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Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 01

By: pocketrocket



Author's note: This story recently received 1st place in the Clitoride Awards for BDSM. If you voted, thanks for your support.

If you have not read it, this is a romance in the sense of 50 Shades of Grey. One of the nicest comments I get is that it shows BDSM participants with real lives.

My thanks on the editing to clairegerm, who likes it vanilla.

*

Prologue: 25th Anniversary 20_6

Cindy:

"I would like to make a toast, to my parents." [giggles] "This is almost like my valedictorian speech: 'I would like to thank Principal Rogers, Mrs. Cotting, Mr. Wright, the list is too long to manage. Yatta Yatta.' All the teachers and councilors contributed something.

But, I wanted to talk about my parents: Sheila and Sean Richards. They are the ones that taught me that perfect is barely good enough, that nothing substitutes for work, and that while dreams are important, they need to change as we change. Most of all, they taught me that to protect and serve is the highest calling. Their marriage is an example.

Many people think that it was love at first sight for my parents. That may be because both were older when they met, if 30-something is older; Mom was 28. I think it is just that they were engaged before most people knew they were seeing each other.

As you may know, Mom had a bit of a name as a fitness instructor. A business associate of Dad's introduced him to Mom, as a possible client for her.

Chapter 1 -- First Positions

Sean:

It was a lunch date for business. I was meeting Chuck, a.k.a. Charles, Blanding at Cianfrani's. All that I needed were some approvals and a signature, which could have been done by messenger. Chuck had insisted on getting together for lunch. Considering with whom I was meeting, I should have expected something. I may be a bit gullible. However, not that many people are willing to try me, so it may have been complacency. Chuck always did have more balls than brains.

After the soup had been served, an attractive woman stopped by the table and greeted Chuck. I could see him nod in my direction. She turned to me and introduced herself as Cynthia, giving no last name. She was moderately tall, brown hair and dark eyes. The hair was done up with an attractive black comb. Her makeup was subtle and sufficiently understated that one had to look closely to see it. She had pearl studs and a simple pearl necklace as her only jewelry. No watch, which was interesting, though these days many people use their phones for that purpose. The suit was brown worsted wool, cut below the knee, and accurately tailored. The top was cream colored, and appeared to be linen. The heels were a shade or two lighter than the suit, and of a practical height. In short, she was every inch the understated professional that Chuck was not.

We shook hands and she offered me her card: "Cynthia" in 16 point Arial bold, and "Executive Performance Training" in 12 point standard. The card was like her tailoring, simple, clean, elegant without frills. Intriguing. The address on the card was not close to my business, but also not far, about 10 minutes away. I accepted the card, thanked her and she went to be seated.

Chuck was desperately trying to look unconcerned. I decided to let him have his joke. I asked, "What kind of training?"

He thought for a moment, "Mostly in the area of focus and concentration. It's amazing how she can get you to remember the slightest little detail."

At that Chuck looked decidedly pleased with himself, so I let it drop. He gave me the signature I needed, which was the point of the lunch after all. It wasn't till late that afternoon that I wondered what he could have considered amusing. I dialed the number on the card and made an appointment.

Sheila:

It was a lunch date for business. Charles promised to introduce me to a potential client. Considering with whom I was meeting, I should have expected something. I must be a bit gullible. Besides, not that many people are willing to try me. Charles always did leap before he looked.

I arrived just as they were receiving soup and salad. The soup was an aromatic butternut, which looked perfect. I would have to try some later. I looked over G. Sean Richards. About 40, middle tall, fair, dark haired, blue eyes. Not handsome, but dignified, self-assured. Charles suggested that he might be a candidate for my clientele. I had my doubts. Mr. Richards was almost everything Charles was not—confident, controlled, professional. Charles had his own virtues, but it was clear that Mr. Richards was only there for business, not for Charles' company.

Still, business is business, so I introduced myself and left a card. I gave it only a one in three chance, which was a pity. Mr. Richards came across as someone I would like to meet. His eyes did not seem to miss any detail, so I was glad my grooming was beyond reproach. In a way it was odd. I already thought of him as Mr. Richards. Charles had always been Charles.

Well, the bait was in the water. Time would tell. At least the soup looked promising. Cianfrani's soup and salad lunches are a staple for the business community. Over the last ten years, I had closed many deals there. Mentally toasting Mr. Richards, I wished for one more.

Mr. Richards' call came in just before closing. Normally, I prefer to do introductory things early, before the regular clients start to populate the changing area. It is easier to make a good impression in their absence. Mr. Richards, however, received the last slot on Tuesday. I do not know why. Perhaps I wanted extra time if I needed it, as though I already knew that this client would be different.

Sean:

The appointment was for 4:00 PM, so I closed early and drove over. The building was a converted warehouse, the front half of which was a franchise of a well known gym chain: XTreme Fitness. The address was on a side street, next to two apparently empty offices. Opening the door, I found a small, and rather sterile, waiting area. As I intended, I was precisely on time. It was a small but agreeable surprise that Cynthia was also.

She came right to the point. "Good afternoon, Mr. Richards. Did Charles tell you much about our business?"

"Almost nothing. He mentioned that you were good at getting him to remember details."

She laughed. "That is Charles. A number of my clients need help in that area. I have some sharp methods when required."

She handed me a contract and fee schedule. "This first interview is gratis. All I need is a waiver, and we can begin."

"Waiver?"

It was for unspecified mental and physical distress and not for medical or defamation. Waiving those would not be legal anyway. Cynthia expanded, "Some of my methods can be um... uncomfortable. The waiver says that you agree in advance not to hold it against me. As with any waiver the real intent is never to use to it."

I didn't know what to think. I still had not agreed, or for that matter figured out exactly what she intended to do. But, it was clear she expected me to sign on the spot. Complicating things, I could not help but notice her physically.

She was about 5' 6", but seemed taller. Her heels were high, though not unreasonably so. The appearance of height came from her very erect posture and confident bearing. Her brown hair, was long, and done up. She had brown eyes, big brown eyes accented with only a touch of liner. Her figure was trim, athletic even, and she was obviously fit and healthy. Her gray suit was sharp but conservatively cut, just as in the restaurant.

There was one discordant element and it was understandable. While her manner was professional and attentive, there was an edge of unease. She appeared to be taking refuge in her prepared remarks, which is what I teach my sales people to do. No one is perfect, but preparation can cover a lot of weaknesses. Again, very professional, with just a touch of humanity. I was pleased

As I processed this, I realized that she had been subtly coming on to me the entire time. Her suit was conservative, but her shirt was silk and open just enough to reveal the lace beneath. Except for the handshake we had not touched, but her distance was intimate rather than formal. Her perfume was discrete, but definitely in the air. She scratched her leg with a foot, which brought attention to her well turned calves and elegant pumps. Those were not your usual business suit kind of shoe. One of my clients would be trying to kiss that black leather as we spoke.

It was impressive. My business requires me to deal with a lot of salespeople, my own and vendors. She was doing a first-rate selling job, and I still did not know what the product was. This was not a fitness trainer, obviously, especially not at these rates. What exactly she was, remained elusive.

I extemporized, "Could we have a tour first?"

Smiling, she responded, "Of course."

Was there a bit of shark in that grin? Hmmm. She led me to the changing rooms, and the canned sales pitch kicked into high gear. I would be expected to arrive early enough to change before the appointment time. There were two doors. Behind one she showed me a spotlessly clean sensory deprivation tank. This could be rented only on Tuesdays and Saturdays, and she would not personally monitor the sessions, just the in and out points. A number of other details rolled out, particularly concerning the security system. Finally, she paused dramatically and laid her hand on my elbow; then she opened the other door.

It was a gym of sorts, the latex and leather sorts. There was a vaulting horse, which had manacles dangling from each end. An entire wall was given over to hooks, rings and straps, up to 12 feet above the floor. There were benches and blocks, armed chairs and sofas, and everywhere were convenient restraints. I shook my head. I had not had a clear idea of what to expect, but this was not what I would have guessed. I walked up to an equipment cart and ran my fingers over a pair of handcuffs. They looked like police issue to me.

She gave me a heartbeat to take it in, and then asked "Want to give it a try?"

I jolted back to reality. Many things were suddenly clear. The only remaining question was what I would do about it. I picked up the handcuffs and clapped one ring onto her left wrist.

"I surely do."

She was surprised of course, but the next reaction was telling. She blushed. Cynthia clearly could play both sides of the street. The flush stood out against the sober colors of her suit, and I suddenly wanted to see if she blushed all the way down.

Caught off-balance, she spluttered "But I didn't... I mean.."

This was not a time to relent, "Come. Come. You offered me the use of the room, and your services. Were you serious, or being rude?"

She looked aghast. Rudeness was clearly a hot issue for her. "Serious, of course. But..."

I pressed on, "Very well. We may begin." I turned away, to prevent her from answering directly. Almost to my myself, I continued "Now, let us choose a place."

I led her by the cuffed wrist over to the wall of rings, and decided to have her facing toward me. I fed the loose cuff through a leather strap and motioned for her to turn around. I clipped the other wrist and took up the slack in the strap. Then I stepped back and took a good look.

The transformation was amazing.

Sheila:

Tuesday 3:45 PM. I cut John short to make sure that he was gone before 4:00. My behavior was irregular, for no reason I could identify. It felt like an audition day, but I had not tried out for a role in years.

I pulled my look together and went to the reception area precisely on time. Mr. Richards was already there, but the door was still closing behind him. That scored points for punctuality on both sides. The internal butterflies were out in force, but years of habit came to my rescue. My greeting was pure rote, but nonetheless perfectly correct. I stepped into the pitch almost like stepping into a costume. Without a conscious thought, the pitch rolled out, which was a good thing. He was so very there.

With weak knees, I asked about his expectations. Charles might have told him almost anything. Fortunately, Charles had not. I almost laughed in relief, since I make a much better first impression than Charles. All the while, my pitch rolled on, but the butterflies bagan to settle. Soon, I was showing Mr. Richards around.

The first places are always boring, so I started to relax. By the time we reached the main room, I was confident enough to take his arm. I opened the door and led him into my world. His eyes widened as he took it in. Everyone does that the first time, even those who know what to expect.

I was smiling to myself as he fingered a pair of handcuffs. This is where I set the hook, "Want to give it a try?"

He turned to me and smiled, "I surely do." That was unexpected. Having him clasp the cuff on my wrist came as a total shock.

"But I didn't... I mean..." I could feel my blood pound. I had not been this far out of my depth since age 17, when I left Herr Gruber's studio in disgrace. Herr Gruber had only music and step, not handcuffs and... I shuddered as I thought of my inventory of tools.

"Come. Come." he chided. "You offered me the use of the room, and your services. Were you serious, or being rude?"

"Serious of course. But..." What else could I say?

"Very well. We may begin." he continued, "Now, let us choose a place." Quietly, simply, but fully realizing that I was doing it, I released my grip. In a moment, I put myself fully in his hands, just as he required. Waves of peace floated down on me. The Maestro was setting the beat and I had only to follow it. It was not hard to figure what was required, just as I had required it of so many others. It was, under it all, a dance of sorts. I knew dance, if nothing else.

He led me to the restraint wall. Muttering something about facing forward, he bound my hands to the wall. My heart began to race. I thought of what might come next, as he stepped back to look me over. I must have been a sight. I did not wait long.

He stepped close and breathed deeply. One thing was becoming very clear, Mr. Richards could make decisions quickly. Feeling his close presence, I flushed again. It was as if he could smell my lack of control. Suddenly, the room seemed very warm. A part of my mind made a note to lower the thermostat during sessions and it hoped my outfit would not be ruined. Silk stains.

He noticed. "We can't have you perspiring all over that fine silk shirt." Was he also a mind reader?

He moved very close and pushed my jacket back. I pressed forward to feel his strength. He tolerated it for a moment, then stepped back. Almost absently he removed my tie and patiently unbuttoned my shirt. Whatever else, he was in no hurry. It was too late in any event. The shirt was spotted with my perspiration.

He did not miss that either. "Ah, well. I suppose we must have it off to get it cleaned."

He was cool and fully in control. His calm was inspiring; inspiring of terror.

Sean:

Cynthia was transformed. Gone was the cool trainer and business woman. In her place was a vulnerable beauty, watching me through wide eyes. She was breathing rapidly, almost panting. To say her breasts were heaving would be inaccurate, but it should not have been. Having her arms behind her ought to display her proud breasts to advantage, but they were not. It was something to investigate. A few strands of her dark hair had come loose. More importantly, her natural scent filled the air. I stepped close and inhaled deeply. She blushed even more fully.

It was obvious what came first. "We can't have you perspiring all over that fine silk shirt."

I stepped forward and opened her jacket. She trembled, but did not move or speak. As I pushed the sleeves down to her bound wrists I touched her body to body for the first time. She pressed against me. I stepped back and loosened her tie and then slowly opened the buttons of the shirt. Before I was finished, the silk shirt had become spotted with telltale dots.

I had intended to remove it anyway. This gave me an excuse. "Ah, well. I suppose we must have it off to get it cleaned."

I needed the key to the handcuffs. While I looked for the key, which turned out to be exactly where I had picked up the cuffs, I was able to look at her to better advantage. She wore a strapless corset-like piece, rather than a bra. That explained why her breasts were not thrust forward. The cups were trimmed in black lace, but the body was smooth flesh tone. To say it fit her like a glove would be insulting. It was much better tailored than that. I was dying to see if it was hooked or zippered. My money was on lots of little hooks. However, it was time to get back to business.

I walked over to her holding the key aloft. "We will have to get this suit off before it wrinkles, my dear. Hold still."

This last was entirely redundant. She had been almost a statue for nearly five minutes. I would be willing to place a sizable wager that she had never been topped before, much less in her own studio, but she was playing her part like a seasoned professional. I was rather proud for her.

Reflecting on this for a moment, I decided to test her. Rather than release one hand and pull the coat over the cuffs, I unlocked both. Once I had both hands free, I instructed her to "Step forward. Remove your arms. Step back." She performed perfectly. Off came the shirt and jacket, and the situation presented a new opportunity, which I was quick to exploit.

Rather than returning the cuffs to her wrists, I recuffed her at the elbows, and was rewarded. She let out her first sound, a small gasp. "Tsk, tsk my dear. And you were doing so well. We will have to see about that in a moment."

I carefully removed the sleeves of the shirt from the jacket and laid them on a horizontal bar. Odd. It was like something out of a dance studio, but I would have to puzzle that out later. "Let's get the rest of this."

The skirt was a simple wrap-around. Her foundation garment, call it a corset for lack of a proper term, was another matter. It was a piece of fine craftsmanship. At first glance, it had appeared natural skin. The design was step through, though with removable panties. When worn, it controlled and supported the breasts, but left the arms and shoulders clear, while showing a generous expanse of back. It could be worn with a strapless formal gown, but just as easily as outer wear in a dance venue. The composition was many layered silk and some kind of quilting. I could now see that it was stiffened, yet it was surprisingly pliant. She could get downright athletic without giving up any range of motion. It was marvelous work. As I expected, it fastened with tiny little hooks.

I stood closely in front of her and reached around with both hands to undo the hooks. I almost, but not quite, was taking her in my arms. By default, she had full access to my scent and she took advantage. This made me smile. Access to my odor is one thing I would permit freely.

Sheila:

Without hurrying, he turned to look for something. It turned out to be the key to the handcuffs. So soon? Normally, I would not release a client until the end of the session. Only very experienced clients can be trusted free of the restraints.

"We will have to get this suit off before it wrinkles, my dear. Hold still." I was already doing my best not to move. He surprised me again by unlocking both wrists. Did he trust me?

"Step forward. Remove your arms. Step back." Carefully, precisely, I complied, exactly as instructed.

Off came the shirt and jacket together. I hoped he would not simply drop them. While I was worrying about my suit, he surprised me again. This time he put the cuffs on just above the elbow. I could not control a gasp of pain, concern, and startlement.



Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 01



He did not miss a step. "Tsk, tsk my dear. And you were doing so well. We will have to see about that in a minute."

With concern I would have appreciated in other circumstances, he pulled the shirt out of the jacket and shook both out. He laid them carefully over my stretching bar. Turning back, he said, "Let's get the rest of this." What?

He came close again and reached around to undo my bustier. This was no simple task. In my entire client book, I had maybe three patrons I would consider capable of it. Julian's corsetry is a study in contradictions. Incredibly free to wear, they are the devil to get into and out of. I was glad I had eaten more than three hours before. After a big lunch the bustier would have to be surgically removed.

As all these thoughts flitted through my mind, I became aware of his distinctive scent: hand cream, good quality aftershave, and him. He had a very masculine musk, of which I could take a great deal more. Meanwhile he was working, by feel, down a double column of hooks, all the while dealing with my arms, which were bound in exactly the wrong position.

Halfway done, he stopped and stooped to undo the stockings. He returned my compliment, inhaling deeply of my pubis. Standing, he reached around to undo more stays, or started to. Something else had gotten his attention.

"My dear, such tension. We must see to that." Placing his thumbs on either side of my throat, he grasped handfuls of tight shoulder muscle, and began to knead. Oh my god, he was good: firm, exact, sensitive. He worked across the tops of my shoulder, then down my spine. Tension melted away as he massaged his way down my back. Occasionally, he shifted his position and every few moments he would undo another hook. I did not realize it when he reached the bottom, since I was lost in the rapture of his fingers.

He demonstrated once again the need to remain attentive. His hands came up, out and down. That quickly the bustier was at my ankles. I gasped.

Oh shit. He would not miss something that obvious, "Dear, dear, that's twice now."

He pulled my undergarments against my foot, "Step. And the other. Thank you my dear. Your foot." I stepped out of the bustier and lifted my foot. He removed my shoe. I was ready to give him the other shoe when he stood. Oh shit again. I would never have thought of that one. I stood in one shoe and one tiptoe and waited. I would wait for a while it seemed.

He collected my things, "I need to know where to hang these. You may speak."

"My locker is in my office. That door."

"Thank you my dear. That will be all for the moment."

"But..."

"Oh my. Three times. This will not wait." My big mouth.

I soon found out, my mouth was not big enough. He picked a glossy red ball gag. I hate that color. I chose it to clash, when clashing is called for. This was not a time I would have chosen.

"Open." I opened my mouth as far as I could, and he forced the ball in. It spread my jaws apart painfully. If nothing else, I was acquiring a new appreciation of my own methods. He paused as he fastened the strap behind my neck.

"I would like to see your hair, but I realize that it may be inconvenient for your next appointment. Nod if you would like to have it down." I nodded.

"Excellent."

I have good hair, so I did not mind him seeing it. Odd. I never show it to clients. He liked the smell. He seemed to like a lot of smells. He carefully collected the pins and put them on the counter. That was very polite. He treated my things as if they were his own. He even seemed to appreciate how special those pins were. One was 200 years old and had cost me $500, and a bargain at that price. We would have to discuss esthetics some time, which was odd. I don't look forward to social contact with most of my clients.

He stroked my hair, and the breast under it. I shivered. Then, he held a lock to his nose, "Lovely. You must let me play with it sometime." As far as I was concerned, he could play with it right then. Naturally he did, taking a lock and tickling my nose. I didn't start like before, but I flushed from the effort to stay still. His smile said that he did not miss that either. I turned an even darker shade of red. I had been years since I blushed, now three times in one day.

The cad had something to say about my embarrassment. "My dear, you must show this side to me more often. It is really most becoming. Well, I shall return shortly." The brute.

As soon as he turned to leave, my attention turned back to my aching calves. He had taken my pump maybe a minute before. My leg was telling me about it. I could stand flatfooted with my left knee bent, but my back and shoulders screamed while metal cut into the flesh above my elbows. This would not work long. I went back up on point. I trained as a dancer. I can stand on point, but the shoe on the other foot threw off the balance. I stood on my left leg while I flexed my right foot.

Then back.

And forth.

For a small eternity.

Finally the door to my office opened again. Suddenly, I didn't notice my aching feet. I was urgently aware that I was bound naked in front of a strange man. Anxiety rushed through me like a train through a tunnel. He was maddeningly calm as he came forward carrying my suit and a clean shirt. He hung the suit on the wall beside me. Then, standing before me, he stooped once more.

Sean:

I paused halfway down her and squatted to undo the stocking stays. Her pungent sex was only inches from my nose. She was definitely wet, but nothing was showing. I had to get the name of the corset maker. I could personally sell a dozen of these within a block of my office, although a fit this perfect had to be made to order. You could overstuff this piece with an extra slice of pie during lunch.

Standing again, I noticed tension in her shoulders. Understandable with her elbows held inches apart. "My dear, such tension. We must see to that."

If I say so myself, I am a gifted masseur. I started at her shoulders, and then worked my way down her back, pausing to loosen a hook only as it impeded my hands. Soon it was hanging from her breasts not supporting them. As I worked her muscles I also spread the corset. With as little warning as possible I pulled it forward and down.

As I hoped, she gasped. "Dear, dear, that's twice now."

I lowered the corset to her ankles. "Step. And the other. Thank you my dear. Your foot." I removed her right pump. Points where points are due, the shoe was in total keeping with the corset. Neither was normal for business wear, but neither was obviously out of place. It was becoming clear to me that there was much more to Cynthia than met the eye.

Regarding the corset, which was now in my hands, and her other items, I needed to hang them. So I asked, "I need to know where to hang these. You may speak."

"My locker is my office. That door."

"Thank you my dear. That will be all for the moment."

"But..."

This was too good, "Oh my. Three times. This will not wait."

With a great, and totally insincere, show of regret, I set down the clothes and looked around. A world of possibilities was sitting in plain sight, all of it well organized. I chose a lipstick red ball gag. Her eyes widened, but she did not react otherwise. "Open." I said. Her moth opened and in the gag went, eventually.

While I had my hands behind her neck, fastening the gag, I decided I would like to see her with her hair down. However, that could be a problem for her later. "I would like to see your hair, but I realize that it may be inconvenient for your next appointment. Nod if you would like to have it down." She nodded. "Excellent."

Her hair was expertly piled, and secured by pins, not clips. The pins themselves were worth noticing, mostly bone or ivory. Many had hand-painted lacquer, class all the way. Cynthia's hair was almost waist length when stretched. I pulled it forward, over her right shoulder, partly covering one of her full breasts. The asymmetry was pleasing. Also pleasing was the aroma of rosemary. There were so many scents to this woman.

I stroked the hair, and the breast beneath, for an absent moment. "Lovely. You must let me play with it sometime." I picked up a lock and tickled her nose with it. Suddenly, there it was, a full body blush. I stepped back to gaze appreciatively. Her blush deepened. "My dear, you must show this side to me more often. It is really most becoming. Well, I shall return shortly."

I picked up the clothes and took them into her office. It was as spare as the entrance hall. I suspected there was more, hidden deeper, but it would be rude to pry. I found a heavy wooden suit hanger in the closet. I draped the suit properly and smoothed it. There was also a lint brush, which I used. The shirt went on a disposable plastic hanger, which I hung on the door. There were three other silk shirts in the closet. I selected one and a matching tie, gathered the suit and the one shoe, and returned to the gym.

As I expected, she had stood on tiptoe to keep level. I glanced at my watch. It was a little over five minutes since I had taken her shoe. She should be ready. After hanging her suit, I squatted in front of her a second time, and again received a full whiff of feminine sex. This time it was more clear, since she was exposed, and the scent was intoxicating. I blew on her moist cleft and was rewarded with gooseflesh. I indulged myself with one slow lap. She stiffened like a throbbing erection.

Chuckling. I reached down. "Foot." I received her right foot. That was my mistake. I should have specified the left. But I could make this work. I kneaded the piano-wire-tight small muscles in her arch. Then I worked down to the toes, back over the arch, the heel, the ankle, and up the calf. She made not a sound. Excellent. Even with the gag, I would have heard something.

Reaching down once more, I said, "Other foot." Off came the pump, and I repeated the process on the left foot. Finally, I said, "Stand."

As she stood, on two clearly grateful feet, I looked her naked form top down for the first time. She was trim, leggy, full-breasted. Suddenly, it was obvious. "You were a dancer. A good one, but you overdeveloped."

She did not so much as twitch, but a tear welled in one big brown eye .

"Well, you shall dance for me. You have one punishment remaining. When I release you, you will go to the bar and place one ankle over. Grasp the bar with both hands and stretch out fully while I administer the discipline."

I released the cuffs.

She flowed over to the bar. Up came the leg and out over the bar. Out went the hands to grasp the bar. Down came the torso till her breasts hid her knee, her hair hung almost to the floor and her leg was straight as a taught line.

"We will call this First Position. Practice it daily, alternating legs. Now, to business."

Sheila:

I expected something. He did not disappoint. He inhaled my reeking wet cunt. Then he blew on it. Oh shit. I shivered as I struggled for control. He leaned forward and slowly lapped his tongue up my slit. I had explosions, electric shock. Had I not been braced, I would have shrieked. Every muscle in my body clenched. He chuckled, and I didn't have the strength to hate him for it.

"Foot." I gave him my tortured right foot. Did I detect a flicker of embarrassment? Had I given him the wrong foot? He began massaging it. Oh, sweet Lord, those hands were divine. He soothed the knots out like a baker rolling dough.

"Other foot." He could do this for an hour. Even with no circulation to my arms, I would not object. At least both pumps were off now.

"Stand." I did. To hell with the circulation in my arms. I could put the shoulders back in their sockets later. It was heaven to stand down again. He was looking at me, head minutely cocked to one side.

"You were a dancer. A good one, but you overdeveloped." Oh Lord. Did he not miss anything? All through high school, when others had a life, I had a career, I thought. My tits thought otherwise. Herr Gruber never gave me any slack. He threw me out. The reason was not my talent, it was my body.

Mr. Richards has something to say about it, "Well, you shall dance for me. You have one punishment remaining. When I release you, go to the bar and place one ankle over. Grasp the bar with both hands and stretch out fully while I administer the discipline." This I could do very well.

Off came the cuffs, releasing needles of returning circulation. I ignored them. There was a task which I could perform well. And which I intended to do very well. Place the ankle on the bar. Grasp the bar. Stretch.

Mr. Richards said, "We will call this first position. Practice it daily, alternating legs. Now, to business."

I saw that he had picked up something. It was my favorite short lash. He did not let me think about it. His arm went up, and came down.

"One. For hating your body." He laid it across my left ass cheek. Was it that obvious I hated my tits?

"Two. For despising your talents." This across the right cheek. Huh?

"Three. For despising your left breast, which is beautiful." Backhand. Of course I hated it. Look what it had done to me. Beautiful?

"Four. For despising your right breast, which is equally beautiful." Across the other side. Is he serious?

"Five. For believing you are as small as a single art." At the split of my legs. Shit, that one really hurt. What does he mean "single art"?

"Six through ten. Because you think you deserve it and because I am unable to tear such foolishness from you physically." Back and forth up the back. Of course I deserved it. Didn't everybody?

"And finally, because I wish to." He bit my ass. That, at least, I could understand.

"You may stand and dress. This session is complete."

I pulled off the bar and removed the gag. "You really think they are beautiful?" Really?

Sean:

Cynthia moved like a cat. She flowed across the room and stretched out as if this were nothing but an early warm up. Perhaps for her it was. I knew a little Yoga, and that was an advanced position. Shaking my head, I selected a short lash with stiffened tips. This one would sting and mark the skin beautifully.

I elected to do ten lashes, spread out.

"One. For hating your body." I laid it across her left cheek.

"Two. For despising your talents." This across the right cheek.

"Three. For despising your left breast, which is beautiful." Backhand across the teat.

"Four. For despising your right breast, which is equally beautiful." Across the other teat.

"Five. For believing you are as small as a single art." Full on the pubis.

"Six through ten. Because you think you deserve it and because I am unable to tear such foolishness from you physically." I criss-crossed up the back.

"And finally, because I wish to." I took her left leg in both hands and carefully bit her ham.

"You may stand and dress. This session is complete."

She stood erect and slowly removed the gag. Wide eyed, she asked "You really think they are beautiful?"

Hear me, Gods. "Yes. As does everyone." She said nothing, but her expression said enough.

I ventured, "Same time next week."

"Not if you expect to pay me." she replied.

How sweet. "Send me the bill for the dry cleaning." Bowing, I took my leave.

Sheila:

My tits never gave me anything but grief. How could he think they were beautiful? Still, he said, "Yes. As does everyone." I had no idea what to think. He obviously had good taste. Shit.

He asked, "Same time next week?"

"Not if you expect to pay me." What? Did I say that? He smiled. Yes, maybe I did say that.

He replied, "Send me the bill for the dry cleaning." Then he bowed and left.

It could not have happened as fast as it did, but it did. At 4:00, exactly on time, he walked into my studio. By 4:23 he had turned my life upside down and gone. At least he had left with a smile and a promise to return. And permission to dress. That was good. Not likely. Not before a shower. Good move Sheila: a long shower, a stiff drink, a disk in the DVD.

Disk.

Good Heavens, the recordings.

I did not breathe till I had my hands on the controls. There was his face in beautiful digital color. I played it through. I played all 4 tracks through. Then I played them again in slow motion. That could not be me.

I stopped one frame. The scene was me, bound to the wall by my elbows, wearing only my stockings and one shoe, gagged with that horrid red ball, standing on that one black 3 ½" pump and one aching pointed toe. There was a glisten of moisture on my pubic hair.

Without thinking, my hand went to the spot. Oh my stars and heavens. I almost passed out. My cunt was running like a rare steak. My clit felt the size of New Jersey. I staggered back against my desk and orgasmed all over the light bill.

When the room stopped moving, I looked around. Something was wrong. The light. It was dusk, almost dark, though it was barely 5:00 o'clock. No, it was almost 9:00 PM. I had been standing in one place, watching myself—and let us not forget Mr. Richards—for almost four hours. All this while wearing stockings and nothing else. Talk about foreplay. I giggled. Time for that shower and drink.

I turned back to the machine. I had spent a fortune on this fancy equipment, but it was paying for itself through the stills the clients wanted to buy. My fees were high, because it was time-consuming, but the pictures sold regularly. I would no longer wonder why quite so much, though I might still question their taste on occasion. I hit print.

Mr. Richards didn't even know about the recordings. We had never gotten to that part of the disclosure. I zoomed in so my head was no longer in the frame. I hit print again. Mr. Richards would be getting a sample with his disclosure forms. After that session, I owed him a gift.

I looked at the finished shot. He was right. With my hair draped over one breast, my tits didn't look half bad. I found myself humming as I burned a copy to take home. Go figure. My feet were killing me.



Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 02



Author's note:This is a longer passage than the teaser that came out first. Romance lovers will like that there is an actual date. All in all, it is an upbeat portion. In the next chapter, 8 to 5 life intrudes, and drama ensues.

Special thanks to clairegerm for editing.

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

Dad never did become a paying client, though there were a few friendly sessions. Somehow Aunt Francine got involved, though I was never clear on exactly how. Knowing Aunt Frannie, it was probably inappropriate advice about their love life. Mostly, Mom and Dad just hit it off. The first day, even before they had a date, Mom sent Dad a workout picture of herself. I think it must have been pretty racy, since Dad will not show it to me.

Chapter 2 -- Coffee Break

Sheila:

Beep, Beep, Beep, Beep

The alarm had gone off. I never sleep to the alarm. Sitting up in bed, I stretched like Scarlett O'Hara the morning after Rhett's "Behold my hands, my dear." Oh my goodness. He said that just before not entirely consensual sex. But Scarlett loved it the morning after, and this was my morning after.

There was a definite sated quality about me that morning. I ached, but there was a languor to my movements and a completion to my sensibilities. I had not felt this good in years. It was all because of him, G. Sean Richards.

I rose and pulled on a robe. How far out of it had I been last night? I still had on my stockings, but nothing else. I never slept in the raw, and rarely without bathing. My thoughts went back to wanting a shower the night before, but I had had to print my pictures.

Pictures. Leaving the shower running, I went to the entrance table, and there were the pictures. Years of editing pictures for clients had made me something of an expert on certain types of photography. These were quite good.

If I say so myself, the full -- length shot was arresting. The arms were bound back, of course. My head was down and slightly to one side and the eyes were hooded from the camera. My hair was pulled over the near shoulder, mostly covering one breast, which served to accent the other. My thatch was fully visible, and clearly due for a trim, but the arresting part was the dewing I had seen the night before. One leg was straight, while the other was bent to allow Sean Richards to massage it. The expression on my face was one of near rapture.

I had to remind myself that the woman in the picture was me. This was not the me that looked out of my mirror in the morning. I carefully packed the picture in an acid-free sleeve. Who knew what the future might bring. There was a chance I might show it to someone, eventually.

If anything, the other picture was better than the first, though in a sense, they were the same. The second photo was a cropping of the first picture, enlarged to fit the paper. This one was a simple torso shot, beginning just below the chin, and extending to just past the cleft. In the closer frame, the dewing was much more apparent. But what really made the shot was a curl of hair, my hair, neatly framing my right nipple. That detail had gone unnoticed when I printed the picture the night before. The nipple was fully erect, stiff even. This, merged with with the taught musculature and the dewing, screamed sexual tension. Just looking at it brought hot flashes, and I am not normally much taken by visual erotica.

As simple and anonymous as this picture was, I could easily sell a dozen among my clients. Triple the price if they knew who was in the picture, though I doubt any would guess. None of them, for example, had ever seen the birthmark above my navel. The rights for internet reproduction would be worth thousands. On this one picture, I could go wild at the online auctions some Saturday night. Smiling to myself, I decided Mr. Richards would get a bonus with his disclosure documents.

Hours later, I had completed my first round of clients for the day. Fortunately, I was able to do my appointments almost on autopilot. I had gotten a few odd looks, but no one made any comments, and sessions proceeded as expected. At 11:00 AM I could break for lunch and business. Today, business was G. Sean Richards.

The name caused problems, but it was only because there was disagreement on his first initial. Charles had told me "G". There were hits on that name in town, but the Chamber of Commerce listed him as C. Sean Richards, owner, founder and proprietor of Richards Imports and Richards Consulting. Their bio painted a picture of a local man, who had taken a small family import store and turned it into a group of successful businesses. The import business maintained offices on the far side of downtown. There was also a warehouse address not far from my studio. The website of his consulting firm offered advice on customs issues, liaison, brokerage and auctioneering services. A list of accountants and lawyers were provided as well.

Going back to the biography, I could see I misjudged his age. I had thought early 40s, but his listed high school graduation was much later. Then it hit me; Frannie knew him. She had to, since they graduated in the same class from Mt. Pleasant HS, which is not that big a school. Everyone knew everyone else, at least a little.

Finding Francine was not difficult. Within five minutes, I had left a message with her service. By the time I finished calling in my lunch order, she had called me back. After a minute of signing off the other call, I said hello.

She almost squealed back, "Sheila Schwartz. Oh my God. What have you been doing."

I was flattered a star like Francine Martel remembered my name. "I have a training and fitness studio. It pays the bills. Not like you. I see your name all over the place, and with stars."

She wanted none of it, "Oh get off Sheila. You were much better than I was. I just have the figure for it, and eventually you didn't. These days, I play mothers and girlfriends, generally off -- Broadway. You would still be headlining. But, something tells me you did not call to reminisce about Oskar Gruber's Chamber of Horrors. What's up?"

I choked back a laugh, "I actually own that studio. I own the whole warehouse. You should see it now. The main floor is leased to XTreme Gym, but the audition room is my private studio. It could still be called a "chamber of horrors." However, I called about a guy you might have known in high school. His name is Sean Richards. Do you remember him?"

She thought, "Sean Richards. That does not ring a bell. Do you have anything else?

"Sean is his middle name. His first initial is C or G. No one seems to have his full name."

"Oh Jeez. You mean Ricky. His first initial is a C, for Clarence. He hates it. In high school he went by Ricky Richards. Tallish guy, very controlled, knew all the sports and talked a good game, but never got involved with the jocks. Dated Marie and Monica Simmons on and off. Supposedly dated both at once, if you can believe it. I wonder what happened to them?"

"The twins married a couple of brothers from Newark. I have not seen or heard from them in years. What else can you tell me about Mr. Richards?"

"Oh, 'Mister' is it? I can tell you he is serious about his sense of how things are done. We dated a couple times, but, you know how it is with practice. He was not much better: Junior Achievement, drama and yearbook, not to mention actually studying. He finished 2nd or 3rd and our Valedictorian was that Special Ed girl, Paula something. They changed the rules after we graduated, so it couldn't happen again.

"As I recall, Ricky likes to call the shots, but he has some serious ham in his closet. He will slide into a role like it was his life. That is how you deal with him. Put him in a role that requires him to do what you want done. He will move the world before he drops a role. God, he sounds like my last leading man. No wonder we clashed.

"Tell me something Sheila, seriously. Are you falling for this guy? Because, he will be a lot of work, but he could well be worth it."

I thought for a moment, but before I could answer, she spouted, "Oh my God. I just got paged. Some thing is wrong. We'll do lunch tomorrow. I'll text you." With that, she was gone. Knowing productions, she would be unavailable for hours, if not the rest of the day. Damn.

I skipped lunch to do some stretching. Even though I was in warm ups, I got a tingle when I placed my ankle on the bar the first time. I stretched out into what Mr. Richards called First Position and held it for ten measured breaths. Shifting legs, I held for ten more. The effect was wonderful. It was perfectly suited for stretching my hams and glutes, plus it put nice tension on the small back muscles. I did another set, this time rotating from opposite hand on the bar, to hand overhead, with back and neck arched, and back down to the bar. Twice through both legs and I had a nice glow. It was time for a shower before handling more clients.

As I passed the mirror, on the way to the shower, I could faintly see the red markings from my favorite flogger. I love the piece. The grip is natural sharkskin, and the thongs are split kangaroo hide, except the last three inches, which serves to weight and stiffen the striking point. I love the weight and the balance, but mostly I love how it leaves vivid marks on the skin. I fingered the marks it had left on my skin, as I stared at the mirror. This was something else I might gift to Clarence Sean Richards, but this he would have to earn.

After redressing, I went to the office, pulled out the standard disclosure package and a messenger envelope. Then, I took the torso shot and considered it. One of my signature methods is to gloss my lips heavily, and leave a strategically placed kiss somewhere on my clients' person, generally somewhere red from a lashing. When they come to me for pictures of the session, the shots they chose frequently have my lipstick prominently placed. It was too late to put lipstick on myself, but I could kiss the photo. In permanent ink, I wrote, "Love Your Work" and signed it with my lips.

I blotted the excess lip gloss carefully, then placed the picture in an acid-free sleeve, before putting it into the messenger envelope. I highlighted the usual sections on the legal documents and added them to the package. All that was left was a personal note. It was short:

4:00 PM, Tuesday May 26

Call or text me any time

256-9521

C

It was my personal number, which I had only given to my doctor, lawyer and accountant. I almost signed my real name, but he did not know it. Make that he did not know it, yet. I dropped the envelope in the pick-up slot, and called it in.

After that I had appointments all afternoon. Like those in the morning, they were uneventful. When I finally got Randy on his way, it was almost 6:00 PM. The late appointment made up for the two hour lunch break. As promised, Frannie had text me, "Show tomorrow night, so free for lunch. Can you make it to the Coffee Corner in Easton at 11:30?" Thursday's are usually light. I could move things around. I text back, "CU SnS". What in heaven's name had I gotten myself into?

Thursday lunch found me downtown Easton, such as it is. It also found me completely wired. I walked into the diner, when I wanted to be walking up to my exercise bar. My variation of First Position was becoming my favorite means of calming down. In purely physical terms, it was a fine stretch. Stretching is always a great way to release tension. But the associations of practice and the Maestro were comforting and familiar. As I opened the door, I reflected for the hundredth time how much having a dance master had been missing from my life.

Francine had beaten me there, though clearly not by much. Her coffee cup was still empty. Francine Martel was one of the first persons I knew to invest in Starbucks. That much caffeine I could live without. She did not see me, because she was holding her empty cup for the wait staff to see. I came up behind her and grabbed the hand with the cup, saying, "That stuff will stunt your growth." Frannie maybe is 5'3", but only in 4 inch heels. That might be an exaggeration, but not much.

"Can you believe this?", she announced to the room, "She is making fun of my vertically challenged stature and a completely legal stimulant addiction." There were actually a couple of nasty looks directed toward me, until she bounced out of her chair and locked me in a hug. Seriously, I had no idea she felt this kindly toward me. In the studio, we had always been rivals.

After a minute in her death grip, and some honest to goodness blubbering by both of us, we settled into the seats. Coffee and Earl Grey tea arrived, and the buzz of the diner went back to normal.

Frannie started off with, "Ye Gods Sheila, it is so good to see someone from home. You have no idea how vicious the road is getting. When I was younger, I had talent and a future. Now I have what is left of a name, and a dwindling selection of parts. I simply cannot do half the parts I used to laugh off, much less the lead. I never thought of 35 as old, but it is getting very hard to keep this up any longer. I even started looking for Prince Rainier to come and sweep me off to someplace hot and dusty.

"But you, you look fantastic. There is a glow that I would die or kill for. Is this about Ricky Richards?" I flushed. Frannie seized on it, "Oh my God, it is. Oh my... How long have you known him?"

I flushed again, but stammered out, "We met Monday at..."

Frannie jumped in, "You met this week, and he had this impact on you? Ye Gods, who would have thought that quiet little Sheila would be a high priced dominatrix and fall for One Date Ricky. Oh. My. God."

