anything, Christine gave up her seat and pulled out a laptop. How typically helpful. Shortly we had all exchanged addresses and were chatting in silence. Christine may be quiet as a mouse, but her texting was better than some of my grad students.

We had been going for about ten minutes when Christine mentioned a reporter at the restaurant. I felt as if I had been doused in ice water. I immediately did a news search on "Sheila Schwartz". Sure enough, there were hits. Biting my lip, I tried "Mistress Cynthia". More hits. By this time Christine and Francine had taken notice. We all took a deep breath when "Sheila Schwartz" + "Mistress Cynthia" turned up empty, but that did not figure to last. Francine summed it up, "Well shit. The rest of the week just got fucked."

That broke up our texting session, so it was time to think about getting home. Still, it seemed a shame to be here and not use the facilities. So I asked, "Were you serious about doing it ballerina style?" For once Motormouth Martel was at a loss for words, but I bet her panties just got wet.

I grinned my best shark in the minnow pool grin. "We have time for a quickie." Francine stopped and considered. She bit her lip and looked at me closely. It was more thought than my flip comment was worth. Finally, Francine shook her head. "Not tonight. For the first time I want to take my time. For a quickie, let's see what Suction Lips has learned this week." Christine was already kneeling on the floor.

Francine did not exactly do a strip tease, but there was something very sensual about the way she disrobed. The panties came first, then the skirt. She could have left the top on, but chose to look me straight in the eye while she did the buttons. This was all about challenge for when it was the two of us, but there was something else.

As usual my mouth ran away with me. "You want a baby, too."

Francine:

I hate being upstaged. As short as I am, I need to be in front. It makes for a forceful personality. Yet, the quietest person I have met in years upstaged me three times in one day. Once in the morning at the diner, once in my own restaurant and shortly after in my club. Then, we all put her in the car with Sheila, so she could freaking kneel at her Mistress' feet all the way home. Why was I not totally pissed?

It was just one question rattling around in my head as we left Brooklyn, heading west. If it was in my head, it probably came out, because I was talking 90 miles an hour. That was a clue. I talk when I am scared or nervous. What CC and Sheila had done scared me spitless.

I know that most people say shitless, but that is only because they do not understand the general concept. Fear makes your mouth dry. If you can spit, the fear is not consuming you. There was no way I could spit. Blessed Baby Jesus that was close. As I rode down the street, the only thing I could see were those angry red stripes on Christine's ass—with the sure knowledge that there were more stripes that did not show.

We did not go far. Just a couple of miles into Staten Island, we stopped for ice cream. I left the others to bury my nerves in food. There is nothing like a couple of double meat quarter pound burgers, large fries and a strawberry shake to settle me down. It also gave Sheila a chance to get over her reaction.




K&T, LLC Ch. 06



The rest of the trip home was uneventful, til we had a text from Sheila, saying she was going by her studio for a costume change. Naturally, we met her there. As always, in any costume department, I wanted everything. Leave it to Schwartz to notice. She offered to have something made in my size. Sheila is so selfless, you cannot be jealous for long. Siobhan and I sent her off to Sean.

That left CC with us. I had gotten so used to CC not talking that another form of communication caught me by surprise. CC was miming a keyboard. Damn. I should have thought of that. We all moved into Sheila's office and exchanged contact information. It was all very comfortable til CC mentioned a reporter.

When I bought the Crow's Nest, one of the first things I did was install a 10% discount for police and press. I never announced the deal, but word gets around. On any given evening, the clientele is going to be well represented by both groups. Having a reporter see CC do her fire eating act was almost inevitable. Normally that would be good. Publicity helps both me and the restaurant.

In this case, we had a camera shy guest at the table. Fortunately, all the references to her involved the nuptials and not the club next door. Unfortunately, I knew that would not last. Both names were on the catalog. Sooner or later, someone would link them. Siobhan used that point in my ruminations to offer me a quickie.

I was tempted, but I needed to make some calls. Instead, I dropped my rather fragrant panties and let CC suck me off. She had been studying. It had been one of those days that gets you started and leaves you hanging, so I was ready for some relief. CC brought me using her nose, of all things, on my clit. I tossed the panties to Siobhan and we went to the car.

Once back at my fourplex, I sent messages to my PR people, explaining the events at the restaurant. I explained that I had known Sheila from high school and had dated the groom. I did not mention the performance at Lincoln Center. Sheila had enough mixed feelings, without me bringing it to light again. That should cover the more basic questions. The more difficult ones would come in relation to the catalog.

To that end, I made some inquiries through my Hollywood contacts. Photo editing is a serious field in movieland, but mostly it refers to covering up flaws. I mentioned Sheila as someone in the field, whom I had not seen for years. It did not take long to find out that Sheila's skills had a market. It also put her name out in connection to me and not to a bunch of erotica.

It was a band-aid on a sucking chest wound, but it might hold for a day or two. That gave me time to think of myself. I opened the toy box and took out the gag and both breast pumps. Siobhan was right. Now that Schwartz was going to have a kid, I wanted one too, but I did not have a guy handy. Maybe that Jason kid would do it. I would ask CC. She would know.