My mouth fell open. She winked and said, "I have known for years. Do you have any idea how many theater people are into that kind of role playing? Seriously, in certain circles you are famous. I think I first heard seven or eight years ago. How did it happen?"

That did it. Starting with the day that Herr Gruber threw me out, I spilled the whole story. I had just turned seventeen and had no life outside the studio. Three months later, I graduated, and a couple of my classmates asked if I wanted to share a flat. Some of the old warehouse district had been flooded the year before, and many of the old buildings were converting to lofts. It was quite the deal to move out on your own, and be within walking distance of the local night life.

It was hard at first. Even with five girls splitting rent, it was a lot of money. Worse, there was always an empty room, someone who was late with the rent, or who moved out without notice. By Christmas, none of the original set of girls were left. In their place were two models, and college student (who was probably turning tricks) and a legal secretary. I acquired jobs working as a physical trainer during the days and as a dance instructor on weekends. It kept me busy and it paid the rent. It was almost as an aside that I branched from dance and fitness into discipline and bondage.

My first client was Judge Johnson, Henry not Harrison. The Judge, and his wife Mildred, signed up for my ballroom dance class at the Senior Center. I recognized him immediately from the gym, where I had several aerobics classes and a couple of private clients. I had noticed him watching me as I pushed clients through that one extra repetition, but we never spoke.

Neither the Judge nor Mildred had much experience on the dance floor. Mildred explained that this was a serious handicap in their social life, since they were constantly asked to various galas. The Judge's eyes expressed a different opinion as she spoke. It did not bode well for the class, and soon it was clear Mildred would not be completing the course. Since women are always more available than men, at least on the dance floor, I worked out for him to have a new partner, acceptable to his wife. The Judge often complimented me on both my business sense and discretion. The first session after his wife left our class, he approached me for private tutoring. I made sure he completed the class, with his chosen partner, and that he learned at least as many ballroom skills as the next man in the class.

After hours was another matter. The Judge had access to a very exclusive gym. It was not the bondage studio I would later build, but it had a selection of chairs, ideally suited for tying someone up, and he maintained a locker full of cuffs, chains, floggers and gags. I was soon working him eight times a week. Four times a week, I was openly his private trainer. I took great pleasure in forcing him through a rigorous fitness program. His performances in those public sessions earned him choices in our after hours sessions. Twice a week I would pound on him til my arms ached. The Judge was very attached to a school pointer stick for this type of thing. Twice a week, he and a succession of partners, including occasionally his wife, studied tango, salsa and waltz.

I seriously missed him when he died. Mildred thought I attended his funeral as a comfort for her. By then, my book of clients had grown considerably and I was thinking about buying my own place. I did not have to. The Judge had purchased the warehouse where Herr Gruber had held his classes, supposedly as an investment. He left it to me in his will, along with $25,000 for renovations. I built an office, and converted the main area to the gym everyone expected. XTreme Gyms promptly took most of that off my hands. Mildred came to the grand opening, though it was the last time I saw her. I still believe she suspected, but preferred not to know.

Abruptly, my narrative ended. Opening the big gym, and converting my studio in the back, brought me almost up to date. The last renovations were completed less than six months before. In a sense, I have trouble believing it only took 8 years, or 11, depending on how you count it. In another, it took my whole lifetime. I was reborn the day the Judge first asked me to expand the base of services I offered. For years, between clients and construction, I had needed to work sixty to eighty hour weeks, but that was finished For the first time since the Judge's passing, I had nothing to do but service clients, and visit old friends for lunch.

Francine was uncharacteristically quiet. Something else she had said bothered me. So I asked, "What do you mean 'One Date Ricky?'"

"Oh." She was hunting for words, which was close to a first. "That was his nickname in high school, at least among the girls. It meant either that he had his way the first date, or that he never dated anyone twice. I think it may have been some of both. I only had a couple of dates with him, and they were months apart. We didn't do anything physical, but he had a reputation for being skilled. You do not acquire skills without practice, and he never had a steady girl. I will say this, he had a way of looking at you, like he was looking into your head. It could be very disconcerting. I don't doubt that when he said 'Spread.', half the girls at Mt. Pleasant would do exactly that. He could also be pretty forceful."

I pondered this in light of my own experience. He had not asked for any sexual acts, not really, but I have no reason to believe I would have hesitated. Quite the contrary.

Frannie said, "My God, your face. What are you thinking right now?"

I blushed, "We had a session."

Frannie blew that off, "Lots of guys get into being tied up and whipped. Like I said, you have a reputation, even in my troupe. He probably..."

I cut in, "I was not conducting the session."

That managed to strike her speechless, again. Her mouth stayed rounded into an "O", but no sound came out. Finally, she shook her head, looked at me and said, "Damn girlfriend, you do make things interesting." I could only nod.




Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 02



Silence reigned for a full minute while she stared at me and thought. Francine is a star of the theater, a practiced flirt, a chattering magpie and blonde to boot. People know all that and miss that she is also one of the smartest people you are ever likely to meet. She was thinking hard. Finally she asked, "Are you up for a visit?"

"Sure. When?"

"It will be Sunday. We have shows here tonight, tomorrow and Saturday. We are moving a lot closer to you next week. I'll come over and spend the night, then drive to our new site. After set up on Mondays, we usually go to eat as a group. I am going to suggest driving 25 miles to hit Albert's. They know this is my home town, and that I keep an apartment for the off season. Beside, this will get them away from our manager and her spies. It will fly. Albert's is just around the corner from his office. I just need to find out what time to pick him up. By the way, do you mind if I seduce him?"

"Francine Martel, what exactly do you have in mind?" It came out a bit louder than I had planned, and Frannie's name is famous. All of a sudden, there was not a sound in the room, and we were getting a lot of stares. Francine, I swear, got up and bowed to the room.

She announced, "Show time is at 7 o'clock tonight, tomorrow and Saturday. I hope to see you there."

It worked. Soon everyone was back to their lunches. I was still shivering. Frannie pretended that nothing had happened.

She said, "Isn't it obvious? I will bring a bunch of the troupe down for dinner. I will time it so that I pick up Ricky, or Sean, on the way in. I plan to get myself invited to his place, and then whatever. I will sound him out and let you know what I find. Gods, this is going to be fun. I am so glad you invited me into this."

Did I mention that Frannie is not entirely of this world?

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

They played phone tag for a week.

Chapter 3

Sean:

Wednesday morning was a trial and a penance. Somewhat on a whim, I had taken an appointment to, as it turned out, bondage and domination dungeon. Being the cocky SOB that I am, I tried to turn the invitation back on my hostess. Unfortunately, she called my bluff. For almost 20 minutes she had put herself completely in my hands, and now I could not get her out of my head.

That morning, I had cut myself shaving, which is a bit of an achievement in these days of 5 - blade razors. Then I burnt the bacon, overcooked the eggs and completely forgot to make toast. If the coffee had not been set on a timer, I would have forgotten that. As it was, I burned the roof of my mouth before I let the cup go cold. It is probably a good thing I employ a driver.

Once at the office, things started to settle down. As usual, there were a dozen messages requiring immediate attention, of which three actually did need some work. I sorted those out, spent an hour speaking French, not my best language, to a cultural attaché that would not deign to speak English. After that brought my temper to a nice slow boil, I had the privilege of cutting a severance check to a big name studio, which had managed to shoot nothing usable in three weeks of work. Talking to my lawyer actually improved my mood. Frightening.

The icing on the cake was that Helen ordered lunch in. It was soup and sandwich from Cianfrani's. Three hours of wrangling with lawyers, agents and photographers had at least managed to drive Cynthia from my mind. As soon as I saw the Cianfrani logo, our lunch meeting, and everything else, came rushing back. I snarfed the sandwich, gave Helen the soup, and sent for the latest proofs from my new photographer. That gave me another hour of new joy. I almost bit Helen's head off when she brought me the messenger packet. She paused at the door, looking troubled. One look at the return address on the package closed my mouth with a click.

Helen left, and I opened the package. It was a standard flat document package, like millions of others. However, this one had come from Cynthia. Vaguely, I recalled something about disclosure documents, and that is what these were. I had a moment of amusement when I realized that all the documents referred to things that might happen to me, by Cynthia, and none of the reverse. As I had suspected, this was not a usual thing for her. I initialed and signed as indicated, reaching finally a photography page. Paper clipped to it was a thin folder. Curiosity got the better of my normal practice, and I removed the folder before reading the attached sheet. One look inside made up for the whole morning.

I recognized the scene immediately. It was a photograph of Cynthia, though no identifying features were visible. I had just let her hair down and was massaging her foot. The composition of the shot was very simple, but exquisitely done. Often simple work is the hardest to get right, and this was well up in the ranks of professional quality. The framing was perfect, in spite of the standard 8" x 10" size. Her muscle tension was clearly apparent, but the eye was drawn instantly to a curl of hair circling her rigid right nipple. It was one of those, I-saw-it-but-could-not-get-the-camera-fast-enough shots.

Only after dwelling on that rich detail, did I notice the perfect balance of the left beast, the lightly trimmed bush, and the dew drops of moisture on the cleft. I literally slapped my forehead at that point. I had visual proof that I had gotten a woman aroused, but left her unrequited. Ye Gods, forgive my ignorance. Then (seriously, only then) I noticed the bright red lipstick and the hand written note, "Love Your Work." The lipstick lips were in the position of the signature. That could not be accidental. I suddenly wondered how many other photos had the image of those lips.

The document explained the photograph. Cynthia had a digital camera set up to record all her work. This made excellent security sense, but I also saw the commercial possibilities. If this was an example of her work from fixed cameras, my admiration of her skill went up another notch. I was beginning to think I should have written that five figure check to a BDSM studio and not the photographic studio that received it.

I sat back and reviewed all that I had just seen. The broad outlines were crystal clear. She wanted me to continue coming to her studio, and sent the usual paperwork to encourage the same. She had had a positive reaction to our little session, and had given me a valuable keepsake of the moment, suitably personalized. It made a nice statement, but it seemed incomplete. Sure enough, there was a short hand written note still lying in the messenger envelope: "Call me." That seemed clear enough. Then I checked the numbers in the legal documents. This one was different. OK. Call me on my private line. I began to think that Mistress Cynthia wanted a relationship. For myself, I was not sure I remembered what a relationship was.

I keyed the intercom, "Helen, do me a favor. Ask around about pictures, probably very personal pictures, featuring red lipstick smile. I am sure some of your contacts have at least heard of them."

There was an awkward silence. Helen does not flinch at much, but this was not a daily sort of thing. Finally, "I have heard. Very personal. Very, very personal. Is there a problem? Marco and Simon."

She thought I was being blackmailed, hence the very long (for Helen) speech. Given the subject matter, that made a degree of sense. I chose my words carefully, because this conversation could have legal consequences. I said, "No. In fact this package contains some standard legal disclosures for me to sign. Come in and I will give you the signed forms to return. Tomorrow is soon enough."

Helen came in with alacrity. I handed her the sheaf of papers, and she looked visibly relieved, until she spotted the folder that remained on my desk. I trust Helen with hundreds of thousands of my money, this was merely personal. I looked her in the eye, "Helen, I will give you one look, in strict confidence. Do you understand?" She looked at me, then slowly nodded. I opened the folder and watched her face. Her eyes widened perceptibly, then she looked back at me and nodded again.

Helen looked for a moment at the closed folder, then nodded sharply. On the way out, she paused at the door. Without turning back, she said, "I will make inquiries." There are reasons why I value my battleaxe of a personal secretary.

The rest of the day was a grind, but I never leave before 5:30, unless there is an appointment. By rights, I should have taken a cold shower. Suffice to say that I stuck things out. That does not mean that I lingered.

The next morning, I had reached a decision. Cynthia had left the ball in my court. So be it. When Helen came in, I asked after the entertainment possibilities. Her reply was brief, as it usually was in our city. I had two tickets to the symphony in Newark on Saturday. They were doing several Russian composers, headlined by Sophia Weingarten performing Prokofiev's 2nd piano concerto. There were some other items, including an off -- Broadway road show coming to Elizabeth. Another show was at Trenton, but I had seen it. After that we were looking at City. By that point, I had made up my mind. I called Cynthia's private number. Not surprisingly, I got voice mail. I asked her to call when she got free. Eddie Money ran through my head, "I've got two tickets to Prokofiev. Call the car; we leave Saturday night."

I would never make a living writing songs.

Sheila:

The drive back from my memorable lunch with Francine was pure torture. Halfway down the express, my phone rang. It had to be Sean, since I had told everyone else I was out of town for a few hours. But, my phone was set to voice mail, and I would not get off the freeway just to return the call. I had to play a little hard to get.

I forced myself to wait til I got back to the office. As expected, it was Sean. Unexpectedly, he was hinting about a date. His message asked if I liked Prokofiev. Do wolves like red meat? I disciplined myself to work through both my afternoon appointments before replying. It gave me time to come up with a good method. I took the bill from the dry cleaners and added a post -- it note, "What time and where?" Once I messaged that to him, I dove into the internet to find out what he had in mind. It appeared that I had a date for Saturday night.

Sean:

Getting no reply from my voice message drove me up a wall. Hours came and went. Nothing. I descended into snapping and snarling when Helen brought in another messaged letter package. Inside was nothing but a receipt for dry cleaning a silk shirt and a post-it note asking where and when. Point to her. I picked up the phone and dialed her number again. This time she picked up, "Hello?"

"I, um, 5:30 Saturday. I can pick you up. Its a bit of a drive."

She seemed unsurprised, "5:30 then. Full formal or just business wear?"

That was a good question. "Business wear. I can bring food or we can eat after if you prefer."

She replied, "Villa Bartoli is open late."

Ouch. Tagged me again. It was time to end this before I was too bloody. "Bartoli's is fine. What address should I pick you up?" The address she gave me was not her business, so her apartment was only blocks from mine. At least I got one thing out of the exchange. I do not often lose verbal exchanges, and that was downright embarrassing.

Damn, she was one fine woman.

Sheila:

He called again almost to the minute I expected. That was good and bad. It was good that I had read the situation correctly. It was bad that he was so predictable. Our short conversation had had a confrontational flavor, and my research acquitted itself well. I allowed myself a smile. Perhaps things would not be as one sided as our first day. My smile widened. The hunt was underway, but who was chasing whom?

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

The first date was dinner and a concert. Funny, they always say concert and dinner. Every year, for the 21 years I have known them, they go out for Italian food that night.

Chapter 4 -- Romantic Composers

Sean:

I had a date. I had not had a date in a decade. All my events involved business or politics. I could have left everything to George and Helen, and eventually I forced myself to do just that, but this was not the usual state of things. I wanted exacting control of every detail.

Helen's discrete inquiries had turned up something a bit surprising. Cynthia did indeed sign things with her lips, but they were not photographs. She signed beaten flesh with a kiss, and sold pictures if the kiss in situ. It had to be a sweet set-up. The security cameras did all the work. All she needed to do was choose the shot and crop it properly. From what I could see, her eye was flawless.

Everything pointed to a devoted audience, considerable discretion, and the lash being in her hand. I had to admire the business acumen. The national chain fitness center provided excellent cover. Her client book could be completely open, since her clients that employed her as a fitness coach as well as disciplinarian. In the gym, she got to crack a different sort of whip, but the control was the same.

Yet, here we stood. The kiss was on my work. The lash was in my hand. I had made the date to the symphony. It was my car and my driver. Why did I feel so out of control?

Then I thought, how long has it been since she dated?

Sheila:

Friday's were always busy. It gave me something to keep my mind off The Date. It was dawning on me that this was my cherry. I had never had a date before, unless you count group events. In school I had been too busy preparing to be the next Broadway star. Afterward I was working two jobs, and taking clients on the side. Then I owned my own business, and I had no time to sleep, much less date.

So I worked my morning clients on their exercise machines and free weights. I worked out myself over the lunch hour. All afternoon it was Little Miss Perfectionist, and the flogger rose and fell til the arm holding it was close to falling off. I had plenty of red skin to kiss, and I had a secret smile as I applied the lipstick.

Friday is also picture day. I had hours of video sorted and cropped, but the clients still needed to make selections. Over and over I expanded and centered the imprint of my lips on various pieces of blushing pink flesh. The laser printer chugged through stacks of Kodak's best paper. Boxes of acid free liners and rigid folders filtered out the door as the money came in. Who knew my lips would become so famous?

By 6:00 I was exhausted. I locked the door and changed into my workouts. Then I thought of Sean, and peeled off even those. Stepping to the mirror, I slowly pulled the pins and comb out of my hair. Sean had noticed those. I was sure of it. He had also gotten too good a look at the bushes. I would be trimming those shortly. For music, I chose Tchaikovsky's 5th, the Andante 2nd movement. You have to love Russians. Even the purely orchestral music has ballet in its heart.

As the first low notes poured out, I presented to the bar. In time with the slow beat I stretched out my leg, then reached forward and grasped the bar firmly with both hands. I waited for the trill of the flute, head pressed to knee. As the music expanded, I opened from the closed posture. Turning to the right I extended up and back, reaching full extension when the tympani first echoed. Closing down again, I shifted legs on the bar while the woodwinds chatted. Opening again, this time to the right, I reached full extension as the drums boomed and the brass thundered. Then closing again. And twice more through the cycle. The second movement is only 6 minutes 28 seconds, but I was drenched when the last oboe finally faded away.

Grabbing a towel, I started toward the showers. My eye fell on the handcuffs I had worn three days earlier. Handcuffs are a very bad thing to have on during orgasm. Jerking is involuntary, and bruising is inevitable. I had some from these cuffs, and Sean had not even pushed matters. Still, it made me think of taking them to bed, or rope. All too easily came a vision of being spread out, hands and feet tied to the corners, blindfolded and waiting for that first touch. I shivered in spite of my workout. Perhaps a cold shower.

An hour later, sitting in comfortable baggy clothes, I watched my tapes for the third time. He had played me. Of this there was no doubt. But I knew this business. Once I had gotten past the shock of the event, I could read my signs, just as he had. I could see the near frantic eagerness, the need to release. I could also see the glint of moisture in my pubic hair. That much I could fix. Grabbing some rubbing oil, I went back to the showers. First, I shaved off all but a thin strip of my curly hair. Then, using the coconut oil, I frigged myself to three explosive orgasms.

It was after10:00 when I got home to my computer:

Biofeedback vibrator

Programmable dildo

Time released locks

Self bondage safety

I was up late.

Sean:

It was ironic that Cynthia coached discipline, because my discipline was strained to the breaking point. Saturday is usually my day to catch up at the office, since the phone does not ring. I forced myself to do it again. It worked, badly. Four hours made a visible dent in the stack of paper in my box, and produced a smaller pile in Helen's box.

In a mood of penance, I visited the vault. Everything was exactly as it needed to be, except the part about telling people it was here. Gah. I checked the log at the door. As I expected, several items were checked out this morning, so I was not the only one trying to work through frustration. Maybe we would get lucky. Maybe someone would read my mind and tell me what I wanted.

Maybe I could hire Cynthia to do it. After that my day went much better.

One of the advantages to living near good colleges is that they have good performance venues, into which you get good visiting orchestras. I had never heard the one playing tonight, but it had good reviews. Considering my escort, I could not have chosen a better program. It was a sampler of Russian composers. I did not know Cynthia well, but I knew she had dance in her blood. Shostakovitch, Glinka, Mussorgsky, Rimsky-Korsakov all cut their teeth on dance music, particularly Shostakovitch. Headlining was a Prokofiev piano concerto There was a last minute change from the stately first movement of the 2nd concerto, to the bouncy and rushing 3rd. I might have to scrape her out of her chair.

George, as usual, had the car in pristine condition. I was using the Mercedes, since we had a long drive. The Deusenberg was impressive and the BMW was flashy, but the Mercedes was both reliable and comfortable. I wanted no chance of mechanical failure and I would have to drive the 503 myself. Wait a month, when we could put the top down. I chuckled as I got into the car. German cars, Russian composers, the promise of Italian food, and sure enough, George had stocked French wine. The evening was a tour of Europe.

We pulled in front of her apartment exactly on time. Sure enough I saw her wave as she emerged from the building. Punctuality was going be a thing. I wondered who would slip first. As I already expected, Cynthia was a vision

Her full length outfit was cream and forest green. Her hair was down, but held back by a simple butterfly clip. Her makeup was minimal, with just a hint of color on her lips and black at the eyelashes. I was pleased to see she had chosen a practical cotton frock over a high necked blouse. This was not a ride for crushable fabrics. Her jewelry was also simple. Emerald ear studs and a green backed cameo broach at the throat. With tiny pearl buttons, done all the way up, the blouse, indeed the ensemble, was almost Victorian. I wondered if she had gone the extra mile and worn a foundation again. Glancing down, her legs were clad in stockings. Her shoes were decidedly modern, though they complimented the long outfit. I was glad I had chosen the navy suit. Our colors blended well, without being imitative.




Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 02



George efficiently showed her into the seat next to me. Her posture might have been from a dictionary illustration of demure: eyes forward; hands clasped on her clutch purse, in her lap; legs crossed at the ankle. The opening gambit would be mine.

"Good evening. I trust you are well. Is there anything we should do before driving to Trenton?"

"Thank you, but no. Also, thank you for asking me. It has been some time since I have had a purely social outing." Did her lips twitch when she said "some time"? If her start up businesses were anything like mine, social outings simply did not happen at all. I relaxed a little, showing myself that I was tighter than I had noticed. This could work.

It was time for some hostly duties. "Of course. Please get comfortable, we have a long drive ahead. I took the liberty of bringing a light nosh. Since it will be about three hours til we can dine, perhaps some cheese and fruit. There is also water, fruit juice and wine for later. I do not open alcohol when the car is moving. What would you like?"

I was half afraid that she had already eaten, but either she had not, or was polite enough to ignore it. It was one more subtle thing to like about her. I hated women that make a great deal of their diets. I asked her to open the crackers while I cut the pears. We fell to discussing my very pedestrian choices, versus the more expensive alternatives. This led to a discussion of food generally, and Villa Bartoli in particular. Almost too soon, George finished jockeying through near impassible Rutgers campus parking, and we had arrived. I assisted her from the car, and offered my arm as we strolled up to the concert hall. I may have been out of practice, but I thought the date did not suck too badly, so far.

While I would like to have spent some time discussing the program, we had arrived just before the lights went down. Sheila glanced at the program, but seemed to have little interest. Given our conversation earlier, my money was that she had researched it already.

I tried one little test, "Do you prefer Prokofiev's 2nd or his 3rd?"

She shushed me, but replied, "I was glad they changed it. Now quiet. Here's the Concertmaster."

Sheila:

A date. What to do before a date? I looked up the program, noting that there was a late change. I changed outfits three times. Well, changed the outerwear. Changing Julian's creations requires more time than a mere 40 minutes. I settled on the green jumper and the Audrey Hepburn top. Fussing with the pearl buttons gave me something to do. I debated a quick sandwich, since it was a late dinner, but decided to hold off. Sean might have snacks. I would in his place.

I rechecked the look. Lip gloss, check. Eye liner, check. Blush, no thank you; I have done enough of the real thing. Ear studs, check. It had been a while since I had worn the Judge's gift. He had chosen them to go with this 120 year old cameo. Thinking about Henry settled me. This was exactly the kind of thing he might have taken me to, and expected nothing but a peck on the cheek afterward. Tonight, I might not be satisfied with a chaste kiss, but Mr. Richards would have to cooperate.

I went down to the door precisely at 5:30. A big diesel Mercedes was pulling into the guest spot. I walked up to the car and a huge black man got out of the driver's seat and opened the rear door. I thanked him as he handed me into the glove leather seat. Naturally, Sean was seated beside me, but I could play coy. This was his party; he could break the ice.

He did, playing it safe, "Good evening. I trust you are well. Is there anything we should do before driving to Trenton?"

"Thank you, but no. Also, thank you for asking me. It has been some time since I have had a purely social outing." Some time, hah. Never before, but I could not tell him that.

He changed the subject, "Of course. Please get comfortable, we have a long drive ahead. I took the liberty of bringing a light nosh. Since it will be about three hours til we can dine, perhaps some cheese and fruit. There is also water, fruit juice and wine for later. I do not open alcohol when the car is moving. What would you like?"

Some people would say "light nosh" and mean 3000 calories, or a package of peanut butter crackers. He had a very sensible box of Triscuits, some Laughing Cow and a couple of pears, plus assorted bottled drinks. He handed me the box to open, while he deftly quartered and cored the pears. I asked if he preferred processed cheese over Brie or Gouda. Naturally, he was familiar and we fell into a discussion. I liked that a man, with a chauffeur driven Mercedes, would choose to eat food sold at Walmart, even though he knew the alternatives.

Our conversation drifted easily until we arrived. He, not his driver George, handed me out of car and offered his arm. We arrived just in time to get our seats before the lights went down. He offered me a program, but I only glanced at it. The orchestra was tuning.

Sean leaned over. "Do you prefer Prokofiev's 2nd or his 3rd?"

The program had listed the first movement of the 2nd concerto, rather than the short 3rd. "I was glad they changed it. Now quiet. Here's the Concertmaster." Did he just test me?

It did not matter. The orchestra plunged right into Shostakovitch's Gadfly Suite, and we were drenched in the larger than life imagery that is Russian music. I was gripping my clutch like a lifeline, as the music swept me along. An untold time later, the swirling storm sequence from Rimsky-Korsakov's Scheherazade ended. The house lights came up as music faded out, metaphorically signaled a new day. I looked down. The death grip, which I had thought was on my purse, was on Sean's arm.

I looked over to him, as I released his arm. Before I could say anything, he hit me with my own words, "Quiet. They are just bringing in the piano. Here she is." Sure enough, the elfin little Israeli flounced out and bowed to the crowd. That was good. Prokofiev's 3rd is all about bouncy and flouncy. After the pathos of Scheherazade, a little fun was in order. Sophia Weingarten made it dance. It was perfect.

After the applause died, we waited quietly for the aisle to clear. Quiet was good. I had laughed, and cried. This gave me a chance to put on my game face. We got up and joined the flow to the exits. In the crush, we could not be side by side, but Sean guided me with the subtlest of pressures. It was just one more stick on the fire. I had not had a partner that I moved this well with since, oh my stars, since Frannie.

I must have smiled, because he asked, "What?"

"I was just thinking of a dancer I used to pair with in practice. You probably know her, Francine Martel."

Sean:

Damn. She put me in my place again. This was getting embarrassing. Fortunately, she was right; the music was about to begin. The first selection was one I did not know, selections from the Gadfly Suite. The program said it was from a 1950s movie. That made sense. A good deal of 20th century orchestral music was written for the screen. Star Wars, for example.

For myself, it did not matter, because the second selection was titled Spanish Dance. Cynthia was in deep. She was gripping her clutch like a life preserver. I reached out and patted her knee. Her left hand grabbed my sleeve, which was fine, but she did not let go. It was a bit awkward, but what could I do? The next piece was much older, from an opera by Glinka, Ruslan and Lyudmila, but the flow was outright ballet. Russians seem unable to leave ballet out of anything. Next was the familiar Gates of Kiev, by Mussorgsky, which is a promenade. Cynthia shifted enough that I could put my elbow on the armrest, and sit up straight.

This was good, because of the effect of the final movement of Scheherazade. While dance is there under the surface, this is a piece about great forces and frightening adventures. As the music moved into the storm passage, Cynthia had her head on my shoulder, while both hands clutched my jacket's upper sleeve like a lifeline. The lights came up as the music quieted. It was a nice touch, using house lights to symbolize dawn, simultaneous with the music doing the same.

I looked over at Cynthia, waiting for her to notice her grip on my suit. This she did, with a jerk. It was the first time I had seen her clumsy. As she opened her mouth, to say whatever, I gave back her last service, "Quiet. They are just bringing in the piano. Here she is."

Sophia Weingarten is a tiny little thing, with exaggerated mannerisms. I could see why they shifted to the 3rd concerto. Her hands were often well above the keyboard, bouncing and prancing much like the score. It was a perfect counterpoint to the deep emotion that preceded it.

All too soon, it was over, and we sat silently waiting for a place to stand. Finally, we managed to slide into the flow toward the doors. There was no chance for me to take the lead, or even move beside her, but she was very responsive to subtle directions from my hand on her shoulder. When we finally broke into a little clear space, she looked over her shoulder with an odd expression. It seemed to combine old memory, surprise and more than a little irony.

I had to ask, "What?"

Her eyes glinted, "I was just thinking of a dancer I used to pair with in practice. You probably know her, Francine Martel."

I stopped dead. Franky Martel was my major high school crush, but we could never both find time. We.... My train of thought crashed into Cynthia's knowing grin. She had gotten me again. OK. Tit for tat. I straightened up and brushed my wrinkled jacket sleeve. This was rewarded with a widening of the eyes. Then offered her my arm, deciding call that exchange a push. George had moved the car to a much friendlier location. Soon we were off to our late dinner reservation.

Villa Bartoli is a nice place, though the City could boast a hundred better. However, a good meal is often in the company more than the food. I ordered antipasto and a carafe of house white. I had much better wine in the car, but you use what you have. My good wine would not going have impressed her in any event, since she never touched a drop.

We were in luck with the antipasto, because figs were in season. We had a duet of figs, one stuffed with pecorino romano, then wrapped with prosciutto and the other covered with fontina, then broiled. The soup course was pasta fagioli. For the main course, we both chose parmaseana, hers eggplant and mine veal, with a side of ziti and red sauce.

There was not a free table for George, so I had soup, lasagna and coffee sent to the car. After I could not stuff in another bite, I had them box up Cynthia's remaining parmasan and pasta. To finish, I ordered coffee. It was a lovely meal, and I do not remember a bite of it.

Cynthia came alive when she saw the figs. I am guessing it was a completely new experience. She loved both the sweet and salty play of figs and ham, but also the nuttiness of the grilled fontina on the sweet bed of fig. She clearly savored every bite, but her mind was still on the music. She talked of the different composers we had heard, and pieces by each she had danced. Watching her gesture with a half eaten fig, or sign the beat with her soup spoon, was mesmerizing. I normally hold up my end of most conversations, but that night I ate mechanically and watched her face.

The coffee came, and with it the manager. It was 11:15, past closing time. I handed him my credit card with a significant look at my watch. He nodded, and we were graced with 10 more minutes. I signed a 20% tip and collected our take out. As I expected, the evening was much cooler, so I draped my jacket over her shoulders, while George brought the car over.

In over two hours, I had spoken only to the restaurant staff and not said a word to her. She must have realized it, because she put her hand on the side of my face, and blushed, when I handed her into the car. Once I was in my seat, she kicked off her shoes and slid over, laid her head on my chest and curled contentedly. We sat like that all the way home.

Sheila:

Sean stopped cold when I sprang Frannie on him, but he recovered well. He straightened his wrinkled jacket sleeve somewhat pointedly, then offered his arm, which I took. He led me to where George had moved the car. Soon we were winding through date night traffic, to our dinner reservation. We made small talk about the Capital as we passed it. Then we talked about the restaurant. I had been once, in my teens and Sean knew it only by reputation. In short order, George dropped us at the door, then drove off. I wondered if he would get dinner, but said nothing as Sean dealt with the maitre d'. Villa Bartoli is a lovely old building, which looks like it has been an Italian restaurant for generations.

We were quickly seated, though the restaurant was crowded. Sean ordered wine and appetizers without looking at the menus. We settled in and received the wine, water and bread sticks, while we checked the menu. There was a little history sections, which confirmed that the business had been in the same family three generations. Nice. I decided on the soup and eggplant parmesana. We placed our orders and a silence followed. Sean seemed to be giving me room to speak.

I was spared the discomfort of breaking the ice, by the appetizer arriving. It was a duet of figs and cheese. The waiter explained the origins of the cheeses and the tradition of the parings. He left us, saying that there were two types of men in Italy: those that owned a fig tree and those that wanted one. Whatever the tradition, the bites were delicious: earthy, creamy, salty, all on a bed of subtle sweetness. The complexity reminded me of the performance we had just seen. I started talking about the Spanish Dance, from early in the performance, and went on from there. Sean gave me his full attention, nodding occasionally, but letting me run with it.

Run I did. It became very stream of consciousness. On and on I rambled. Sean never took his eyes off me except to eat. I had no such need. Half my soup and a couple of bites of the eggplant was all I wanted, and probably all Julian's foundation would allow me. Eventually a waiter came with a carryout box. Sean efficiently boxed the rest of my eggplant and my untouched side of ziti. Shortly, the manager came to the table with coffee and heavy cream. We sat, drinking our coffee, for a few more minutes, til the manager returned with Sean's credit card. He signed and we started for the door. Somehow the crowded restaurant had become deserted, and busboys were beginning to mop the floor. Where had the evening gone?

It was chilly when we stepped out. Without a word, Sean put his jacket over me. In a moment, George brought the car in front. Sean handed me in and closed the door. The whirling in my head was subsiding, and I felt well taken care of. As Sean slid in the other door, I kicked off my shoes and pulled my feet up onto the seat. Sean settled in. I lay my head on his chest and snuggled down. Then I gave a contented sigh. I felt very well taken care of.

They say contentment is not long for this world. Whatever that means, I had my share on that ride. I leaned on Sean's chest and felt warm and safe all the way home. Neither of us said a word.

Much too soon, George was pulling the car in front of my apartment building. I sighed a very different sigh, and reached for my shoes. My outfit was a copy of a late 19th century portrait, but I will be hanged before I wear shoes in that style. As I pulled them on, Sean got out and walked around the car. Once again he handed me out. He walked me to the door, and I told him he would not be coming up by handing him his jacket. Our eyes had a long conversation, then I turned and pulled out my keys.

As he turned to go, I said his name. He turned back and I gave him a short but, for me at least, intense kiss. I said, "My number is 304, should you ever need to know." Then I took the coward's way out, and ducked through the door.

Sean:

George pulled up in front of her apartment building. It was a nice older complex, with a good reputation around town. I felt oddly better, knowing she had good security. I signaled George to let me get her door. She heaved a sigh, and reached for her shoes. While she put them on, I walked around the car. At this point I had no idea what to expect. Cynthia had been consumed at the performance, manic in the restaurant, and angelically peaceful in the car. As she stepped out into her world, I could see the control slide back into her eyes. This gave me pause. Just how much control had she given up these last few hours? Clearly a great deal. I was suddenly misty eyed.

We stopped at the building entrance. She quickly killed any possibility of a late evening, by shrugging off my blazer. I took it from her and we spent a long moment looking into each other's eyes. Eventually, she turned away and began to look for her keys. That, it appeared, would be that. I turned away, only to hear my name. Before I had turned completely back around, she gave me a short, intense kiss. Either she was an exceptional kisser, or she was very putting a lot of herself into it. Then she stared at her hands, like a child admitting something naughty. She simply said, "My number is 304, should you ever need to know." Then she disappeared into the building.

Trust is one of those things everyone talks about, and few understand. I stood there, with my mouth open and contemplated the size of the gift. Among other things, I was convinced that Cynthia was not her real name. The fact that we had had a full blown date, without her mentioning it, was telling. Other pieces started to fall into place. She was a mistress of control. Her defenses were formidable. It did not take a therapist to armor in her high necked blouse, her double hooked foundation garments, her strict, almost severe fashion choices, even her chosen profession.

Through that shone the individuality. Her fashion sense was sever, but impeccable. Chanel said that when a woman who is well dressed, people notice the dress, but when a woman is impeccably dressed, people noticed the woman. Her aesthetics were everywhere if you looked. Where simple pins would suffice, she had antique hand lacquered pins. Her outfit tonight would have gone perfectly on Jayne Seymour in Somewhere in Time, except for the shoes. I had no doubt the tiny pearl buttons, were real pearls. Tiny, intricate, layered. Defenses again. Layer apon layer of carefully built defenses, and she had told me where she lived.

I climbed back into the car. Before George could pull out, I laid my hand on his shoulder. He looked at me in the mirror, "I want you to investigate this building. I want to know everything there is to know, as if I were moving here myself. If I have to buy the building to make it secure, I will do exactly that. Are you hearing everything I am saying?" George is a decorated Marine, with years of protection duty. He had stood post at the White House. When he nodded, I was sure things would be done properly, "One more thing. Backtrack from here. Considering what she does, she may have potential skeletons sleeping nearby. I want to know who, what, when, where, and why." Once more he nodded. I nodded back, and we pulled into traffic.

Sheila:

By the time I reached my third floor apartment, my hands were shaking so badly I had trouble getting the door open. Once in, I rushed to the window. I do not know what I expected to see, but there he was, standing at the entrance. At least he had not taken that last exchange lightly. That made me feel better. For some reason, my mind went back to our session, where he calmly and carefully laid me bare. Already, I trusted those hands like they were my own. Better than my own. With that in mind, my hands went to the pearl buttons holding my blouse to my throat. Slowly, carefully, I laid myself bare, though he could not see it.




Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 02



Down below, George had let him into the car. I could see nothing of the back seat, but the George was in the light of a streetlamp. He leaned forward, as if to start the car, when a hand appeared on his shoulder. George looked up, clearly into the mirror. After a moment, he slowly nodded. There was another pause, and he nodded again. Then they drove away.

What the hell had just happened?



Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 03



Author's note: This is where the real world starts to intrude. Just a head's up, things will get very dark shortly. 

Thanks for editing to clairegerm.

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

After the date it was more phone tag and more Aunt Francine. She came to town for some girl talk and Chinese food. Mom likes to remember feeding Aunt Fran a dumpling. Aunt Frannie says mother hogged the bed and she should have slept on the rug.

Chapter 5 – Roasting Marshmallows in the Afterglow 

Sean:

Beep. You have twelve messages.

First message, Five twenty eight PM: Sean, if I don't tell you later, I had a really good time. Nice. I guess that makes me Richard Gere. I hope my hair does not go gray quite that early.

Message ten, twelve forty seven AM: Sean, I had the best time. I want to do it again. But, we have some things to discuss. Can you do lunch tomorrow at Cianfrani's? Eleven thirty? Well shit.

Message eleven, six thirty three AM: Sean, Justin. We need a meet on the catalog. This cannot go any further without input. Call me: 888-557-5309. Shit twice.

Message twelve, six thirty eight AM: Sean, forget calling. Just come over when you get this. Why did I start an auction business? International red tape was so much simpler. 

Phone: This is 256-9521. Leave your mess... Sean, is that you?

"Yes, it is. I was planning on leaving a message. 11:30 at Cianfrani's is fine, but could you manage ten minutes earlier? I happen to know that Chuck Blanding has a regular Monday meeting at 11:30."

Phone: Charles will be there. Oh, yes. This I would pay to see. Just as a heads up, I want to discuss a proposition with you, concerning our appointment. Much as I enjoyed last night, this is unrelated.

"Last night was special. I do not date much, so I am not exaggerating when I say, that was the best date ever. I hope you slept well. You looked done out when I dropped you off."

Phone: I slept like a baby. I was just starting my morning workout when you called. 

"Good. I am relieved. Since we will be talking business, I have a proposal for you as well. See you then."

Phone: You, too. And thank you again for last night. It was also my best ever date. Ciao.

"B'bye."

That was nice. There is no chance Justin's meeting would be so pleasant. Oh well, I could always take it out on Chuck. The poor SOB picked the wrong week to play practical jokes on me. 

Sheila:

Sundays are usually good days: work out, go to service, catch up on paperwork. If I am lucky, there is time for A Game of Thrones. This Sunday would be very different. It started with a few phone calls.

The first was from Sean. He wanted to meet and suggested Cianfrani's when Charles would be present. I formed an image of Charles, caught with his hand in the cookie jar. This would be choice. I wondered what sort of business he wanted to discuss. Almost certainly not my usual fare. This also could be interesting.

Phone: This is Francine. If you really need to talk, call my agent. If you have this number, then you have that one.

"Frannie, this is your partner in crime. I have a caper to plan with you. Do not call back. Just come over as soon as you can tonight. I am at the Heritage Arms. Ring #302 and I will buzz you in."

There was so much to do. Not only was there the usual couple hours of paperwork, I also had a long list of videos to review for still shots. Now I also had to get ready for Frannie's arrival. For about the thousandth time I wished for a very understanding secretary.

I finished my workout, then went back to my studio. I did First Position three times, with extensions, alternating legs. The ritual was quite calming. After I showered and changed, it was back to XTreme Fitness to check the weekly payroll figures, sign the checks and OK the recommendations. Then I checked my mundane client schedule for the week. 

When you are both the General Manager and one of the hourly paid staff, things can get confusing. I put up with it, because it makes an excellent smoke screen. In my line of work, discretion is critical. It was noon, so I hit the juice counter for a protein shake and a bran muffin. Then I went to the break room and grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge. I was time for a film cutting session, so to speak. 

Having multiple offices can also be confusing, but there is only one editing room. I had 14 hours of video to cover, but it reduced to only a couple of minutes each hour. The kiss strikes again. Buying the high definition, auto focus, motion tracking cameras was one of my best business decisions. Signing my work in lipstick was one of my most practical choices. 90% of my photo requests specify the kiss, which means I only need to cover the end of a session. Then it becomes a matter of selecting a frame of the recording, crop, reposition, crop again and save. I can pull six options from most sessions in about 5 minutes. An hour saw me through 12 of my 14 hours of recordings. That left two hours with no lipstick, since I was the subject. I set an alarm for 3:00 PN and got to work.