I fell asleep to thoughts of holding CC and suction on my breasts.

Siobhan:

I dropped Francine off at her small apartment. Knowing Francine as I was coming to, she likely owned the whole building, possibly the whole block. Then we went a few blocks to Walgreen's. There was something in Christine's face when we stopped there, but she shook off an inquiry. I went inside and bought a bottle of aloe gel and some Neosporin.

As I waited in line for checkout, I focused on getting my balance right. As I stood there, someone asked if I had used too much force with the flogger. I took as deep a breath as the corset would allow, then turned to the worm. I let my feelings show in my face. A round faced black guy turned rather gray. My mind thought, this is what shock looks like on black skin. I actually said, "Cat of nine tails. God only knows how, but Mistress did not break skin. For you, she might make an exception." I only thought he was gray. Wow.

"Mistress." I did not know who was speaking. It turned out to be the checkout clerk. Her name tag said Mary. Damn. Submissives were coming out of the woodwork. I did my famous top down inspection. Mary stood still for it, though she blushed furiously. The girl had potential, but I did not have time. Instead I merely paid for my items and motioned to the black guy that his mouth was open.

As I was leaving, I leaned over the counter and said quietly, "Maria, I find your attitude suitable, but I am just in town for a wedding. Keep looking and you will find the right Dom for you. Just find someone you trust before you raise the subject."

Maria smiled, "That's what He said." Oh my God. I asked, "Was he about so tall, dark curly hair, dimple like mine?" Maria nodded. I continued, "You have good taste. That's my brother. He's the one getting married. As it happens, he is marrying the Mistress. I can get you into the wedding if you want." Maria nodded, glassy eyed.

I pulled out a card and underlined my email. I told Maria to send me an email and get Saturday afternoon off. When I mentioned the time, Maria's eyes got even bigger. Shit on crackers. Just how famous was this wedding already?

On my way out, it occurred to me that it was easier to stand straight when I thought of my self in a dominant role. That made sense and I could use it. Right then, I was my own Mistress and I was in posture training. I formed an image of myself, standing straight in a power suit. I kept it firmly in mind as I walked out the door. When I reached the car, Christine was smiling. She even spoke. "Strong." It was quite a speech.

The trip home was longer than I remembered. Sometimes I forgot that we actually lived out in the county. As we neared the gate, I started to wonder about how to open it, only to find it sliding aside as we approached. Gerald must have installed the GPS in Sheila's car. In the garage I handed off the keys and asked for help with the packages. No one said a word, but both Christine and I were getting a lot of looks.

Once in the house, I stopped in the kitchen for water and at the mail drop for my letter mail. I handed some water to Christine, who drank the entire bottle. On the way I pointed out where the packages could be dropped and sorted through the day's mail. Nothing interesting yet. Then I took Christine to the bathroom and used it myself. Finally, we were in the room I use when I am in town.

Technically, it was a guest room. "My" room is in the old house. It had no air conditioning, which was a serious drawback in my opinion. I quit using it the moment mother moved out, which was nine years before. As with many issues of my teen years, I would probably want to revisit it. If nothing else, Christine would like it.

That brought me back to Christine. I told her to strip naked and and lay on the bed, ankles to each end and ass to the middle of the room. That made Christine smile. It occurred to me that I would probably never understand how her mind worked. As she complied, I went to fetch my laptop. I was going to rub aloe and disinfectant cream into Christine's welts, then we needed to talk.

The damage was just as serious as I feared. The first several blows had left marks, but they were already fading. I rubbed some hand cream into those. The more serious areas were another story. I poured some aloe on the back of Christine's knees. She sighed. That alone told me that she was not in submissive mode. Christine's whole body seemed to lose tension.

Sean is the family expert on massage, but I an not entirely ignorant. Christine was feeling very comfortable, in spite of the serious bruising and her exposed posture. It was quite flattering when I thought of it. Christine trusted me. It gave me an insight into Christine's special relationship with Sheila. Reciprocal trust is a powerful binding agent. In turn I thought of the level of trust Sheila had offered to me. I really would have married her if Sean had not gotten to her first.

For the moment, I had Sheila's shadow to deal with and I had not reached the serious damage. I just squirted a gob at the division of her glutes and spread it around. Damn, these were bad. The skin had not parted, thank goodness, but everything short of that had happened. It was good that Christine was not wearing panties, because blood had seeped through the skin. The panties would have stuck.

As it was, the butt plug had protected a great deal, so Christine would at least be able to shit and wipe normally. That was no coincidence. Sheila had been knocking two birds with one stone. The protection did not extend to the ass cheeks, where the bruising would be nasty. I had not even gotten to her labia. That would require cleaning.

I went to the bathroom and returned with a wet wash cloth. As gently as I could, I brushed away the crusted blood and smoothed Neosporin onto the seeping tissue. Ye Gods. Aloe followed the disinfectant. Christine never uttered a sound. Nor would I.

Instead, I tossed a pillow onto the floor and told her to get comfortable. Christine needed a desk of some sort, so I pulled a box out of the closet. God only knows what was in it. I set her laptop on the box, then went to the table and opened my own. Only then did I ask the obvious.