The alarm went off before I was close to finishing. I knew it would. I suspected that I would be returning to these recordings for years. So far, I had three folders of selection. One folder focused on my face. The range of expression was amazing. The most interesting pair was from 10 seconds before Sean slapped on the cuff, versus 10 seconds after. Another interesting one is from when Sean licked my clit. The most compelling is from when he spoke of me losing my dancing. I have large eyes, but in that shot, they are positively huge, and teary. The second folder is small, covering each of the 10 lashes, and the same spot 30 seconds later, to show the redness. The third folder is the most interesting for me. It focuses on Sean. It is funny, in a way. I distinctly remember looking at these recordings and thinking of him as Mr. Richards. When did that change? 

I could think about it later. I had to get back to my apartment, to get ready for hurricane Francine. I burned a copy of the stills and grabbed my bag. On the way out, I stopped at the equipment locker and threw an assortment of toys into a gym bag. My special flogger was in the studio, so I made an extra stop for that. I just hoped that Frannie did not beat me home. 

Sean: 

Justin Immons was my problem child. My firm is hosting an auction, and Justin is the photographer. The items in the auction are all erotica, sexual equipment, fetish items, fertility symbols, and so on. For example, there is a letter from the Marquis de Sade. 

For this type of auction most of the buyers will not be present in person, which means the catalog is absolutely critical. I had ten days to get the catalogs in the mail, which meant that the photo proofs had to be at the printer no later than Saturday. Despite this, I was going to tell Justin and his crew to take the rest of the day off. My idea would either work in five days, or not at all.

Still, there were things to discuss. Helen's inquiries turned up three of my clients, who were also Cynthia's clients. I was on good enough terms with two of them that they agreed to loan me pictures. As with mine from Cynthia, they all had no face in the frame, which is as anonymous as I could manage. 

Justin, as Immons Images, is a professional photographer. He is out of Philadelphia, as much as he was from anywhere. Given the nature of the subject matter, I had anticipated difficulties with getting a top studio to take the work, which I did. However, for enough money, you can hire for almost anything, so Cox & Hart came on board. What I had not anticipated is that after three weeks of shooting, we would still be on square one. 

I finally realized that Cox & Hart would not get me what I needed. It was not that they had sat around doing nothing; they were a reputable firm. But the product they put out was not working, though I had no idea why not. So I we reached a deal and I cut them a five figure check, and watched as their people wiped the drives and destroyed the disks. It is hard not to complain for paying that much for nothing, but my check only covered pay for their hourly people, plus travel and lodging. Cox and Hart ate the rental value of the equipment and their salaried people's pay. 

When I decided to buy C & H out, I also started looking for another photographer. None of the name firms would touch it now, even without the deadline. Justin had spent the summer shooting a series of car shows for a California van dealer. What caught my attention is the fact that they were using local call girls as eye candy. The inducement was a 30 minute professional shoot, done by Justin. It evidently had worked for them, since there was no rumor of legal issues. The pictures I had seen were of some knock out girls, and they were definitely advertising their services, albeit discretely. In any event, the string of shows had run out, and Justin was looking for new work. 

Justin and his crew, doing business as Immons Images, agreed to shoot and edit the catalog. I could not fault their effort. In four days, they had shot every piece in the auction at least 10 times. But none of the shots were usable as they appeared, and I could not convey what else was needed. Enter my brilliant idea. I would hire Cynthia as creative consultant and let her deal with these issues.

First, I had to sell Justin on the idea. While it could not hurt, he could make sure it did not help. Hence, my little portfolio of Cynthia's work. As George drove me over, I called ahead. 

Phone: This is Peter. Can I help you?

"Peter, this is Sean Richards. Is Justin handy?"

Phone: I'll get him. He wants to talk to you. Badly.

"Don't bother. Here is what I want you to do. First, you and Jason can take the rest of the day off. I am going to make some changes, but it will take time. Be at the warehouse, ready to work, at 1:00 PM tomorrow. Get as much sleep as you can, because if things work, you will be needing it. Tell Justin I will be there in five minutes." 

Phone: Uh...

"Tell Justin I will be there in five minutes, hang up the phone, then you and Jason get the hell out of my building. Clear?"

Phone: Right. Bye.

If only everything was that easy. Peter was not bad, but he was a geek. Spelling things out usually saved time. When George and I arrived at the warehouse, all three of them were standing in the parking lot. As usual, Peter and Jason were arguing. I said to George, "It looks like I need you to play taxi, George. Take the two yokels wherever they want to go, then pick me up at the coffee shop up on 7th Street. Clear?" George looked at me through the mirror and said, "Copy that." You can get a driver out of the Marines, but not the Marine out of the driver. 

I let myself out of the car. I said, "Peter and Jason, climb in. George will drop you off. Justin and I need to talk, but you two need to get started on your down time. Justin, walk with me. I want to get some coffee."

He and I walked a block before Justin ventured anything. Understandably, he asked, "Is this a termination, and you want me to let them down for you?"

I respect someone that can get to the point. I responded with the same candor, "No, but there will be some changes, I hope. Leave it til we get to the diner. I have some things to show you."

He referred to the picture folder I was carrying, "Yep. I see that."

We arrived at the diner to find it half empty. That was good. With these kinds of pictures, I did not want a lot of passersby. I picked a booth in the corner, and we sat. Coffee cups were already on the table, so I turned mine over. In a moment so did Justin. The waitress came right over with a pot of coffee and menus. Justin ordered a cinnamon roll, and I asked for a hot roast beef sandwich. I figured that would take at least 5 minutes to put together. 

When the waitress left, Justin asked, "So?"

I went straight to the point again, "Justin, it is not working. In my opinion, we cannot get it to work in the time we have. Do you agree?"

He seriously considered the question. Finally, he acknowledged, "No. Not as things stand now."

Good, so far. I pulled out the picture folder. "Justin, I want you to look at these. In your professional opinion, what do you think?"

He opened the folder and closed it again immediately. Then he turned sideways in his bench and held the folder so that no one else could see into it. As he looked, his color flushed and his breathing got more rapid. Justin is unrepentantly gay, and these were pictures of naked, bound men, showing the signs of a recent beating. I suspected he would need to visit the men's room before we left. 

At this point the waitress returned with his cinnamon roll. Justin closed the folder and thanked her. She looked at him oddly, then shrugged and left without saying anything. 

As he reopened the folder, I said, "Save the last one for a moment. It is a female subject, and I want you to view it separately. What do you think about the others?"

"Hot. Really hot. There are things that could be better. For example the lighting is all passive. None of these used a flash. The camera is good, but not studio grade. That said, the composition is excellent. Every shot looks completely unstaged. That is odd, too, since the kiss mark is central to each shot. Where did you get these?"

I leaned back. So far, so good. "Not yet. Turn to the last shot, the one with the female subject. Tell me about it."

"This is fine work, too, exceptional in fact. I have done thousands of female nudes in the last year. Dozens of them are in this vein. I would stack this torso shot with any of them. The composition is outstanding. In this case, the face would distract from the interest. At the top, you get these fantastic shoulders, but it takes a moment to notice that the arms are bound. The hair forward is inspired. The line leads you down to a glistening pussy, with just the hood of the clitoris poking out. That is very difficult to stage. The pubic hair could be shorter, or removed, but here it looks very natural, as if this were a candid shot. 

"But, there is still more. The asymmetry, caused by the hair, draws attention to the perfection of the breasts. The shape is very nice for breasts this heavy, almost as if they were never subject to gravity, yet the skin says a woman in her mid to late 20s. The cherry on the sundae is the little curl of hair framing the nipple of the covered breast. That kind of touch is often purely chance, again making the whole image look spontaneous."

He set the folder down and looked at me. Very intensely he said, "That last shot is an award winner if it ever gets entered. The others would have a dozen publishers pounding on the door. If you can get the photographer that shot these, why do you need me? 

Award winner? I knew it was good, but he was talking a showing about of professional photographers work. Even for this type of art, there were such shows. From a professional photographer, praise does not come any higher than, "I wish I had shot that." If I heard him correctly, that was exactly what Justin had just said.

Still, I needed a lot more, "You clearly respect the artist. As you might guess, she is the owner of the lips. She staged each of the shots, save the last one. As it happens, I staged that one. Is this woman someone you could work with? You would still be behind the camera, but she would have artistic control?

That was a lot to drop on him. Giving up artistic control meant that Justin would be reduced to a technician. I know many artists that would never consider it. On the other hand, his first question had been whether he still had a job. All this was going on behind his eyes, but it only took a moment to reach a decision. 

He blew out a deep breath. "Holy Moses, Sean. You sure know how to drop a bomb. If you had asked me without showing me the pictures, I would have told you to fuck yourself. Better yet, I would have told you to lean over the table so I could do it without lubrication." Oh my goodness, he winked. "But, as you clearly intended to point out, you have me over a barrel. I would do a lot to finish this project, and she clearly has the talent to help get that done. So yes, I can work for this woman, if she can work with me. Humph, she probably does half her work with closet gays as it is. I might let her stage me, or have you do it."

I heaved my own sigh, "OK. Here is where things stand. I have a lunch meeting with her tomorrow. We are friendly, but I also know that her schedule is packed. Hopefully, Helen can help shift some of that load. One way or another, we will know by one o'clock tomorrow. So, go to Mass. See a movie. Take some time for yourself. Either I land her at the meeting, or I am well and truly fucked. If it makes you feel better, I consider her to be replacing me, not you."

Justin laughed, "That's a point. If she has artistic control, we might get a coherent theme, finally. That is one area where you well and truly suck. As a sucker of no mean repute myself, that is my highest praise. But, there is something you have not told me. Give."

Sometimes working with competent people can be a pain. Oh well, he would find out anyway. I said, "What I did not tell you is that she did not shoot any of those pictures. They were taken out of video. It was really good quality video, but she never took a shot."

Justin's mouth fell open, and his eyes bugged out. After a moment he blinked and closed his mouth, but continued to stare at me. Finally, "Are you telling me she cut all these prints out of digital video recordings?" I nodded. "That would explain the lighting and the spontaneity. And the kisses. It was bull's eye cropping. Holy freaking Moses, she got professional grade prints out of video. Yes, Sean, I want to meet this woman. In fact,I could line up twenty people that would want to meet this woman."

I smiled, "Don't bother. I am already dating her."

Justin cocked an eye at me, then both eyes got big. Oh shit. He had jumped to the right conclusion. "That is what the lipstick on the last picture was about. She loves your work. That was her in the last shot, and she loves your work, and gave you a prize winning picture as proof. Congratulations Sean, that is one hell of a woman. She makes me wish I was straight, and better looking than you." Did I mention competent people can be a pain?

I changed the subject, "Now, where's my lunch? It should..." Justin was looking over my shoulder, so I turned to see our waitress standing behind me, with my plate in her hands. She appeared to be attempting death by embarrassment. I motioned her forward and took the plate from her hands. There was only one reason to be this embarrassed; she had heard the conversation. In fact, I could guess where she walked in on it. Her name tag said Christine. 

I took her hand and pulled her still closer. I whispered, "Do you want to see it?"

She flushed again, her eyes got wide and she bit her lip. Then she jerked a single nod. Without a word, Justin opened the folder to the picture of the woman I still knew only as Cynthia. Christine's wide eyes threatened to jump out of her head. I still had her hand in mine and could feel her trembling. I glanced at Justin and he closed the folder. 

I said to her, "Justin is a photographer. He could make a lot of money shooting pictures of you in situations like that. I am not going to ask him to do so. Here is why." I released her hand, pulled out my business cards, and handed her one. "Call the number on that card. Ask for Helen. My name is Sean. Tell Helen that Sean told you to call about the job. Right now, do not tell anyone, just finish your shift. Call Helen in the morning. Got it?"




Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 03



She nodded. "Remember, do not tell anyone. I will leave you a nice tip when we go. Now shoo. I think your boss wants to know why you are still over here. Tell him that Justin is a famous photographer and you wanted an autograph. He did not give it to you, but he gave you a sneak peak. Now go."

Justin was straining to hold the laughter, "Do you often hire that way?"

I paused and thought about it. "Actually, you might be surprised. I found my lawyer at the DMV. He was explaining, in exacting detail, why some idiot should change things a previous idiot did wrong. In this case, if our Art Director takes the job, she will need a gofer that is familiar with her place of business. I know that Christine has at least an idea, and also some concept of how she will react to it. If Christine has any job skills, she will get a chance to show them. If not, trust me, she will learn. Our woman can be very, ahh, instructive." 

I ate my cold food, left a $20 bill folded in a $1 as a tip, and we went outside. As expected, George was waiting. After dropping Justin off, I told George to take me to Extreme Fitness. I went inside, bought a membership, and asked about business memberships. The Manager and General Manager were out, but they promised to have one Helen a call in the morning. I suspected I would need a reason to be on this side of town, and the gym turned out to be first rate. I checked the trainers, on a hunch, but no one named Cynthia was listed. When I asked about a recommendation, I was told that Sheila was the best, but her book was full, with a waiting list. 

Phone: This is Helen. I am not available right now. Leave your number and I will get back to you—or not. Take your chances.

"Helen, on our mystery woman, try the name Sheila Schwartz. Find me anything available on Ms. Schwartz, especially if she was ever a dancer. 

"Also, I asked a Christine, no last name right now, to call about a job. Put her on as office help. Right now she waits in a diner. Bump that 10%, promise her full time hours, and we will see how things go. I plan to pitch Cynthia on something. If it flies, this girl will be her new gofer and you will be her new best friend. 

"Enjoy the weekend."

Sheila:

It was past 4:00 and my apartment was a long way from clean. Funny, my studio and office were immaculate, and I did all the cleaning. There is never enough time to clean my own house. OMG, what would Sean say? At least the living area and kitchen were semi finished. Heaven help me if she saw the bedroom. Buzzz. Shit. She's here. 

"Hello. Is that you, Frannie?"

Intercom: Schwartzy, you have a lot of fucking nerve telling me not to call. Now open this fucking door. Buzzz.

Did I ever mention Frannie had a sewer mouth? She could get Herr Gruber to turn purple. I once accused her of causing his stroke, by raising his blood pressure too high. She actually took me seriously for a moment.

Francine bounced in with a big hug, kisses on both cheeks and a bottle of wine. She explained that she figured I had water and juice, maybe beer, but probably not, and certainly nothing worth giggling over. She did not wait for a reply, just went straight to the fridge. After exclaiming that there was no food, that I was a deadbeat, and that she should leave because, obviously, I did not know how to treat a guest, much less a star, she poked in my trash and asked what I had ordered on the pizza. Pizza had been my first notion, but I went with Thai.

When I just cocked an eye and said nothing, she swore an oath about joining an order of Italian nuns, because at least the food would be good. Then she flounced into the living room and jumped up on the back of the sofa. Normally, I would worry about it tipping, but Frannie could jump on the back of a ladder chair, and never appear to adjust her balance. Though she had stopped, her eyes never did. 

After taking in the whole room, she said, "Spent the last hour cleaning up, did we?"

What could I say? "Guilty as charged, and do not go in the extra bedroom. I threw everything that was in here, into there. Now, do you want tea, coffee, water, juice or a fat lip, I mean Fat Tire?"

Frannie laughed and rolled over backwards, landing between the sofa and the glass coffee table. She came back into the kitchen and said, "Double coffee with extra caffeine, as if you needed to ask. Now, what is that very interesting unmarked DVD on the dinette?"

As it happened, I had not needed to ask, so I punched the button on the coffee machine and went to pick up the disk. This CD was the one with the stills. The DVD with the four video feeds was still out of sight. 

With Frannie, usually the naked truth is best, and the barer the better, "These are still frames from the session I told you about. Strictly speaking, I cannot show them to you, since a person in the pictures has not given permission."

"Yeah, right."

"No shit, Frannie. Nothing on that CD can be talked about outside this room. I am breaking an express contract by showing them to you, not to mention breaching a trust. Since I think I could get permission, if I asked, and since you already know who it is, I will show you. Now swear. I mean it."

Francine did know that I meant it, and did swear. So, I turned on the flat screen and popped in the disk. This was the first time I saw the pictures on a big screen. It definitely added to the experience. First, I ran through the shots of my face. Francine sat cross legged on the floor, and never said a word. It was a lot of shots. Even at 10 seconds a slide, it took almost five minutes. Once they ran out, Francine signaled to move on, so I queued the shots of Sean. Six minutes later, she held out her hand. 

I gave her the remote. She ran through my face shots, stopping on four or five. Then she ran through the shots of Sean, stopping on five or six. Francine is usually a motor mouth, but she gets quiet when she thinks. When she starts talking in short sentence fragments, hold onto your hat.

She said, "There's more. Physical stuff. A whip. Show me."

The third folder had only about 30 shots. I went through them slowly. Twice. Francine never twitched. When they were finished, she looked up and said, "Damn, girl. That was so hot. I had no idea you swung that way. I am seriously going to have to seduce him tomorrow."

She said this last lightly, but I was not fooled. Francine wanted to get very physical with Sean, but I had already marked my territory. She respected that. I felt my lips slowly stretch into a smile. It must have looked wicked, because Francine's eyes got very big. 

I said, "OK, but you pay first." Without a word, Francine's gaze turned toward the gym bag by the door. My voice was purring when I said, "Would you like to see the flogger he used?" I got up from the sofa, to fetch my bag of toys. Over my shoulder I tossed, "You need to be getting naked for this."

What can I tell you about Francine Martel that you do not already know? Everyone knows that she is small, but really the word "tiny" fits better. She never bothers with heels, since even four inches only gets her to 5'2". One of her flats hit me in the ass while I stooped to pick up the bag. My response was to remove four leather cuffs and toss them to her. She was already peeling her top off, showing her 30 A breasts. I have male clients with more upstairs. While I picked out the blindfold and the bungee cords, she undid her belt and slid off her jeans. She still shaved everything. 

I ordered her to stand behind the sofa. Ever the showgirl, she executed a difficult gymnastics move, It involves pulling your feet over your head, while pressing to a hand stand, then lowering your feet to the floor. In gymnastics, it is a showy way to stand up, from a seated or near seated position. From a sofa, it is flatly impossible, but there it was. Point for her. Did I mention that bondage can be a competitive sport, between the D and the s?

This was Francine Martel. I expected her to push, push and push some more. Tricks may impress, but they do not change the dynamics of who is on top and who is on bottom. I simply looped the bungee cords around the sofa feet while she buckled on the cuffs. I glanced meaningfully at the two remaining cuffs, and went to dig some more in the bag. It took a minute to find the second spreader ferule, so I mostly missed the show. I got just a glimpse of her standing on one foot, with the other leg straight, toes pointed, as she buckled on the ankle cuff. 

I snorted. Even now, I could hold that position for half an hour. Francine must have realized it, because she put her foot down without her usual grin. Her lack of grin turned to something else when she saw the metal ferules in my hand. I was aware that she would need to practice this week, but I also knew that Monday was a set up day, and generally not demanding. My face must have shown it, because Francine was starting to look worried. I did not help when I went to a potted plant and extracted a four foot dowel. 

Motor Mouth Martel was not saying anything. For that, she received a brownie point. Once in a scene, speaking is by permission only. Silence was good for me too. In my experience, I have found that it unsettles many clients and never gives anything away. Instead of speaking, I pulled a set of locks from the bag and went to stand facing her across the sofa. 

I held out a hand, palm up. She put her hand in mine. I pulled her closer, so she had to lean over the sofa back. I held the other hand up, palm down. Obediently, she remained bent over and hand extended while I opened a lock and secured the cuff. She earned another brownie point by extending the other wrist for me to lock. Then, it was a simple matter of hooking the bungee cords to the locks, and Francine was forced to remain bent over the sofa back.

Sight is a very central part of our existence. Francine would not be able to see what I would be doing next, but I blindfolded her anyway. Even symbolic blinding is important. Then I picked up the locks, the ferules and the dowel, making sure I made noise for her to hear. I walked around the sofa, and stood directly behind her for a long moment, while I assessed the situation. Francine was so short that she was lying on the sofa back, with her feet two inches off the floor. This was fixable, however. 

I dropped everything at her feet. Startled, she jerked – one demerit. I then grasped her by the hips and pulled against the bungees til her feet were settled. I then dropped into to the floor cross legged. There, I locked the cuffs and inserted the spreader. Now I needed to improvise. Francine's feet needed to stay on the floor. Going to the closet, I pulled out my workout weights. I am not a guy, so I did not have a couple of fifty pound dumbbells in my closet. I did have two ten pound weights, and several fives. Stacking twenty pounds, on each end of the spreader bar, would keep her well grounded. That made it time for the tease. 

I stood behind her and ran my hands up her spine and back again. One of the major tension points is at the tail bone. Sean had taught me the importance of tension relief in situations of this nature. Taking her ass in both hands, I massaged her tailbone with both thumbs, moving down to grasp the ends of the gluts where they attach to the hipbone. I worked the large muscles, which is a relative term in Francine's case, for a full minute, carefully staying well away from the sensitive areas. 

My nose told me that she was becoming aroused. I licked a finger, and carefully pushed it into Francine's anus. After several seconds I wiggled it as much as possible, causing her to clench on it. That was enough for a while. I lowered my face to her level, and literally stuck my nose in her cunt. Reaching out my tongue, I found her clit and gave it a good nudge. Again, it was enough for the moment. 

I stood and went back over to the bag and located a comfort gag. I came over to her and pinched her nose to get her mouth open. I could have ordered it, but it is usually best not to give an order you know will be refused, unless punishing refusal is the point. Then I went to the kitchen and got a handful of ice. Two pieces I pushed into Francine's half opened cunt. Another I balanced on her anus. Francine jerked and knocked the piece off. I fed three more pieces into her cunt, and again balanced the last piece on her butt hole. This time she controlled her movements enough to leave it there. Good enough.

Stepping back, I checked her security, then picked up my purse. "I have to go get dinner. Hopefully, it will be ready when I get there." I opened my purse, took out the keys, rattled them for effect, then muffled them and opened the door. Stepping into the hall, I said, "Take care, Francine. I'll be right back." I closed the door, but with the knob turned, so it would not latch. It reopened a crack, and the latch popped out audibly. Perfect. I went to the security desk, by the entrance, and picked up our dinner. After only a minute away, I stepped back into the apartment, being very careful to remain silent. 

Sean had given me four minutes and 53 seconds of absence. That is a long, long time to be alone with your thoughts and discomforts. I planned to let this scene go on even longer, but I would not ever leave someone this exposed and be out of easy reach. People have died that way. Aside from that, I could watch Francine's reaction. Mastery has its privileges.

She held her silence for exactly 37 seconds past my return. Then she started screaming into the gag, which is why I put it there. Gagged and face into the sofa cushions, you could hardly hear it in the room, much less on the other side of a wall or floor. She seemed to call my name, then something like "Are you there?" After 21 seconds, she started struggling with the bonds and swearing. Naturally she again knocked off the ice, which was mostly melted in any case. This went on for almost two minutes. Soon she was calling my name again, then back to the swearing and possibly threats. 

This went on in cycles for almost five more minutes. Finally she slumped. That was when I started her clock. Exactly two minutes after she resigned herself to the situation, I opened the door, dumped my purse on the counter, and called, "Hi Honey, I'm home." Francine immediately began struggling and swearing again. I went into the kitchen area, put a box in the microwave and turned it on. By the time I had reheated everything and returned to the living room, Francine had started to run out of steam. Perfect.

I went to the bag, and got out the flogger and what I call a teaser. The flogger will leave a lot of imprint on the flesh, which can take days to fade. The teaser feels the same when dragged across the flesh, but is so light it barely stings, much less leave an image. Now it was time to invoke the shade of the late Oskar Gruber.

In my best German accent, I said, "Martel, Achtung. Attention pay you must. Focus. Und Silence. At the beat: Funf, Sechs, Sieben, Acht." Francine was shaking, with laughter I think. "Und now Fraulein, I vil introduce you to die Flogger, as I promised." I ran the strands over Francine's ass. "Sie the weight macht feelink. Ostrich hide sie ist. Only die Besten. Und Eins." 

I flicked her ass, just where I had laid the real crop, but using the teaser. "Und Zwei." This time I caught as much of her pussy as I could. It may be a pale shadow of the real thing, but on the honey pot, you feel it. Dropping the accent, I said, "And one more because I love you dearly." Then, I dropped to my knees and tried to suck her clit out of her cunt. That was not enough, but when I nipped it with my teeth, she came like a fountain. 

Several minutes later, I fed her dim sum with chop sticks. Her hands were still bound, though behind her now. I sat cross legged on the floor, and she sat in my lap. As she chewed her bite, I said, "I really do love you dearly, you know. You were always the big sister I never had, even if you never got taller than I was at ten." 

She cocked her head to one side. With a bit of wonder in her voice, she replied. "I knew that. Even when you left for the carry out, I knew you would never let me fall. Remember that day when you were twelve and we were short a boy. You were the biggest and I was smallest, so you had to do the lifts. Even at twelve, with your arms quivering, you never dropped me. Once I realized that, I finally stopped struggling. Of course it took you fifteen more minutes to get back. Then when you pulled out that crop, I thought, 'What-the-fuck-did-I-do-to-piss you-off?' Is that it?"

I laughed. "It is not a crop. This is a flogger. It has a weighted handle, shark skin grip and, as I told you, kangaroo hide strands. It cost £120, almost $200, and I love it almost as much as I love you. But, you could not go to practice with a bunch of red marks on your skin, so I used the pompon. The flogger, I may give this to Sean as a present. No shit Francine, I am stuck on this guy. It's like you said, he will not let me fall.

Francine shook her head. "Then I really need to seduce him then. If he won't, then I plan to tell him talked to you first, and you are OK with it. If he still won't, either I am losing my touch, or..."

I said, "Or nothing. He will if I say he can. I understand him that well at least. But enough about him. It is time to get you tied up for bed. I have not introduced you to the remote controlled vibrator egg."

"What the fuck. The hell you say. I am hmmph. Geethssthhmgowoomoot. Owwow." 

I may be a girl, but I could still throw a 95 pound pixie over my shoulder, and swat her on the butt as I carried her to her sleeping rug. All the accessories were there. First, I closed the strap on her gag, before she thought to spit it out. A little Anal-Eaz let the butt plug slide in. I slathered a thick layer of contact gel on the egg, and slid it in. I juiced it once, and was rewarded with a squeak, then turned it to low. By morning she should be done to a turn. As I said, Francine is a caffeine junkie. Unlike me, she did not need restful sleep. Giving her a couple of forced orgasms and having her eat me in the shower seemed like a way to start the week. 

Then it was my turn. I lubed up the other butt plug, and slid it in. Then that awful red ball gag. Just like before, it may my jaw ache. I picked Francine's for comfort. Sean had picked a bigger one for me, so it was mine til he picked another. Next came the pretied rope sections for my feet and hands. They were not secure like Francine's cuffs, but I was the spotter in this scene. Next blindfold, up on the forehead, then the vibrating dildo, set on low. Finally I lay down behind Francine and snuggled up close. I pulled the blind down over my eyes, then reached over her head and pulled her close. Life did not get much better.

Oh My GOD. She can reach my pussy.

Francine:

Ye Gods, Sheila is incredibly sweet, for a raging bitch. Being tied up, blindfolded, had been an experience. Sheila said that her business was all about anticipation. In half an hour she turned me into a very horny wreck. I would have sworn at least two hours, but the daylight proved her right. After she licked me to a convulsive climax, it was kind of nice having her feed me Chinese takeout. We cuddled and we talked. That I could live with, even with my hands were tied behind my back. Her next idea was too much.

Sheila also never took the cuffs off my ankles, even when she unlocked them. Since she got naked (Sheila hates being naked) and cuddled up for dinner and talk, I did not really mind. But then she mentioned sleeping this way, I freaked, for all the good it did me. Sheila just stuffed the gag back in and threw me over her shoulder. Damn, the bitch was strong, just like always. 




Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 03



She locked up my feet, with no slack, shoved in an egg dildo and butt plug, then dropped me on a doggy bed. What was twisted was that she went through all that herself, but more: bigger gag, full size vibrator and a blindfold. She cuddled up close, which was nice, but she got too close. My fingertips could just reach her cunt, though not the vibrator in it. Gods, I was hot. She set that egg on a low throb, and it was getting to me. She may have licked me to a fucking great orgasm earlier, but turnabout is fair play. I was ready to score some points of my own. 

I could just reach the folds of her cunt, so I set to stroking them, while struggling for a hair more reach. She moaned and twitched, but she did not pull back. I grabbed a pinch of her pubic hairs and pulled. She howled into that big ass gag, jerking even more than before, but she did not pull back. That was the game. She got herself in this situation, and she had to live with it. That was OK by me. Carefully, I stroked one of her labium with my fingernails. 

I love that word: labium major, meaning upper cunt lip. I ran my index fingernail up the outside of her left labium major, and down the inside of her right. Her labia were spreading quite nicely, so I shifted to the top of her clitoral hood, and scratched. Sheila was moaning and writhing. It was hard to do what I had to do, but I kept at it. Eventually, I felt her erect clit slide free of the hood. Time for the coup de grace. Pulling back my finger, I curled my big finger against my thumb and flicked. Whiff. I did not want her to react to what I was trying, so I loaded up again. This time I just grazed it, though you would have thought Sheila was struck by lightning. One more time ought to do it. Aiming lower this time, since I had been missing high, I fired my fuck you finger one more time. GOOOAAALLLLL!!!!!

Sheila was doing her very best imitation of an earthquake. Suddenly something hard impacted my fingers. It had to be the dildo. Straining to reach out, I could just get three fingers on the plastic head. That was enough, because it started vibrating a lot faster. 

Sheila: 

I should have known Francine would not take things lying down, so to speak. She quickly found that she could reach my tender spots. First she grabbed a pinch of my newly trimmed landing strip, and tried to pull hair out. That was not enough. She was soon running a fingernail up the outside of one lip and the inside of the other. Worse, the stimulation was causing my clit to push out. She teased it with a painful scratching motion until the clit pulled clear of the hood. Then she flicked with her fingernail. Ouch, but not too bad. She just grazed it. The next flick caught me full on. I came so hard I think I passed out for a blink. Then the bitch turned the vibrator up to full.

Enough. We both needed sleep tonight, and I would not get any with the vibrator on full. I rolled off, and pushed up the blindfold. I had to acknowledge the point, so I took out the gag. "Touché. That hurt, you freaky bitch. I was nice so you could practice when you needed to. Then you treat me like a pincushion. Fuck Francine, I think I passed out for a second. You win. Let me give you your prize." 

I pulled the plug out of her ass and unlocked the cuffs. I did not turn off the vibrator, but I did give her the remote. "If you want more, get up on the bed." 

Francine was also a bit shaky, but she managed to sit on the edge of the bed. That was close enough. I knee walked over and buried my face in her pussy. The vibrator was still on; I could feel it with my tongue, but that was no problem. I pushed her clit up with my tongue, then tried to suck it out of the hood, while using my finger to probe her star, which was still open from the plug. Francine's reaction was to turn up the vibrator. Suddenly Francine's powerful legs gripped my head as she fell back thrashing. It was pretty good, but I think my orgasm won on points. Damn. That was one more point for her. 

She knew it too. She ordered me to clean her up so we could sleep. Francine fights dirty, small people often do, but she is as loyal as they come. And she promised to fuck me with the strap on. Who was going to owe whom for that?

Francine:

I give Sheila credit for being a good sport. She rolled off and removed her gag and blindfold. Then she unlocked all my restraints, removed the butt plug and gave me the remote to the egg. 

She said, "If you want more, get up on the bed." That sounded promising, so I dragged myself over to the bed and up on the edge. Sheila crawled over and did her best Oreck impression on my cunt, while sticking several fingers up my ass. I flipped the egg up high, and in a few seconds I exploded. That was two big orgasms in one night. I owed her one. So I grabbed her by those D cup tits and dragged her close. Nose to nose, I said, "I'm too tired to fuck you properly with the strap on, so you get that one on account. Now clean me up and let's get some sleep."

Sheila is a scary bitch if you never get close to her, but inside she is pure kitten. Kittens have claws, which will not retract, and they will lick your skin raw, but they are also great to cuddle with and they purr when you stroke them. I refer to licking the skin raw advisedly. Sheila did a very thorough job of cleaning me. 

One thing though, "Take off those fucking ropes and come to bed. You are not a damn puppy and I am not taking you home." Ye Gods, that woman can blush.

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

Things were not as good for Dad. It was one of those critical times in his business, and things were not going well. He claims Mom saved his bacon. Mom says she had zero experience and just made a lucky shot with the camera. 

Whatever. Dad hired her for her first paying gig as an image artist. Mom says the real work only took half an hour, but getting the details right just about killed everyone. It would also be when she met Uncle Jason, the subject of the famous picture.

Chapter 6 – Quiet Desperation

Sean:

Monday mornings are always interesting, in a twisted sort of way. I have seven day weeks, as a rule. Most business owners do. However, Monday is the day that three days of issues hit pile up and hit you at once. Most of my time and energy had been consumed by the upcoming auction, but my three other businesses each wanted a piece of me. There were lots of fiddly bdetails to deal with and it never worked as well when my mind was somewhere else. That Monday, my mind was on the feel of her head against my shoulder. I was fixated on her, and I was convinced I did not even know her real name.

Among the other business, things in the Cynthia vein began to come in, albeit slowly. George started off, by informing me that Sheila Schwartz, doing business as S&S Properties, owned the entire block her studio was located in. He mentioned a bequest, which ticked my radar. Every person of importance in town knew Judge Henry Johnson.

Shortly after 9:00 AM Helen stepped in, between appointments, with her first tid-bit. She informed me that the Judge was a patron of Mistress Cynthia, in every meaning of the word "patron." Not long after, George provided details of the bequest. This confirmed my belief that Cynthia, Mistress of discipline, was in fact Sheila Schwartz, fitness trainer. More details filtered in, til I told both Helen and George to make out a report for the end of the day. I already had enough for an outline.

I also had a lunch appointment, with Sheila Schwartz, doing business as BDS&M. George drove me over. When he dropped me off, I told him to focus on real estate inquiries concerning the warehouse block. Unless I missed my guess, the biggest danger to her was an attempted blackmail. The target would be ownership of the building. With an anchor tenant like XTreme Fitness, the whole neighborhood was picking up. This raised a new possibility. I told George to expand his search, to cover the surrounding blocks and to include an eye to purchase possibilities. No reason not to make money when you can.

The car pulled up right on time. As I had come to expect, Sheila (that was an odd shift in the mind) was coming around the corner. I told George not to bother picking me up. His research was going to be interesting, and potentially important. I could use the walk after lunch in any event. As Sheila came up, I offered my arm. She took it and we went inside.

The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men, Gang aft agley. We could barely get in the door. At a guess, there was a meeting or party taking up much of the diner. It could be worse. I could stand it, since I was arm in arm with my puzzling companion. The puzzle gave us something to talk about.

I said, "I am at a loss for what to call you. Obviously, I cannot use the name on your business card, but I have no other use name for you." 

She looked thoughtful, "Good point. Most of the names I have used, I have also outgrown, or do not care to repeat. 'Call me Ishmael' seems a bit trite. How about ZZ?"

I said, "As in two Zs?"

"It stands for Zezolla." 

"Ah, I understand, though your frock is a little too clean." Zezolla is one of the earliest names for Cinderella. "I think Belle would be better, as I can easily play the Beast." She ducked her head and blushed. "It's settled then. You are my Belle." 

Naturally, nothing of the sort was settled, but all was not lost. I glanced up, just in time to see Chuck Blanding's jaw drop. He must have come through the door, just as Sheila was blushing. It could not have been staged any better. 

I waved him over, saying, "Chuck, I want to thank you for introducing me to this lovely lady. We have so much in common: art, music, Italian food. I took her to the symphony Saturday night. It was one of the memorable nights of my life. She even blushes prettily." Blushing she was, though there was also a strong hint of warning in her glance. 

She took her turn at the plate. "Charles, I am so glad you dropped by. You have a free session coming. I took the liberty of scheduling you last on Thursday. That means we can go long if things work that way. I have something special planned." Cynthia, for that was who was speaking, licked her lips as she said "special." 

Now to wrap it up, I said, "Chuck, please take our place. This lovely lady and I have business to discuss, and it is going to be too noisy in here." 

Cynthia nodded. "Please Charles, allow us. I will see you 4:00 PM on Thursday. Do not be late." Chuck went from pale to deathly white. That would be my girl.

We squeezed past him and out the door. Holding in the laughter was not easy, but we made it around the corner before we both exploded. We must have laughed a full minute, til my sides, at least, were aching. It felt very good, especially after my last few weeks. Sheila's car was just around the corner, so we had transportation. She drove us to a Greek place, D's Grill, with which I was unfamiliar. 

Sheila:

Getting Francine out of bed was a chore. After we finally got to bed, I spooned up behind her, and slept like a rock. 5:30 AM came and I rose to do my stretching and start the coffee. While the coffee brewed, I took a shower, being careful to clean my south end. After drying, I rubbed some lotion into my poor abused pussy. Francine had scratched my clitoral hood raw. Though it was hooded, I suspect the clitoris itself had a red welt on one side. The memory made me shiver. 

After all the time working out, showering and doing my face, I came out to find Frannie still wrapped around my pillow. This would not do. I had appointments and she had a 30 minute drive. I loaded cream and sweetener into a cup of double strength coffee, then returned to the bed. In my line of work, you learn how to deliver a slap. Frannie got one of my best, right on her bare ass. She woke with a yelp and turned to do battle. I put a mug of coffee in her hands. She glared at me over the cup, but I knew her priorities. Within seconds, half the steaming mug was empty. 

I said, "If Francine, the slug-a-bed, is finally up, she can help me get dressed. I am meeting Sean at lunch. I want to wear something special, and it takes two to put it on." 

I opened the special drawer. Julian made me a corset once, but I hardly ever wore it, exactly because it requires a dresser. Frannie may be irresponsible, but Francine is theater to the bone. In theater, costuming is half the fun. She loved the idea. She also loved my collection of foundations and bustiers. 

"My God Schwartz, where did you get all these." 

"I had them made, for which I am fortunate. Julian is very exclusive. Do you want one?"

"Ye Gods yes, but I couldn't possibly..."

"You can and you will. Now, hold your arms over your head." 

I lowered a lacy black bustier down her body. "Now hold it up while I fasten it. This is the first thing I bought from Julian. By his standards, it is very simple, almost off the rack. We could never get it fitted properly. He tried and tried, but eventually he gave up and offered to make one to measure." I pulled out another bustier. "This one. I have been a client ever since. There. Done. Look in the mirror." 

It was quite effective on her. I had struggled to just to pull it on while open. On Francine's tiny body, it fit lightly, even when fully pulled in. The bottom rode over her hips, rather than above them, as it had on me. The top was snug enough to even force a hint of cleavage. For those that wear underwear as outerwear, it would fit right in. I could see Francine out clubbing in it and a flair skirt, possibly with only it and the flair skirt. She nodded at her reflection and turned to give me a strangling hug. Then she helped me with my more difficult piece, which is an outright corset. All too soon, she flew out the door, still wearing the bustier, one of her own skirts and one of my men's shirts. The tail of the shirt hung lower than her skirt. 

My appointments that day went oddly. Tuesday and Thursday morning appointments are exclusively at the gym. Everything is done in the open. That way, my clients and I can be seen together without arousing comment. Half the important people in town know me as Sheila Schwartz, the fitness trainer. 

When I am in the gym, conducting a exercise session, there is no touching or anything remotely sexual. Yet, many of my clients said that the workouts were as rewarding as being forced to multiple orgasms in my studio. It has given me an interesting insight into human nature.

That Tuesday was different. Perhaps it was the suit, which was tailored for a corset. It was only the third time I had worn it, and the first time I wore it for the Judge. It had special meaning for me and I was being very careful of it. It could have been the corset itself. Most of Julian's work is wonderfully free, but not the corset. Necessarily, my breaths were shallow, my movements controlled, and my posture stiffly erect. Perhaps, it was my expression. Whatever the reason, Cynthia was present, and everyone knew it. Even the other staff were very polite. Likely, it was for the best, since my clients managed three personal bests. 

Eventually, it was time to meet Sean. Arriving at exactly the same time was getting to be a ritual. We met in front of the diner. Sean offered his arm, and we went inside. In spite of the company, I wanted to go right back out. Cianfrani's was packed. In spite of the noise, Sean made conversation.

He said, "I am at a loss for what to call you. Obviously, I cannot use the name on your business card, but I have no other use name for you." 

He was right. "Good point. Most of the names I have used, I have also outgrown, or do not care to repeat. 'Call me Ishmael' seems a bit trite. How about ZZ?"

He said, "As in two Zs?"

"It stands for Zezolla." I love fairy tales. I also love running them down in the original form, even if it happens to be in middle French. Sean understood the reference right off.

"Ah, I understand, though your frock is a little too clean. I think Belle would be better, as I can easily play the Beast." My stars, he could not be serious. My face got so red my ears were burning. He ignored it. "It's settled then. You are my Belle."

I heard a gasp. Looking over, I saw Charles Blanding with his mouth hanging open. He must have seen me blush. That would be the last thing Mistress Cynthia would do in his world. I was dressed as Mistress Cynthia, though Sean had not seemed to notice. Time to bring her to the party. 