DocRichards: How are you feeling. I have done what little I can. If necessary I can get a medical doctor, but I doubt he could do anything but ease the pain.

TrulyCC: Thank you, but I am fine as I am. It is a small enough price to pay. Mistress has already given me far more.

TrulyCC: Mistress trusts you, you know. You should be flattered. It is a very short list.

Now that it was out there, I was flattered. Earning the trust of some one like Sheila was no small thing. Speaking of no small thing...

DocRichards: You should know that Francine and I am humbled before your gift. We have only material things. Much of what we could give, Sheila would refuse. Yours is the true gift.

At that Christine turned completely red. She blushed throughout the entire anatomy. I know, because I could see it all. I had to say something.

DocRichards: Do not be embarrassed. I am only saying that Francine and I understand the true depth of your gift. I think it is important that you know that.

DocRichards: Sheila also knows, or she would never have accepted it.

DocRichards: You are worthy of your Mistress.

That did it. Christine finally broke down and cried. I motioned for her to come to me. She jumped out of her kneeling stance and smothered me with a hug. Hugs are one thing I am good at. I held her til the sobbing stopped.

Eventually I had to break us apart. I shut down both laptops and turned off the light. I slept spooned around a girl I barely knew, yet understood profoundly. It was a good night.

Chapter 17--The Calm

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

They call Wednesday "Hump Day." Mom remembers it as a transition day. Dad calls it "The Amish Invasion." Aunt Jo says it was the first day she thought of what she would do after school. I have trouble believing that one. Aunt Francine flew to California—and back.

Sean:

It was bound to happen. I should have anticipated it in more depth. I distinctly remembered telling Sheila that she would be famous in her own name, but that was all I did. Blessed Jesus, I had no idea what was coming.

Wednesday morning dawned with another case of lips on my cock. While I could get used to this, I already had a foreboding. Earlier, my foreboding had to do with the wedding. I anticipated a big turnout. That concern had been adequately addressed. That morning I had a different premonition. As I said, I have learned to listen to my feelings.

So, hard as it was, I stopped Sheila in the middle of a blow job and warned her that the proverbial shit was about to hit the fan. To Sheila's credit, she accepted this as Gospel. Thank God. Lord only knows where we would have wound up otherwise.  

Sheila and I adjourned to the shower. I shampooed her hair and told her about my gut and its feelings. Once I was finished, Sheila turned to me, thanked me, kissed me soundly, then left me alone in the shower. At the time, I was a bit put out. Now I am extremely grateful. I listened to my gut. Sheila acted.

In hindsight, it is all obvious. My catalog went out bearing both the names Mistress Cynthia and Sheila Schwartz. If anyone wanted to look for both, there was a chance that person would look for either. If you looked for Sheila Schwartz, you would get a twelve year old review of her Lincoln Center performance and our wedding announcement. Guess which the normal misfit would follow up.

To be sure, not all the attention was unwelcome. It is rather flattering if a bridal magazine wants to cover your wedding or if a major film company wants a new look at some old film. However, there were a lot of people that focused on Mistress Cynthia. That kind of attention Sheila could do without.

Regardless of all that, Wednesday morning started rather tamely, sans fiancée. I showered, had my usual breakfast and went to the office completely unaware of what was coming. The morning was consumed with the first reactions to our catalog, which were not unexpected. Nothing really hit my radar til Helen bounced me a query from Columbia Pictures. Even that I did not consider a problem. Instead, I had Legal set up a division of Digital Arts, so that I could make Sheila the VP in charge.

Of all my quick reactions that year, that one turned out the best.

Sheila:

I woke with a sick feeling. That did not stop me from sucking on Sean's prick, but I was not enjoying it. When Sean related similar fears, I was out of there like a shot. Only later did I think of how I left him half staff. I resolved to make things up to him later.

My first reaction was that I had overreacted. I had Gerald start tracking my names: real and assumed. All that had turned up so far was a TV spot from Francine's restaurant and a rather nice write up on a bondage blog. If I ever met davidspet, she would get a free session. I rather envied David, until I thought of what Christine had done for me. My submissive trumped his every time.

So, it was with a feeling of unease that I went to inspect the preparations. To say I was stunned diminishes the point. Various people had taken my half baked ideas and run with them. My quiet ball for 50 had been expanded into a full scale carnival for several hundred—complete with jugglers and clowns. Even that did not cover things. I was told of an expected army, excuse the expression, of Amish, to be arriving later that day. Almost the only thing left was my idea of using a floating altar.

Naturally, I emailed Helen. One does not call Helen and expect a response. Her response to my emails was that the local paper had caught wind of the preparations and wanted an interview. Rather than that, I told Helen to refer them to the catering staff. Helen agreed, but told me not to expect them to be satisfied. I told her that Justin was covering the ceremony and that he could supply them with all the pictures they wanted. Helen thought that might go over a bit better.

That done, I was able to focus on what had been done to the various rooms of the house. That was where I met Siobhan and Christine. Siobhan immediately apologized for not expanding Christine's abilities in the area of cunnilingus. I waved that aside, wanting a report from Christine. I swear to G_d, Christine gave me a thumbs up.

That made me look at Siobhan, who leaned forward. "I wiped off the dried blood and applied aloe and disinfectant. How in hell did you not break the skin?" That was enough for me. Siobhan and I embraced. Then she said, "I told her she was worthy of you. Until I said that, she would not cry." I wanted to cry at that, but it was the wrong time.

Instead, I pulled out my phone and called Gerald. "Good morning. How has your morning been so far."

Phone: Ma'am, I have seen worse days, but there are clouds on the horizon. Uh oh.

"Gerald, I hope this is not too far below your pay grade, but I want you to organize a cleanup party for my studio. They will need a lot of garment boxes. I will send CC along to keep an eye on things. Do not use more than two of your people. Take a crew of Sean's temps instead. Just have them box things and bring them here. I refer you to Spider Robinson for methodology. Clear?"

Phone: Ma'am, I would feel better if I could control the people involved a little more closely.

"Fine. One moment." I turned to Siobhan. "Pick out two of your people. I want to send them to my studio to pack up the costumes." Back to Gerald, "I am asking Siobhan to choose two of her grad students. With two of your people and Christine, that ought to be enough. Go ahead and pack up the lockers while you are at it. We need that area rendered harmless, or close to it. Clear?"

Phone: Two of mine, two of Miss Jo's and Christine. Empty the lockers and the wardrobe. Return contents to base, packed for storage. Mission understood. Hooyah.

I handed the phone to Siobhan. She said, "Gerald, you are such a softy." I swear I could hear him blushing. Siobhan told him who to pick up and where to go for the boxes. It was all very businesslike, except for the smile twitching at Siobhan's face. I held hold firmly to my interior yente. Either Siobhan and Gerald did, or they did not. I would do nothing more than put them in the same room occasionally.

Or Ballroom. Siobhan would be wearing a tux to the wedding, but we could get her a formal for the dance. Like Sean, she had a ruddy Irish complexion. Lavender would suit her well and it would contrast nicely with Army dress greens. It gave me something to think about while other people worked.

More to the moment, I had Christine to consider. I gave her a long overdue hug. I reminded her that we had a session scheduled with Jason and Richard. Then, I brought her up to date on what I needed done with the costumes and props. Christine merely nodded, as if it were the most natural request in the world. Perhaps to her it was. After Siobhan got off my phone, she went in search of her grad students while Christine and I headed for the studio.

I did not hear about my new role as Vice President for several hours.

Francine:

I hate waking up alone. I have been relentlessly single for well over a decade. Had I wished, there were several marriage offers and other relationships that might have resulted in one. None were what I wanted. However, I still missed waking up next to a warm body.

That morning I dragged myself out of bed before 10 AM and went to the Waffle House to get a small refuel. There were a couple of fans, but I do not attract them like I used to. I thought about Sheila, her change in life and her soon to be expected baby. I realized that I had passed a crossroads and had not realized it. I sighed a little. The days of Francine Martel, Broadway Diva, ended with nothing more than that.

Instead, the days of Francine Martel, producer and mogul began. I toasted the event with coffee. The man at the next table saw the gesture and toasted back. It was an omen if I wanted one. My first act was to see about office space near Broadway. That would take days, but I started the ball rolling. The second was to start assembling a staff. That would take even longer. I started making a list of people that already worked for me in some capacity. I would choose a manager. He/she could do the hiring.

While I was eating, I had a call back on my business line. One of my Hollywood contacts wanted more details on what Sheila did. I knew talent would find an out. Then I checked the time: 9:43 AM. That was 6:43 AM in California. He was up early, or had been up all night. Either way, he was a motivated potential client.




K&T, LLC Ch. 06



I told him that I would pass along his name, but warned him that Sheila's book was already full. That was expected. Even if she had not had a client all year, Hollywood people would expect her to claim a full schedule. So, I reinforced it. I told him that she had just wrapped a big project and was taking a week to relocate the business. That was only the truth.

Unfortunately, he was very motivated. So, I told him that we were both involved in a local wedding, someone I had dated in high school. I would sneak his name in, but that she was seriously booked for the next ten days. To make him work for it, I told him to send three high resolution images and some idea what he wanted. I warned him that I called in my favors. Anything I wanted was good. He was as bad as CC in that regard.

Once I finally got him off the phone, I called Sean's battleaxe secretary. I told her that I was already getting inquiries about Sheila in the context of photo editing. Helen agreed to raise the issue with Sean. In the mean time she gave me real and virtual addresses where things could be forwarded.

It occurred to me that I might need a permanent office somewhere. I had at least five offices already, but they were really just mail dumps. If I was going to get serious about the production side, I needed an office with live people in it. It would give me something to do while I waited for Sheila's bash. I was at arm's length and I could tell it was shaping into a memorable party. Blessed Mary only knew what was going on under the roof.

Back to the job at hand. I needed an office. That raised the question of where. California was easier. I called the LA office of JP Productions and left a message that I would be needing an actual desk and secretary. Out west, residential property would be the hard part. No one would be open yet, but websites are 24/7. Knowing asking prices gives you an idea of where to make your counter offer. Somewhere in the there I sent still more money Captain Kirk's way. It had really pissed me off when I learned that Shatner was worth more than I was, but I still used his site.