Sean bought me the time I needed. He waved Charles over saying, "Chuck, I want to thank you for introducing me to this lovely lady. We have so much in common: art, music, Italian food. I took her to the symphony Saturday night. It was one of the most memorable nights of my life. She even blushes prettily." I flushed again. Blast him for making me break character. 

I needed to repair my image. "Charles, I am so glad you dropped by. You have a free session coming. I took the liberty of scheduling you last on Thursday. That means we can go long if things work that way. I have something special planned." I used my Cynthia smile, which scares some people spitless, and leaned on the "special." Sean tied the bow on it. "Chuck, please take our place. This lovely lady and I have business to discuss, and it is going to be too noisy in here." Perfect. I added, "Please Charles, allow us. I will see you 4:00 PM on Thursday. Do not be late." 

Charles was already pale and sweaty. That turned him positively stricken. Thursday, I planned to give him a lot of time alone with his thoughts, with just occasional punctuation. I grinned as we pushed out of the building and ran to the corner. Then we both burst out laughing. I, at least, laughed til it hurt. 

We had stopped almost in front of my Volvo. I pulled out my keys and unlocked the doors. Sean got in. George must be busy elsewhere, which was something to think about. George reeked of security. Since Sean did not offer an opinion, I drove us to D's Grill near my studio. I was in the mood for gyros and tabouli. It was a new place for Sean, which was all good. We ordered at the counter, received our styrofoam cups and found a seat in the corner to sip our drinks. 

Sean broke the silence. "That is a spectacular outfit you are wearing. I doubt many could pull it off." What a left handed compliment. He could be thinking so many things. 

I gave him the truth. "I had it made a few years ago for a special client." 

He shocked me by nodding and saying, "Judge Johnson." Before I could sputter out something, he went on. "I hope you don't mind. I asked Helen and George to do some discrete inquiries. Considering the nature of your business, I told them to be very discrete." That was a mouthful to chew. I was spared an immediate reply by the arrival of our food. We focused on gyro and tabouli, spanakopita, grape leaves and cucumber salad. 

After I finished what I was willing to eat, I said, "Something tells me that George would have been digging without any instruction. What was he, Secret Service?" 

"No, but close. Same song, different verse. He was a Marine on protection detail. The knees are no longer military grade."

"Tell him that if he needs therapy, I can do a mean routine. Ask anyone." 

He smiled, then got very serious, "There is more. Some of your clients are also my clients. It's a small city. A couple were willing to lend me some of your lipstick pictures, ones with no faces showing. I insisted on that last point. I showed them to a professional photographer from the City. He was enough impressed that I want to hire you for some photographic work. It is very urgent, has a short deadline and must be highly discrete. For that list of qualifications, you are the only name on my list. Please, at least consider it."




Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 03



I must have looked like Charles had, back at the other diner. My head reeled with all the information packed into those few sentences. I ticked through several: he knew who some of my clients were; he had contacted them; they trusted him enough to loan some highly personal pictures; he had shown the pictures to a third party; the third party was a professional photographer; the professional had liked my work; Sean wanted my help; Sean was desperate; Sean had a picture of his own; that was Sean's picture, he could do with it as he wanted. Give him his due, Sean was not rushing me.

Trembling a bit, I asked, "Did you show him the other picture, your picture?"

Sean licked his lips and said, "I did. His term was 'prize winner.'"

Oh my stars. That meant that the photographer knew a very great deal about me. I made a leap, but just a little one, "You want me to work with the photographer." Sean nodded. "You want me to oversee the photographer." He nodded again. "The photographer is willing to do that, based on the pictures he saw." Another nod. He would have to be good. Sean would not hire anyone without a reputation. Still, "Is he any good?"

Sean shrugged. "He has a good reputation and he has worked the type of material in your pictures. That is important for this job. He has made a big pile of money in the last year. He did not need to eat giving up creative control. He was in a position to walk away. In fact, he said that he would have walked if he had not seen your pictures, and known where they came from."

This just kept getting deeper and deeper. "Creative Control" are words for conjuring. People have literally died over them. The offer was both seductive and terrifying, but I knew my decision had already been made. It would not hurt to meet the guy, but already my fingers were itching to get started. 

One other thing bothered me. Sean was the type of person that people, even my prickly self, trusted almost on sight. Unspoken in all of this, was the fact that several professionals, including myself, were extending him a lot of trust on nothing more than his word. I knew in my bones that Sean took such things seriously. It all boiled down to one thing. Sean was not desperate. He had passed that point a while ago. Sean had his back against the wall and was battling for something more important than his life. All I could say was, "Damn Sean, remind me not to back you into a corner." 

This was gambling everything on a really long, longshot, namely me. I was an untried, inexperienced person working out of her field for the first time. How could I refuse? To seal the deal, I needed some form of payment. Mario was a Tuesday regular, and my biggest pain slut. I literally could not hit him hard enough. Sean might do better and Mario was certain to agree. Mario agreed to everything.

I said, "One other thing. I will bring another person to session tomorrow. You will conduct, and I will observe. If you choose, I may also participate, if do not let him know that it is me. This is even if I do not take your job. This is for doing the interview. Agreed?"

I have not seen so much relief, in a single person, ever. 

Sean:

D's Grill did not look like much, and the neighborhood could be much better. Still the interior was clean, which is always the most important thing. Belle ordered a sandwich and salad. I went with the sampler plate. I know Italian food from my time in the service. Greek, not so much. We filled our disposable cups and settled in the corner. 

I had to say something about the outfit Sheila was wearing. It was a dove gray suit, for lack of a better term. The skirt was a modest ¾ length, but came to well above the waist. The top was another of her small buttoned Victorian blouses, in a pale ivory. This one looked genuine, as in 120 years old, and made in England. If it was not antique, it was a very good copy. Over the top was a long sleeveless jacket, which likely could be worn as a cape and looked reversible. The top was the same dove gray, but the inside was a blood maroon. The flashes of color against the sober ensemble were intriguing, at the least. 

Everything was extremely fitted. In fact, given her penchant for foundations, I would bet an outright corset. As usual, her lovely hair was up, this time in a bun. Her heels were practical. In short, she looked like a school marm, from a BDSM wet dream. Almost without trying, I could envision a cane in her hand and a boy leaning over a desk. 

I said, "That is a spectacular outfit you are wearing. I doubt many could pull it off." Many? Read that, no one else I knew. 

She replied, "I had it made a few years ago for a special client." 

That made perfect sense, "Judge Johnson." She looked shocked, so before she could say anything, I continued, "I hope you don't mind. I asked Helen and George to do some discrete inquiries. Considering the nature of your business, I told them to be very discrete."

She was quiet for a moment, then surprised me. "Something tells me that George would have been digging without any instruction. What was he, Secret Service?" 

"No. Same song, different verse. He was a Marine on protection detail. The knees are no longer military grade."

"Tell him that, if he needs therapy, I can do a mean routine. Ask anyone." I had to smile at that, despite the weight of what I was about to drop on her.

"There is more. Some of your clients are also my clients. It's a small city. A couple were willing to lend me some of your lipstick pictures, ones with no faces showing. I insisted on that last point. I showed them to a professional photographer from the City. He was enough impressed that I want to hire you for some photographic work. It is very urgent, has a short deadline and must be highly discrete. For that list of qualifications, you are the only name on my list. Please, at least consider it."

She took that whole. I could see her processing through the various levels of meaning, and the consequences if something went wrong. My neck was way out, and I knew it. 

She justified my leap of faith, "Did you show him the other picture, your picture?"

Delicately put. I tried to be as even toned as possible, when I said, "I did. His term was 'prize winner.'" Of all the things I just said, that was the one that shocked her. She was rocked for a moment, then her mind went back in gear. Indeed, her performance was virtuoso. One by one, she went through the steps I took, when I approached Justin. I could only nod where appropriate. 

"You want me to work with the photographer." Nod.

"You want me to oversee the photographer." Nod.

"The photographer is willing to do that, based on the pictures he saw." Nod.

Finally, she asked a question, "Is he any good?"

In fact, it was a damn good question, because I truly did not know. I could only repeat what I had heard. "He has a good reputation and he has worked the type of material in your pictures. That is important for this job. He made a big pile of money over the last year. He did not need to eat giving up creative control. He was in a position to walk away. In fact, he said that he would have walked if he had not seen your pictures."

Her expression was too complex for me to read. There was the eagerness to reach for the bait, and I could tell she wanted it. But there was also caution. She had already walked through a lot of very deep shit, but I could not tell if she was willing to swim or drown in it. 

Her next question was not a question, "Damn Sean, remind me not to back you into a corner." She got it. In fact, she seemed to understand better than I could have explained to her. Damn, I loved this woman. Wait, what?

She was not finished. Oh shit. "One other thing, I will bring another person to session tomorrow. You will conduct, and I will observe. If you choose, I may also participate, if do not let him know that it is me. This is even if I do not take your job. This is for doing the interview. Agreed?"

Alexander wept, for there were no more worlds to conquer. I did not trust my voice, so I nodded. Then I stood and offered my arm. If she could dress Victorian, I could show some manners. The bench seating cramped my style, but I am adaptable.

We said very little on the drive to the warehouse. Sheila made a call to reschedule an appointment. I offered to pick up the fee, so her client could have a free session in compensation. She accepted with a smile. Once we arrived at the warehouse, I took her to Justin's work room. Her eyes widened a little when she saw the subject matter, but I had given her enough hints, so I do not think she was surprised. First she went through picture after picture, then it was page of proofs after page of proofs. Long before I expected, she looked up. 

Her look was speculative, as she asked, "When can I meet them?"

I checked my watch, "About 15 minutes. Do you want Justin, or did you mean all of them?"

"No time like the present, and this is a team event. They will work with me or they will not. I need to know right away. There is good news, though. I can work with all of this. What we need is a binder, not individual pages." She stopped and thought for a moment. Then she picked up her bag and pulled out her keys. "I am going to go get some reinforcements. If there is some kind of a lounge or break room, collect them there. I will be back as soon as I can." As she left, she gave me a quick peck on the cheek. 

I could have thought about the kiss, but I also had things to do. I called Helen and told her that I had hired Sheila as a consultant, with creative control. I needed to know how much to pay her, because it was already obvious Sheila would not ask. Oddly, this would prove to be a very effective negotiating tactic. I also told Helen that we would be meeting with Justin's group, and after that we would play it by ear. Then, I called George and told him to get a car shuttled over. He wanted to drive me himself, but there was no telling how late this would go, and he had research to do. He let it go at that, which told me volumes about what he was uncovering. 

About ten minutes later, a cab pulled up and dropped Justin and company. As I herded them to the lunch area, Sheila called, telling me that she was about to head over. I informed the boys that they would be meeting someone shortly and that she had just called to tell me she was on the way. Then, I told them that I hoped they were well rested, because there was a lot of work left. Sheila saved me from a lot of questions by honking out front. I went to fetch her. 

I met Sheila at the front security desk. While she was gone, she had also changed her look. These were definitely work clothes, for her studio. The outfit was strict school teacher, with red lipstick and heels. She wore a pleated white cotton top and knee length black skirt. Her legs wore black pattern stockings with 3" open-toed pumps. Her hair was severely pulled back to a bun, held by long black sticks. For makeup, Sheila also wore very red lipstick, which I recognized from her pictures, with heavy black eye liner and mascara. In her hands were an actual purse, rather than her usual clutch, and a portfolio. 

We embraced, and she whispered, "Break a leg, girl." I had her visitor pass ready, which I attached for her. Then she turned and marched into the building. I had a sense of deja vu, as I guided her, by a hand on her shoulder. 

It takes a bit of time, to get down to the ground level and back up. By the time we arrived, all three were standing at the lunch room door. They melted aside for her. I stopped at the door, to give her more space. Her choice of outfit made the introduction easy. 

I said, "Gentlemen, this is Cynthia. I hope you will be able to work together. Cynthia, Justin Immons, Peter Grayson and Jason Porter. I will let you talk." 

Sheila:

Once I decided to give Sean's project a try, problems started to well up. First would be my 1:00 o'clock with Francis. I called and, fortunately, he picked up. I told him I had an emergency come up and that I needed to reschedule. Shortly after that, as we were driving to the warehouse, Sean offered to pick up the fee for Francis' session, which was nice, though not unexpected. As we drove, I pondered what that meant. I was beginning to know Sean's honor like my feet know a dance floor. A girl could get used to relying on a safety net like that.

Sean's warehouse was much more substantial than mine had been. For one thing, it had a fenced lot and security. I would come to understand why. Sean had left word for me to park near a small office area, which pushed out of one corner of the building. There was more security at the door. 

Sean checked me through, telling me that I would have unrestricted access, once things were arranged. They took my picture, then Sean clipped on a visitor badge and escorted me to a fenced off staircase. This, he said, lead to the secure area. There were two more guards and log books to sign, not to mention some very obvious cameras. I was coming to understand that he dealt in items of value, and not just a few of them. The secure area took up a whole floor of the building. 

Unlike the floor below, there was little activity here. Sean led me to a side room which had been converted for photo editing. A wave of familiarity swept over me. It was bigger than mine, with a lot more equipment, but I understood the place. On a table were untidy stacks of pictures. I picked up some and started looking through them. The items in the pictures, conveniently labeled, were meso-American phallic totems. Basically, these were hand carved dildos. The pictures all had a background grid, marked in centimeters. There would be no guessing about size. 

Moving on, I picked up a book of proofs. Flipping through pages of thumbnails, it gave me an overview of the material at this auction. To say it was sexually oriented would be a bit of an understatement. Every piece had an obvious connection to sex, be it erotic in nature, like the dildos, written or painted erotica, or attributed to a sexually prominent person. 

Moving on again, I saw three proof books, titled "Hollywood", "Marquis", and "Archeology." The third was obvious, but the other two intrigued me. "Hollywood" was like a trip into my prop room, but more expensive. The intro sheet said that it was a collection of bondage gear from a Hollywood brothel, circa 1920s. It also set an auction estimate at $1.2 Million. The "Marquis" book contained an eight page letter from the Marquis de Sade, estimated sale price $750,000. I could see why Sean thought my experience would be worthwhile. My clients had taught me, in some depth, what these items would be worth to a collector. 

Time was short. I asked Sean when Justin and his people would be available. He said in 15 minutes. That gave me enough time to get a portfolio of my work, and do a costume change. On the way out, security gave me a photo ID badge. 

There was no time to be fancy. I rushed over to my studio and grabbed the first costume in it. Easily my most popular studio persona is as a school teacher. I have several versions. The one I grabbed is the most plain: long black skirt and high necked blouse. The buttons should have been a problem, being in back, but it had a cheat zipper in the pleats. Getting out of the Judge's gift took longer. I hung it up, carefully. 

It was the first time I had worn the school costume with the corset, and was very pleased with the way it draped. Then, I went to the editing room. I grabbed a file of faceless images, which I burned to CD. Finally, I spent two minutes on hair and makeup, grabbed my tall shoes and headed back. It was just as well I was in a hurry, because it gave me no time to panic. 

Being at the studio reminded me that I still had two more sessions scheduled, for that afternoon. The earlier appointment could be placed after the later, but I could not ditch either one. Once I was sitting in my car, I made the necessary call. Then I called Sean and gave him a heads up. It was time to do the audition.

Security let me right through the gate, and I was able to park conveniently to the entrance. I slipped on my shoes, then looked up to see Sean coming for me. He assisted me from the car, which was appreciated. Corsets are not designed for exiting cars and the heels did not help. I gave him a quick embrace and put on my performance face. 

We went up to the security floor. I did not know where I was going, but Sean guided me with a hand on my shoulder. This allowed me do my best runway stomp, as I approached the break room. There were three of them, two men and a boy rather, waiting at the door. They made room and followed me inside. Sean stopped at the door and introduced me, "Gentlemen, this is Cynthia. I hope you will be able to work together. Cynthia, Justin Immons, Peter Grayson and Jason Porter. I will let you talk." 

I gave them a quick look over. Justin was a short quiet man, with overlarge hands and a drab outfit. He should have been in charge, but his nature seemed overly self-effacing. His attitude screamed "new client" to my mind. Peter was obviously the geek. Rather large and unkempt, he was carrying a notebook computer and had a ruler in his shirt pocket. There was also a definite vibe against the third member of the group, Jason, who returned the favor. Jason looked like Central Castings version of Surf Dude, in spite of his being the best dressed of the three. It was a simple T shirt and slacks outfit, but he wore it well. Of the three, he was the only one with little interest.

Sean went off to run his businesses, leaving me unsupported. This was necessary. I needed to establish my own position. I looked to Justin, ceding him the first move. He pulled out a portfolio, and opened it up. The mildest stuff was Playboy/Penthouse level soft porn. Some of the rest was illegal to publish in this state. It made me smile, which was not the reaction he expected. I pulled out the CD, which I had recently burned, and handed it to Peter. 

After a moment booting up the PC, Peter slid in the CD and opened the folder. Justin was obviously prepared, but Peter's mouth fell open. Jason glanced over, then looked away. Peter asked how I had gotten one shot, and I gave him the brand and model of my cameras. He whistled, clearly knowing what they had cost me. We quickly moved into a discussion of editing procedures, which became quite technical. I was impressed. Peter would carry his weight. 

Meanwhile, Justin flipped through the images. He particularly liked one where my client, I will not say which one, was tied to the whipping horse, with the flogger fanned across his back. I leaned over and offered to do the same to him, before taking him with a strap on. He turned pink, and I knew I had them. Jason had nothing to contribute, not voluntarily at least, so I called Sean. 

In a few moments Sean came down and told them what they clearly already knew, that I was the new Art Director. Peter seemed to like the idea. Justin was buried in the images and Jason looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. To give him his due, Jason may have sensed the plan that had formed in my head. I motioned Sean to step into the hallway, while waving the others to their seats. Exit stage right.

Outside, I let Sean have a glimpse of what I was feeling. His expression said that he understood some of it. My knees got weak and fought a sudden urge to cry on his shoulder. I fought the urge down. I was a big girl, and big girls finish their parts. 

I hugged him tightly, then said, "Sean, you need to leave. These three will work with me. Justin has already shown he can do what I want. Peter just needs a motif, and he can create most of the layout. The key is that boy, Jason. He is their model, and I need him to model an extreme shoot. It scares me. I do not know, cannot know, if he can handle it. This is your call. I think I know what you will say, but you need to say it."




Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 03



Sean looked into my eyes for a moment, then nodded. He said simply, "Do it."

I took a deep breath, "This is what I need. First, give me two security guys to act as muscle. The two at the bottom of the stairs will do. Have them come up when their relief arrives. I also need to take some of the pieces off site. Explain that to your security guys, but it is very important that they understand they are also to be muscle. I expect there is paperwork involved. Get it started and leave word with the guards. 

"I will be going over to my studio, and I am on a clock. There are two clients on the schedule. Your guards will be leaving me there. If they can also bring my car back, I would appreciate it. Don't worry, if this will work at all, it will be quick. Now kiss me and get started."

Sean held me. His kiss was all about care and compassion, rather than passion. One thing I liked about Sean, was that he could put others first. We broke the embrace and I shooed him away. Once more unto the breach.

By the time I returned, Peter and Justin were ready for action. As expected, Jason was hanging well back. I gave Jason my best predator smile and winked, then turned to Justin. 

I said, "Justin, I want you to get the entire Marquis letter and reshoot it. This time I want you to focus on effect over clarity. This will be used as background for other art work. I want to do an art gallery, by period, with the letter signifying its own period. Give me arms length to readable, in an assortment of light, including oil lamp or candle. Is that clear enough?" It was clear. The wheels were turning already in Justin's head. 

I moved on, "Peter, your task is digital. To do a gallery, I need frames. Created them any way you feel workable. We need frames for really old pieces, frames for pre 1850, like the Marquis letter, frames for the early photography era, and frames for more recent work. The other key item in the sale is the Hollywood gear. Think silent movies for that recent stuff. Do you have enough to get started?" I had not needed to ask. Peter had been nodding as I spoke. 

That left Jason, who was looking like a cornered mouse. In fairness, he was basically justified. I would not do any bodily harm, but he was in for a rough ride. The tent in his slacks said that he would be ready when I was. I stepped closer, to be inside his social radius, and inhaled deeply. It was theatrical, but I could smell his arousal as we stood. 

I very consciously purred to him. "That brings me to you Jason. What is your dress code?" He knew I was just talking about the bondage gear. This was theatrical foreshadowing. I wanted him tied up for the shots, and this was a foretaste. 

He mumbled, "Um, I usually choose whatever was best for the shot. Justin always took my lead." I could believe that Justin let Jason pose female models. Jason spoke the language and Justin did not. Also, Jason may have been just a boy in a man's body, but he was not stupid. 

I replied, "Well then, why don't you and I go look over the material? Justin and Peter have enough to keep them busy for a while." I could say that again, every hour, for a the next day or more. It would be just as true. Jason was firmly in my sights and he knew it. All of his squirming would serve as tenderizer.

As I led Jason out of the room, two security men came over. They introduced themselves as Paul and Richard. I told them what I wanted, and they escorted us to the vault. I was happy to see that Jason was not allowed to bring up the rear. A little prodding was all to the good.

First, I had a hook to set. "Jason dear, I have in mind a little drama. Cinema in fact. My studio is equipped with four digital cameras. I think that the two of us, with a few props, might make some usable shots. I had in mind choosing a few of these for you. For myself I have a custom made undergarment that I want to try out. A corset actually. Why don't you pick out a few things that you find interesting?"

Once inside the vault, I was speechless. Being in the business, I knew what good leatherwork cost. This was much better than merely "good" work. Some of the pieces were custom made, and tagged as such. Those would not work for what I had in mind. This detail served to thin the choices. I had all three men searching for items with the proper tags. Once assembled, I picked out some items, for which I knew had comparable pieces in my prop room. Then, it was time to go sign paperwork.

Heaven knew I trusted Sean by then, but it was gratifying to see how he smoothed my path. The log out was done using video, and everything was set to record. The three men followed me out, carrying the chosen items. At each guard post, we were waved on. We drove across town to Sean's offices, where Helen had all the forms ready to sign. It was all moving like clockwork. 

We pulled into my studio parking with almost an hour to spare. I spent a third of that in the prop room, pulling things down and sorting things out. It would save me a Saturday project down the line, and I wanted Jason warm and sweaty. Eventually we had a small selection of things for him to wear. I sent him to the changing room to put them on. Even while he was absent, I still had an audience. So, I tapped my toe and tried to look like I was restraining impatience. 

Jason made it easy for me, by taking his time. This is not uncommon, under these circumstances, but it gave me a lever. I sent Richard and Paul to fetch him. Shortly after they returned, I sent Paul to get the gag, which Jason had chosen not to wear. With a few long practiced moves, I had him trussed, gagged and ready for mounting. I have a custom built wall for just that purpose. 

First, I picked a riding crop. Floggers will inflict pain and leave marks, but a crop can cause scarring injuries. Jason had been around enough to know this little detail. I had left him with a jock strap for modesty, but his member was straining against it. I touched the top of the tent with the end of the crop and Jason's knees buckled. He would have fallen, had not Paul and Richard caught him. The moment was too good to pass. 

I said, "Dear boy, you must learn to trust me to take care of these little details. If I were to want you to fall, you would fall. As you will have noticed, Richard and Paul have had training in handling hobbled men." It was pure bullshit, but it worked in the situation, and Jason was past the point of thinking clearly. Everything was ready for a big moment, so I carefully retrieved the Stick from its place of honor. 

The Stick is only used for extreme scenes, and only with prior counseling. At that time, I had used it exactly in four scenes, and each occasion had left an impression. None of my clients ever asked for a second scene with it. In fact, four scenes had been enough to create a minor legend among my clients. 

The Stick is nothing more, or less, than a four foot piece of oak banister railing. In function, it is simple. I put it under a body part, and then support almost all the body's weight with it. Today it was going to be under the armpits. 

I had Paul and Richard position Jason with his back to the support wall. I slipped the stick through his elbows and had Richard and Paul each take an end. They raised him up, and I lashed the ends of stick to support rings. (Author's note: For Jason's viewpoint, see Foreplay. Warning: it is in Nonconsent/Reluctance far a reason).

I had been working continuously for over an hour to create expressions for the cameras. The look on Jason's face was everything hoped for and more. Jason was already well past what he would have marked his limits. I knew the feeling intimately, but I had to push further. At this point, I could have disrobed to show the corset I was wearing, but I could not do it. Jason would only tenderize, for a while, so I took a moment for myself. But, the show must go on.

So, I patted Jason on the cheek. Fully understanding what I effect my leaving would have, I said, "There. That should keep you out of trouble while I change. Don't go anywhere." 

I fled, as gracefully as possible, but I fled. Once in my office I dropped in a chair and let it go. It is funny how the mind plays tricks. I thought, there are no cameras in this office, or I could have great pictures of a distraught woman. My involuntary laughter helped, but it threatened to expand into hysterics. I firmly fixed Jason's face in my mind and forced down the rest. I had a clock ticking.

First I kicked off my shoes. Then unzipped my blouse. It was costume, so the buttons down the back are fake and there is a zipper hidden in the pleats. Once the top was off, I had to remove the corset, which was not trivial without assistance. 

Eventually, I manage to get the corset off and then the skirt. This left me standing in bra, panties and stockings. I counted myself lucky I worn a bra. None of Julian's other pieces require one. The white bra and panties would have to do, but I had better stockings available. I peeled out of the ones I was wearing and took some patterned silk stockings from the closet, and a pair of white shoes as well. I checked the look in the mirror and decided it needed something. I let my hair down, then tied it back with a large white bow. That improved the look, and I was out of time. 

I grabbed a letter basket, dumped in the shoes, stockings and corset, and went out for the final act. As I opened my office door, I wished the words "final act" did not seem so ominous.

Jason was, necessarily, exactly where I left him. He was not exactly as I left him. His face had an unfocussed, vaguely dreamy quality about it. Once I came close, he became more attentive, but something was definitely different about him. I worried that something was broken, but pushed the thought aside for more theatrics. 

I handed Paul the basket and removed a stocking. Then I stepped to a nearby stool, put one foot on it, and started to roll the stocking. After I slipped the stocking over my toe, I returned the toe to the stool and slowly rolled the stocking up my leg. I repeated the process with the other leg and followed with the shoes. The very practical moment did as much to settle me as the time in my office.

I paused for a moment, smoothing out wrinkles in the silk. Then I took the basket back from Paul, removed the corset and set the basket aside. I pulled it around and fastened the busks. All three of the men were watching me very intently, so a line needed to be drawn.

I said, "Paul, don't ask. You cannot afford it. If you do the rest of your job as well as you have so far, I might give you a photo. You too Richard. I do insist, by the way, that they not be sold. Jason, my sweet, you are already being paid rather well. Let us see if you are, maybe, worth some of it. Now, Paul, if you would give me a hand with the strings, I would appreciate it."

I went over to the pommel horse, and grasped the pommels with both hands. Paul pulled the strings taught, then starting at the top, pulled them tight. Properly tightening a corset requires strength, but even more, it requires patience. Paul seemed to have both. When everything was properly pulled and tied, I stood and tested the fit. At a guess, I was drawn a full inch smaller than Francine had that morning, which meant three to four inches in all. It was a good thing I would not need any strength. 

Next I went to my stretching bar and did a full evolution of First Position. The rigidity of the corset stays required that all bending come from the hips. It was far more difficult, but the burning in my hamstrings gave me comfort. In a situation like this it seemed appropriate that I also suffer discomfort. This thought brought me back to my subject. 

I could put the climax off no longer. Turning to Jason, I gave him my best Ice Bitch smile. He had been hanging, half supported by a bar under his armpits, for almost ten minutes. To him it would have seemed hours. All traces of the cocky kid were long gone from his face. What was left had almost a Zen quality. A different part of his anatomy told a different story. The tent in his supporter was so hard, and long, that it was pulling the leg hole clear of his leg. Very little pushing would be required, at this point.

I picked up the crop and walk up to Jason. A crop is a dangerous device, but I used it to tickle his nose, then his nipples. Breasts are a much neglected erogenous zone for men. Once I had his full attention on the crop, I stepped close and ran the braiding along his thighs and under his balls. Then I stepped back, to get room to swing. I raised the crop up high and made eye contact with Jason. His eyes met mine, but flicked in the direction of the raised crop. I brought the crop down sharply, pulling back at the last so that it only flicked the head of his penis.

Jason's climax spurted so hard, that it spewed cum through the layerd cloth of the athletic supporter. His entire body jerked and jerked again. Finally he slumped forward, unable to stand. He had done well. In fact, he had done so well, I doubted he would ever understand just how well. I reached out and caressed his cheek. 

Turning to Richard and Paul, I said, "Richard, Paul, please let him down. I think we have sufficient footage for our purposes. You can get him cleaned up through there." They removed The Stick and carried him to the showers. I followed with the keys. Once Richard and Paul had stripped off the hardwear, we left him find his way to the showers. 

I went back to my office. After the door as closed I allowed myself a moment of emotion, but quickly stuffed it back in. I had work to do and the clock was still ticking. First I called Sean to tell him the shoot was a success. Then it was into the editing room, where I burned a disk of the raw imagery from the session. This I gave to Richard, while Paul checked on Jason. I informed them that I needed the studio in ten minutes, for another client. 

Finally, I went back to pull on another costume. The corset could not be removed in the time I had available, and the strictness seemed appropriate. I resolved to wear it the rest of the day and chose my costumes accordingly. Jack and Gillian were a retired married couple. They would be meeting a stern Governess. Gratefully, I pulled the role around myself, and went to meet them.

Jason would not be so lucky.

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy: "There are so many stories about that week. Everyone seems to have one, but none of them agree. Mom says she crossed some lines, and learned some humility. Justin, that's the Justin Immons, claims Mom is a genius, and that he had no chance of pulling it off without her. Uncle Jason says he learned his profession that week, but he was hurt and convalescing most of the time. Back before Miss Helen died, she would only shake her head and hold me tight.

Dad, on the other hand, had his famous fling with Aunt Francine.

Chapter 7 – To Protect and Serve

Sean:

Sheila justified her hiring within the first five minutes. Justin had already agreed to work for her, based on what he had seen at the diner. Her portfolio had him drooling. It was a bit embarrassing, til he noticed and pulled out a handkerchief. Peter would have been easy in any case, since he was Justin's guy, and Justin was now hers. She won him over anyway. I had never had any worries about Jason. Sheila could wrap him around her pinkie. 

All that was important, but the next thing was critical. She supplied what I had never offered: a theme. It was sort of Versailles meets Night Gallery. Suddenly, everyone knew what he had to do. Justin disappeared into his work area, with every appearance of an all-nighter coming. Peter went to their image files and started pulling out samples. Once he had a dozen or so, he started a browser and was searching images of frames. He no longer noticed that anyone else was in the room. Soon Sheila left with Richard, Paul and Jason. 

Now it was my turn to wait. I called Helen and asked her to send over food at the proper times. I talked to Security and told them to expect a late night. It was not their job to be messengers, but I asked them to carry up the food when it came, and make sure someone ate it. At that point I realized I was spinning wheels, so I headed back to the main office. 

What I did not do was call or text Sheila. I had only a vague idea of what she had in mind, but I could tell it scared her badly. Asking for status updates was not going to improve matters. She would tell me when she told me.

Fortunately, there was a stack of work to do when I reached my office. I told Helen I was still out, except for Justin, Peter or Sheila's group. Then I tried to bury myself in paperwork. I tried hard. Sixty minutes later, an hour had passed. It was that kind of day. 

Finally I received a text from Richard, saying that they had finished and that Jason was pretty strung out. I had them take Jason back to the motel and put him to bed. This is not the sort of thing security people are normally willing to do, especially for punk teenagers. Richard did not give any sort of protest, so I figured strung out was not just an expression. 

Shortly after, I had a call from Sheila, saying it had gone well. They had, she said, all they needed to finish the job. Before I could say anything, she told me she had a client coming and signed off. While on that call, Paul text me to say that they had a disk of the imagery, and would bring it back after dropping off Jason.

All that took a moment to sink in. The nature of the news was an enormous relief, but clearly there was fallout. I called Helen into the office and put George on the speaker. I asked them what they had heard. George went first, and he used an acronym Marines hate with passion: PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). When Helen did not so much as raise an eyebrow, I groaned inwardly. That made three confirmations.

Jason was going to need some careful handling. I told George to get someone on it, and sign the bill. In our company, that means get it done, get it done now and let the boss, meaning me, worry about the cost. Helen nodded approval. I asked George to have Sheila's building watched, so that we received notice that she was leaving the building. Then I let him go. 

I turned to Helen. We looked each other in the eye, then she shook her head. I raised an eyebrow, and she nodded. I hunched my head, and she looked pointedly at my In box. I sighed and nodded, then Helen went back to her desk. Roughly translated, I asked if I should go comfort Sheila. She said no. I asked if she, Helen, would go see how she was doing. That she emphatically agreed to do. I asked what I should do. She said to stop whining and get to work. There are reasons I like my battle ax of a secretary. That last comment is not one of them.

Getting back to work, I started with my voice mail. The first ten were nothing much, then I got this one:

Phone: Ricky, this is Francine Martel. We are doing a run about thirty miles up the road, and some of the troupe will be in town tonight. I am the odd man out, so be my date. Meet me at 6:30 in front of Albert's. Ciao.

It was a voice I had not heard, except on stage, for over a decade. I had followed her career for years. In fact, I knew of the show she was doing, though not that she had a part. Helen had arranged for tickets Saturday night. 

I checked the time, then rechecked. I was only 2:47 PM. I had snubbed Chuck Blanding, learned a gyro joint, hired Sheila to play Cynthia, turned her loose in the middle of my biggest headache, waited an hour for any word and sent the doctors out to triage the wounded. All that ought to have taken longer than three hours, but apparently not. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, forgive us our sins. Somehow viewing zoning proposals as penance made things easier.




Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 03



Eventually, Helen commend that she was leaving for the day. I told her to pick up a coffee for George's stakeout. She sniffed as if she had thought of that long since, which she probably had. There are reasons I like my battle ax of a secretary. Then I became serious. 

I said, "Helen, I had a call from Francine Martel." Helen nodded to indicate she understood the relationship. "She demanded that I escort her tonight. This cannot be coincidence." Helen nodded again. She understood that I was being deliberately removed from the situation and promised to get Sheila safely home. I went on, "She will want to work tonight. I cannot stop her. If she does, text me and I will go by the warehouse." Helen just looked sad and tired. I concluded, "I know. I love her too." Helen looked up at my phrasing, then looked at me closely. Then she made a decision with a jerk of her head. I looked a question, but she shook me off. Sometimes our non-verbal communication breaks down.

Once Helen had gone, I forced myself to do another hour of work. At 6:00 PM, I closed the office and drove over to Albert's. My suit had been through a hard day, but I was not given an option to being here. She saw me first.

I heard her call. "Is that you Ricky?" No one has called me that since Bush was President.

"OK Frankie, where are you?"

I heard her laughter. My guess is that no one called her Frankie anymore either. Most Broadway divas seem to like French sounding names. Francine happened to come equipped with one. She certainly was a Broadway Diva. At least she was in New York.

"All right, I won't call you Ricky if you don't call me Frankie. I didn't want to call you Clarence."

"Thank you for that. I go by Sean – it's my middle name in case you didn't know – or by Richards. You may choose either."

"Well C Sean Richards, we have a reservation for 8 and only 7 taken. Would you like to join us? Please. I'm the odd man out."

I did not try to pick up the names. They had not tried to pick up mine. Francine was right; the others were paired off. By the time the desert cart came by, we were alone. So I walked her home, she invited me in. If I had not expected Sheila to be fully up to speed with this, I would have declined. Instead, I

decided to stay for a few minutes, which turned into two hours. At one point she went to get something from the kitchen and I wandered around looking at pictures of her with famous people. 

Then I stopped dead. There was a picture of her with Sheila, at maybe 15 years of age, but still Sheila. She noticed me looking at the picture.

She said, "What a waste: prodigy at 14, tragedy at 16."

"What happened?"

"Dancers cannot have D-cup breasts. It doesn't work. She got too big and that was that."

Francine was 5'1", 95 pounds only because of the muscle in her legs.

"I met her. I think we hit it off. We certainly seemed to communicate without saying much."

We talked some more. A lot about dance and her youth training in the studio across town. Some I knew, a lot more I did not. The subject of pain came up. Dancers, it seemed, were a lot like runners. To get good you have to deal with pain, even make friends with it. It was the slow, controlled movements that really could get you.

"That was what Sheila was so good at. The impossible holds and the unreachable stretches." 

"I know her as Cynthia."

"Stage name. Francine Martel works fine on a billing, Sheila Schwartz doesn't. What's she doing now?"

This I knew for pure misdirection, but that was what she wanted to do. I deflected, "I see your point about the name. I always noticed yours whenever I saw it. She's teaching. Not dance, but a lot of the "control" that you've been talking about. Executive training, that kind of thing."

"So she has been training you?"

"Not exactly."

"You train her?"

"Closer, but not exactly."

Without appearing to move, Francine had managed to work her way next to me, not that I objected.

She said, "Maybe you could train me." Exaggerated pout and pleading impression. I reached out and gave her fanny a swat.

She jumped away, and taunted me, "Aren't you supposed to spank a bare bottom."

"Very well, take off your pants and undies and come lay over my knee so I can spank you properly, little girl." I could play too. 

I wondered how far she would take the role she had just dropped into. You can never tell about actors. Sometimes it will be them and sometimes it will be the role. Sometimes they pretend to play the role.

She adopted a little girl voice, "But daddy, I'll be good." She intended to carry the role a little further it seemed.

I said, "Now Sugar, you know if I have to come get you, it will be worse. You've earned an extra swat already."

"Well all right, if you promise not to hit too hard." Pout, pout.

"I promise to warm your buns properly. Now one, two, three..."

"I'm coming. I'm coming."

"What did I tell you to do with your pants and panties?"

She did not blink. Instead, she peeled off her pants and panties just as I had demanded. Her pubic hair was firmly trimmed back. Francine either played the field, or was planning ahead for tonight. I would bet either way. It was my turn to squirm in a role. I decided to push a bit further as well.

Firmly, I said, "Now stand between my legs, lean over my left knee and put your hands on the floor."

"Are you going to hit hard?"

"You deserve a good spanking and you are going to get one. Now. Bend. Over."

She did. I closed my legs to pin hers, put my left hand on the back of

her neck and held her down while I wound up the first swat. Whack.

"Yow. That's enough, daddy."

If she had dropped character, I would have let her up. Instead I counted off ten swats. By five my hand was red and my fingertips were numb. I never realized punishment could be so demanding on the punisher. No doubt Sheila could have told me. The punishee's buns had a nice red glow. And a wet one.

I said, "There now. That's done. Now daddy is going to check to see if his little girl's temperature is all right." She certainly smelled all right. I took my middle finger and ran it down the center of her vagina, just under the lips. She squealed and jerked, trying to get loose.

It was a fight, but I had the size and the leverage. I finger fucked her with three fingers and thumb on the clit. Before long her squirms had a different feel to them. It did not take long.

Then, she said, "Oh shit, I'm coming. YEESSSS!!!"

I let her up and said. "I guess daddy's girl has grown up."

"You're a bastard Sean. I'll get you for that."

"Feel free." I leaned back and put my hands behind my head.

"You asked for it sucker. Get those pants and panties off."

"I give you permission."

From the look on her face that was a bad move. She knelt and undid my belt and fly. Then off came the shoes and socks. Whew. I need new insoles. She grabbed my slacks and boxers, and said, "Lift." I lifted and off they came. She sat back on her heels, pulled out the belt and folded the slacks carefully. The belt she looped twice through the buckle.

Then she knelt up again and dropped the loops over my penis, worked my balls to the top and pulled it snug. She added one more loop for good measure.

"Don't move," she said

I had placed my hands behind my neck. Right then, I regretted the choice. But she hadn't broken character before I forced her to cum, and I was not going to either.

Francine went into the kitchen. She came back with a bowl of water and a towel. Then, she washed my feet, toweled them dry and started to kiss them. In among the kisses were little bites, Plus sucking on the toes. It drove my ticklish side into convulsions. I levered against my neck so hard my shoulders cracked.

Eventually she moved on to my legs, paying special attention to the back of the knee. Then, with the wet end of the towel, she traced along the inside of my thigh. She puckered and blew. I flashed to when I blew on Sheila's moist cunt, six days before. My cock throbbed even harder. 

Francine jerked me back to her ministrations. She grabbed the belt and pulled my whole cock and ball assembly up, and me with it, so she could run that damn towel up my crack. My asshole puckered like from a persimmon as she ran the coarse towel over it. Then she wet another corner and started to work up under the belt. Need I say that my penis' head was purple?

Just as I began to worry about my cock's health, she unwound two loops of the belt, then pulled it off. Before I could breathe a sigh of relief, Francine popped the head of my cock with the end of the belt: Whack. A penis has only one eye, she got it all. Whack. Whack. Whack. Down at the base. Whack. Whack. Lip of the head. She stopped to stroke my prick. Then, Whack. Whack. Whack. Front, back, front. One more good hit, and I would explode.

Francine made me wait for it. Taking my head in her lips, she slowly ran the loop out of the belt and dropped it on the floor, without ever dropping the gentle pressure on my prick's head. Once the belt is gone, she pulled her lips back and blow again. The pressure was becoming impossible, but still I had not blown. She licked the throat, and down the shaft to the balls. I was twitching. Francine pulled her face out of the way and clapped her hands on my purple head. Stickiness fountained all over her hands. 