Damn it Schwartz, you have me putting down roots.

Sean:

The night before, seeing Sheila get out of the car had filled me with conflicting emotions. I was elated to see her, but pissed as hell about the way she looked. I had close to carried her to her apartment the week before, twice, and she looked like more of the same. Then she saw me and life was worth living again. I had barely started to ask a question before she shook me off. I looked hard at Russell. He also shook his head.

In the morning, I went down to get the real scoop. I would probably never get the full story, though Bing found me a nice blog write up of the event. Armed with that, I asked Russell what he could tell me. It was not much.

The women went into a surf and turf restaurant, sending him a nice dinner. After they had eaten, they walked across the parking lot to a club. Only an hour later, a flood of people came out of the club. All were either in animated discussions or texting. That had to be where the blog fit in. Shortly thereafter, Jo came out and directed him to a side entrance. Sheila and CC came out, wearing slippers and robes.

Jo and Francine had a showdown over who would do what. That was something I would pay money to watch. Eventually, they moved some boxes out of the car, so that the seat would slide all the way back. Sheila rode in the seat. CC knelt on the floor at her feet. That was symbolic enough. Then, Russell related the story of the ice cream stop.

When Sheila had thrown control to the winds, she had wanted ice cream. Given her dietary habits, it had to have special significance. Maybe it was because of her dietary habits. Since Sheila was not wearing her foundation, it probably symbolized letting go. Come to think of it, Sheila had not been wearing her foundation when I took her the week before. Oh damn.

What Russell said next calmed me considerably. After they had left the ice cream place, CC had put her hand on Sheila's belly. That could be a reference to the lack of corset or the expected baby, probably both. Sheila had told CC that she, CC, would be her support.

I called Gerald. "Gerald. Sean. Russell has been bringing me up to speed about the drive home. You know the undergarment that Sheila dotes on. Russell tells me that CC will taking its metaphorical place when she has a baby. I think we need to move CC's permanent room up the priority list."

Phone: Good morning to you too. Has Russell told you about the smell? Oh shit. I had a feeling I knew what sort of smell was involved. Sheila is a performer and CC is an exhibitionist.

"You are saying that Russell should be commended for his ability to focus on driving under extreme circumstances. Noted. If I hear a word of it from anyone not currently on site, he and you will both be unemployed. Now, don't you have some Class A's to get dry cleaned?" Russell suddenly looked very sick. Gerald's reaction was different.

Phone: Boss, you need to spend time with your fiancée. Her touch is much better.

"Just remember, Francine Martel will be showing Jo how to dance. Focus Gerald."

Phone: Sir, yes Sir. Gerald was right. I can hold my own at verbal dueling. Sheila buries people before the bout gets started. God, I loved that woman. It was too bad she was engaged, heh, heh.

George drove me to work in the Mercedes. For a while, I did not notice the scent. Then, I had trouble ignoring it. Just how often had Sheila come? When I left the car, I told George not to do anything about the odor. It was something of Sheila's and I treasured it.

As had been the case for several days, I was late arriving at work. I was the boss, so I liked to set a good example, but there were limits. If it became an issue, Helen would tell me. As it was, I suspect that most of my people thought I had good priorities. As a practical matter, business had been slow enough to let me slide.

That was changing. Reactions were starting to roll in on several fronts. The easiest to deal with was the University Chancellor, who was gloating about his new e-book. The measured photographs were evidently well received by the academic community. He wanted to discuss a printed edition. I referred him to Curtis, but it started me thinking about Sheila and her "other" skill.

Much of what Sheila did was dictated by her circumstances. Granted, she had the temperament for it, but she was not a dominatrix at heart. When the time came, I could tell that she would be walk away from her studio, with hardly a glance back. Either Jo or I would be better suited for the full time role of Mistress/Master. What Sheila had done on the side, was who she really was. An idea started perking in my head.

After the early call from the Chancellor, I spent most of the morning dealing with the catalog. In a sense, I had been doing so for weeks, but the after publication issues had a very different feel. Mostly, I was getting congratulations, direct or implied, from people that had seen the pictures. I was able to refer 90% of them to Justin Immons. That left a handful that knew or had investigated Justin's work. They needed a different answer.

It came to a head when Columbia Pictures called. It was Ivan Nevski. I did not know the name, but Helen did her magic and a bio popped up as we were doing introductions. One does not brush off one of the top camera people of a major media company. Instead I hemmed and hawed a bit, til Mr. Nevski began to show genuine impatience. Then I fed him a story and hoped for the best.

I told him that Sheila was not yet officially part of the company. We were creating a new Digital Arts division, which Sheila would head. However, there was a complication—Sheila was engaged to be married. She had done the catalog between other projects, on a contract basis. Because of the wedding, Sheila would not be available for any serious work for a couple of weeks. This was why there had been no roll out and press blitz.

Every word I said could be proven in court. The facts may have been arranged in a manner convenient to misunderstanding, but they were still facts. Mr. Nevski recognized the need to walk softly, which I appreciated. The conversation took half an hour, but it ended with me giving him an email address and the promise that Sheila would look at his proposal. By the time I did so, the email was valid.