Francine sat back on her heels and smiled up at me. "Wanna fuck?"

I pulled off my tie, threw it over her neck and pulled. "Lets neck a little first."

She wiped her hands on the towel, put them both sides of my face, and kissed me soundly. "Suits."

We did neck a while, but I had things I needed to do, and people I needed to check on. Francine had work in the morning. It would have been a nice affair, had it happened a few weeks before, but not then and especially, not with Sheila out in the cold. I broke the lip lock. 

Holding Francine, bare ass in my bare lap, with her cunt drippings staining the couch below me, I looked at her seriously and asked, "What will you report?" She tried to look innocent, but I glared at her. Finally she broke eye contact and shook her head. 

She said, "Damn Sean, you do that evil eye better than anyone I know, and I know people in New York that do it for a living. I give up. Mea culpa. Yes, your lordship. I shall report that you are exactly what I told her last week, an over focused SOB, who can bore holes with his glare and enough loyalty for a pack of guard dogs. Now, get the hell out of my apartment. If we aren't going to fuck, I have a date with Mr. Panasonic. Go." With this last, she rolled out of my lap and dashed to the bathroom. 

As I pulled on my rumpled outfit, she came back out, wearing a terry cloth robe. She stood up on tip toe, and kissed my cheek. In my ear, she whispered, "I will also tell her that you are inventive as hell and can hold your charge longer than Mt. St. Helen. Now go, before I tie you up and keep you."

The walk back to my car gave me a chance to catch up on the messages. Helen had arrived at Sheila's studio at 5:15 PM. The two of them had left for the warehouse minutes later. Helen reported that Sheila was wobbly on her feet, but still punching. Helen had stayed about an hour, but left her working with Peter on the page layouts. Justin had disappeared into his work area. Food was taken to him, and there were empty bags, but nothing else to report. Security shift had changed at 11:00 PM, but nothing new to report, which meant no one had left.

I pulled into my parking space at 12:45 AM. Night security did not know my face, so I had to stand still for the checks, after which they apologized and gave me an escort. I made a mental note to commend the night supervisor. In spite of the frustration from being in a hurry, it was good to see things done by the book, even when the owner is in a hurry. My escort was named Joe. We went up to the security cage, then followed the lights. Peter and Sheila were deep in discussion. 

When I finally had their attention, I said to Peter, "Pack your things up and go back to the motel. This will be here in the morning. First, take Joe, here, and collect Justin. Joe will escort you out forcibly, if you are not out of the building in 15 minutes." Joe nodded his understanding to this. It is so good to work with professionals. 

Sheila had not raised her eyes from the workstation while I talked to Peter. As soon has Joe and Peter had left the room, I turned to her and said, "You are coming with me. I am prepared to carry you if I have to." She stepped up from her chair, and buried her face in my shoulder. I picked up her handbag, and led her out the door and down the hall. When we reached the stair, I turned her around, so she went first, and followed her down and out to my car. As always, a touch on the shoulder was enough to guide. It was one of those little things that I was growing very fond of. 

She did not protest when I drove her home, when I took her keys out of her purse and let us into her building, when I opened the door and let us into her apartment, or when I stopped her in her kitchenette and unzipped her blouse. Once the blouse was off, I had her sit backwards on the dinette chair, with her arms wrapped around the chair back. With that as bracing, I undid a very tight knot and slowly released the tension all the way up the back. Then I reached around and undid the busk. Once the corset was off, I removed my jacket and shirt, then put the jacket back on. I unclasped and removed her bra, covering her with my shirt. I then led her to the bedroom, removed he skirt, stockings and shoes, and tucked her into bed. 

Through all of this, neither of us had said a word. When I kissed her on the forehead, I heard her whisper, "My Guardian." 

I stroked her hair back from her forehead. "You are so brave. I love that about you. I love the personal discipline." I moved my hand to her flat abdomen. "But you have held yourself too tightly." This I said stroking her side. Then I cupped her breast. "You need to be able to breathe. Now sleep. The night is dark, but morning brings light." Within seconds she was out. 

I left to check on Jason. There were miles to go before I slept.



Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 04



Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

Everyone says that it was one of the most memorable weeks of their life. A lot of things, significant things, happened in a very short time. Then it was a matter of picking up the pieces. Dad calls it his mosaic.

Chapter 8 -- Making a Mosaic

Sheila:

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

I shut the damned clock off. This time it woke me was not nearly as good as the last time, though I hurt just as much. I sat up in bed, and pushed my hair out of my eye. This brought the sleeve of a man's shirt to my attention. That it was a man's shirt, not just a mens shirt, was clear from the distinct male scent. I breathed deeply of it, but did not recall how I had gotten it. Damn Sheila, do you zombie much?

Slowly, the events of the previous day filtered through to my blunted awareness. This would require caffeine to sort. As I put the water on to heat, a chronology formed: Charles and his embarrassment; Sean and his offer; Justin and the group; Jason and the Stick.

At that point my mind shuddered to a stop. What had I done to Jason, just to get pictures? I knew my strength, and I had pulled none of it. That session would rattle the cages of hardened masochists, and it was Jason's first time. What had I done? Sean would know. Sean would take care of it. Oh my God. I was wearing, quite literally, the shirt off Sean's back. Sean has been taking care of me.

I heaped spoonfuls of Orange Pekoe into the press and added two cloves. The mundane action served to calm my ragged nerves. Slowly a different picture started to take shape. I poured boiling water over the tea leaves, put the top on, then walked to the window. It was not George in the car, but I recognized the type. Someone was watching my apartment. That should have pissed me off, but I felt a warm glow instead. I put on some coffee, then went to shower.

Several minutes later, I went up to the car and tapped on the window. The man inside looked nervous as I handed him a mug of coffee. I asked, "Can you get George on the horn?"

He looked at me, took the coffee and set it in the cup rest, then picked up a phone and pressed a speed dial number. A few seconds later, he handed the phone to me.

I said, "Good Morning. Is this George?"

Phone: Ma'am, this is Gerald. George is driving Mr. Richards this morning.

"Gerald, are you the current center for information flow?"

Phone: Ma'am, that is a very good way of putting it. Yes, everything passes through me.

"Good. That means I am talking to the right man. I have messages to pass on. To Sean: I am up, dressed and reasonably sane. Don't worry about me right now, but remember the 4 o'clock appointment. Then he gets to take me to dinner. To Helen: Find out how much sleep Sean got and text me. To Peter: I am tied up most of today, but I will try to drop by for an hour or so. Pick a couple of short segments of Jason's video to mine for shots. I am thinking wallpaper for almost everything. To Justin: Finish those shots of the letter. I am thinking of wallpaper for the erotica and anything else on paper. Then get started on selecting existing shots for framing. Make a list of anything that needs reshooting. Sean is taking care of Jason, so no message for him. Tell George I expect him to take a bullet if he has to. Did you get all that?

Phone: Ma'am, I did. If I may say so, it is a pleasure working with a professional.

"Gerald, I am grabbing at straws in a tornado."

Phone: Yes Ma'am, all the good ones say that. They say there is never any time, but they get the job done.

"Good day, Gerald."

Phone: Ma'am.

I handed the phone back to the man, which reminded me. "What is your name?"

"Russell, Ma'am."

"Russell, where is my car?"

"Helen text that you would ask that. It is at the warehouse. I can take you there or to your gym and bring it over later. Your choice."

"Take me to work. Don't move the car. It's safe where it is."

"That is a fact, Ma'am."

"Russell, if you don't stop calling me Ma'am, I will tie you to a desk and cane your bare ass bloody. Ask anyone if I won't."

"I heard that about you, Ma'am. Is there any way I could get pictures?"

"Just drive, Russell. My caning arm is tired. You can pick me up at 11:30."

It was a funny way to start a workday, but the humor of the conversation made it a cheerful morning. Several people commented that I looked good. It was not until I stripped to shower, that I realized I had not worn a foundation. The corset yesterday was unusual, but I rarely went without a bustier or long corset. That day, I had only a bra, so it was no wonder I was getting stares. Sometimes I hate my breasts, but there are times that they are a mixed curse. Sean said they were beautiful, and he would know. For some reason, I blushed.

After the morning sessions at the Gym, I slipped through the rabbit hole into my side of the building. I was not going to go all out today, but I need some costuming for continuity with Peter and Justin. I went with skin tight black pants, tucked into boots. The top was scarlet and sleeveless. I added the red lipstick and lots of black around the eyes. When Russell picked me up, his eyes widened perceptibly, but he did not say anything about the outfit.

Instead, he said, "Before you go to the warehouse, I need to take you to the offices. Helen sent some forms. You can fill them out on the way over."

I gave a very unladylike sound, and took the pages. After several minutes of signing and dating, we arrived at the offices of Richards Enterprises. I had never seen them, and I could not help but be impressed.

Russell helped me out of the car and walked me to the door, but he did not come inside. Entering, I showed my ID to a security tech, who logged it in his book, then told me which hall to take. Soon I found Helen's desk. I handed her my stack of forms. She checked them and handed me back one that needed a date. Those finished, she handed me an envelope. It contained a dry cleaning bill and a check to cover it. It was for my silk top, from the week before.

While I was going through the envelope, Helen had brought a young girl over. Perhaps young woman would be better, since she was about 19-20 years old, but the first impression was of innocence. Helen handed me a note.

This is Christine. She is on my staff, but I am loaning her to you for the duration. Ask her to do anything you need done. Her training is weak, but I have noticed you have a talent for correcting errors. She is willing to learn everything there is to know.

Sean

This was another gift from Sean. I looked over at Helen. She shook her head. I glanced at Christine. Helen nodded firmly. I glanced at a calendar on the wall. Helen held up two fingers. This was Christine's second day on the job. Sean was willing to throw her in the deep end. OK. I stood and told Christine to follow me.

Russell drove us to the warehouse. On the way over, I dragged facts out of Christine, by main force. I learned her name was Christine Collins, but preferred CC; that she was single, living with three other girls and had no steady boys; that no one had told her much of anything. I also learned how she and Sean had met. That made her blush furiously, but there was an undertone of desire there as well. Sean had a good eye. CC would work out quite well. I told her that we would be looking at similar pictures of a boy her age and she turned bright red.

Sean:

Radio: ...X, your news beacon in the morning, with updates on the eights. Word out of the Washin...

I rolled out of bed, because it was required for me to reach the blasted alarm. I stumbled to the bathroom and did the three Ss (Military reference: Shit, Shower, Shave). Feeling halfway human I grabbed a cup of joe and opened the email stack: routine, routine, routine, get to that later, routine, what?

Sheila had left me a message through Gerald. There was no way she should know about Gerald. Why hire a spook, if anyone can find him? My head was about to explode. Then it hit me. This was not anyone; this was Sheila Schwartz, the woman who ran the most exclusive BDSM studio in the state, by herself.

Glancing down the list, I saw Helen had a note about Christine. Maybe Sheila had a staff of one, now. Turning back to the list, there was nothing else out of the ordinary. This was a case of no news is good news. The people, who were watching Jason, had nothing but routine to report. Hopefully, he could deal with some normal activity soon.

Once at the office, Helen presented me with a stack of message memos and one personal note. Sheila was reminding me of our 4:00 PM appointment, and informing me that I was taking her to dinner afterward. I told Helen that I would likely need a car and driver for the evening.

That left half a day, to do two days of work. Things had pied up, because I had managed so little the day before. If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly. As I dug into the stack of messages, a smile played on my lips. Sheila had casually reached out, touched my head of security and left a note. God, I loved this woman.

The morning started with a call from the Holy See, which was a bit of a rush. The morning soon a fell into a wide vein:

Phone: You must understand our position on this matter. The document was in the possession of the See until 1945. The Church is the rightful owner.

"Excellency, I understand the position of the Church, but we have done our diligence, and the courts have declined to continue your injunction. The sale will be conducted as planned. You are, of course, free to bid on the document. A bill of sale should settle any remaining ownership issues.

Phone: The people of I___ are the rightful owners of this ancient relic. It is a symbol of virility and strength for our nation.

"Eminence, I understand the position of your country, but we have done our diligence, and the courts have declined to issue an injunction. The sale will be conducted as planned. You are, of course, free to bid on the object. A bill of sale should settle any remaining ownership issues.

Phone: Please understand, these are priceless historical documents, which have been locked away for decades, centuries in cases. They cannot be allowed to disappear again.

"Chancellor, I understand the position of your University, but we have done our diligence. In each case, the courts have declined to issue an injunction. The sale will be conducted as planned. You are, of course, free to bid on the documents. A bill of sale should settle any remaining ownership issues.

However, in the interest of scholarship, I will pursue another possibility. If something develops, I will contact you.

This last one kicked my thought processes in a new direction. I dialed my attorney.

"Curtis, Sean Richards here. Do me a favor and check who owns what rights to imagery of our sale items. We have a number of inquiries from universities and museums. Some of those might be solved, or at least mollified, by good imagery."

Phone: You mean the Marquis letter?

"Certainly the letter and other documents, but also the archeological items. A lot of research is done long distance, with measurements and pictures. What I want to know is, who has the rights to distribute the pictures we are taking? If we can get full rights by a statement in the catalog, start drafting the statement."

Phone: Damn, Sean. Do you have any countries you want toppled today? It would be nice to work on something easy. How long do I have?

"The catalog has to go to print this weekend."

Phone: Oh. Nice to know there is no time pressure. I would also suggest offering to let the sellers withdraw their items if they have an issue. Failure to withdraw will constitute a waiver. I can get you that one today.

"I knew there was a reason I paid for your lake house."

Two hours later, I finally broke free long enough to go check on progress at the warehouse. Seeing Sheila's car, next to my reserved spot, was a reminder of my little errand the night before. I had tucked her into bed, like a child. Something about her stirred my protective urges.

Word from security was that Sheila had not checked in yet, but that she had requested a pick up at 11:30 AM. Til then her car was safe where it sat. I was surprised to find that all three members of Justin's group were on site. This was good news, since I figured Jason to be out of things for a day, if not longer. I checked and found that Richard and Paul were back on duty at the stairs. Perfect.

As I approached the security desk, Paul saw me and called Richard over. From their expression they knew what I wanted to know. I was terse, "Give."

Paul said, "We took them over, like you said. Mostly, we stood behind him, so there was no way to run. There were a couple of times he might have rabbited. She played him like a virtuoso. She got him nervous and sweaty, then she got him physical and sweaty, then she had him put on the gear alone, in the showers. Once he came out, he was already jumpy. We hung him on the wall and she went away to let him stew. When she came out, it was a reverse strip tease with the fancy lingerie. She never let up for a second. There is video upstairs. If it wasn't for the way his cock stayed at attention, I would have thought he was ready to plead for his life. Those videos have some good shit."

I said, "Richard, anything to add?"

He said, "Great legs. Cool. Never lost sight of the ball. Scary as hell. Never let up til he popped. Kid will recover. Not a kid anymore."

For Richard, that was a long speech. He and Helen acted as if they had to buy their words at the market, on a tight budget.

When I reached the work area upstairs, I was surprised to see Peter and Jason huddled together. Normally they mixed like oil and water. In this case, they were trying to find shots of Jason, to show Sheila. From what I could see, there was plenty to choose from.

Jason made eye contact with me, and I saw immediately what Richard meant. Jason had seen the elephant. This was not the cocky teenage kid I had seen the day before, but a young man. One glance at the screen told me why. One side of the image was of Jason hanging from his armpits. The other side was of Sheila stretching on the bar. With a start, I realized she was doing the same position, that I had placed her in the week before. Jason was watching Sheila bug-eyed, apparently unaware of the pain that had to be wracking his body. The cherry on the sundae was the massive erection, which tented an ordinary jock strap.

Peter was walking it through the stretching sequence, frame by frame. It was worth watching Sheila, but that was not why we had this scene. I could not see any significant change in Jason, and he was the reason for the shot.

I said, "That's nice Peter, but Cynthia is the director. Let's focus on the star." Peter looked sheepish and Jason actually blushed. I continued, "What are we trying for here?"

Peter said, "Cynthia wants wallpaper." I must have frowned. "That is a picture in the background, with icons or images in the foreground."

I nodded, "Then I suggest you look at more suitable images. Think torso shots. Cynthia will be here shortly and I hope you do not disappoint her." Peter looked alarmed, but Jason looked thoughtful. I left them talking and went to find Justin.

Finding Justin was the easy part. Pulling his head out of his latest shot, was difficult. He was working a multiple camera shot, positioning candles in the field of one camera, while other cameras were poised outside the frame. As I stepped into the room, Justin pulled out a lighter, lit the candles and killed the lights. He went checking spots with a light meter. Then he danced over to a big old Hasselblad portrait camera and picked up the hand trigger. For a moment he stood there, apparently frozen, then pushed the plunger. There was a cascade of clicks, and he let out a breath he had been holding.

I waved, so as not to startle him, but I need not have bothered. He said irritably, "What do you want, Sean? I am a bit busy at the moment."

I smiled. Justin irritable was Justin working. I had seen Justin not-working, and this was much better. Still, there are such things as updates and progress meetings. I needed at least some of his attention.

I said, "Sorry to break in on you, but Cynthia will be here shortly. You should try to organize a bit. I imagine that you will have something useful, from a shot like that, but it will need to be seen to be evaluated.

"However, the main reason I came is a money issue." That got his attention. "It occurs to me that these images you are doing will be useful to academia. As such, I am having my attorney draft an agreement for licensing the work you do here. Do you have representation you wish contacted?"

"Academia?" He looked genuinely surprised.

"At least." I responded. Then, I waved my hand at the pages of the letter, which he had just photographed. "These are historically relevant, the verbiage written on the page has literary interest, and biographers love to print images of primary documents. That leaves aside the possibility of someone wanting a shot, such as that one, to hang above the mantle.

"As you know, our agreement states that Richards Enterprises, me, owns the catalog shots. Past that, work product is a bit gray. I would like to reach an agreement, to append to the contract. Also, I did not think the idea of residual payments would hurt your feelings.

"Now, pull your shit together. The Mistress is coming."

Sheila:

When Russell dropped us off, there was a car in the reserved spot. I presumed it to be Sean's, which made my heart beat faster. I led CC to the security desk. "This is Christine Collins. You should have word concerning her."

The security tech checked his book. "Yes, Ma'am. I need a photo. She can check her bag here and pick both up on the way out."

I put my bag on the counter and nodded to CC, who did likewise. The tech made notes, put the bags in a cabinet and locked it, then motioned CC to a mark on the floor. While he shot his picture, I thought of the day before. Had it really been that recent? This place was already quite familiar.

I then led CC to the desk at the base of the stairs. Richard and Paul were on duty again. We nodded to each other, CC and I signed in, then Richard escorted us up. When we reached the work area, I was relieved to see Jason. He looked up to me and smiled.

There was a noticeable difference in his whole demeanor. It was both reassuring and disconcerting. I was pleased to see that he was up and running, but there was clearly a fundamental change. All I could tell at this point was that he did not come across as broken. Counting my blessings, I went over and kissed Jason on his cheek. Then I turned to greet Peter and Sean. For some reason I had trouble looking at Sean. Naturally, he spoke first.

He said, "I see we are all here. Gentlemen, this is Christine Collins. She is Cynthia's personal assistant. It is possible she will be available to play go-for. Please show her the respect you have shown us. Cynthia, your floor."

That was simple enough. "Christine prefers CC. Yes, she will be spending much of her time here this week. Please make her time pleasant. So far, she has little experience in this type of work, but another pair of hands is often welcome.




Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 04



"So, what have you done since yesterday?"

Peter and Jason ran me through the tracks they had chosen for layout matting. I could see some real possibilities in their choices. Naturally, much of it focused on Jason, including some simple portrait and torso shots, which I thought was smart. What was unexpected was the block they had of me. Shots included: me rolling a stocking; Paul pulling on the corset strings; me stretching on the bar; and me picking up the crop for the last sequence. I must admit, the black riding crop made a fine visual counterpoint for the white lingerie and a corset.

I adjusted the cropping on some of the shots, but overall, things looked to be developing well. I was about to ask about Justin, when he walked up, thumb drive in hand. This was his selection of his work with the Marquis' letter. It was more premium stuff. There was a variety of styles among the selection. There were shots in good light and in poor light. As I had requested, Justin had shot each page of the letter in candle light, as well as with the pages fanned out.

One particularly nice shot, was a closeup of the signature. I rotated that one, so that the signature was corner to corner on an 8" x 10". Then I dropped four other shots on top of it. With a little playing, I had an attractive page, with fine visuals, and plenty of room for text. It would serve as a template for other documents.

Sean had spent this time watching me work with his guys. Once I had massaged the template to the way I liked it, he cleared his throat. At once, everyone looked his way. He gestured at the screen I had just been working on.

He said, "Gentlemen, it is my impression that the rest of what needs doing is fiddly details. I realize a lot of artistic choices need to be made, but the material to complete the project is in hand. Would that be accurate?"

Peter was good with that assessment, as was I. Justin clearly wanted to shoot the letter some more, but he reluctantly nodded. When we all turned to Jason, he looked surprised that we would inquire, and turned his palms out to Peter and Justin.

"All right then. Use Cynthia while you have her today. She and I have an appointment at 4:00. After that I am taking her out to dinner." Sean said this last, while looking straight at me. It was not news, but I wanted some action, so I mimed a ballroom dance. Sean corrected, "Make that dinner and dancing. I do not know about you, but I feel she has earned it." I swear to God, they all started clapping.

Sean:

Sheila, or Cynthia, and Christine arrived. Cynthia kissed Jason on the cheek, then greeted Peter and I. Since Justin could be tied up for some time, I started the ball rolling.

I said, "I see we are all here. Gentlemen, this is Christine Collins. She is Cynthia's personal assistant. It is possible she will be available to play go-for. Please show her the respect you have shown us. Cynthia, your floor."

She took the pass without a bobble, "Christine prefers CC. Yes, she will be spending much of her time here this week. Please make her time pleasant. So far she has little experience in this type of work, but another pair of hands is often welcome.

"So, what have you done since yesterday?"

Sheila immediately put her stamp on the proceedings. Peter and Jason were still working on the background shots. I could see that they now had several portrait and torso shots, as I had suggested. Cynthia seemed to ratify my suggestion, by choosing one of the torso shots to tweak. With a few deft motions, she resized and cropped the picture. Even I could see it was an improvement.

After a few minutes, Justin came in, carrying a flash drive. Cynthia quickly sorted through his selections and pulled out a handful. From one, she took the Marquis' signature, rotated it to run corner to corner, then started dropping objects on it, including the other photos she had selected. In under a minute, she had a very sharp looking page, with a sizable block in the center for the item description. I could tell a layout template when I saw one. It was time to drop my little bomb.

"All right then. Use Cynthia while you have her today. She and I have an appointment at 4:00. After that I am taking her out to dinner." She mimed dancing, so I amended, "Make that dinner and dancing. I do not know about you, but I feel she has earned it." I raised my hands to clap. Justin, Peter and Jason joined in.

Sheila:

Applause is the butter on a performer's bread. In the worst cases, performers almost live and die by the quantity of their applause. No one, in the business, is unaffected by it. When Sean and the boys started clapping, I turned twenty shades of red, but it pulled at something deep inside me. It had been so long, I had forgotten what applause was like. The feelings were still there, so much so that it made me wet. I would have to tell Francine.

My stars, I was expecting Francine to call. I put on a brave face for five minutes, then begged off for the Ladies' room. Once in the stall, I checked my messages. Francine had called six times, most recently twenty minutes before. I called back and received a voicemail.

Phone: Damn it. Sheila pick up, you horny bitch. Shit. OK. Fine. I will call at exactly one o'clock. Fucking, be there. Trust me you want to hear this.

I set my alarm and went back out.

There were things to organize. We had a lot of raw material, but there was a lot to do before we visited the printers. Jason had a good visual eye, so I set him to sorting images. We needed at least four for every piece, but generally we had dozens. I told him to select the four he thought best and add any close calls. Justin, I set to refining the background shots. The catalog would have dozens of categories, and I wanted a different wallpaper for every group. Peter had done a great deal of work making digital frames, but there was a lot left to do. CC, I put to doing the mind numbing drag and drop work, into Peter's finished templates.

I had barely finished handing out jobs, when my phone alarm went off. I excused myself, and went to field Francine's call.

Phone: Schwartz, you lazy bitch, is that finally you.

"Yes, Francine. Did you meet with Sean last night?"

Phone: Sugar, prepare yourself. Mamma got news.

"Oh, heavens, what now?"

Phone: That man is stuck on you, girl. I mean, he is stuck bad.

"Francine, will you drop the phony accent? What part are you playing anyway?"

Phone: Piss on it, Schwartz. You are no fun. I plan to read for the part next month. Anyway, what I said about Ricky, I mean Sean, is true. He's got it bad, though he may not know it yet. Don't interrupt.

We went to dinner, and he was all nice to the troupe, not that it mattered. They were all there to get away from Monica, the manager. By the time the cheesecake cart came around, there was no one left to eat it. So I took Ricky home. It was only a three block walk. We sat and petted a bit. I played little girl and he played Mr. Man. I played naughty, and he spanked me bare assed.

"Francine, is this supposed to make me feel better?"

Phone: Wait for it. He held me down and brought me with a quicky hand job. I told you he had skills. Anyway, it was my turn, so I got his pants off and did a stroke and blow, just to take the edge off. So far its all very friendly, but not very serious. Then I sat my bare ass in his bare lap, and gave him my best "Wanna fuck?

"Francine, you slut."

Phone: Schwartz, I kid you not, I was turned on. Worse, I had not been seriously screwed in almost a month, and I was in the mood for some sweaty animal sex. I looked him right in the eye and said so. He kept it a friendly necking, and he left 15 minutes later.

"What time was that?"

Phone: Probably about 9 to 9:30. Why?

"He must have come straight to pick me up. Damn. You have to be right. He never said a word to me. He just took me home and put me to bed."

Phone: Bullshit. There has got to be more than that. What do you mean, you never said a word. Why the fuck not?

"Oh Frannie, what I did yesterday. If I was you, I would actually go to confession. It was that bad. We needed a set of shots that smoked, and there was no time to be delicate. I took a kid, barely out of high school and naive as hell, and put him through the wringer at my studio. Heavy duty stuff, and I made him wait for it, too.

We got the shots, and it will probably save the project. But, I could have messed him up badly. As it is, he is not the same guy that got up yesterday morning. It was so close, I had to focus hard on my work, just to keep from shaking. Hell, I'm shaking now. When you see the video, you'll understand."

Phone: Richards. What has this to do with Ricky Richards?

"The shoot only took about half an hour. After that, I had to handle clients. Then, I went over to the warehouse -- that's where the photo work is being done -- and went over the video with the other two guys. After a while, I was just sitting at a computer, pulling up frames, cropping out a shot and going to the next one. It was strictly hand work and I zombied out. Autopilot.

"Anyway, after a few hours, Sean shows up and throws everyone out. He threatened to have security escort us out. Once Peter and Justin had gone, he took me to his car -- he uses a driver -- and took me home. He held me and stroked my hair the whole way. When we got to my apartment, he walks me to the door, takes the keys, lets himself into the building, walks me up to my apartment, lets himself in again, takes me to the kitchen, sits me in a chair and takes off the corset."

Phone: Oh. My. God. You had that corset on all day, like 15 hours.

"Francine, I swear that corset was holding me together. I needed the support. Anyway, Sean took off my blouse, undid and took off the corset, unsnapped my bra, but didn't take it off. Instead he took off his own jacket and shirt, put the shirt on me, then pulled the bra out through the sleeve, just like I would. Then he took off my skirt, shoes and stockings and led me to bed. I was out before he left the room."

Phone: So what then?

"I slept all night, til the alarm in the morning. I woke up in his shirt, which was a nice way to wake up. It still smelled of him. Right now, I am back at the warehouse playing slave driver with the photography team, not that they need the push. Things are rolling.

"That reminds me. I need a favor. Can you stay in tonight?"

Phone: Not a problem. I was thinking about bar hopping, to get rid of this itch Richards left me carrying, but nothing is definite.

"Sean left me a present. He picked up a girl, barely out of high school, and made her my personal assistant. She doesn't know anything and cannot do anything, but she is definitely one of my people. I have not tried yet, but I am guessing the sight of a whip will make her wet. Yet, she is a bondage virgin. I would stake my reputation on it.

"I need someone to at least open her eyes, before I throw her in deep. Give her a good dose of Oskar Gruber style discipline, and spank her til she comes four or five times. Are you up for it? You can have her eat you up as part of the deal."

Phone: Holy shit, Schwartz. I knew you ran a BDSM place, but the staff? Seriously?

"I will give her your address and have her picked up in the morning. Understand that everything has to be 100% consensual, but I am telling you this girl has been dreaming about someone like me for a long time. Get her naked. Teach her some positions, and make her stay in them while you do your nails or something. Then tie her up and tease her til she screams -- I better include a gag -- and bring her off til she melts on your rug. Like I said, have her service you any way you like it."

Phone: Oh. My. God. I am speechless.

"Not in this lifetime. I will tell the driver to go where she wants to go. If she shows up, she wants to be there. Now, I have got to go. Appointments. Sean is taking me dancing tonight. We can swap more dirt tomorrow.

Phone: He seriously gave you the shirt off his back?

I had not thought of it like that, but yeah. Holy shit. He actually gave me the shirt off his back. Wow.

"Seriously, I gotta go. Love you."

Phone: I love you too, even if you are a kinky bitch.

I went back out to the work group. Thinking about the shirt must have made me smile, because everyone looked at me oddly. That was all right. I could put the bark back in the bitch, if I needed to. At that point, things were moving well enough without her. Besides, I had clients to attend.

I said, "Don't mind me. I just received some very good news. Unfortunately, it has nothing to do with all this grunt work. I have appointments to keep. CC will say and assist. Keep working. If something comes up, work around it. I will be available tomorrow."

Sean:

I needed to get back to the office. With a 4:00 PM appointment, my time was pressing. On the way over, I called the printer. Harold Johnstead, the owner, was apprehensive when he came to the phone. Our last three contacts had not been good for him. This time, I was able to tell him that we had a basic layout blocked and that the objective was a matter of details. He gave an audible sigh, and responded with a list of priority items. I promised to have at least rough work for him first thing in the morning.

Once back at the office, I had legal issues to sort out. First I looked over two drafts, which Curtis had messaged over. One version was as we had discussed, and the second one added a 10% participation, for the seller, in any money that was made. I liked that idea. Most would jump at the possibility of something for nothing. However, it raised a point.

Most of the auction items were of some age. That included the erotica, some of which was written in Greek and Latin. Even the Marquis' letter was written in Enlightenment period French. However, some of the items were fairly recent and in English. The words themselves had value, especially if the copyrights were still in force. I called Sheila. She suggested a book. God, I love that woman.

I called the Chancellor back and floated the idea of him using the university press, as leverage to get the documents. Naturally, he balked. However, I know a soft sell situation when I run into one. I pointed out that he would also be getting measured photos of an array of religious, ritual and fetish objects, some of them quite old. When his manner turned distant, I cut him loose to ruminate on the idea. I called Curtis back and told him to work the concept of a book into the language. His swearing soon turned creative, so I left him to his work.

Moving on, I called Harold Johnstead, who owned our printer. He was very apprehensive when he picked up. Our last several conversations had not gone well. When I told him I expected rough layouts, first thing in the morning, it may have made his day. I called Peter to tell him what I had just told the printer. He saw no problem and offered to do a visit to the print shop. I had Helen set that up. Suddenly, it was time to go to my session with Sheila and her client.

I arrived promptly at 4:00 PM. In the front room was a middle aged man, who looked more Korean than Latin. Sheila moved out of the shadows to introduce us. I suggested that Mario might want a lightly attired look, in the usual vein of his sessions, and that a blindfold would be appropriate. He was quite willing and retired to change. I gave him five minutes.

Sheila, as usual, was difficult to read. I asked her, "Will you be participating or observing?"

"Both."

"Very well, go to the bar and clasp it, with both hands, behind you. I trust that you will show your usual discretion as we conduct this session." She nodded and went to comply.

This left me with a few minutes, to sort through the resources. Sheila had a well stocked cabinet of restraints, ranging from soft and passive to edged and designed to cause pain. In addition there were paddles, lashes and whips in a range of sizes. One box was marked "Piercing", another marked "Body Art", as well as an array of sexual enhancements. From these I chose a penis ring, two strings of vaginal beds, lubrication, a light paddle and a middle length leather lash.

By the time I returned to the studio, Sheila was waiting at the rail, breathing quickly. She was wearing a lighter outfit than the last time we met in this room. In a way it was a pity. I had seriously enjoyed dealing with that wonderful corset. She was all business, in a 1950s schoolteacher vein: long sleeved, high collared, white cotton shirt, with a long red and green plaid skirt. As usual, her hair was done up, she wore silk stockings and heeled shoes. The stockings dark green, and the shoes were white and showed her ankles well. On an impulse, I added a full face mask to my collection and put them all in a convenient cart.

Going up to Sheila, I raised the mask. I said, "My dear, you look lovely today. I would like to put this on, if you will allow me. I would also like your hair down."

She nodded consent. The mask was ceramic, the grinning theater face. Since she was at the stretching bar, I simply stepped behind it to gain access to her back and hair. As I let it down, I reveled in its lushness and scent. Natural rosemary, again. I carefully removed the pins. All were ivory today and looked Middle Eastern. Also, they were genuinely old. I would guess they valued several hundred on the collectors market.

I had to know. "These are lovely. Are they Persian? You may speak."

"Yes."

"I would like to discuss where you acquire some of your personal things at some point. You have excellent sources. However, this is not the time. I believe Mario is about ready, so we may begin." I secured the mask over her face and crossed the room to meet my charge.

"Mario, some ground rules. Do not speak or make any vocal sound unless permitted or instructed to do so. Do you understand? You may speak."

"Yes, Master. I..."

"'Yes' is sufficient. Do not address me as master. You are the master here. All I do is for your benefit. If you refer to me, I am 'Mr. Sean.' If you address me, I am 'Sir.' Nod if you understand."

Mario nodded.

"Very well. I will mark this slip up to poor instruction, and will consider it no more. I remind you that this session is being recorded and that Cynthia will be able to see and hear everything, in addition to the recordings. Nod if you understand and consent." He nodded.

"At my request, Cynthia will not speak to you til the session is complete. Now, since I see that you are suitably attired, we may begin." Mario wore only a studded dog collar, and leather straps on his wrists and ankles. All had multiple rings.

"Mario, Cynthia has taken this opportunity to present you with some new experiences. You have met myself, but I have an assistant whom you will now meet. This session is also her session. Do not speak to her, or about her, to anyone. Nod if you understand." Mario nodded. "Excellent. Do you have a leash? You make speak."

"Yes, I do."

"'Yes' is sufficient. Where is it? You may speak."

"It should be hanging on the wall, beside the door." He gestured with his head.

"It is unnecessary to gesture. Please restrain from such overreaching of my instructions. I see three leashes: one red, one green, one of braided leather. Which?"

"Leather."

"Excellent. A distinct improvement. One moment." I took the leash off the wall and snapped it in his collar. I pulled it lightly, and he followed willingly. I led him to where Cynthia was waiting.




Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 04



"My Dear, this is Mario. I will shortly allow you to become more closely acquainted, but at the moment you look flushed. I think you might be a little more comfortable with somewhat lighter attire. Mario, kneel."

Mario knelt with his hands at his sides. "Mario drop to all fours." He did. "For the duration of this session you have no hands, only paws. I will enforce this quite firmly. Do you understand?" He nodded.

"Very well. You may advance and investigate my assistant. Be thorough."

Mario crawled forward and began to nose around Cynthia's ankles and shoes. He seemed enamored of her footwear, in fact. While he nosed at her feet, I reached for her neck. The collar of the top came all the way up her throat, to her chin. I undid the tiny pearl buttons. The lace ruffle was exquisite. It looked hand tatted and attached with a crochet hook.

"My Dear, this is a new top. Did you wear it especially for me?"

Her dimples replied.

"I am flattered. Mario, my assistant has made a special effort on our behalf. Let us make this session memorable, shall we?" Mario stopped licking her shoes and looked up. "Now Mario, I said investigate. I did not say cover with saliva. I think some correction is in order here." Mario did not look at all abashed. "Now investigate, but nothing more than an occasional nip."

I continued to unbutton Cynthia's top. After the tiny pearls at the throat were more normal buttons down the front. Those complete, I was able to see a front opening underwire bra. Obviously Cynthia recalled being restrained with her hands behind her, and wanted to make removing the top somewhat easier. Accordingly, I opened the bra, pulled the tail of the shirt up, and asking, "Hands, my Dear." slipped it off the back. A wooden hanger was necessary, and seemed inevitable. Regardless, there it was on the stretch bar. I put the top and the bra on the hanger and hung it carefully. Then I returned my attention to Mario.

He had forsaken the shoes for something more pungent. His head was up her skirt at about the level of the panties, if there were any. I would not take bets either way. Easily discovered however, so I lifted the skirt. Underneath I found an exquisitely embroidered garter and plain cotton panties. Evidently she did not plan to use these again. So: Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Off came the garter stays. I rolled the stockings down a bit.

"Mario, please remove the panties."

He grabbed them with his teeth. I would not be shocked to if that a few pubic hairs went with it. Cynthia made no sound.

"My Dear, assist him." One after the other, she lifted her amazing legs, and off came the panties. I could clearly see the moisture on the lips.

"Mario, I believe you know how to attend to a glistening pubis. Please do so, while I prepare your discipline." I gave him one brief shot in the ass with a paddle. It was clear that something heavier was required.

Mario wasted no time. In short order, he was buried in cunt. I dropped the skirt to give him some privacy. With the mask I could not read Cynthia's expression as I took up the lash. I may not have been able to in any event. I waited until Mario had her properly primed, which did not take long. She was turning red from the effort to stay silent.

Whack. One full stroke across Mario's exposed ass. He let out a yelp.

"Oh dear. I feel I have failed. I distinctly remember telling you not to verbalize. That is most decidedly true during discipline. Something must be done concerning this. But, for the moment we will concern ourselves with my assistant. She deserves a reward. I expect you to provide it." Whack. Mario plunged into his work with a will. It appeared that eating pussy was to his liking.

Cynthia was different. She was allowed to see what she would receive. I gave her a full wind up before I let the whip fall on her luscious breasts. Whack. The pattern of red against the pale of her breasts was lovely. I was hoping the pictures would come out well.

Whack. Whack. One each. Mario was doing his job. I would not leave a glistening crotch this time.

Whack. I gave Cynthia a backhand, across the other breast.

Whack. One more on Mario's ass. Cynthia was getting close. I did something I had wanted to do since the day we met. I leaned down and sucked on the nipple of her breast. She moaned.

"Oh, my Dear. You were doing so well. Well here goes.�Whack. Full across the breasts with one strand straying up to the cheek. I hoped it would not mark her for later. Once again I put my mouth to her breasts. This time I licked the welt and blew on it. Her nipple puckered.

Whack. Whack. Once more each, in the same places.

That did it. Cynthia locked her jaw, in anticipation of the coming wave. She went red all over from the effort. Her body shook with the orgasm, but not a sound escaped.

"Mario, that will suffice. I hope you learned from my assistant's example. With one minor exception, she performed flawlessly. I hope you aspire to this level in the future. My Dear, you may retire to wash up. Mario, we have a little task between us."

I led him, by his leash, to the restraint wall. I placed the penis ring, then fastened him securely. Five strokes with the lash, across his chest and belly caused his penis to turn purple, but little else. One stroke across the thighs caused him to shiver in the restraints. Three more strokes set up the finale, and I paused to let him see it coming. Whack. The tenth blow fell across the penis and down to the scrotum. Semen fountained out. I reversed the whip and tapped him have the handle lightly on the side of the head.

"Mario. That concludes our session. I will be in, in a few minutes, to release you. On the whole I think it went well for a first session, but I would expect more, if we were to meet again." He made no reply, hanging limp on the restraints. I would come back, but I wanted to check on Cynthia.

She was in a strange humor. "Damn, Sean, I'm glad I haven't pissed you off."

"My Dear, would you believe me, if I tell you that I only follow where you lead?"

"Then, I must give you quite a map."

"Let us not forget your reward." I held up the two strings of vaginal beads. "I have not yet given you these."

Sheila:

I went back to my studio, worked with Dana and Diana, then Francis, then Frederick, then Scott. As I worked, my good mood changed to something more complex. After Scott was Mario, and Sean was conducting that session, which meant I needed a costume change. I decided to blindfold Scott, to buy some extra time. That morphed to, blindfold him and let him listen while I changed. It was a very successful session. I would have to try it again.

For Sean, I was going traditional again. The skirt was just another skirt. Under it were simple cotton panties, which I never expected to use again, flanked but dark silk stockings attached to a garter belt. Those were nice, but nothing special. My top was the jewel. It began with a vintage linen blouse. The original narrow lace collar had been augmented with a choker of hand tatted lace, fastened with genuine pearls. It came all the way to the chin, and the tiny pearl buttons were just the thing to challenge Sean's nimble fingers.

As usual, Mario was early. I released Scott to go shower and escorted Mario back to the reception area. Normally this would get him a reprimand, but I decided to leave that in Sean's hands. I had a feeling Mario would not get off easy. Sean had some tension to work off, and Mario presented just the opportunity.

Sean entered only a minute or so after Mario and I had, but that put him exactly on time, while I was early. That little mental game went to Sean, not that anyone else was keeping score. While I was mildly irritated to have lost, it was mild irritation. It was so nice to have someone who could give me a good game. Naturally, Sean reminded me to pay closer attention.

He said, "Will you be participating or observing?"

"Both."

"Very well, go to the bar and clasp it, with both hands, behind you. I trust that you will show your usual discretion as we conduct this session."

I would never take this off anyone else, but this was the nature of a session. As usual, he kept me waiting almost, but not quite, too long. He came out of the storage area with a cart full of stuff. Paddle, whip, penis ring, beads. For me, he had a mask.

"My dear, you look lovely today. I would like to put this on, if you will allow me. I would also like your hair down." He must like my hair, but I could understand that. Since the first session, I had used scented shampoo. It could have been just for him, but maybe not.

I was not sure of my own mind in this area.

He took the pins out of my hair. I had used my hand-lacquered ivory set. Sure enough, he noticed. "These are lovely. Are they Persian? You may speak."

"Yes." One of the things I like about Sean is that he appreciated, and respected, my nice things.

"I would like to discuss where you acquire some of your personal things, at some point. You have excellent sources. Now, I believe Mario is about ready, so we may begin." He secured the mask over my face, then crossed the room to meet his new charge.

"Mario, some ground rules. Do not speak or make any vocal sound unless permitted or instructed to do so. Do you understand? You may speak."

"Yes, Master. I..."

Sean's reply was sharp. "'Yes' is sufficient. Do not address me as master. You are the master here. All I do, is for your benefit. If you refer to me, I am 'Mr Sean'. If you address me, I am 'Sir'. Nod if you understand."

Mario nodded. Sean had used just the right tone. Mario wants to be punished, so he pushes the boundaries at every chance. If you give his line any slack, he will tie you up with it.

Sean relented, slightly. "Very well. I will mark this slip up to poor instruction, and will consider it no more. I remind you that this session is being recorded and that Cynthia will be able to see and hear everything, in addition to the recordings. Nod if you understand and consent." Mario nodded.

"At my request, Cynthia will not speak to you til the session is complete. Now, since I see that you are suitably attired, we may begin."

Mario wears only restraints when he works with me. That day he was wearing a studded dog collar, with several rings. At the wrists and ankles, he wore leather straps, also with rings. That was all. I would have to complement him on his choices.

"Mario, Cynthia has taken this opportunity to present you with some new experiences. You have met myself, but I have an assistant whom you will now meet. This session is her session also. Do not speak to her, or about her to anyone. Nod if you understand." Mario nodded. "Excellent. Do you have a leash? You make speak."

"Yes, I do."

"Yes, is sufficient. Where is it? You may speak."

"It should be hanging on the wall beside the door." He gestured with his head. That was a Bad Move. I would not have allowed that, and neither did Sean.

"It is unnecessary to gesture. Please restrain from such overreaching of my instructions." That was nicely done. "I see three leashes: one red, one green, one of braided leather. Which?"

"Leather."

"Excellent. A distinct improvement. One moment." Sean went to the wall and returned with Mario's leash. He clipped it on Mario's collar, then led Mario over to me. Shit. Did the AC stop working in here? Sean played it as cool as John Travolta in Get Shorty.

He said, "My Dear, this is Mario. I will shortly allow you to become more closely acquainted, but at the moment you look flushed. I think you might be a little more comfortable with somewhat lighter attire. Mario, kneel."

Mario knelt with his hands at his sides. Sean pushed further. "Mario drop to all fours. For the duration of this session you have no hands, only paws. I will enforce this quite firmly. Do you understand?" Mario nodded.

Mario was being very cooperative, which meant that he expected a reward. Sean gave it to him. "Very well. You may advance and investigate my assistant. Be thorough." What the hell?

Mario crawled up to me and started sniffing around my shoes. This raised another interesting point. I had never done much animal role playing, but this session was proving interesting. Perhaps I should add the motif to the arsenal.

Mario began licking my shoe. I did not care much for that. However, Sean took my mind off Mario, by beginning to unbutton my top. I had brought it just for him. Those pearl buttons were tiny, but Sean did not seem to notice. He has the best hands I have ever met.

"My Dear, this is a new top. Did you wear it especially for me?" How sweet, he noticed. I did not speak, but Sean acted as if I had confirmed. My dimples may have given me away, though I did not understand how had he seen them, past the mask?

"I am flattered. Mario, my assistant has made a special effort on our behalf. Let us make this session memorable, shall we?" Mario stopped slobbering on my shoes, and looked up. "Now Mario, I said investigate. I did not say cover with saliva. I think some correction is in order here." Mario did not look at all abashed. "Now investigate, but nothing more than an occasional nip." Nip? Oh shit.

Sean did not give me time to fret about it, because in short order my top was undone. He pulled out the tail, undid my bra, and, with a "Hands, my Dear." took the whole assembly off. I appreciate that he used the hanger I had left out. I paid $250 for that blouse. It was nice to see someone else treat it like it had value.

Mario was the next one to grab my attention. He stuck his face up my skirt. I clamped my jaws and thought of ways to torture Sean Richards. Oh shit. Mario was sucking through the panties. It was all I could do not to make a sound. Damn if I would break in front of Mario. I clenched my jaw still harder, and suffered.

Sean looked down with a bemused expression. Then he lifted the skirt. He admired the garter, which was worth admiring, and then popped the stays. He rolled the tops down so the stockings would stay up. Now what?

"Mario. Please remove the panties." Sean, you dirty little shit.

Mario grabbed my panties with his teeth. I would not be shocked if a few pubic hairs went with the panties. I was glad that I had trimmed my bush. I was also turning new shades of red trying to hold it in.

"My Dear, assist him." What? Oh, the panties. I stepped out of them.

"Mario, I believe you know how to attend to a glistening pubis. Please do so, while I prepare your discipline." I will get you for this, C. Sean Richards. Mario attacked my cunt like a dog at feeding time. Sean just turned around and left me to it. My breath was coming in heaves, through clenched jaws. I could not stand much more of this. Sean slowly turned around with a lash in his hand. This was not going to be a light flogging.

Whack. One full blow across Mario's exposed ass. Mario yelped. So much for getting even with Mario; Sean was going to do it for me.

Sean's look of hurt concern, could have won a Daytime Emmy. "Oh dear. I feel I have failed. I distinctly remember telling you not to verbalize. That is most decidedly true during discipline. Something must be done concerning this. But, for the moment we will concern ourselves with my assistant. She deserves a reward. I expect you to provide it."

To give Mario his due, he was good at sucking pussy. My lower half soon heated, like a furnace. In a perect world, I could slide down into this. But, this is the real world, and Sean was raising a lash. Oh shit.

Whack. Sean laid a heavy stroke across my breasts. The sensation was like ice against my pounding blood. Then, it turned to strips of liquid fire. Wow.

Whack. Whack. Sean traded us off, one blow for Mario, then one for me. I was in that place they talk about, half in the fire, half in the freezer. On the whole, I should be comfortable. Hah. On the whole, I was about to pass out.  

Whack. Sean gave one more to Mario. Instead of giving me another shot, he leaned down and put his cool wet lips on my burning tit. Something, deep in my throat, made tiny whining noise. No way he would miss that.

"Oh, my Dear. You were doing so well. Well here goes." Whack. One more time across the tits, with one strand landing on my jaw. I was too spent to care. My hands, on the bar behind me, were holding me up. Sean leaned in to suck on my tits again. And blow on them. Lord, thank you. That feels so good.

Whack. Whack. Back came the lash, just where he had cooled with his lips. That did it. I may have passed out for a moment. My whole body shook. Orgasms ran through my body, like kegs rolling out of a brewery. I will never know how I stayed upright. Fortunately, Sean knew when I had had enough.

"Mario, that will suffice. I hope you learned from my assistant's example. With one minor exception, she performed flawlessly. I hope you aspire to this level in the future. My Dear, you may retire to wash up. Mario, we have a little task between us."

I stumbled to my office. When the room stopped moving, I turned on the water. I could hear his patient, measured, and heavy as hell, lashes falling on Mario. Damn, Sean was good at this. I just wished there was something left of me when he was finished. I let the water cool the worst of the flames, but time was short, so I turned off the water and toweled off.

I was dried, and somewhat dressed, when Sean finished with Mario. Thinking back, I could tell that Sean was getting his frustrations out. He would have to watch that, if we were going to work together. Sheila, listen to yourself. Working together with Sean is a daydream. He cut off such thoughts, when he came through the door.

I said, "Damn Sean, I'm glad I haven't pissed you off."

"My Dear, would you believe me if I tell you I only follow where you lead?" Sure. Riiight.

"Then I must give you some map."

"Let us not forget your reward." The SOB held up two strings of vaginal beads. It was so incongruous, that I cracked up. When he went back to finish with Mario, I was still laughing. Mario, at least, was finished. I had no idea where the evening would take me.

Sean and I spent some time, going over the recordings. The pictorial work is one part of my job I really like. Sean was impressed, which made we feel warm all the way to my toes. Face it girl; you have been bitten. Sean and I came up with one really nice shot, of me. It was from the waist up, but my face was obscured by the ends of the lash cords. The marks from the previous lashes are clearly visible against my pale skin. I printed one for Sean, signed it with a kiss, and archived the file.

For some reason, I was reminded of my session with Jason. In that session, there was no whip, and the crop was a prop. I must have been a bit loopy, because I giggled, which I hate to do. As usual, when my mind wanders, Sean reminds me to pay attention.

He said, "Let's discuss it over dinner. Leave your underwear here."

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy: The thing to remember about mosaics, is that you start with a lot of broken pieces. Mom says she went dancing to blow off some steam. Dad claims he almost lost Mom, before they got to know each other. Mom does not say Dad is wrong.

Whatever Mom did, it was memorable. People still talk about it, though it is rare that anyone connects it to her.

Chapter 9 -- Broken Pieces

Sheila:

The session with Mario was a quickly retreating memory. It was time to consider our date. Sean had promised me dinner and dancing. I was in a strange mood, and dancing seemed like just the way to deal with it. Then Sean told me to leave my panties behind.




Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 04



"Sean!" I was not all that shocked, but two could play this game.

"Come, my dear, I want to show you off. Besides, I still have your reward to give you. Wear something casual. I don't have a change with me." Not so fast, Mister Bond.

I said, "You would be a 38 Long, 32 waist, 34 inseam."

I can size people in my sleep, and Sean was easy. I also had some ideas about where we would be going to dinner, but leading him was half the fun. Why have a wardrobe department, if you never use it? There were seven or eight outfits that could work, but I only gave him one real choice: white tie and tails. There were others, but they were protective coloring. Damn, it felt good to score one.

"Very well, my dear, I will attempt either of those -- I did not care for my high school years -- but you restrict my choice of restaurant." Ka-Ching.

I was the soul of sympathy. "Tough noogies."

"Ah. So. I will provide a suitable carriage." Sean pulled out his phone a called his driver, George. That meant it was time for us to change. I had the perfect outfit for an outing like this. It was a flapper style cocktail dress, all string and tassel. I would be going with no panties and no bottom. It was perfect for dancing: step, step, kick. Cyd Charise, eat your heart out.

Half an hour later, I was in an old Duesenberg limo. It was rather like the one in Sunset Blvd. I could not help wondering, how much money Sean had. As I planned, we were going to the Harderidge House, which has a distinct clientele, devoted to Jazz Age dress. This allowed me a flapper dress, which was shorter than the miniskirt I used for '60s scenes. What now, Mr. Boss? I felt lightheaded. Was I drunk?

I asked, "Do you want to go in together, or pick me up in the bar?"

"I think the clothes are a giveaway."

"Maybe a little. My costume is period, but yours is pretty timeless. We can play it by ear."

"That works for me. Now turn over. I need some access." Yes sir, Boss.

He lubed the two strings of beads and fed them in. The lube may have been wasted, because I was already primed. It was all I could do to hold still. He finished, and I rolled up in his lap and kissed him. He tasted good. I could go on kissing him for a while, but we had arrived.

Harderidge House is in an authentic Art Deco building, complete with a former speakeasy in the basement. The establishment played to its roots. A little Jazz Age theater was in keeping with the set. Sean went ahead, to the bar. I begged off, to go to the powder room. I think Sean understood that I wanted to make an entrance. I was playing a wanton flapper, and I intended to play with it with enough ham to make a sandwich. For my entrance, my body splayed out in the door way, with hands on both sides of the frame, while I looked over the room.

Then, I strutted to the bar and ordered a dry martini, with a cherry. I stared at the barkeeper, til he blushed, then did the old trick with the cherry stem. Sean seemed to like it. It was time to collect my man.

"Hello, Daahling." I said, in my cheesiest Tallulah Bankhead. I love the bitch.

Sean offered his arm with a nonchalant, "Shall we?" I took it and we went into the restaurant. Looking over my shoulder, I counted four open mouths. That was not bad, if I say so myself. We were shown to a nice table, close to the dance floor.

Unfortunately, the band was playing Gershwin.

Sean:

I did not really expect a reaction, when I showed Sheila the beads, so I was taken back when she broke into gales of laughter. In retrospect, I could have taken it as a hint, but I was oblivious at the time. Sheila's control was something I expected and relied upon. In our sessions, it was something I peeled away with great care. I did not, yet, see it as something she was giving up, or at least setting aside.

However, I soon received another big hint. We had already planned on going to dinner. I had presented two strings of vaginal beads, as my part of the plan. My next contribution was unsubtle. "Let's discuss it over dinner. Leave your underwear here."

"Sean!"

"Come, my dear, I want to show you off. Besides, I still have your reward to give you. Wear something casual. I don't have a change with me."

She surprised me, again. "You would be a 38 Long, 32 waist, 34 inseam." I do not know why I was surprised. Sheila did role playing for a living, and I am not a difficult fit. She led me to her costume storage. In short order, there were several suits for me to choose from. Realistically, it came down to two formals: white tie and tails or black tie and ruffles. The other choices were formals in blue, green and maroon and three uniforms.

Accepting that I must choose something, I sighed. "Very well, my dear, I will attempt either of those -- I did not care for my high school years -- but you restrict my choice of restaurant."

"Tough noogies."

"Ah. So. I will provide a suitable carriage." I called George and told him to bring the limo. The tux I had chosen was distinctly vintage, so I wanted vintage wheels to go with it. Besides, there is a lot of play room in the Duesenberg. I stepped into the office to change. Naturally, my date did likewise.

Sheila's outfit almost was not an outfit. It was a flapper-style cocktail dress, all tassels and glitter. Her hair was up, in keeping with the look, but that was the only thing under control. Other than 3" dancing heels, and some heavier than usual makeup, she wore nothing else. For the first time, I genuinely understood she was letting things go.

I had asked George to bring the big limo. It would give us plenty of room, to do anything we wished. Right then, I wished to slide in the strings of vaginal beads, along with my little secret. I had tied both strings to pieces of fishing line. I hoped to be able to snag a line during the course of our dinner. In retrospect, it was not one of my best ideas.

Once that task was complete, Sheila rolled up to kiss me. It was nice. I was struck by the fact that so much of our intimacy was extreme. We had found time for little of the usual kissing and petting. Even then, we had no time. The limo had already pulled up to the restaurant. George opened the door, and I helped Sheila from the car, taking care that the doorman did not get flashed.

This was going to be an interesting experience. Harderidge House was a genuine 1920s speakeasy, which undoubtedly influenced Sheila's choice of costume. Such dress up was not uncommon. However, every significant businessman in town frequented the Harderidge House. We were both likely to see business associates and/or clients. Few would recognize Sheila, in her chosen guise, but I was certain to be pegged.

We had a short wait for our table, so I went toward the bar. Sheila begged off, claiming she wanted to powder her nose. It was really a transparent excuse, to do a big entrance. I order a whiskey sour and sat down at one of the tables. As expected, I knew some of the men there, and exchanged nods with a couple. Things went no further, since Sheila stopped all the conversations.

It was quite an entrance. She stepped into the doorway and leaned against one door jam, crossed her legs, and draped the other hand across the other post. It was a classic Betty Boop pose, and I doubt anyone in the room missed the connection. Without turning I could see two jaws drop, including the bartender.

Sheila sashayed up to him, without ever breaking eye contact. She ordered a martini, with a cherry. Then she did the tongue trick, where the stem comes out knotted. This caused a man to my left to groan aloud. I was trying hard not to grin like the Cheshire Cat, and probably not succeeding. Having boiled the barkeep, Sheila strutted over to my little table.

She drawled, "Hello, Daahling."

The greeting was delivered in a deadpan imitation of an old Broadway actress, Tallulah Bankhead. Everyone recognized it. One of the men I knew was staring, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. I gave him a wink. Then I rose and offered Sheila my elbow. If she could make an entrance, we could both make an exit.

We were escorted to a good table, near the dance floor, without being next to it. I was fortunate in a several ways: the band was oriented more to jazz than dance; they were playing from Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue, which is not, typically, a dance number; Sheila had not noticed the threads dangling from her vagina. I would be willing to lose the first two, if the last one stayed unchanged.

Sheila was disappointed that the band was not playing dance music, but I welcomed the chance to sit for a moment. We were seated and I ordered a dozen oysters on the half shell. We were soon chatting, over shellfish and white wine, at least I had some of the wine. Sheila was already in a state, which most people require half a bottle to reach. While we waited for the meal, a new band came in. Sheila stuck her foot in my crotch, possibly to bring this fact to my attention. It was time to try my steps, with a dancing instructor. Oh joy.

I covered my dismay by dropping my napkin. It was transparent, but I had another purpose. While I was retrieving it, I picked up a thread, while giving her a goose. She fell for it. We got up to dance, and I held a line in my hand, that went straight into her vagina.

Showtime.

Sheila:

I was very bummed that the band was playing Gershwin and not tango, but it gave us time to get settled at our table. In addition to our meals, Sean ordered raw oysters and wine. This was a cute Freudian slip, if it was a slip, which I doubted. For some reason, this logic seemed so hilarious, that I had trouble restraining loud laughter. Some place in the back of my head found this odd, so I realized that I was not acting normally. It was probably a good thing that we were sitting quietly.

We ate the oysters and talked about the job. Talk of the job led to talk of the people involved. I came to understand, a little, how Sean went about acquiring his army of people. It was not a skill I had developed, but it was one I could use. This sobered me considerably. Sean had some wine, but he seemed level headed, so that was all right. I did not dare upset what little control I still had.

Meanwhile, the band wrapped up the set, and filed out, much to my disappointment. I kicked off the heels and got more comfortable. The conversation had worked its way back to Jason and how best to use the his images. There was enough material to literally use a different shot for every page. Sean was already using the best quality print available, so this would not significantly increase the costs. It gave me something to discuss later, with Peter and Justin. About then our food arrived, but so did the new band.

I was going to tap Sean's knee to point this out, but I missed. Instead, my foot extended all the way to his crotch. I could claim an accident, in all seriousness. However, I would also admit to being somewhat unsure if it was true. My state of mind was like that. It seemed like part of me was watching from another place inside my head. The one thing I was certain of, was that I wanted to dance.

Sean tossed his napkin. This gave him an excuse to dive under the table. While there, he gave me a goose before surfacing. Tit for tat. That other part of my brain said that I had just missed something, but I wanted to rumba.

They started with Frank Sinatra. Sean could easily handle a slow one, even if he had no training. Sure enough he stepped right in. We danced cheek to cheek, which is OK when you happen to be in the mood, but I wanted something fast. Let's Cha Cha, baby.

The next piece was a Tango, which was good too. I slid into place and felt a tug where I least expected it. That son of a bitch had put a string on the beads in my cunt. I worked out a ways to see how long the string was: Step; Step; Turn; Ooooh. One of the beads pulled out, so the string was rather short. Wow. There went another one. I played with it for a while, but the song was starting to wind down. I decided to see how far I could take things: Step; Step; Stretch. There went a bunch more of the beads. What an interesting sensation; Momma had raised a slut.

Sean pulled me back in. I think he wanted off the floor. I would fix that: Turn; Turn; Twist; Kick. I could feel air blowing on my cunt. I was so wet I could smell myself. If Sean wanted off the floor, he would have to make some choices. My guess was that standing there with a string of beads dangling from his hand was not his first choice.

That made it time for me to push the envelope. I kicked high and stuck my ankle behind his head. That meant that the only reason everyone could not see my dripping cunt, was because Sean's body was in the way. Let's see you get out of this one, without being left holding the string.

He did, the low life. Just as the final notes played, he whipped me off my feet. He was holding the beads all right, but they were under my ass. As he carried me back to the table, he had to rub it in."Beautifully danced, my Dear. Shall we dine?"  

I laughed. It was a mistake, because I had trouble stopping. So, I kissed Sean. As we kissed, I was reminded how little of this we had done, and how much I wanted to do more. Sean squeezed my ass, as he put me down. The smart money said that that was not all he did.

Then I saw Julian and waved him over. Julian always dressed like as stylishly as a Trappist monk. Somehow he still managed tables at good restaurants, like here. It was all good. "Julian, this is Sean, my very good friend." Julian kissed my hand. "Julian, do you remember the ecru silk one, with black lace? Sean managed it blind, with me facing him, while doing an extraordinary massage." That massage had been so fine, I almost melted again at the memory. I could use one in about ten minutes, after I finished raping him.

Sean was talking to Julian."I greatly admire your work. I don't see craftsmanship like that often. A corset that frees. Remarkable. I would like to see some of your other wares."

I pouted, "Sean. No business."

"So true. Julian, if I may call...? I am sure I can get your number from this lovely lady; what was your name, Dear?" I threw a napkin at him.

I said to Julian, "I'll see that he gets it. Now shoo. The food is getting cold."

Julian said, "I would love to stay and eat. It smells wonderful. But..." He looked at Sean, "I would be honored by your call." He kissed my hand and walked away. That was nice. It tingled. Everything tingled.

I was impressed. "Sean, you should be honored. He turns away business every day."

"Having seen his work, I don't doubt it. You were the one that convinced him. He wasn't smelling the chicken."

"Then what? Oh..." I blushed. "Maybe we should get this to go."

"An excellent idea."

Sean:

My luck was still holding. The new band started with a Frank Sinatra classic, sans vocals. There was a beat, but it was more of a lean and sway piece. It was nice, but I could feel Sheila getting impatient. The second piece was a tango, so she got her wish. We started with a couple of sedate passes, but then she whirled out of my arms, and the line around my pinky went tight. In fact there was a distinct jerk as one of the beads came out.

The look on Sheila's face was worth everything that I had gone through that day. It was an impossible mixture of shock, outrage, intense desire and calculation. I was impressed. As wired as she was, caught by surprise, she still did not lose situational awareness. God, I loved this woman.

This also meant trouble for me. The old expression refers to having a tiger by the tail. I had a flapper by the string. Sheila proceeded to explore the length of that string. She extending just to the point, where the line was about to pull out another bead, and a few inches beyond. Every third or fourth move, was far enough to pull the next bead out, but not more than one. Sheila had amazing control. I quickly came to the understanding, that I could be left holding the beads, and not my date.

As the song wound down, Sheila did an impossible combination of moves. It ended with one of her feet on the floor and the other behind my head. My task was to get her leg down, without flashing the room. To add to the dilemma, I doubted there was more than a single bead left to pop out. If I did not want to be left holding the string, with every eye in the restaurant glued on us, I needed to do something and do it fast.

There was a way, but it was a complicated piece of sleight of hand. Worse, I had to make the attempt before the pause stretched too long. Fortunately, for me, the string was on my left hand and Sheila was standing on her left foot. I thrust down with my left hand, which pulled out the remaining bead, while allowing me to catch the whole string. At the same time, my right hand swept Sheila's support foot from under her. This caused her to fall into my arms, coincidentally covering the beads with her body. Point to me, I think.

I tried to keep it light. I said, "Beautifully danced, my Dear." meaning it several ways, "Shall we dine?" On another night, we might get serious on the dance floor. For that night, I was glad for any excuse to exit the floor, and I would not mind exiting the building. However, before we reached our table, Sheila was waving to someone named Julian.

A man came over, wearing a baggy brown suit and wrinkled trench coat. He looked like an oversized Colombo, and about as natural to the setting. I was furiously trying to place the name.

Sheila removed the doubt. "Julian, this is Sean, my very good friend." Julian kissed her hand. "Julian, do you remember the ecru silk one, with black lace? He managed it blind, with me facing him, while doing an extraordinary massage." That placed him. Julian was the corset maker. I had been wanting to meet him.

I said, "I greatly admire your work. I don't see craftsmanship like that often. A corset that frees. Remarkable. I would like to see some of your other wares."

Sheila literally thrust out her lip in an exaggerated pout. "Sean. No business."

What could I day to that? "So true. Julian, if I may call...? I am sure I can get your number from this lovely lady; what was your name, Dear?" Sheila threw a napkin at me. Then she said to Julian, "I'll see that he gets it. Now shoo. The food is getting cold."

Julian said, "I would love to stay and eat. It smells wonderful. But..." He turned to me, "I would be honored by your call." He kissed Sheila's hand again and went to another table.

Sheila said, "Sean, you should be honored. He turns away business every day."

"Having seen his work, I don't doubt it." This was true, but that is not what impressed him. "But, you were the one that convinced him. He wasn't smelling the chicken."

For a moment, she did not get my meaning. "Then what? Oh..." She blushed. "Maybe we should get this to go."

I agreed. "An excellent idea." Finally, a way out. From here on, at least we would have some privacy

The trip back to the car was like playing with a yoyo. I had snagged the second piece of fishing line, but this time I had not surprised her. Instead, Sheila wanted to play with the tension on the line. She used her vaginal muscles to grip the beads, then stretched the fishing line, like a violinist tuning a G string. Her color was flushed, and her face intense, as she balanced the tension on the line against pulling a bead out.

Those vaginal muscles had to be outstanding, because all the circulation to my pinky finger was cut off. Sheila's natural perfume was becoming overpowering, and we were still outdoors. I was glad when the car pulled up, because it put an end to the tug-o-war. George had not even gotten back to the driver's seat, before Sheila had her dress off.

I may have mentioned that I liked having Sheila in my lap. That goes double when she is naked, especially when she dangles part of a string of beads from her dripping cunt. That was literal, in this case. Sheila's juices were dripping onto the seat. She could hardly get any more primed, so it was time for me to get physical.




Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 04



I grabbed her and spun her around, til she was bent double, with her legs over my shoulder. I held her for a long French kiss. Then I started to kiss my way down her neck, to her wonderful breasts. Sheila has the most incredible, gravity-defying tits. I licked off the drops of sweat and nibbled around the base. Her hands were pulling at my hair, which normally would have hurt, but right then it added to the moment.

After circling each breast a couple of times, I sucked toothily on each nipple, before I moved down to the top of her belly. Sheila's hands reached for her cunt. I swatted them. "Ah. Ah. Ah. Mine."

"Well get on with it."

"As you say." I let her lie back, then grabbed her hips and lifted. This placed her head on the floor, her shoulders on the car seat, her waist between my knees, locked tight, and her pussy in perfect position to eat, and eat I did. At first she struggled, then squirmed, then shuddered once, twice, three times as I sucked and nibbled on her clit. After an orgasm or two, she calmed a bit, but I kept eating. Then, just as her squirming got serious again, I pulled out the beads, making sure each one hit her clit on the way past. Sheila shrieked and jerked, while I shot a wad into my borrowed pants. George kept the car on the road, barely.

Then, I was holding her in my arms. I stroked her beautiful brown hair and told her how special she was. Whatever had driven Sheila to her manic state, had been released. We went for ice cream. The Braum's boy, serving at the drive through window, gave us some comic relief. Sheila flashed him. He went wide eyed and dropped the sundae.

By then, Sheila was almost done in. Even making a teenager freak out only drew a small smile. Once we reached Sheila's complex, I again needed to help, almost carry, her to her apartment, and then to her bed.

One of these days I am going to have to let Sheila get into my pants. This Master bit had its moments, but the sub gets all the action.

Sheila:

Sean paid the bill and had someone carry the boxed food. At some point, he had palmed the string to the other set of beads. That was OK. I had fun playing with it. I found I could generate some real tension on his pinky, by using a little vaginal muscle control. That poor pinky would be black and blue in the morning. When I misjudged, allowing one of the beads to pop out, oh my. It was almost a win/win kind of game, but it was not what I needed. I was far past the point of being ready. I needed relief, and I needed it right away.

We piled into Sean's huge limousine. The dress came off before George was back in the front seat. George's eyes are always big, but right then, they were huge. Sean flipped me over, then folded me double for a long, sloppy kiss. Then, he started kissing his way down my neck to my breasts. Sean seemed to like them, and they were letting me know that they liked his attention. The attention was nice, but when I tried to put my hands on the source of my problem, but Sean swatted them away. "Ah. Ah. Ah. Mine."

I had an answer for that. "Well get on with it." Fuck me, Asshole. Hell, fuck me in the asshole. Just do it.

"As you say." I was sitting in his lap, with legs on both sides of his head. He laid me back, lifted me so my heels were on the ceiling and my head was on the floor between his feet. It was a very exposed position, and I would have been upset, except that he started eating my pussy like it was ice cream, using long slow licks. I struggled for a moment and then let it come. I did cum, and cum, and cum some more.

Wave after wave of orgasms rolled over me. I finally started to recover, but Sean was still at it. He had continued his long slow licks, with occasional attention to my clit. Just as I began to get excited again, he stuck his tongue in deep and pulled out the rest of the beads. My whole world exploded and I passed out.

When I came to, Sean was holding me in his lap, like a little girl. He stroked my hair and told me I was beautiful. He took me for Braum's for ice cream. Some high school age kid got an eye full, but it did not matter to me. I was cruising. After that, things begin to blur. Eventually, I was in bed and he was standing beside me, with a big wet stain on his pants.

Mamma, he followed me home. Can I keep him?

Sean:

I stood in Sheila's bedroom, looking down on her, and feeling as out of control as I could recall. Finally, though it was still early, what seemed like an endless evening was over, and I had time to think. Sheila is a complex woman: intelligent, resourceful, decisive, capable. Yet, when I looked at her, asleep in her bed, she was like a little girl, my little girl. I felt protective as hell.

Just seeing her there, alone and ...

My thoughts ground to a halt, and I slapped my forehead. All week, I had been amazed at how much she had accomplished, by herself. She needed incredible focus and drive, because she had no one else to help. She was totally alone.

I supposed that part of it was her persona. Sheila dressed in vintage, layered clothing, with difficult fastenings. Metaphorically, things do not get more clear. Every day, she wore a tight foundation garment under her public clothes. She said, repeatedly, said she needed the support. No wonder her breasts rode so high. She never let them feel gravity. But, support is a word with more than one meaning. Her clothes also supported her emotionally. I had to ask myself, was that was the way she wanted it?

Almost before the question formed in my mind, I had my answer. I only needed to look at what Sheila had been wearing. First it was a fancy corset. Then it was a high-necked blouse, with tiny little buttons. Then it was a short cocktail dress, with nothing under it. Finally, she wore nothing at all. Sheila had practically begged me to take off her clothes. Compare that with the day after. Sheila wore a full fledged corset, not just a foundation. After her session with Jason, she had the corset tightly laced.

If you want symbolism, it does not get any more obvious. Sheila was tightly held, firmly controlled, of necessity. When she went about her business, her clothes reflected it: old, tight, structured. With me, the clothes came off. Moreover, it was specific to me, Clarence Sean Richards. I had said it last night; she needed to breathe.

Sheila wanted me to release her. No, that was not quite it. She trusted me to release her. Maybe, that was why I felt so protective. Sheila felt like one of my people, and I protect my people. There was more. Sheila had trusted me first. That first day, in her studio, she had placed herself in my hands. She recognized me, from the beginning. God, I loved this woman.

That though stopped me cold. I had been saying it to myself all week. Sheila would do something remarkable or recognize something obscure, and each time I would say it to myself. I had not, it seems, been listening. I loved this woman.

So, what the fuck would I do about it?



Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 04a



Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

"Nanny CC is an interesting case. Her devotion to Mom is the stuff of legend, but she always referred to Aunt Frannie as her teacher. Perhaps rabbi or guru would be closer. With CC, you always have to fill in gaps."

Chapter 11a - New Hire Orientation

CC:

I am Christine Collins, commonly known as CC, and I did not want to do my job. I was a waitress for R&T's Coffee Shop, also known as the 7th Street Diner. It was a dead end job at a greasy spoon, but it almost paid the bills. I had already been through two other jobs and was looking, quietly, for another. If Mr. Fredricks found out, he would fire me on the spot.

I was 19 years old, less than a year removed from high school. At 5'8" and only 110 pounds, I'm a bit thin, but have the tits to fill out a uniform. It gets me interviews, but I have trouble when someone wants me to talk. It has always been like that.

I am neither pretty nor beautiful. In spite of my tits, I have had only a handful of boys show interest and could count the physical encounters on one hand. I suppose it was partly it was because I did not understand how to dress or use make up, but mostly it was because I was painfully shy. As dead end as this job was, it would not be easy to find another one, much less a better one.

That day was slow. I had already had a regular old geezer, getting his daily soup and sandwich. My next table was another guy that came in occasionally. He is not big, but comes across as solid, dangerous and ex-military. With him was a shortish accounting type, who did not give a shit if anyone knew he was gay.

After I served the geezer his lunch, I picked up the plates for the other table. As I approached, I quit worrying about serving the food, getting a tip, or paying my bills. In fact, I did not want to do much of anything, except listen to the conversation at my last table:

Guy 1: "Save the last one for a moment. It's a female subject, and I want you to view it separately. What do you think about the others?"

Guy 2: "Hot. Really hot. There are things that could be better. For example, the lighting is all passive. None of these used a flash. The camera is good, but not studio grade. That said, the composition is excellent. Every shot looks completely unstaged. That is odd since the kiss mark is central to each shot. Where did you get these?"

It was the reference to a female subject that caught my attention. It sounded like they were talking about pictures. The way Guy 2 said "Hot. Really hot." told me he was not talking about the weather. The lust was almost tangible.

Guy 1: "Not yet. Turn to the last shot, the one with the female subject. Tell me about it."

Guy 2: "This is fine work too, exceptional in fact. I have done thousands of female nudes in the last year. Dozens of them are in this vein. I would stack this torso shot with any of them. The framing is outstanding. In this case, the face would distract from the interest. At the top, you get these fantastic shoulders. It takes a moment to notice that the arms are bound. The hair forward is inspired. The line leads you down to a glistening pussy, with just the tip of the clitoris poking out. That is very difficult to stage. The pubic hair could be shorter, or removed, but here it looks very natural, as if this were a candid shot."

The part about "arms are bound" sent electricity through my body. The line about "glistening pussy" could refer just as well to me. He went on.

Guy 2:"But, there is still more. The asymmetry, caused by the hair, draws attention to the perfection of the breasts. The shape is very nice for breasts this heavy, almost as if they were never subject to gravity, yet the skin says a woman in her mid to late 20s. The cherry on the sundae is the little curl of hair framing the nipple of the covered breast. That kind of touch is often purely chance, again, making the whole image look spontaneous.

"That last shot is an award winner if it ever gets entered. The others would have a dozen publishers pounding on the door. If you can get the photographer that shot these, why do you need me?"

Guy 1: "You clearly respect the artist. As you might guess, she is the owner of the lips. She staged each of the shots, save the last one. It happens, I staged that one. Is this woman someone you could work with? You would still be behind the camera, but she would have artistic control?"

What lips?, I thought. What the hell was he talking about?

Guy 2: "Holy Moses, Sean. You sure know how to drop a bomb. If you had asked me without showing me the pictures, I would have told you to fuck yourself. Better yet, I would have told you to lean over the table so I could do it without lubrication. But, as you clearly intended to point out, you have me over a barrel. I would do a lot to finish this project, and she clearly has the talent to help get that done. So yes, I can work for this woman, if she can work with me. Humph, she probably does half her work with closet gays as it is. I might let her stage me, or have you do it."

Guy 1: "OK. Here is where things stand. I have a lunch meeting with her tomorrow. We are friendly, but I also know that her schedule is packed. Hopefully, Helen can help shift some of that load. One way or another, we will know by one o'clock tomorrow. So, go to Mass. See a movie. Take some time for yourself. Either I land her at the meeting, or I am well and truly fucked. If it makes you feel better, I consider her to be replacing me, not you."

Guy 2: "That's a point. If she has artistic control, we might get a coherent theme, finally. That is one area where you well and truly suck. As a sucker of no mean repute myself, that is my highest praise. But, there is something you have not told me. Give."

Guy 1: "What I did not tell you is that she did not shoot any of those pictures. They were taken out of video. It was really good quality video, but she never took a shot."

Guy 2: "Are you telling me she cut all these prints out of digital video recordings? That would explain the lighting and the spontaneity. And the kisses. It was bull's eye cropping. Holy Freaking Moses, she got professional grade prints out of video. Yes, Sean, I want to meet this woman. In fact, I could line up twenty people that would want to meet this woman."

Guy 1: "Don't bother. I am already dating her."

Guy 2: "That is what the lipstick on the last picture was about. She loves your work. That was her in the last shot, and she loves your work, and gave you a prize winning picture as proof. Congratulations Sean, that is one hell of a woman. She makes me wish I was straight and better looking than you."

He was not the only one that wanted to meet her. I was ready to throw myself at the woman's feet.

Guy 1: "Now, where's my lunch? It should..."

Suddenly, my face felt like it was on fire. I was caught standing there, listening to a private conversation, long enough for their food to get cold. The owner had fired girls for less. I tried to turn away, but it was too late. Guy 1 motioned me over. Steeling what was left of my nerve, I took their plates to the table. Guy 1 took them from my hands. Then he took my wrist and pulled me closer.

He whispered, "Do you want to see it?"

I was unsure what "it" was, but it had to have something to do with what they were discussing. I found myself nodding. The other man opened a folder, showing a picture of a woman. It was just as they had described it: bound arms, great hair, glistening pussy, incredible tits. My face got warm, then hot, but I could not look away.

Guy 1 said, "Justin is a photographer. He could make a lot of money shooting pictures of you in situations like that. I am not going to ask him to do so. Here is why." He released my hand, pulled out a business card, and handed it to me. He said, "Call the number on that card. Ask for Helen. My name is Sean. Tell Helen that Sean told you to call about the job. Do not tell anyone else. Just finish your shift, and call Helen in the morning. Got it?" I nodded.

Guy 1, Sean, went on, "Remember, do not tell anyone. I will leave you a nice tip when we go. Now shoo. I think your boss wants to know why you are still over here. Tell him that Justin is a famous photographer and you wanted an autograph. He did not give it to you, but he gave you a sneak peak. Now go."

Mr. Fredricks would be all over anyone famous, so I hurried to bus another table. With luck, no one would ask any questions. Not long after, I went to the bathroom and frigged off. I never had a boyfriend in the sexual sense. Instead, I had a fantasy life. It was a rare day that did not bring at least one self-managed explosion. Nothing I had ever done came close to the orgasm I had while thinking about the picture.

Then, I came out and had another table to wait. A short time later, Sean and Justin paid their bill and left. I found $21, folded to look like $2, left as a tip. Whatever else, Sean Richards was not cheap. I wondered if he was the Richards in Richards Imports. From what I had seen, it was possible.

The next morning, I called the number on the card and asked for Helen. She went, "What?"

I said, "Sean Richards said to call and ask for you."

Helen said, "You're late. Go to Personnel." The phone went dead.

That meant I had to go to Personnel. That meant not going to work. There was one certain way of dealing with that. I called Mr. Fredricks and told him I had a job interview and would be late. He told me not to bother coming in at all. If this was not a job, then I was screwed.

I took the bus across town. Helen had already said that I was late, so I was severely anxious by the time I found Human Resources. I went to front desk and said, "Helen said to come here."

The girl behind the desk, her name plate said Barbara Johnson, stared at me. I was beginning to wonder why, when Miss Johnson asked, "Helen said?" I nodded. Miss Johnson went on, "You mean used actual words, as in more than one?" I nodded again, counting the words and holding up five fingers.

By this time, the other woman in the office was staring at me. Miss Johnson finally asked, "What, exactly, did she say?"

"'You're late. Go to Personnel.'"

The other woman, Barbara Kennedy, said, "There is a memo. Helen says put her on office staff, but does not give a name." Then she looked at me and asked, "Did you meet Mr. Richards this morning?"

I responded, "Yesterday. Here is his card."

On seeing the card, both Barbaras nodded. Barbara Johnson explained, "That is why Helen said you were late. Mr. Richards' cards are a bit famous. You are the fifth person this year." Barbara Kennedy interrupted, "Sixth." Barbara Johnson went on, "Most people around here know that they can bring the card straight here. What was your interview like?" Huh?

I said, "What interview?" I had served Mr. Richards lunch. He and someone named Justin were discussing pictures. I blushed as I remembered the picture, but I went on. "He gave me his card." There was the bit about not telling anyone, but that was probably not important here.

It did not seem to satisfy them. Barbara Johnson asked, "Where were you? Was there anyone else?" That was easier question to answer. I said, "7th Street Diner. Justin."