That done, I called Curtis and told him of Sheila's new status. When his protests were halfhearted, I asked why. Curtis told me he had been working up a position for over a week. He could have papers on my desk that afternoon. I called Emily Lucann. Same song, different verse. Sheila could have an office with three staffers by Monday. I asked Helen if she had expected Sheila to come aboard as a VP. She replied that she had not expected a VP, from the start, but... Sometimes this job makes me feel stupid.

I told Helen to call an emergency meeting of the Board. Since it was business hours, most of the board were at work. Our bylaws permitted a meeting by conference call, provided two thirds of the members were attending. Helen had a quorum rounded up in fifteen minutes.

The meeting was simple. I proposed that Richard's Enterprises create a new division, to be called Digital Arts. This head of division was to be titled Vice President and report directly to the Board—salary at minimum for the level, with bonuses based on billings. The first Vice President was to be Sheila Schwartz. I then informed the Board that Sheila was my fiancée and recused myself from the discussion.

The discussion was minimal. Everyone knew the story behind the catalog. I was not the only one getting positive feedback. Darrel Chase in Auctions and Angela Weeden in Promotions had been gushing all morning, to anyone that would listen. Also, I had done this once before, when I presented Curtis as new Corporate Council. That had worked out well, so I had some goodwill. After about five minutes Curtis called the question. Of the eight members present, seven were in favor and I abstained from voting.

Everything would have to be ratified at the next scheduled meeting, but I officially had a new VP in house, pun intended. By the time the conference call broke up, Helen had a press release waiting for my approval and a placeholder in the corporate website. The crowning touch was the box of business cards she had delivered. There are reasons I like my battleaxe of a secretary.

Next, I needed to tell Sheila that she had a fourth job.

Siobhan:

Christine woke me early. I suspected it was Sheila's usual time. I groaned and pulled myself erect. Christine looked at me expectantly, so I mimed the keyboard. In return, Christine mimed pumping iron. I groaned louder, then dug in bags for some sweats. Only then did I realize that Christine had no clean clothes, unless I counted the fancy ones from yesterday. The workout suit she had worn home would do for a while, but something needed to be done.

Before we left the room, Christine held up the posture trainer. My own mother had never been this much of a nag. I resolved not to gripe. If nothing else, Christine was only reminding me of my own resolutions. I pulled off my top and let her help me put the damned thing on. It was just as uncomfortable as I expected.

We went to the small gym up the hall. Sean tends to treat it as his personal space, but I never asked for a share. God knows I bitched about enough other things. Still, the big gym is a long walk and no one was in the room. Christine went straight to the pad and started stretching. I lowered myself to the pad and tried to mirror her. In fifteen minutes I was sore all over and sweating heavily. I never knew stretching was work.

After the workout, we showered. I called for Sheila's location and found she was checking out progress in the old house. I wanted to see that myself. On the way I told Christine that our house had its own version of a rabbit hole. She was properly appreciative. We found Sheila in the Ballroom, where she was getting a reprise of the previous day's work. I nodded to the brothers Gilbert. They suddenly had something else to do.

Sheila was just as smooth and gracious as always, but something was off. She collected Christine and told me her schedule. Her first stop would be for a job interview. She had a young man that might be trained as her replacement. The way Sheila said replacement told me that she wanted to never go back to sessions on a schedule. I felt exactly the same way about teaching undergrads.

When the interview was complete, she would leave CC to help close up the shop. I was contributing Jasper and Joleen to that project, partly because they had shown the least interest in the projects at the house and partly because they had gotten really smashed on the way back from the airport. As a rich brat myself, I felt the lack of self control was inexcusable.

I warned Sheila that she was getting potential trouble. It earned me the first smile of the morning. Gerald was delegating Russell as part of the project. Russell was Sheila's semi-official driver because he was, among other skills, an unarmed combat trainer. I did not recognize the other name, but he had Drill Instructor experience and was being considered for additional responsibility. Gerald would not look kindly on problems.

The more I thought about it, the more I recognized that this had Gerald's fingerprints all over it. Sheila was providing a submissive and two unruly rich kids. Gerald was supplying the needed stiffening. Sheila had expected nothing less. It told me something that I would not have figured out for myself. Damn she was good. So was Gerald. Admitting that galled me less than I expected.

Somehow Sheila read that I was thinking about Gerald. She said, "He already conceded our bet." That hit me like ice water. I would have to dance with Gerald at the Reception Ball. Sheila was not finished. "You already know everything you need. Herr Gruber was good for that much. Francine and I will only need to brush you up."

Look up "ambivalent" in your dictionary. My picture might be next to the definition. Ye Gods, where should I begin? Instead I changed the subject. I rummaged through my wallet and pulled out Lars Gunter's card. I said, "I would like to invite someone to your wedding." I was mistaken before. This was Sheila's first smile of the morning.

I asked her, "What's up? You look like Linus without his blanket." Sheila looked embarrassed and CC looked annoyed. While I was trying to wrap my head around the concept that CC thought I was being dense, she patted my stomach. This reminded me of the corset that CC had just finished tying. Oh my God. Sheila did not have her corset. She really was without her security blanket.