The Barbaras looked at each other, then Barbara Kennedy shrugged. Barbara Johnson pulled a clipboard out of a slot and handed it to me. It contained the usual sort of employment forms. Miss Johnson said, "Fill these out. Then I will take you over to Auctions and introduce you to Mary. With one of Mr. Richards hires, you could wind up anywhere, but Justin is doing photography for the big auction, so we will start you there. Good luck. You will probably need it."

On that ominous note, I was led to a table, where I completed the forms. Once finished, Barbara Johnson took me down the hall to a door marked, "Richards Auctions". Inside, she introduced me to the office manager, Mary Jones. Ms. Johnson told Ms. Jones that I was a "card hire" and that I was to be office staff. She went on to cover the short details of my resume: HS diploma, experience as a sales clerk and waitress.

After she was finished, Ms. Jones asked, "Has he missed yet this year?" Huh? I had no clue what the question meant. Ms. Johnson said, "Not unless you count Cox and Hart." Both women laughed, the Ms. Johnson left. New places are confusing.

I said nothing, but my expression must have showed my confusion. Ms. Jones explained, "Sean Richards is famous, in certain circles, for hiring people with either no experience or with major issues. For example, his personal secretary has a face that will curdle milk. She speaks about once a month; I think her total is about 30 this year. In spite of excellent training, no one would hire her, until Mr. Richards met her at Walmart. Now, she runs all the businesses. She may not talk, but she has no problem texting and emailing. What?"

I had not meant to raise the issue, but now that she was asked, I had to answer, "Helen said, 'You're late. Go to Personnel.'"

Ms. Jones eyes got large. "Wow. Helen said five words. Who the hell are you?"

I was confused. "I'm just a waitress." I served him lunch. He and the photographer, Justin, were discussing pictures. Mr. Richards asked me if I wanted to see one. Then he handed me the card and told me to call Helen in the morning. As I thought back to the picture and the redness started to cover my face again.

Ms. Jones was staring at me, but also nodding. I wished I knew what was now making sense, since nothing seemed to make any sense at all. However, Ms. Jones began to explain the auction that company was working on. As she explained, I started to blush, again.

The short version was that it was an auction of erotica. However, that would not convey the nature of the items offered for sale. Many were hundreds of years old and fully authenticated. These items ranged from fertility symbols, to fetishes, to religious artifacts, to straight forward dildos. There was also a large selection of written or printed erotica, including a letter in the hand of the Marquis de Sade. More modern pieces included several famous movie props and a large collection of BDSM gear from a Hollywood brothel, dating to Prohibition. The auction was estimated well into eight figures.

However exciting the pieces were, or at least could be, there was a great deal of boring paperwork that had to be correlated, indexed and filed. I spent the rest of the day verifying the contents of folders against a list and notifying Ms. Jones of any discrepancies. At 5:00 PM, Ms. Jones showed me the time clock and punched me out. I was on the bus home before I realized I did not know my salary.

At 8:00 AM the next morning, I was back at it. At 10:00 AM, Ms. Jones came up and said, "It was nice having you. Go to Helen's desk. Mr. Richards is asking for you." I went down the hall to the big offices, and stopped at a nameplate saying "Helen Norwood." Helen motioned me to a seat. Shortly thereafter, the door opened and Mr. Richards came out, motioning me up to Helen's desk.

He said, "Helen, I am loaning Christine to Ms. Schwartz, for the foreseeable future. Russell will be bringing Ms. Schwartz at 11:30, so Christine should be ready to leave then. Have her get lunch and put her to work here til then. I am going over to the warehouse, so I can handle any questions they have."

Once Mr. Richards had gone, Helen got up and led me to a basket of snail mail documents. Shortly, I was marking sender names with a yellow highlighter, and sorting them alphabetically. At 10:55 AM Helen stood up and motioned for me to follow. In short order, they were getting stuffed bell peppers in the office cafeteria. By 11:30 AM, Helen was back at her desk and I was back to highlighting and sorting.

At 11:45 AM, a man and woman walked up. The man was dressed as a driver. He took a seat and settled in. The woman went up to Helen and received a clipboard with some paperwork. I had a sense of deja vu, to my time in Personnel the day before. While the woman filled out her documents, I checked her out.

She was a looker. She seemed very casual, even though she was dressed to stop traffic. Her dark hair was pulled back into a high ponytail. She wore tight black pants, tucked into calf-length black boots. The sleeveless top was dark red. Her makeup was heavily black around the eyes and very red lipstick. I gasped. The lipstick gave her away.

This confident, intimidating woman was the same one I had seen naked in the picture. It was not obvious, but D cups breasts are still D cups when held by a bra. The trim athleticism was there, though she looked even thinner in the waist fully dressed. The white shoulders were the same. From what Justin had said, back in the diner, this was a "hell of a woman." Looking at her, standing at Helen's desk, reading a note, I had no reason to doubt Justin's assessment.

When the woman handed me the note, she commented, "I'm Cynthia. I guess you will be coming with me." The note read:

This is Christine. She is on my staff, but I am loaning her to you for the duration. Ask her to do anything you need done. Her training is weak, but I have noticed you have a talent for correcting errors. She is willing to learn everything there is to know.

Sean

As they walked back to the car, I felt I was being weighed and measured. As the car drove across town, Cynthia pulled out what little there was of my work history, my school failings, my worse failings in the area of boyfriends, even my family's lack of religious preferences. I could not refuse anything Cynthia asked, and I had trouble even trying.

As they pulled into a warehouse lot, Cynthia asked, "Sean showed you the picture, didn't he?" I must have turned completely pink, but I nodded. Cynthia said, "We are going to see some pictures, of a boy your age, in a similar situation." Pink would not describe my color at that point.

It may have been a warehouse, but there were more security people than I had ever seen. Cynthia was obviously known and expected. They took my picture, for an ID card, and we were allowed in. We went to a locked staircase, with more security guards, where Cynthia signed a book. Then, we went up the stairs and eventually came to a work area. There were tables covered with pictures of many things, many of which looked like dildos or something similar. At a computer, two men, one a bit older and the other my age, were introduced as Peter and Jason. They were looking at shots of a gagged man, who was standing on tiptoe.

The pieces fell quietly into place. These were the pictures Cynthia referred to, of a young man my own age. He was not just been on tiptoe, he was tied up that way, with a wooden stick holding him up by his armpits. He was wearing a jock strap. His penis was making a tall enough tent that you could see a gap between the fabric and his leg. The subject of the picture was Jason, seated in front of me, looking at the image of himself. I felt many things, but the oddest was jealousy.

I watched in fascination as Peter zoomed the in on the torso. Without the face or the feet in the shot, attention focused on the stick, from which Jason was hanging, and his erection. The shot scrolled up to a portrait, showing an expression full of conflicting issues: pain, desire, frustration, and oddly, acceptance. Would I be so calm under the circumstances?

Cynthia stepped up and took the controls. She quickly cropped off several smaller images. Two were much like the face and torso shots we had just seen, and others focusing on the armpits, the gagged mouth, the cuffed hands and the sweat on his forehead and chest. The older of the two young men, Peter, whispered, "Day-amn."

I was no student of photography, but even I could see that Cynthia was making striking small images, from the complex large one, and she was doing it almost as fast as she could move the pointer. Remind me not to bullshit this woman. In fact, try really hard never to disappoint her.




Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 04a



Soon after that, Mr. Richards arrived and a meeting began. Not long thereafter, a third man came up, holding a flash drive. He gave the drive to Peter, who plugged it into a different computer and downloaded images. These pictures were of old, handwritten pages. When Peter said "Marquis", I understood that this was a letter from the Marquis de Sade, of which I had heard so much the day before. Justin had shot the letter in natural candle light but still managed to make the script readable, if you could read French.

As the meeting progressed, it became clear that the two sets of pictures, i.e. those of Jason and of the Marquis' letter, were central to the project. Now that they had the images, things could move. Not long after that, I was seated at a computer, using the mouse to drag items into a template. In many ways, it was similar to what I had done with paper folders the day before. It got very quiet while everyone worked. In a lot of ways, this was a new thing to my life. It was the first time, I had ever been accepted as part of a good team, doing anything.

After a couple of hours, Cynthia pulled me aside and explained that I was to stay and work til at least 4:30 PM. I could stay longer, if I wished, with overtime pay after 4:30 PM. A driver would be on call so that I would not need to worry about catching a bus. Cynthia handed me a piece of paper with an address and explained that her friend Francine stayed at that address when she was in town. If I wished, I could go to the address after 7:00 PM. Francine would show me what to expect. Cynthia emphasized that this meeting was off the clock and voluntary. Then she gave me a quick peck on the cheek and left.

After Mistress Cynthia left, I went back to the computer and returned to loading items into templates. After a while, Peter came over to check my work. I think I passed a minor test, because once he was satisfied, he pulled up a larger template, with more items to load. So, I worked on that. Around 5:30 there was a call from downstairs that the food had arrived. Everyone broke to eat Chinese. Peter asked how late I could stay. I showed him the note which said 7 o'clock. Peter looked at me oddly but let me get back to work.

At 7:00 PM, I went to the security desk and told them I needed to leave. They had me sign out and escorted me to the first desk, where they had an ID card ready for me. By the time I reached the parking lot, a driver was waiting. I handed him the note. He opened the door and helped me into the car. That made me feel funny. I knew that Mistress Cynthia was important, but they were treating me like I was important, too.

It was not far to the address, which was near downtown. The driver told me that a car would be waiting at 7:30 AM. This surprised me. I was a bit taken back by the idea that I would not be going home.

The address was a simple fourplex. I got out of the car. The driver stopped me before I had gotten more than a couple of steps. He opened the trunk and removed a small gym bad, then said that he would wait til I went inside. With that, I went up to the door and knocked. Had I been alone, I might not have knocked, but, with the driver waiting, I had little choice. The door opened. Standing in it was a tiny woman in her mid-30s.

She said, "So you're the fresh meat. Come on in, so I can tenderize you a bit."

It was an apartment, nothing more. I had been in many like it though most were not this clean. The room had a few things, a sofa, two chairs, a throw rug, but not much. There was, for example, no TV or computer. The closest thing to a stereo was a portable jam box and a wallet of disks. On the walls were framed posters of Broadway shows. Most of the posters had a mass of signatures, as if from the whole cast.

While I was absorbing all this, the woman was checking me out. From her expression, the assessment was not going to be a good one. I sighed, to myself. I never seem to make a good impression. I was not stupid, but a lot of my teachers treated me like I was. My looks were average at best. Whatever this woman wanted, she expected to be disappointed.

The woman seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "I don't see what Schwartz sees in you, but we will see what can be done. Give me the bag." I handed her the bag. The woman opened it and glanced inside. Then she dumped the contents out on the chair beside her.

I stared at the contents. There were exactly five things in the bag: two sets of leather cuffs, a black scarf, a pink ball gag and a short paddle. I think I flushed. The woman noticed.

She said, "Well, that is something at least. I suppose we can try giving you the very simple basics. What's your name, girl?"

"Christine Collins, ma'am."

"I am no fucking 'ma'am'. My name is Francine, but you will refer to me as Miss Martel. Here are the rules. You do exactly what I tell you, exactly when I tell you and you do nothing except what I tell you. You do not speak unless asked a direct question."

As soon as Miss Martel said her last name, my eyes went to a poster. The female lead's name was Francine Martel. Before I had time to react to the idea that this woman, Miss Martel, was a Broadway star, she rocked me back with a slap in the face. Damn, that was stupid. I may be new, but even I knew better than to ignore the boss when she was talking.

Miss Martel was glaring at me. "I did not tell you to look at my poster. I did tell you to do nothing except what you were told to do. Now, spread your legs to shoulder width, put your hands behind your neck, elbows back as far as possible, eyes straight ahead and do...not...fucking...move."

Having screwed up badly already, I did exactly what I was told. Miss Martel came up, close and personal. She made no contact, but I could feel her body heat. Then, Miss Martel moved behind me. She whispered one word, "Kneel." Not daring to move my hands, I dropped straight to the floor. It was good that we were standing on the throw rug, but even so, there would be bruising on my knees. However, it seemed to have been the right move, because Miss Martel did not comment on it. Instead, she leaned down, til her lips brushed against the tips of my ear.

In a quiet voice, she said, "This is what I am going to do. I am going to strip you naked, pose you like this in front of a window and go out for some things I need. When I get back, I will show you some other useful poses and correct your posture. After you have practiced them for a couple of hours, I will tie you up and spank you with that paddle. Then, if I feel generous, you will be allowed to lick me to an orgasm. Then you will sleep, tied up naked, on this rug. If any of this is a problem, say so now. You may speak."

I was terrified. I had seen the pictures of Jason, bound, gagged and hanging from the wall. I knew what Mistress Cynthia did. This, however, was much more personal. Even in my wickedest fantasies, it had never been anything like this. I was trembling with fear but there was no way I was going to miss what came next.

The silence stretched to a full minute.

Standing abruptly, Miss Martel said, "All right then. I am going to go to the corner store and buy some things I need. You are going to strip completely, go use the bathroom thoroughly, and return to this spot and this position before I return. While I think you understand that failure will get you a spanking, I will also tell you that failure tonight will impact your future with this employer. You may think of this as your job orientation. One other thing; that is now your personal gag. Wear it unless specifically told to remove it. Begin."

I hesitated a moment, unsure of what to do first, but only for a moment. Miss Martel had made a point of the gag, so I picked it up. It was Barbie pink, and much larger than it looked. I was very embarrassing, but she had told me to wear it, so I would. I was not easy, but I forced the ball into my mouth. While I was fumbling to fix the strap behind my head, Miss Martel gave a "Hmmph" and went to get her purse. As she left the apartment, she said, "Be seeing you." The hint of laughter was unmistakable. It was becoming clear that with Miss Martel, no comment was a good thing.

Left alone, I needed to figure out what to do next. It was clear that I had to strip, but what should I do with the clothes? Simply dropping them seemed wrong. On the other hand, I had been told to strip before I had been told to go use the bathroom. That seemed to mean I was supposed to strip here, and certainly, I would finish here. The best way to follow instructions seemed to be strip where I was, fold the clothes and place them on the chair, then go to the bathroom.

It felt deliciously wicked. I pulled my shirttails from the pants. Going slowly, as if Miss Martel was watching the show, I undid all the buttons, then peeled my shirt back and off. Carefully, I laid the shirt over the arm of the chair. Next I removed my bra, reveling in the feel of air on my bare tits. Next came the boots. I placing them beside the chair, then pulled off my socks and stuffed them into the boots. Still going slowly, I unbuckled my belt, opened the fly and pulled down my jeans.

This was the moment that required a decision. I had to stand to finish disrobing. Miss Martel told me to use the bathroom, so I was expected to move. I decided this allowed me to stand, so I did, stepping out of the jeans in the process. Finally, I pulled down my panties, and stepped out of them. Now the process did not seem wickedly thrilling. I was bare naked and there was an uncovered window to my left. I glanced over my shoulder, looking at the street outside. Anyone walking by could see me. Once again I flushed, which embarrassed me even more. As I folded my jeans, I noticed that my panties were damp. I put them on top of the boots.

This was only the beginning of Miss Martel's instructions. I went to the bathroom and gratefully took a seat on the commode, just before my bladder exploded. It emptied readily, but the instructions were clear. I was to get everything out. So I sat still and tried to relax. After a while, my bowels cooperated. While I wiped myself, I considered the remainder of my instructions. Miss Martel wanted me to use the bathroom thoroughly. Still, using the shower seemed too much.

On the wall, next to the commode, was a towel bar, which contained a washcloth. I ran water in the sink and gave myself a sponge bath. I was told to be thorough, so I took my time, paying special attention to my wet pussy. Then, I checked the medicine cabinet. Other than makeup, I found only toothbrush, toothpaste and deodorant. The deodorant I could use, and did. I did not think Miss Martel expected me to use me toothbrush. I applied some toothpaste, using my finger as a substitute.

This covered everything I could think of to freshen myself. Just to be on the safe side, I went back to the commode. I was grateful I did since more urine came easily. I suspected it would be my last chance for some time. Once again, I sponged myself with the washcloth, then I hung the cloth on the bar and went back to the living room.

My knees had left impressions in the rug, so I knew exactly where to kneel. That was a relief since I had not considered checking my position closely. I knelt and assumed the position, hands behind my neck. Once I did, I realized that the light in the bathroom was still on. That seemed wrong.

Miss Martel had given no instructions concerning the light, but she did have instructions to do nothing without instruction. Now that I was in position, it would be wrong to move out of it. Either way, I was likely in trouble. Getting up to turn off the light might go unnoticed, but I would know, and I am a terrible liar. It was a hard choice.

I thought about it hard and decided that it would be worse to do something wrong on purpose than to do something wrong by mistake. If I was to be punished for a job done poorly, it was no more than I deserved. Better that than to disobey instructions. That decided, I settled in to wait for Miss Martel's return.

Francine:

I was of two minds. Sheila Schwartz had once been my best friend. Over the last several days, the long dormant relationship had flowered, as if we had never been apart. That said something about life in the theater. When Sheila had asked me to take on a small project, I could not refuse. That aside, the project sounded like fun. Breaking in novices was something I loved to do.

In this case, showing her the ropes was literal since bondage was involved. On the other hand, Sheila had a decade of experience as a Dom, and I had only my theater experience to fall back on. Still, I was not worried. Being both a dancer and a stage performer, I knew a great deal about playing roles and directing them. I had handled dozens of stumbling, tongue-tied, frequently arrogant and always irritating young girls. This new meat should be no different, even if the subject matter was sexual theater and not the stage.

It was 7:10 PM when a car pulled into the drive. I ran silently through my pre-performance ritual and waited for a knock. It was a good thing that I was listening because the knock was almost inaudible. I opened the door and was not impressed with what I saw.

The girl standing there was almost the antithesis of the usual theater newbie. She was of normal size, but seemed much smaller due to her dreadful posture and timid expression. I said, "So you're the fresh meat. Come on in, so I can tenderize you a bit." Tenderizing would not be the problem. Reinforcement looked more difficult. Success cannot be rewarded until the first success is achieved. That might take a while.

The girl was obviously shy, but that did not stop her from looking at all the memorabilia covering the walls. Several of the theater posters would be worth thousands of dollars on the collectors market, not that I usually thought of it in those terms. These were my memories and I did not share them lightly. So, I slapped her face hard enough to make my hand numb. It got the girl's attention.

I said, "I don't see what Schwartz sees in you, but we will see what can be done. Give me the bag." The girl handed over a small gym bag, containing restraints, a scarf, a gag and a paddle. I dumped the contents out onto a chair. The girl's eyes got big. She said nothing, but her skin flushed. That was something, at least, so I said so. We could try a few things. I asked her name.

She said, "Christine Collins, ma'am."

I never cared for that term. "I am no fucking 'ma'am'. My name is Francine, but you will refer to me as Miss Martel. Here are the rules. You do exactly what I tell you, exactly when I tell you and you do nothing except what I tell you. You do not speak unless asked a direct question." When that speech received no reply, I felt a bit better, but I needed to close.

"All right then. I am going to go to the corner store and buy some things I need. You are going to strip completely, go use the bathroom, thoroughly, and return to this spot and this position before I return. While I think you understand that failure will get you a spanking, I will also tell you that failure tonight will impact your future with this employer. You may think of this as your job orientation. One other thing, that is now your personal gag. Wear it unless specifically told to remove it. Begin." If that did not spook her, nothing would.

As exits go, I had managed better. For one thing, I needed to grab some money, which meant carrying my purse. For another, I was unsure where I was going, so I dithered a bit. Eventually, I was outside looking in. I could see the girl through the window. The first thing she did was put on the gag, which was interesting. It took a minute, but then she started to pull off her clothes. My spot of voyeurism lasted until she undid her bra. She had really nice tits.

I had to admit to being jealous of large breasts. Even though Sheila Schwartz' development had ruined her dancing career, I was still envious of the attention that her DD rack brought from the men. The girl, CC, had about a C cup. They were round and firm, with almost no sag. In my case, a little sag would have been an improvement, but flat stays flat. In any event, it gave me something to focus on. Tittie torture is an old pastime

My apartment was in a low-rent neighborhood. It is one reason that the only things of value are posters and heavy furniture. Also, I own the building, so I can get someone to live in it and watch my place. I needed clothes pins, and Richard might have some. If not, I could drive to the Walgreen's on 5th Street. I figured about 15 minutes alone would give CC enough time to use the pot and get back to her pose. What was the line about best-laid plans?

Richard was not home, so, if I wanted clothespins, I would have to buy a package. First I went by Panda Express for some take out. Then, I swung by Walgreen's. Once I was there, I took five minutes to shop for some personal things. I was about to check out when I remembered I needed clothespins. So, I stepped out of line, right into a fan. I am a famous performer. Sue me.

Soon, I had a small crowd of autograph seekers. My first fan, "Call me Joe" Hendrickson, wanted to rehash every show I had done for the last decade. As I said, I am a performer. Praise is the butter on my bread. I did not realize how much time had gone on, til I noticed it had gotten dark outside.

I left them standing there. As an explanation, I said that I had left something cooking, which was not too far from the truth. I rushed back to my apartment, noticing in passing that a light was on and that Richard was now home. Naturally, I found CC exactly where I had left her, though not as I had left her.

I had to tip my figurative hat to her. CC was working hard to get it right. The posture was not overly stressful, but she had been in it for almost an hour. The accumulated tension, from fatigue and poor posture, was really wearing on her.

The posture I could fix.

CC:

After a while, I began to wonder how long Miss Martel would be gone.

Some time later, my side started to itch. I had to fight and urge to scratch it.

After a while longer, I noticed that I could now see the light from the bathroom. It must be getting dark outside. That made me think about the window to my left. I was glad that the living room lights were off.

Watching the light dim gave me something to do for a while. It helped keep my mind off the pain in my knees, the ache in my back and the weight of my arms. Fortunately, when Miss Martel first put me in the posture, I had interlocked my fingers behind my neck. That now helped carry the weight of my arms, though my fingers had tingled for a while and then gone numb.

It became fully dark except for the light in the bathroom. I began to wonder if Miss Martel had forgotten about me but pushed the idea aside. A long phone conversation, followed by a decision to eat out, would explain her failure to return. The thought of food made me grateful that I had eaten at the warehouse. I would not have guessed it, but kneeling was hard work.

There was a noise. It was only a dog, but I had to fight the urge to look out the window to my left. Miss Martel wanted me facing this direction, and she was clear that I was not to vary from her instructions. However, thinking of the window caused me to realize that I was silhouetted by the light from the bathroom. Anyone could see me from the street. Once again, a flush went through me, but I steeled myself against movement. Soon, there were two voices. A couple of boys were playing with a dog. The voices were from down the street and stayed at a distance. Perhaps they were playing in their yard.

I found myself straining to hear sounds. It gave me something to do, now that the light was gone. I did not want to think about my mounting body aches. Cars went by, far up on the freeway. Closer, though not close, an occasional car went by on the main road. The closed window was muffling most of the sounds, because this time of year, there would be crickets. I could hear none.




Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 04a



Then, there was a sound much closer. It was the sound of keys in a door. Someone was coming out of another apartment of the fourplex and locking up behind themselves. The sound of the door itself must have been muffled. Then I heard the sound of keys much closer. Miss Martel was back.

Relief washed through me, but in a way it was worse. Suddenly, all the accumulated muscle tension of my position crashed in. My knees, back, shoulders and arms screamed for my attention, but I had none to spare them. Instead, I concentrated on Miss Martel's return. I could only hope my posture was adequate.

Miss Martel opened the door and dropped a bag just inside. She walked straight over to me while she dropped keys back into her purse. I wished I knew what she was thinking. Silly me. Miss Martel told me what she thought.

Miss Martel came up and knelt behind me, placing her hands on either side of my pelvis. She adjusted the position of my hips slightly. As she did so, she instructed, "Hips are like this, so the ass is in line." Then she pulled my whole torso back an inch. "Top end so. Feel how the spine takes the weight, rather than the muscles." I did feel the difference. "Fingers interlocked, good. Head straight up. Balance it. Elbows all the way back. That is for looks, and it won't help your fatigue, but the point of this posture is to display your tits." As she said "tits", Miss Martel reached around and grabbed mine. I had expected something of the sort, but I still had to fight to hold in an exclamation.

Miss Martel sounded amused, when she said, "You will have to work on that. I distinctly heard a noise in your throat. Schwartzy would not let it slide, although not bad for a beginner. Now, let us see about other areas." Without waiting, Miss Martel's hands dropped down to my cunt. She slid in fingers from both sides. Oh my God. I think I had an orgasm. I know that I had only thought I was fighting an exclamation. This was the real challenge.

I was as prepared as I could get in my limited experience. My jaw muscles locked solid as a tide of sensations washed through me. Miss Martel laughed, and fingered my clit, which caused a series of additional tremors. Somewhere in there was the first orgasm I had not brought on myself. Miss Martel hugged me and said, "Good girl. That was one of the points of this exercise. Now, stay put while I get food. Hips here, shoulders here, head balanced. I'll be right back."

This was not entirely true, but it was not all that long before Miss Martel stepped into my field of view. She shook her head. "This will not work, so I am going to teach you another position. Bring your ankles together, but knees still apart. Sit back on your heels. Back straight. Balance the head. Now lower your arms, reach behind and grasp your elbows."

I struggled to comply. Every muscle moved like it was a mile away and I had to send it a postcard. Eventually, I managed the posture she wanted, sort of. At least it was more comfortable than the last one. Her verdict, "Not great, but it will do for now. I will let you practice that position for an hour or so before the main event. First, I will give you something light to eat and drink. Water is essential. Drink at every opportunity, starting now."

Miss Martel had a bottle of water and dropped in a soda straw. I gratefully drank to the bottom. Then, Miss Martel pulled a cushion off the sofa and sat down cross-legged in front of me. From the bag, she pulled a Chinese takeout box and chopsticks. For the next ten minutes, she fed herself and me on Honey Chicken and rice. I was grateful the food was not spicier. Once the food was gone, Miss Martel opened the fortune cookie and informed me that today was a day for new experiences. No shit.

After that, Miss Martel got up, picked up the box, chopsticks and napkins and took them away. The bag she left behind. Immediately, my mind went to what could remain in the bag. I did not have to wonder long. Miss Martel returned. She removed a candle, a tube of hand cream and package of clothespins from the bag. Then she looked closely at me.

She said, "Take your hands and put them on the floor here. Now, rise up, leaning forward til your face is between your hands. Elbows on the floor. Good. Hold still. This is one of the punishment positions, but not this time." It was not comfortable, the balance was difficult and I could not see a thing. Miss Martel walked behind me and placed her hand on my ass.

She said, "Hmmm. I need a place to put the candle for a minute. Ah, here's one." With no hesitation, Miss Martel shoved something, probably a candle, into my very wet cunt. Then, she fiddled with something for a moment. It must have been hand cream, because she placed the tube on my butt as if it were a night stand. Miss Martel's two fingers smeared lotion all over my anus. It was cool and smooth but I knew what was coming next.

Abruptly, Miss Martel shoved both fingers through the hole. I think I grunted with pain. This time, Miss Martel seemed not to notice. Instead, she worked her fingers in my now open asshole. After the sphincter muscles started to relax, Miss Martel removed her fingers, grabbed the candle and shoved it into the hole. "OK dear. Close down on that. Good. I am gong to forgive you for making noise when I popped your cherry, but Schwartz is not so easy. Now, one more thing and I can let you sit back down."

There was only one thing left in the bag: clothes pins. I heard a tearing sound, so Miss Martel was probably opening the package. There was a pause. Then, her hand grabbed one pussy lip, while the other hand slipped on two pins. Shit, that hurt. Miss Martel repeated the process on the other side. Oh, my.

Miss Martel moved behind me and continued, "OK dear, sit back down. Hands behind again. Get it all balanced. Good. Let me get these two on your tits. You have lovely tits. Be proud of them. Schwartz has incredible tits, but she hates hers. It's a dancer thing." I almost did not feel the clips as she put them on my nipples. Almost. Soon, my nipples were playing the same song as my cunt. It burned, but something else too.

Miss Martel moved around and looked me over. She did not seem displeased. Then, shaking her head a bit, she left the room, saying, "I have calls to make. See you soon." At least, she did not go out the front door.

Francine:

Earlier, I said that I did not see what Sheila saw in this girl. Color me converted. I am not above a bit of kink now and again. In fact, my best orgasm, so far this year, came courtesy of Sheila Schwartz and her freaking ice cubes. This girl was from another planet.

Schwartz had been right when she said CC was one of hers. Looking at the girl in front of me, I could see the accumulation of two hours of pain and humiliation. She was obviously struggling not to flinch from the pain in her cunt, never mind the clips on her breasts. All of this on top of an hour long endurance challenge. The last few minutes, alone, was a significant scene. Stacked on the other, it was mind blowing. Yet, CC's eagerness was unmistakable.

I shook my head in disbelief and withdrew to diddle in the bedroom. Having CC in the front room eliminated a few options, but Jerry was always up for a little phone assisted masturbation. I could take time for one really good buildup before I went in to get CC off. Then, maybe, I would follow Shwartz' advice and let the girl suck me out.

My problem was that my mind was not on the subject. What I really wanted was a good thick cock up the middle. A little D/s play was good now and then, but the bottoms get all the action. If what I had seen so far was any indication, my throw rug would smell for a month, even if I had it cleaned. Damn. The girl had me hot, and I had nowhere to get satisfaction.

CC:

I was alone once again, but this time, it was not as bad. Miss Martel was close by. I could hear her voice through the wall. It was a bit strange since she did not seem to be talking on the phone. I would not complain. She was the mistress, and even if she was not, she was Mistress Cynthia's friend. She also seemed to understand me.

In some ways, there was not a lot to understand. She said to do something, and I did it. Easy. Now that I thought of it, it sounded a bit like slavery. I had heard stories about sexual slaves. I never thought that they would apply to me, but that choice was laid out in front of me now. I could sink down into the role so easily. I only needed to give over all my will to Miss Martel, except she would not take it. Mistress Cynthia was making it very clear that she would provide and protect, but there were limits. It was a difficult question.

I would have to compliment Miss Martel on this new position. Except for the burning in my knees, the position was easy to maintain. I carefully adjusted my posture, as Miss Martel had shown me. Sure enough, there was a spot that felt right, where everything was balanced, where my weight was supported only by the floor and not by myself. It was actually comfortable. The same could not be said of the clothespins on my cunt and nipples, but that was the point, was it not? The burning was intense, pulsing slightly to my heartbeat. That was an interesting mix of pain and stimulation. After a while, it all faded back, and my mind sort of floated to a quiet place.

That was where I was when Miss Martel returned. Somehow, I missed her coming back into the room. My first clue was a new fire in my nipple. I looked up, and there was Miss Martel with a clothespin in her hand. I smiled. She had warned me that taking them off was worse than putting them on. I could hardly wait for what she did next.

Francine:

If I was a little in awe of CC earlier, what I found next was a shock. She was in an honest-to-God trance. I have known three serious mediators, so I know a trance when I see one. This was something any Buddhist monk would be happy to claim.

Bringing CC back to the world required nothing more than removing a clothespin from a nipple. The return of circulation is agonizing. In short order, all six clips were removed and CC was struggling, once again, not to make a sound. I could not help but laugh. One moment, she was so serene, the next, she was squirming in discomfort.

I said, "I told you taking them off was worse. You didn't believe me. Now, return to the punishment position, and we will see if you are a true pain slut."

Like before, she moved like she was made of wood. I understand stiff muscles too well for it to be really funny, but there was an amusement factor as CC struggled to comply. Eventually, she succeeded.

Almost before her face was down, I had the first paddle on her ass. In short order, I had turned her ass cheeks rosy pink. Once my arm was tired, I dropped the paddle and pulled the candle out of CC's ass. Into the hole, I put two fingers. It took a few moments but I found the place men keep their prostate. It's also a pressure point for the female of the species. By the time I found it, my fingers in her ass was all that kept CC upright.

CC had climaxed an hour before, but that was nothing compared to the earthquake that moved her now. She screamed into the gag. Her limbs twitched and her body shook with the force of the action. A river of juice ran down her thigh. Damn, this girl could cum with the champions. The problem was that she was worthless to me now.

I looked down on the shivering mass and sighed. God grant that sometime in my life I, Francine Vivian Martel, could have one orgasm like I just witnessed. The girl was frightening. I started taking off my own clothes and fuck anyone watching. Sheila had stripped down to sleep with me, so I could do it too. One other thing, the gag had to go. I pulled it out, then picked her up and carried her to bed. It must have been more wearing than I thought because we were both asleep in no time.

CC:

When Miss Martel came back, I was stiff as a board. She ordered me into punishment position. I tried, but could not seem to make my parts work. Miss Martel was patient. Eventually, I was back in the awkward position, trying not to fall over.

Miss Martel wasted no time. As soon s I was in position, she let me have a swat with the paddle. Under most circumstances, it probably would have hurt. In my state, it just warmed things a little. Miss Martel kept going with the paddle for a while, then dropped it on my leg. That hurt worse than the paddling, not that I minded. Nothing was bothering me right then.

Miss Martel had other things to do with her hands. She grabbed my ass, pulled out the candle and stuck her fingers in. She poked around for a moment, then found something. My whole world exploded.

Several hours later, I woke. I immediately felt the lack of a gag and the presence of Miss Martel. I could not remember all that had happened, but I remembered Miss Martel's instructions. In particular, I remembered the part about licking Miss Martel to orgasm.

It proved an interesting way to start the day.



Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 05



Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

"Looking back from 25 years, it seems obvious that an informal family came together that week. Well, partly formal, since Dad did propose to and marry Mom. But, many of the people that came and went through my childhood, first met that week. After all, I do call Francine Martel, star of stage and screen, Aunt Frannie. Jason Porter and Christine Collins met that week, though, of course, I called her Nanny CC. Back then, she doubled as Mom's secretary and maid."

Chapter 9 -- Slippery Little Details

Sheila:

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

For once, I was awake before the alarm, after spending time with Sean. I was laying in bed, remembering and thinking. My stars, did I actually do some of those things? If it had been anonymous, things would not be so bad, but I had called Julian over, which made certain I was recognized. If I did not feel so fantastic, I would want to crawl under the bed.

I did feel fantastic. There was something about time with Sean and getting quality sleep. Even last night, after an horrific day, I slept like a rock. I smiled, recalling waking up in Sean's shirt. As Francine had pointed out, it was literally the shirt off his back. This morning was the first time he had left me completely naked. There had to be a moral in there some where.

I could feel a small smile twitch at my face. There were blurry aspects to last night, but not everything. I remembered going for ice cream and flashing the window attendant. I remembered curling up in Sean's lap and wallowing in his enveloping presence. I remembered him pulling off his jacket (my jacket if you want to be picky, but the one he was wearing) and using it to cover me, as he half-carried me to my apartment. I remembered him standing over me, muttering to himself. I remembered the last two things he said, under his breath: "I love this woman." then "What the fuck do I do now?"

Sean is such a teddy bear.

Sean:

Wednesday broke like a fine china plate. What had been a whole, recognizable life, was suddenly a jigsaw puzzle of tiny pointed shards. The only two things that I was certain about were, #1) I had fallen hard for Sheila Schwartz and #2) I had a company to run, which I could not do from bed. Through the long a sleepless night, I had been wrestling with #1. It was time to address #2, which meant I needed to start the ball rolling on #1.

Note to self: research Victorian protocols of courting and nuptials. While researching, include famous romantic weddings, and get photographs. Humorous side comment: a true Victorian wedding dress almost certainly required a corset. A wedding would also required a ring.

I wondered if I already owned a suitable ring. One of the advantages of doing substantial estate sales is a residue of quality goods, with no particular home. John could pull a visual inventory in minutes. Now that I thought of it, there might even be a suitable gown. Who could I get to vet my choices? Sheila, obviously, would be perfect for the job, and completely unsuitable. While there was a twisted irony about asking her to choose her own wedding gown, I did not think I could fool her for even a moment. However, the corset maker, Julian, might have some good ideas and she was already expecting me to contact him. I would have Helen handle it, to get at least a little distance.

Lord Almighty, I did not want to go to work.

Sheila:

My day was blocked out like a NASA launch. Every moment til 5:00 PM was accounted for. Much of this was from clients I had rescheduled from Monday or Tuesday, plus meetings with Justin's team and/or Sean. I would have zero time for the usual paper and photo work, which would take me well into the evening. Oh well. It was the price of being a sole proprietor.

When I arrived at work, CC was waiting outside. For some reason, my new assistant had slipped my mind. I sent her to look around the studio for a few minutes, while I called Francine.

Phone: This is Francine Martel. Please leave your name and number

"Damn it Francine, that was not funny the first time you tried it, twenty years ago. I was calling about how things went with CC last night."

Phone: Holy Shit, Schwartz. What bee got under your bra strap?

"Francine Vivian Martel, cut the bullshit. I just saw her. The look on her face is one I have only seen one other place, and that one came after a religious experience."

Phone: No shit. When?

"Monday. It was Jason. I almost cried myself to sleep, after what I did to that boy."

Phone: Ease up Sheila. All I did was strip her down, like you said, pose her, like you said, and use some clothes pins and spank her a bit.

"Clothes pins? If I wanted you to use clamps, I would have sent them. Still, that is not too bad. How much did you have her pose?"

Phone: Only a couple.

"Two. Oh my stars. Francine, how long was she in the poses?"

Phone: The first one was pretty long. I got caught up and couldn't get back.

"Oi fucking vey. Let me guess, you left her alone for half an hour."

Phone: Well, no. It was more like an hour.

"OK. I get the picture. If you recall, Herr Gruber would only use isolation in extreme cases, and never for more than ten minutes. What part of 'newbie on her first day' did you not get?"

Phone: Ask her about the second pose. She got into that one.

"Oi vey ist mir. I have to go."

Have I mentioned Francine is from another planet? Either that, or she was dropped on her head, repeatedly.

I found CC exactly where I expected her to be, in the studio, staring at the equipment. I needed to find out if she had been injured in any way. CC's dreamy Zen quality was a bit unnerving to me, especially after recently getting the same thing from Jason. That could wait. For the moment, I wanted to see the second position Francine had taught her. So I said, "Show me the second position."

Without a word, CC started to take off her clothing. I said, "Clothed is sufficient this time." CC nodded and dropped to her knees, then spread her knees apart, sat back on her heels, and reached behind her back, grasping both elbows. Within a second, she was settled in and looked ready to spend some serious time unmoving. I kicked off my shoes and dropped into it myself. It truly was not uncomfortable, but this was not a time for meditation.

I said, "This is good. You clearly have an aptitude for it. We will continue to call it Second Position. It happens to also be a traditional slave position. It exposes the sex, while thrusting the breasts forward and keeping the arms from covering up. I suggest spending time in it daily, as a reminder. Now, I will show you, very briefly, First Position. We do not have time to study right now, but I will expect you to become proficient with it."

With that, I rose, presented to the bar, and went through one full repetition of First Position. That done, I led her through the rabbit hole, into the vanilla world of XTreme Fitness. Our first stop was to visit Marcia, the Assistant Manager on duty that morning. I told Marcia that the General Manager had sent CC to me, for training. This was unusual, but it had happened before. I asked Marcia to put CC on the payroll, at entry salary, with paperwork to follow. That made one more thing to do, after hours.

Then, I took CC to ProShop, the gym's in house store. I outfitted CC with a workout outfit, shoes and a padlock. All this I charged to the GM account. Sometimes it can be convenient to have a never seen alter ego. At that point, I would have given CC the tour, but I had a client to meet. I pointed her to the locker room, and told her to find me when she was finished.

Martha was a workout only client, one of only two. She and I had worked together for ten years, through three gyms and two of Martha's pregnancies. For a long time, I wished she would drop me, or choose another personal trainer, so I would have more time for my dual purpose clients. Lately, I was of another mind. Until Francine dropped back into my life, Martha was as close as I had to a friend. If I ever got married, I would ask Martha to be one of my matrons. This has a downside. One look at me, and Martha knew that something was up.

Her opening remark was, "My God, Sheila, what has been going on? You are glowing, but conflicted as hell." Martha has a PhD in children's therapy, and operates one of the better clinics in town. I have never been able to hide anything from her, except my studio clients, and I am not sure about those. Rather than give background, I went straight to the point. "Sean Richards."

Her mouth did an O, but she recovered quickly. "Just how well do you know the 'Bear of Franklin Avenue', and how long?"

"Just over a week, and pretty well. He took me to a concert and dinner over the weekend, and dinner last night."

"Have you...?"

"Hmm. No and yes. There is a definite sexual element to the relationship, but it has not been formally consummated. He gives incredible massages. Oh, and he's a teddy bear."

"Not if you listen to some of my parents. He has a reputation for being ruthless. I did not refer to him as a bear for no reason. He also has a reputation for hiring people that no one else even considers. Has he tried to hire you?"

"Artistic consultant."

Martha dropped the weights. She sat up on her bench and stared at me. Then her gaze turned speculative. "And?"

"He is considering offering me a long term position, I think."

"Hail Mary, full of grace. Finally. Do not frighten me like that." She lay back and put her hands on the bar. "Where was I?"

"You were at ten, but do an extra five to balance the pause." CC came into the room. "By the way, Sean sent me CC as an assistant. I am training her in training. Martha this is Christine Collins. CC, Martha Douglas. Martha is one of my longest continuous clients."

Martha said, "CC, take note of how she said that. Most fitness coaches would have said 'oldest clients'. Diplomacy is never a bad idea. She is a slave driver, but you knew that, did you not?"