I nodded to CC, then said to Sheila, "I stand, rebuked. Changes are always difficult. You have to deal with some big ones." I stopped to catalog a few, starting with my own home. Gods, I had never adjusted to it, just reached a ceasefire. That day, Sheila was going to close up her studio. She and Sean had just started a new business. There was a wedding to oversee. Then there was Sean himself. Sheila did not need me adding to her worries.

Before I could say anything, Sheila flowed into my arms for a family hug. The Richards have many faults, but we give #1 hugs. CC had said that Sheila trusted me. I was holding a demonstration of the fact—while CC was smiling her approval. Normally, the approval of others meant little to me, but I was beginning to appreciate CC's loyalty—and her perspicacity. Her approval mattered, which left me a dilemma.

I grabbed the left horn. "Damn it, do not start crying. We will both be stuck here for half an hour, if you do. You know how much I hate acting like a girl, so suck it up and get to work. I expect to see you back here by one o'clock. How do you expect to have a decent wedding if you never show any interest in the preparations?" Once again, CC grinned her approval. She may be easy to ignore, but CC does not miss much.

Sheila broke the hug and dabbed her eyes, looking somewhat abashed. I would have thought that no one would dare speak to her like that, except she was about to marry my brother. Sean would have delivered the same pep talk almost word for word. No wonder Sheila liked me. I was familiar in a strange environment.

Before I could go all Doctor Richards, Sheila pulled a new persona out of her bag. I mentally dubbed it Bosslady. Elements of Cynthia were clearly present, but the bearing was quite different. This one was exacting and demanding, like Cynthia, but also attuned to style and decorum. It was a public face. Come to that, so was Doctor Richards. We exchanged glances of recognition, then parted.

It was time to turn Doctor Richards loose on my unsuspecting grad students.

Sean:

Life was less interesting before Sheila. Like many things, that cut both ways. Business matters can become dull, but they have a certain predictability. I truly had no idea what to expect when I met the Amish. The only thing I was sure to need was someone to speak to the woman. Accordingly, I text Jo that I was on the way to the house to pick up Evaine.

Of all the remaining grad students, Evaine was the most familiar. She had been the first student I had been introduced to and one of the two that had ridden back from the airport with us. Jo told me that Evaine was studying the Amish culture for her thesis. That made her my best option as a liaison to the Amish women. I did not need Sheila to remind me that wives could sink a project as efficiently as a government.

George pulled us into the garage shortly after 1:00 PM. Talking to one of my mechanics was a woman I did not recognize, until she turned around. Holy shit. My sister Jo has always been tall. Standing straight and wearing heels, she towered. More than that, she oozed authority. Next to her, Evaine looked as compliant as CC, which would be helpful if she kept it up.

I climbed out of the car and hugged my sister. It was strange having a sister that was three inches taller, but I could sense the same old troublemaker inside. I hugged her like this was our first meeting, because it was, in a way. Siobhan thought so too. For about the thousandth time, I tipped my mental hat to Sheila. Jo was my kid sister. Siobhan was my sister the Doctor.

I must have said her name under my breath. Jo could always read me when she was younger. It had taken me years to figure out that she was reading my lips. Whatever the source, her first comment read my mind. "Not you too. Even Francine occasionally uses my real name. CC would if she ever said anything. Speaking of which, have you been chewed out without a word being spoken?" I thought of then Major Harrison and a certain unexploded artillery round. Ouch.

Jo read my mind. Suddenly she was my kid sister again—the one that I could tell anything and trust that no one else would ever hear. "Damn, it's good to have you home. I hope you can stay a while this time." Jo nodded. Then she did a Sheila and turned into someone extremely professional. I took note. At the same time, it occurred to me that Sheila was not the only one that donned roles like armor.

Siobhan reintroduced me to Evaine. I discovered that her last name was Schaeffelker, which would play well with the Amish, even though Evaine plainly hated it. Trust me kid, common names have their own drawbacks. I asked her if she was clear on her role from this point forward. Miss Schaeffelker calmly recited several points, but omitted the part about being my public face among half the Amish community. I cocked an eye at Siobhan, who nodded to accept the baton.




K&T, LLC Ch. 06



She said, "Evaine, look at it this way. You are a missionary to the silent half of the Amish community. Don't study them for your dissertation. Become part of their community for three days. We want you so far inside, that Sean needs to deal with marriage proposals next week." My sister always had a way with words.

Evaine was too shocked to say anything, but I knew her look. I had seen it before on young officers and executives. The ones that looked scared would always need supervision. The ones that looked scared, but determined, would learn to handle independent authority. Evaine Schaeffelker was from the second group. I nodded approval to Siobhan.

On the way to the train station, Evaine removed all her makeup. Then, she worked her hair back. I was able to help with that. There was a toiletry kit in the car, in case Sheila ever needed it. I pulled it out and provided some hair pins and a comb. There was no scarf, but that was a two minute stop at the dollar store.

When she came out, Evaine looked almost plain enough to be taken as Amish. Plain is a compliment in this context. I told her that she should remember her place. She was there to report and inform, not go native. Evaine pulled out a sketch pad and some pencils. She would do.

When we emerged from the car, I waited for a moment to let Evaine put on her game face. I said nothing, but Evaine seemed to understand. She was an Ivy League graduate student, so she had to be intelligent. What I needed was at least the appearance of humble, which she gave me. I nodded and turned to go to the terminal. Evaine stayed a pace behind and to my right.

We did not have long to wait. Elder Neufeld greeted me as we neared the office. I was not sure of the proper greeting, but he extended a hand. It is always nice to deal with professionals. He indicated that the train had arrived, but that the extra cars would need to be uncoupled. I asked if I could accept a coffee or tea. He accepted, then his eyes flicked to Evaine.

We found some vending machines and I fed them money. In addition to our choices, I purchased tea and peanut butter crackers for Evaine. I set these on a table beside the one I had indicated for Elder Neufeld. This earned me a crinkling of the eyes. I had chosen the right music for the dance.

We discussed several things while we drank our coffee and ate our honey buns. Evaine quietly spread a napkin on the table and ate her snack in silence. As we rose to leave, I mentioned that it might be wise to have the Amish senior wives come forward. Again, Elder Neufeld's eyes flicked to Evaine.

Suddenly, his face almost cracked into a grin. "For an English, you are not so stupid." I know a profound compliment when I hear one. I replied, "You have not met my sister. She will be seeing to the preparations. Imposing, she is." Elder Neufeld laughed harder at that. I gave Evaine a thumbs up behind his back. Evaine looked down demurely, but seemed quite pleased.

As we walked to the Freight office, I told Elder Neufeld of the unused rooms in the old house. I had asked George to tell him that some rooms were available, but had not been cleaned in many years. Nor were they air conditioned, though the Amish would be used to that. On the plus side, there was some fine old furniture that they could use.

Elder Neufeld was quite amused. He promised that they would be inspected for suitability. It made me wonder who would have the last laugh. Great-Grandmother Sparks was famous for her taste. She had furnished the main bedrooms. The servants quarters had even older furnishings. Many of them would have predated the Civil War. There were probably pieces that predated the Declaration of Independence.

In any event, he was waving to a blocky man with a square cut beard. This was his cousin, Elder Josiah Neufeld. They greeted each other very warmly. My Elder Neufeld was about the same age and named Isaiah. I had a sneaking suspicion the two of them had played many practical jokes based on the similarity of names. I asked, "If I call 'Siah Neufeld, which of you will answer? Both, or neither?"

Josiah Neufeld eyed me suspiciously, while Isaiah did a poker face. I pressed my luck. "Did your Grossmutter Neufeld ever take away your peach cobbler, because the tree had run out of switch branches?" Isaiah was turning beet red, trying to keep a straight face. Josiah Neufeld stared at me with an open mouth. When he started to laugh, it was like a donkey braying. The entire Amish contingent stopped to stare. Isaiah said, "For an English, he is not so stupid." I remembered my embarrassment with the railroad's Howard Fitzpatrick, which made it easy to be humble.

Now that the ice was broken, things went smoothly. I was greeted by several other Neufelds, a couple of Lapps and several Yoders. The Yoders were the woodworkers in the group. They were eager to see the yacht. Once that was done, I caught Isaiah's eye, then flicked a look at Evaine, who was off to one side, drawing on her sketch pad. He nodded understanding. Shortly two mismatched women came forward.

These were Mother Neufeld, the Elder's wife, and Mother Lapp. I nodded to them then turned to Evaine. However, I addressed Elder Josiah. "I present Evaine Schaeffelker. Meine Schwagerin, Sheila Schwartz, and my sister, Siobhan, are not plain. Miss Schaeffelker will act as their voice. If this is acceptable, she will accompany you now."

I may have been addressing Elder Neufeld, but I watched his wife. It took only a heartbeat for me to breath easier. Mother Neufeld looked to Mother Lapp, who shrugged. Mother Neufeld gestured impatiently to Evaine, who scuttled over. That was that. I gestured to the two elders and we all followed the ladies. Two hours later the buggies started to arrive at the house.

Ninety minutes after that, Gerald informed me that we were on NBC.

Chapter 18--It Only Takes a Spark

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

Mom says she gets her distaste for press from that week. Dad says she was born that way. I lean more to Dad's point of view. Mom is unfailingly polite—to a fault sometimes. The press rarely is. I suppose it was a blessing to have Aunt Francine out of the picture for a day. God knows she made up for it later

Wednesday 6:27 PM—NBC Nightly News

This is a scene very familiar to certain parts of Pennsylvania. A dozen horse drawn buggies going down the road. However, this is not Pennsylvania. It's central New Jersey. These Amish people have been hired to shuttle guests to a wedding. A parking area has been reserved, so that the guests can leave their cars and proceed in a horse drawn buggy.

This is one of the invitations. Local businessman C. Sean Richards is marrying fitness trainer Sheila Schwartz. As you can see, there will be a Reception Ball. Dress for the Ball is circa 1910. Rumors around town hint at preparations similar to a circus.

It sounds like quite an event, even if the cabby is carrying a horse whip.