CC colored brightly, but said nothing.

Maratha looked back to me."Richards can certainly pick them, and he obviously knows you well, already."

"Enough talk Martha. Save your breath for correcting my anatomy references. You will, in the next 30 minutes, be demonstrating every major muscle group, starting with pectorals. CC, notice how this exercise works the pectoral muscles, here and here. Secondary benefit is to the abdominal muscles, here, and to the forearms. Push Martha. I need you to show some muscle definition, for CC's sake."

Sean:

Once I arrived at work, things improved. I received good news from several directions. My University Chancellor was much more encouraging. While he had initially been interested in period documents, such as the Marquis' letter, his social science departments were gaga over the ritual and fetish pieces. At least two of the pieces, were referenced in period writings, but had never been examined. Professional quality, measured photographs, would be well received. The Chancellor also had people that wanted to discuss virtual books, so I referred his people to my people.

On the licensing end, we had only a couple of hold outs. Much of the written erotica was unpublished, so copyrights had run in the shortest time possible. This made the intellectual content part of the public domain. Of the relatively few that still had copyrights in force, most were willing to allow photographic reproduction rights. As a bonus, each item was getting "Reprint rights transfer with sale" added to the item description. No one expected this information to hurt the selling price.

On another front, Harold Johnstead, my printer, was overjoyed to get off square one. He was requesting a formal meeting of with the photographic team. I informed him that I had hired an Art Director, with full creative control, but said she would not be available til Thursday. This received a mixed reaction. Harold 's people were reluctant to accept a meeting with a veto power absent, but they were overjoyed that the veto was no longer in my hands. The tentative meeting was moved to 11:00 AM, on the hopes that Sheila could swing by.

Justin and Peter informed me that the layouts were basically ready to go, but that final choice of shots needed to be made. Peter was adamant that Sheila do this in person. In his words, Sheila was "a freaking genius at this. I could not do it half as well." I informed Justin and Peter that they were meeting with the printers and that Sheila would likely not be able to attend. Peter was unfazed. He said that it was normal for "the Boss Lady" to attend, but the real decisions were still down the road. I told them that George would pick them up at 10:45 AM.

Curtis called with contract language for me to approve. Jordan Hayes called to finalize monetary exchange protocols. Gerald called concerning extra security, which we were hiring for the date of the sale. The caterers and rental people called, to finalize set up and tear down times. One thing after another fell into place.

Suddenly, I had time on my hands, relatively speaking. My thoughts went to Sheila and I realized that I had decided to propose marriage. Odd, that I had not noticed the decision, at the time. Something, from the conversations that morning, had jarred my memory. Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning had spent their married life in Italy. Some years before, a collection of personal items and papers had gone to auction. My firm had handled the American releases and acted as intermediary for some of the successful bidders. I still had contact information in my files.

Several phone calls later, I had the opportunity to purchase a folding fan, which Elizabeth Barrett-Browning had carried in Italy and one of Elizabeth's personal datebooks. From another source, I was able to obtain a good photograph of her favorite choker brooch. I considered buying the fan, but Sheila did not play coy. The datebook was nice, but it was from later in Elizabeth's life, and not associated with her wedding. However, the choker brooch was central to many of her images, both painted and photographic.

I emailed the image to Francis, my jewelry expert and asked about getting a good reproduction made. On a whim, I asked about vintage Claddagh rings. Within minutes, he called me back, saying that a famous ring was up for sale. It had been given by William Trent, 3rd Earl of Clancarty, to his bride Sarah Butler, in 1832. I told him to buy it and send it to me, overnight delivery. I also told him to make a good reproduction of the Barrett choker, unless he could find a comparable period piece.

Then it was off to see the printers. For once, I went to a meeting feeling that I had accomplished something.

Sheila:

After Martha, the morning passed without much fuss. Since all my other appointments were for dual purpose clients, they assumed that CC would handle most of the gym side of things, while I handled the studio. It was an idea with some merit, though I was not yet ready to commit to it. For one thing, it was painfully clear that CC would need considerable training herself. Also, her fitness was not at level I demanded of my clients, much less the gym staff.

However, through the course of the morning, I did come to know CC much better. To say she was shy and quiet was an understatement. She reminded me of Sean's assistant Helen, who thought three words was a long speech. Under all that quiet lurked a fierce drive. No one had taught her about goals, and goal planning, but she would perform any assigned task exactly, or pass out still trying. I told her that she would spend much of the afternoon bound and gagged, while I handled clients. CC's only response was a flaring of the nostrils and deepening of her breath.

At 9:55 AM, I had a moment to check my messages. One was from Sean, saying that the meeting with the printers had been moved to 11:00, in the hopes that I could make it. That almost worked. I messaged back that he could have a car pick me up at 11:30, if it also brought lunch. At 11:25, I gave CC ten dollars and told her to get lunch, something light, and meet me at 12:15 in front of my studio.

At 11:35 AM, I was in the back of Sean's Mercedes, putting the finishing touches on my young executive look. Lunch turned out to be a Cianfrani sandwich, with a side of cut veggies, nonfat yogurt and two bottles of water. When George let me out, I told him that half the sandwich was his, as well as a bottle of water. The other bottle, mostly empty, I carried with me.

Sean met me at the door. On the way in, he explained that this was a meeting for the basic layouts, which Peter had handled quite well. Hopefully there was nothing left but rubber stamping. Fortunately, given my time constraints, this proved accurate. I was introduced to all the players in the printing staff, except the owner, and they to me. Somewhere along the way, my empty bottle was exchanged for a full one. I officially gave my approval of the work to that point, then begged off for my afternoon clients.

On the way out, Sean introduced me to Harold Johnstead, the owner. Harold happened to be one of my long term clients. I winked at him, when he did not recognize me. When he turned red, I explained to his aides that we had met at XTtreme Fitness. He had not recognized me, I suggested, in business attire. I left the meeting confident in improved cooperation from the printer.

Once back at the studio, I let in CC and sent her to strip naked. While she was gone, I readied the whipping horse, which is much like it sounds. It is an oversized carpenter's horse, with sides that spread the legs, and lots of places tie things. It would not be comfortable for CC, since I had five 30 minute appointments, but I could afford to leave her there the whole time. Once she was gagged and mounted, I went to fix my look for the first session.

The whole afternoon was a success. Rather than conceal CC, as I originally intended, I informed everyone that I had a new assistant, in training. Then I led them out to meet her, which introduced CC in a non threatening manner. Considering the nature of my business, emotional security is critical. It also gave me an interesting read, on how each client viewed his relationship to me. Some viewed CC as protected, since I had laid claim to her. Others viewed her as inferior, since she was bound and they were not, yet.

My favorite reaction came first. Reuben wanted to be mounted face to face with her. That was physically impossible, but I managed a reasonably good imitation. As a reward, I stuck two condom covered fingers into CC's cunt, and placed it under Rueben's nose, while I administered his caning. What interested me was watching CC's eyes, while I beat Reuben to orgasm.

Eventually, the client sessions were all complete. I removed CC's gag, but CC said nothing. I put my hand against her face and she pressed into it like cat, waiting to be stroked.

I shook my head and said, "I just do not have time for you right now. So I am going to treat you to a taste and then ask you a question. I am leaving the gag off, but the gym is through that wall. I think you understand what I a saying." CC's eyes got impossibly wider, but she nodded. "Last chance. After I do this, if I do this, you will be going over to the warehouse. You know the nature of the work there. This will make it very difficult to sit down." CC nodded, without hesitation. Was I ever that young? "OK then."




Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 05



I picked up Long John, my 14" vibrating dildo, shoved it all the way to CC's cervix and turned it on high. CC jerked, but did not whimper. I picked up my favorite flogger and had at her. The blows struck on or around the dildo as much as possible. After ten lashes, CC was limp as overcooked pasta, but there was a pool of her juices on the floor behind the horse.

I went back to her front end and rubbed her cheek with the rough sharkskin of the flogger's handle. The answer to my question was obvious, but formalities must be observed. I held her gaze and asked, "Is this what you really want?" CC's big green eyes filled with tears as she nodded. "Very well. I will accept responsibility for your training. It may take a few days to move your things and settle you in, but from now until I say otherwise, you are mine." I unbuckled her from the horse. "Now get down and clean up your mess. Be quick about it, because you have to dress before we leave." CC climbed, stiffly, off the horse and began licking her juices off the floor.

Why could not Sean have gotten me a puppy? On second thought, maybe he did.

Sean:

The meeting with the printers ran on rails. Everything had been covered and re-covered by the time Sheila arrived. She stomped in, doing a very good impression of Sigourney Weaver, from Working Girl. She spent some time talking and gesturing with an empty water bottle. Then, she took the keyboard and made a few changes. My big contribution was switching her empty water bottle for a full one. Often, that is the best way things can be. When you are the boss, always hope for people that can work without you, but especially for people that can work in front of you.

On the way out, I wanted to introduce Sheila to the old man, Harold Johnstead, owner, founder and CEO. At first, it was polite meet and greet, then Hasrold's face turned puce. Sheila smoothly covered. She explained that they had met at the gym. Harold had not recognized her dressed for business. That Harold had not recognized her was so obviously true, that everyone overlooked the nature of the gym. We exited quietly, but I was feeling much better about the level of support they would provide us. It was very close to crunch time, and we needed all the help we could get. Have I mentioned how much I loved this woman?

George took Sheila back to her studio, while I went back to the office. Other than the usual progress reports, nothing much was happening on the auction. Printing the catalog was the final hurdle, and that project finally looked doable. Accordingly, I told Helen to compile a list of people to commend.

Down the priority list a ways, I had a response from Francis. I had purchased the wedding band, for £17,250, plus 15% commission and insurance. It was being air shipped, with an expected Friday arrival. Francis warned me that the ring would likely fit only a pinky finger. He was already modeling a casting blank for a modern sized hand. I love working with competent people.

Further checking on Elizabeth Barrett produced nothing new. She was simply too famous. Most of her personal items were already in museums. I did obtain an original photograph of her, wearing the choker brooch. I made notes concerning the picture. It was to be expertly preserved and mounted in a suitable period frame.

That was it. It was time to start looking for the next big project, but the biggest thing on the horizon was proposing marriage to Sheila. This made for a difficult afternoon.

Sheila:

After meeting Harold, our group parted, with Sean heading back to HQ. One thing I liked about Sean, is that he knew how to get out of his people's way. He clearly had aptitude as a micromanager, but he was willing to let people do their job, rather than make them spend time answering to him. This was gratifying, but frustrating as hell, since I had no excuse to consult him. I wanted to crawl into his lap and let him stroke my hair.

Such was not to be. As soon as we got to the warehouse, I told George that he was to take CC to her apartment and gather everything she owned in the way of clothes and personal items. I did not expect it to be much. I then called my building Super and informed him that Christine Collins, age 19, niece, would be moving in for the foreseeable future. I asked that he let her deposit her things and said I would come by in the morning, to sign the paperwork and pick up a key.

CC's green eyes were getting big, again. I told George to get whatever help he needed, but he waived me off. CC would not have, in his opinion, much that would be worth stuffing into trash bags. One look at CC confirmed his opinion. It looked like a trip to the mall would soon be on the agenda.

At the warehouse, I checked through security, and went up. Everyone was playing nice, which was a change from the first time I met them. Lately, Justin and Peter had worked separate tracks, while Jason was much less annoying. I expected CC to arrive in about an hour. The interactions between Jason and CC would be interesting.

About the job, progress was visible everywhere. The layout formatting was essentially complete. The order of presentation was roughed out, and the indexing automated. What was left were the artistic decisions, which I, supposedly, had been hired to do. First, and most importantly, Peter, Justin and I went through the final selection of hey shots. These were images which would serve as background. We narrowed our final group down to eleven pictures of Jason, three of myself, six pictures of the Marquis letter and five file shots of ancient ruins.

There was never much discussion about the prime shot. We had an unforgettable image of Jason, just before he exploded into his jock strap. I did some fine-tuning and we had our cover shot. The other choice selections were the source of much argument, since each of us had a favorite. I tried to use my position to overrule the others, but they claimed bias, and threatened to call Sean. We settled on a long shot, of both Jason and I, for the reverse cover. The table of contents was of me, getting my corset tightened. Guys.

Once the shots were chosen, we refined the images. In this, Justin and Peter bowed out and let me do the work. Instead, they worked on the archeological items, which were the easiest. About this time, CC arrived. I gave her to Peter, to serve as his go-for, just as Jason already did for Justin. The afternoon was full of fussy detail work, which kept us going late. Sean finally called a halt, at 11:00 PM.

The ride home was odd. I was driving, so CC rode in the back. Neither of us spoke. When we reached my building, I saw that the Super's light was on. We knocked, and I made the formal introductions. He had paperwork for me to sign and a key ready. Suddenly, I had officially acquired a roommate, for the first time in eight years. I took CC up to my apartment and let us in. As soon as we were inside, she dropped all pretense and hugged me. I returned the embrace, for a long while.

Eventually, I broke apart so that I could look into her eyes. "CC this is now home for you. It is going to be a lot of work. You will clean this apartment, to my very picky standards, plus you will need to learn both sides of the business, at the gym and at the studio. I may, on occasion, ask you to service me sexually, again to my exacting standards. When your work is not up to those standards, you will be disciplined. When your work is perfect, I will, occasionally, tie you up and whip you til you cum. Do not confuse one with the other. Do you understand?"

CC's eyes never left mine. They welled with tears as she nodded. I said, "Very well. Welcome to your new home. I will not force you to leave without first arranging a suitable place. In this you must trust me.

"Now, go to the bedroom and strip off your clothes. In this apartment, you will usually be naked, unless you are cooking. In that case, you will wear a full length apron for safety. Can you cook?" CC shook her head, then cocked it to one side. That was clear enough, based on her background. "I understand. You know how to serve at table. That is good, as I may have guests. Go get naked and start my shower. I will teach you how I like my back scrubbed and then we will sleep. Tonight, you will sleep with me in the bed, since this is a special occasion. Tomorrow, I will get you a proper rug and blanket. Go."

CC lacked skill, but she did have enthusiasm. My back was soon well washed, and my pussy received attention. It was not quality attention, but that was not unexpected. CC had no experience, and I doubted she had ever studied the process in theory. Still, she would get better or she would sleep cold. But, that was for later. She curled up on the bed and I wrapped myself around her. I fell asleep thinking how much our relationship resembled Sean's and mine.

Thursday morning, I shook CC awake. That was another thing she would learn. I told her to practice 2nd position while I dressed. Then, she would have five minutes to dress, while I made tea and toast. That eaten, I had CC bring me her clean clothes. As I suspected, she was better off as I had dressed her for the gym. I selected a T-shirt and gave her an old pair of running shorts. That, and the warmups, would get her through the morning. Hopefully, Saturday would feature a trip to the mall day.

Once at the studio, I showed her the office and pointed out what was private and what was confidential. She needed to know that distinction. I showed her the cameras and the editing room. That area would take time. I showed her the storage locker and watched her eyes get big. I showed her the costume locker and watched her eyes get bigger. CC was a closet exhibitionist. Good to know.

Then it was over to the gym, where I walked her through Wednesday's lessons. This finally forced words from her lips. She told me the names of the machines and the body parts they worked out, at least as the machines were configured the day before. Then I put her on a machine and worked her through a set. For me, it would have been a warm up. By the end of the set, she was dripping sweat and gasping for breath. I handed her water, and taught her how to cool down. Sylvia was conducting beginner classes that day. I arranged for CC to participate.

After my last workout, at 11:00 AM, I collected CC and went to the warehouse. Amazingly, things were well on their way to being done. This meant that what remained was dog work. It still needed to be done, then checked, then rechecked by me. There was already a pile waiting for my attention. I asked Peter to find something for CC to do, and got started. I was startled when my PDA pinged 12:45 PM. We confirmed a 3:30 meeting with the printer, to finalize layouts.

Then CC and I went back to the studio for three afternoon sessions. Like the day before, I had CC strip naked. I cuffed her feet together, then had her sit on her ankles. A leather cuff fastened one arm on top of the other, behind her back. I added a gag and a collar. It was simply Second Position, enforced by leather. In addition, I placed a small bell on the collar. This was her first real training session.

I told CC that if the bell rang during a session, I would cane her in front of the client, and she would have to sleep on the bare floor, in the kitchen. If it did not ring, I would introduce her to anal plugs and ben wa balls, before I forced her to orgasm. As I said, she needed to understand the difference between punishment and a whipping. I had enough faith in CC that the ben wa balls had already been pulled from storage. I let her watch as I slipped them into myself, just before my first session.

Just under two hours later, I pushed the ben wa balls through CC's dripping cleft. I had already inserted the size one anal spreader. CC was untaught, but very willing. Then, I showed her Spanking Position #1: kneeling, knees and ankles together, elbows and forehead on the floor, hands clasped behind the neck. The balance is tricky, and falling over is bad. Three strokes of the flogger brought her orgasm, but I gave her the regular dose of ten lashes.

Afterward, she looked at the leashes on the wall and asked if she could have one. I explained that those were earned by specific clients. As such, they were very personal. However, as a reward for learning her lessons well, I permitted her to wear a collar from the locker, til we purchased her a fitted one. Our trip to the mall would start at Petsmart.

At 3:20 PM, I told CC that I had a meeting. She was to practice stretching. I wanted her able to do a full split, by the end of the week. She was not to tie herself up, in any way, until we had done a safety lecture. I did allow her to use the gag, if she wished, and wear the leather cuffs, without locks or chains. In addition, I told her that her skin, and her privates, belonged to me. I would be looking for any mark on her skin, which I had not applied. CC was good with all of that.

I went to the car, wondering about the kind of roommate I had acquired.

Sean:

Wednesday passed into Thursday. Other than that, little changed. Francis had good reports on the two jewelry projects. All of the potential copyright issues had been resolved, save two minor ones. One was settled by agreeing to specific language regarding intellectual property. The other owner wished to publish the contents of the document, so his attorney recommended retaining the original. He was allowed to withdraw, without the usual charges. I obtained a gentleman's agreement to conduct the sale, if he chose to sell after publication.

Other than that, business was business. The auction was not the only thing on my plate, but it had been the big one, and my part was essentially finished. There is no point in hiring good people and then bumping their elbows while they work. It made for a lot of fidgeting and doodling. Finally, I had a call that required input, rather than a rubber stamp. There was a lead on an estate in Romania. The ownership of a castle, and its contents, was in hot dispute. In many similar situations, things were resolved by selling everything and dividing the money. We wanted to conduct the sale. At least, this gave me work for the next few hours.

I went to the 3:30 PM meeting feeling like I had lost a day.

Sheila:

The mood at the printers was notably different than the day before. For one thing, Harold was in attendance. I had worn red lipstick, just for him, so I blew a kiss as I entered the room.

The other new thing was a feeling of accomplishment. From what I had pieced together, the work had been far behind schedule, due to Sean's problems with the photography. Monday, Justin and I had provided the photographs. However, the printers had anticipated a huge mess, which had to be untangled, against a strict time limit. Peter had resolved a big part of their concerns, by getting the layouts done in a timely manner. There was still a lot of detail work left, but everyone now knew the job was doable, on schedule. I made sure Peter took a bow. Off to the side, I could see Sean taking note.

As the meeting broke up, Harold went up to Sean and complimented him on the quality of our team. I said thank you, and gave Harold a lipsticky kiss on the cheek. We were surprised by a flash. Justin had shot a picture. You cannot take some people anywhere.

On the way back to my studio, we discussed food preferences. Sean had been catering in dinner, and they were tired of Chinese and Pizza. I suggested D's Grill, where I had taken Sean. Everyone thought gyros would be a nice change. It was all rather festive.

When I entered my studio, I found CC sitting on the floor, in Position Two, in tears. I could guess what the problem was, but I was not about to cuddle her for feeling inadequate. Instead, I told her to get dressed for the gym, including removing her collar. I may have a new submissive roommate, but I would not accept her as a pet. People as pets was for role playing, not for a life choice.

While CC dressed, I went into my office, and logged in as the GM for my XTreme Fitness location. I verified all I had told Marcia. In addition, I signed CC up for the cheer leading package. One of the trainers, Sondra, specialized in getting girls fit and flexible for competitive cheer leading. CC was a bit older, but she needed all the same exercises.

When I was finished, I led CC through the rabbit hole to the gym. The rabbit hole was my name for the series of locked doors and empty rooms, that divide the studio from the gym. It can be a pain to use, but it allows me to avoid going outside. As usual, CC took it in without a word.

As it happened, Sondra was about to begin a class in basic warmup techniques. I knew from experience that most teenage girls did not consider this class to be at all basic. I introducing them and told Sondra that CC was hired by the GM, that she needed to learn all the basics, and do it quickly. After all, it was nothing but the truth.

I also told Sandra that she would have to watch CC closely. The usual problem with teenage girls is a low pain tolerance. CC's problem was the opposite. She did not know what to tolerate and what signaled injury. This is not an uncommon problem in gymnastics. In this case caused Sondra to do a double take, which was good. There was a message. CC may be the GM's pet, but Sondra was authorized to push her very hard, to the point injury. Sondra's lips twitched, as she nodded understanding. I warned Sondra that CC was extremely quiet, so any vocalization should be considered important. Then, I left them to the class.

Two hours later, I came to collect CC. As I expected, she winced when she walked. However, the wink I got from Sondra told a better story. To CC I said, "If you were not walking gingerly, I would know something was wrong. I signed you up for Sondra's full course. By the end of it, your usual duties will be a cake walk. Just see that you progress as quickly in other areas. As a reward, I will get you a tag for your collar. Provided, that is, that you tell me, right now, what to put on it. Well?"

CC turned pink, then darker shades. Finally she whispered, "Truly Scrumptious." I nodded, getting the reference immediately. "From Chitty, Chitty, Bang, Bang. That would be too long, and TS is too short, so from now on you are Tess, unless you misbehave. If I ever call you Christina Renée Collinsworth, be very, very afraid. Do you understand?" Tess' eyes almost bugged out when I gave her full name, but she nodded. I confided, "My middle name is also Renée, but don't tell anyone." This time the big eyes were followed by a small smile.

For the first time that week, unless you count Monday with Sean, I broke for lunch. Tess and I went to Soup & Such. The afternoon was light. I put Tess through some stretching exercises, naked, with butt plug and ben wa balls. Those comleted, I told her to put on her workouts, with nothing under them. I had an idea, which I hoped to try later, workload permitting,

I spent the next half hour showing Tess the filing system. When the time came, for the first two clients, I told her to learn all the clients, by name and preferences. An hour later I came back and tested her. For correction, I used a small rod on the palm of her hand, but Tess seemed to enjoy that, so I was not sure how helpful the process was.

One thing was painfully clear. Tess lacked all but the most basic computer skills. Something needed to be done, and I thought I knew where to start. When it came time to do my last appointment, I set Tess to searching techniques for fellatio. I told her that if she did well, I would let her practice on Jason.

Sean:

As usual in meetings with Sheila, I sat back and watched her orchestrate. I needed to get this woman. I flashed to one of my many business card hires, such as Sheila's assistant CC. A plan had begun to form, when I was startled by a camera flash. Justin caught Sheila giving Harold Johnstead one of her trademark kiss marks. Funny.




Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 05



In fact it was more than funny, it was hilarious. Justin knew about Sheila's trademark. He also knew that taking a photo in that situation would piss her off. It was a control issue, which probably would not matter, except I could tell Justin wanted a session with Cynthia. Rock and Roll.

I called an early day, and told Helen to have the office ready for European business. This meant coming in two hours early to get more time during European business hours. It also meant getting up at 4:00 AM, which is not a favorite thing. As they say, it is the cost of doing business.

Thursday morning dawned black as Army coffee. Fortunately, I have a 24 hour 7-11 on the drive to the office. It may not be Army coffee, but it is usually better than nothing. What I really needed was something to get my mind off Sheila. I had already decided to propose and I wanted to get on with it. Waiting for her to finish the job was pure torture.

Fortunately, I had business calls to make, lawyers to consult, proposals to draw up. There were people at every step to assist, but this was my job, and I did it. It passed the time, and might make me some more money. Then I thought of another use. Simply, if I were to marry, I needed a honeymoon. This would involve a time away from my business. This European job could be used to vet a stand in for when I was gone. I called Helen in.

Meetings with Helen tend to be like lectures or dictation. Her contributions are usually visual. In this case, she started to smile, and the smile kept getting bigger. It finally dawned on me that Helen believed I spent too much time doing my job. That meant that me taking a vacation was her idea of a good thing. It also meant she could take a vacation. I finished by telling her to make travel plans for London, with a Caribbean cruise for herself and a friend. I think I made her whole week.

Shortly before lunch time, an express package arrived from Europe. It was, as I hoped, a wedding band. The question was becoming how and when to pop the question. Then I remembered CC, who had received one of my business cards. CC was certain to flag one as being important. That would do the job, without getting heavy handed.

I then called Julian. Getting him to the phone took time, but this was not something to leave in a message. I commissioned a wedding dress corset, in Sheila's size, and inquired about where to obtain the dress. In short order I had a list of names. It quickly became apparent that Sheila was very well known in some circles, and that rumor travels faster than anything else in the known universe. By the time I finished call #3, I was getting incoming calls from all over the east coast and Europe.

Mother taught me, "When in doubt, thin it out." The reference is to plants in the garden, but I have often applied it to business. I first tried to restrict the look to authentic Victorian, but the corset almost mandated a period look. Then, I gave a brutal completion date. This thinned it down to a workable number. To these, I emailed images of the the Claddagh ring, and specified that the dress must be suitable, or modifiable, for expert ballroom dancing. This reduced my options by three more. The rest promised formal proposals in the morning.

After that flurry of excitement, I was able to return to the simplicity of international customs and import law. Sometimes, familiar things are a comfort. Unfortunately, from my perspective, the estate in Europe was going to litigation. While there was a good chance of work down the road, nothing was likely soon. I told Helen to knock off early and come in at the regular time.

I headed over to the warehouse, but I already knew it was a pure form visit. They would have everything ready well ahead of schedule. Friday would be a big day.

Sheila:

We arrived at the warehouse shortly before 4:00 PM. The mood was intense, but upbeat. There was a lot of picky detail work that we wanted to get out that day. Normally, the printer would accept this type of thing til about 3:00 PM. Like a bank, anything later would be done the next day. We had assurances that anything delivered before 8:00 PM would get at least "eyes on" the same day. It says something that the food went untouched til 6:45. That was when we wrapped our last batch for the day.

As we broke to eat, I motioned Jason to one side. From what Justin had told me, Jason could be certified as an expert in blow jobs. Between Justin himself, and a long list of call girls, Jason had experienced more variety of fellatio than Hugh Hefner had wrinkles. I asked him to give Tess some pointers. When he asked when and where, I said right then, in the break room. By the immediate bump in his pants, Jason thought this was an excellent idea.

I told Tess to assume Position Two, gesturing at the floor. There was a brief flash of question in her gaze, but she quickly dropped to her knees and assumed the position. I nodded to Jason, who walked up and whipped it out. It seemed unnecessary to mention that hands were not allowed. My only instruction to Jason was, "Don't get it on her clothes. She has not done laundry yet."

Tess' first issue was getting the bobbing cock in her mouth. Jason teased her for a few second, then stopped moving enough to let her put the tip in her mouth. Then Jason started giving her a point by point explanation of how her mouth, tongue and throat interacted with his cock. Justin watched open mouthed, while Peter was shooting the scene with his cell phone.

I wandered over to Justin. Just as Jason was having Tess suck on one of his balls, I whispered in Justin's ear, "When this is over, I am going to take you to my studio, strap you to my whipping horse, whip your ass bloody, sign it with lipstick and dry fuck you with a strap on." Justin made no comment, but his pants had a new wet spot. I suspected that the floor under Tess did as well.

The scene with Jason and Tess was coming to a finish when I settled by Peter. I told him that I would let him ass fuck Tess, here and now, if he was not too embarrassed. Peter turned dark red, but he nodded, so I handed him some KY jelly.

By this time, Jason had a hold of Tess' hair and was face fucking her with conviction. I said, "Stick it in to the balls and drain it Jason." These proved to be the magic words, because he did exactly that, running his cum from well down Tess' throat. As he pulled out, Tess chased the tip to get every drop.

I said, "That was dreadful. Assume the punishment position. Peter, please feel free to slap away as you do your business." Tess rocked forward, pulled her knees together and placed her forehead and elbows on the floor. As I expected, the pants were soaked and there was a wet spot on the floor. Suspicion of exhibitionism confirmed. I went over and pushed down the workout pants.

Peter was not as confident as Jason, but he clearly did not want to be shown up, and his cock was more than ready. In fact, once he had it out, we could all see that Peter deserved his name. Justin gave a soft "Oh my" as he leaned forward to watch. Peter had squeezed a wad of KY onto his fingers, and was struggling with the cap. In a small fit of genius, he shoved the tube into Tess' cunt, only then noticing that the was a butt plug in his way. He pulled it with his left hand and used his right to spread the KY around her rim.

Once more, we watched a bobbing cock not go into one of Tess' holes. If the tension was not so high, it would have been hilarious. I turned to see Jason holding Peter's cell phone, so that we would at least have a replay to laugh at.

By the time Peter had gotten his impressive piece under control, Tess' sphincter had almost closed. Peter handled the situation well. The anal plug had never left his hand. He used it to open Tess back up, pushing the tip in and going in lazy circles. It may have been the most erotic thing of the evening. Then he shoved his impressive cock all the way in, and slammed her about half a dozen thrusts before filling her with his cum. As he pulled out, he remembered my injunction to slap her. So he raised his hand well back and gave her a resounding slap on the rump.

There was dead silence for a moment, then I started clapping and they joined in. As theater goes, it was some of the best I had been associated with. I told Tess to pull up her pants and get up. Then I came over and gave her a big hug. I told the men thanks for participating, and please don't slip on the wet spot. Tess was crimson as I hustled her out the door.

In the car going home, I told Tess that this was a lesson. Submission is a choice, an action, and usually at least partly an act. It is not life. Beneath it all, it is her choice and her action, and the Dom is acting for her benefit. I then gave Tess permission to practice with Jason, provided it was vanilla and there was no vaginal penetration. Bondage was my area, and I did not have to ask to know Tess was not on the pill.

I also told her that this would not get her out of eating me once we got home. I was horny as hell.



Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 06



Author's note: A frantic week comes to a conclusion. You romance fans will like this one. There is very little D/s and a lot more love and affection.

There is at least one chapter still coming. I have to show you Sheila's dress. ;-)

As always, thanks to clairgerm for editing. Please vote and comment.

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

"Knowing both my Dad and my Mom, it has always surprised me that Mom never saw it coming. She says that she knew Dad was, her words, 'fond and protective.' Dad is as decisive as you can ask, but usually about as subtle as a fire alarm. Somehow, he bought a centuries old wedding band for her. He even ordered her a wedding dress. You should see it. I outgrew it before I turned 16. Let's just say, custom made for her. Mom never had a clue."

Chapter 11 -- Dancing on the Ceiling

Sean:

Friday morning rose with a groan. Thursday night had seen me visit my old friend Jack Daniels. I normally can nurse a bottle for a month, but I was feeling lonely and Jack kept me company. Worse, in the morning I slept through my alarm, so I was late getting to the office. Oddly, Helen did not give me her usual stern eyebrow. Instead she pushed a message folder across my desk.

Inside was a package of envelopes. Three contained checks for services rendered, plus a 20% bonus for quality of work. These went to Justin, Peter and Jason. Justin's envelope also included a nice letter of appreciation. Jason's envelope also included a check for ½ day of shooting, at Guild rates. There was a larger envelope for Sheila. In it was a contract for services as Art Director, a second contract as producer, director and actor for the same scene as Jason, a letter of appreciation and two checks. To Sheila's envelope I added a note saying that CC's salary, with overtime for the photo work, was covered for a month and one of my cards.

Hung over or not, I felt much better. I do not think doling out over $100,000 was ever this satisfying.

Sheila:

Friday was the big day. My work day was light, because I had declined appointments, and rescheduled others, in anticipation of a crunch at the warehouse. It made me wonder how I would pay the light bill, but the concern passed quickly. I had steady income from the gym, even without my clients, and I expected Sean to kick in something. That caused me more concern than the missing clients, since I had no idea what Sean intended to give me. I had put in quite a few hours that week. Knowing Sean, it would be outrageous, like $50 an hour.

Since we had time, I took CC to get breakfast. As we ate, I told her that today would be the last day at the warehouse. That being the case, I anticipated something afterward. What came after that was my concern.

Quite aside from their scene, in the break room the evening before, Jason and CC had hit it off. It was a relationship that might continue for years, if it were properly encouraged. So, I asked CC how she felt about sex with Jason. She smiled, blushed and then turned very red. I told her that I would ask Jason to take her to his hotel room and teach her about sex. I did not tell CC, but I intended to tell Jason to avoid any form of bondage or role playing. He had more than enough experience to pull it off.

Then I took her to Walgreen's and helped her sort through safety equipment: contraceptive gels, sponges and film, and condoms. Fortunately, I knew exactly what kind of equipment Jason carried, so getting the right size condom was easy. People almost never use condoms correctly. Far from killing the mood, a woman rolling a condom onto a man was a very erotic moment. I told CC to take it slow, stroke the penis, then roll on the condom slowly and lovingly.

I went into a great deal of detail that I knew only second hand. It began to dawn on me that I had no personal experience to draw from. All my sex had been either self provided or work related. Even my fantastic moments with Sean, had been role playing. Just thinking about my time with Sean caused a burn, that was not going to be easy to put out.

Once back at the gym, I bought a couple of new items for CC, then sent her off to stretch and jump with the teeny boppers. I went back through the rabbit hole, looking for Long John, and found a pair of deliveries in the package drop. Hands shaking in anticipation, I ripped the boxes open. They did not contain everything I needed, but the timed release cuffs and computer controlled vibrating dildo were an excellent start. I had almost 30 minutes before my first appointment. That gave me time to do something basic, like their default settings.

I went to my personal laptop and loaded the software while clothes came off. All I had in the closet were wrist protectors, Velcro straps and Sean's gag. I started with the gag, then the wrist protectors. Then I ran to the equipment locker and grabbed some nipple clamps, a large butt plug and a blindfold. I ran back to the PC, strapped my ankles to my thighs, pushed the butt plug in, dry, set the timer on the handcuffs, screwed on the nipple clamps, set one of the cuffs, turned the dildo on, checked everything quickly, pulled down the blindfold, and paused for a deep breath.

Then I reached behind the chair, found the other cuff and locked it on my free wrist. Only then did I consider what I had done. Ouch. Nipple clamps were a new thing for me. Deep breath. Go with the burn. Pain is weakness leaving the body.

I squirmed to settle the base of the butt plug beneath my heels and realized that I was almost in Second Position. That was fixable. The chain on the cuffs was long enough to allow me to grasp my elbows. This I did, then corrected posture. I could understand why Tess found this position so calming. She and I were could do yoga together. Sharon had a good reputation, but I did not really know her. This would be a good opportunity. Then, the dildo started.

The first cycle was a slow pulse: buzz for half a second, pause for a second and a half. It was exciting and maddening, but soon I settled into the rhythm. This week was bringing so many insights to what my clients looked for in their sessions. I could see why Tess considered this to be a lifestyle choice. She and I had a lot in common on one level. It was so easy to accept the restraints and anticipate the sensations, but it was a seductive trap. There was a life out there and things to build. Then, the dildo changed cycles.

The next cycle was a random selection: long buzz, short pause; several short buzzes and short pauses, continuous low power buzz, building to a long pause; etc. It was like life. Everything was new, every week. One had to adjust, if the work was going to get done. So I rode this cycle. It was like costuming for the next session. There was a quick change and a slightly different person walked away. It sometimes seemed I had spent my life changing costumes and stepping into roles.

The cycle changed again. The new cycle was a repetitive run from low intensity to high, without pauses. It resembled a siren for touch. There was something wrong. Everything I had been doing was a role. Even this, my self bondage session, was playing with a new toy. There were adult things to be done.

I broke the scene. This was easier said than done. I had to pull my hands over the top of the chair back, then reach around to release the bands holding my legs together. Then, I could run my cuffed hands under my ass and feet. Once my hands were in front, I could push back the blindfold, turn off the dildo and remove the gag. The cuffs took longer, but there was a key. I almost left the butt plug in, because it seemed appropriate, but I had work to do and someone might notice. In all, it had taken about ten minutes.

Since my next session was in twenty minutes. I had time for a quick shower before changing. The horny burn was still there, but I could work through that. After donning my workout clothes, I went through the rabbit hole, and still had ten minutes to kill. I decided to look in on Sharon, the yoga instructor. When I told her that I wanted to take a class with my protegé, her response shocked me.

She asked, "Why?" I told her that I had never studied yoga, and that I wanted something CC and I could do together. She thought am moment, then took a pose, telling me to mirror her. For about five minutes we went through a dozen poses, holding each then slowly shifting to the next one. None were very difficult, and the hold times were short. Finally she dropped into a lotus, which I at least knew by name, and began breathing exercises.

After about a minute of these, she said, "Congratulations. You just passed the final for my instructor class. Once I tested you on the names of the positions, you could be certified to teach." I was stunned. She continued, "I don't think it is common knowledge, but the senior people here know that you are tight with the GM and just pose as an hourly. What is really going on?"

My mouth hung open. "I honestly do not know. CC is what I said she is, my new assistant. Yes I am a familiar with a co-owner in this franchise, but I do a damn good job with my clients here." She was about to speak, when I cut her off. "One of whom is due any minute. But, you're right. Something is off today, and I do not know what." I turned to leave.

She said, "Sheila, I know you do a good job with your clients. Why do you think the waiting list is so long? I won't press now, but if you have something to say, I'll listen."

I fled. There is no other word for it. I did not know Sharon, except as a coworker, but we had just touched on many things that were very intimate to me. I had not felt so out of control in many years.

Then I saw Sean.

Sean:

Even the best of moods never lasts. Once I had the pay packet in hand, I was soon very nervous. It is one thing to decide to ask a woman to marry you. It is another to actually do it. I was quickly climbing walls. Eventually, I told Helen I was going out for some coffee. She only nodded and winked. Helen winked. I do not think I had been as surprised in years.

I wanted to talk to Sheila. Actually, I wanted a lot more than just talk, but it would do for a start. Failing that, I wanted to be close. I told George to take me to XTreme Fitness. On the way, George filled me in on what was going on in the neighborhood, sort of. I occurred to me, for the thousandth time, that most of my best employees are either annoyingly talkative, or the opposite. George is not talkative.

However, George managed to get across that there were a couple of condemned buildings that would be good building sites, and other warehouses that would be good conversions. No one, at present, was pursuing any of those options, but the basis of a real estate consortium was keeping tabs on the area. XTreme Fitness, as the largest viable business in the area, was an anchor for such plans. Since I happened to know the GM, also co-owner, I had a leg up if I wanted to start a ball rolling. For the first time all week, gears started to turn in my head.

I had George cruise around the area. In my mind, lot after lot became something else. That burned out hulk would become a parking garage. That office building would become loft apartments, with retail space on the ground floor. That weed infested eyesore would become a fenced park. The property I wanted was a complex of railroad building, which had once been a rail terminal, warehouse and repair depot. Depending on the availability of the building and adjacent tracks, the possibilities were enormous.

I had George park, so that I could go inside the gym. Most of the buildings, in the area, were of the same period. I could learn a lot from examining this one. I went inside and asked for the manager: Claudia Johnson. Once I explained that I was interested in real estate in the area, she became very helpful.

Every good manager wants the area around the business to prosper, and Ms. Johnson was a good manager. She pointed out the work that had gone into making the building suitable, but also what they had been able to leave intact. This was shrewd, since it kept the renovation costs down. I was thinking that I needed to commend her to Sheila, when Sheila stepped into view.

I may have only known Sheila a week, but her expression carried a wealth of emotions, few of them good. Then she saw me and her public face went on. Ms. Johnson noticed the connection, and waved Sheila forward.

I told Ms. Johnson that Sheila and I were familiar, and that she had shown me the gym the week before. Sheila should get a commission, if there was one. Ms. Johnson looked interested, and asked Sheila to accompany us to the office. In her turn, Sheila begged off for an incoming session, which satisfied her theoretical boss. When Ms. Johnson turned to go, Sheila gave me the hand signal to call her.

The rest of the interview went quite well. Ms Johnson showed me around the building. She mentioned that there was another tenant in the back, but not what the business was. Then, Ms. Johnson did what I had hoped she would do. She pitched me on a corporate membership. This let her cherish the notion of a sale, which I might provide, and it let me end the interview. I accepted the company literature and left.

Once in the car, I text Sheila:

I am looking into real estate possibilities in the area.

As owner of the building, you may be interested.

Your manager is very professional. Commend her for me.

This corporate membership also has possibilities.

You may be seeing me around.

If that did not get her out of what ever funk she was in, I was at a loss for what else to try. Once back at the office, I called several people in for discussions.

Hours later, I broke for coffee. Lunch had come and gone. The framework of a real estate investment group was in place. Investigations were begun, numbers were being pulled and compiled, lawyers and accountants were consulted, and members of the City Planning Council were informed. In short, a new project kicked off. There was a new sense of purpose, coupled with a sense of relief. Until that day, I had not realized how much the company was on hold during the issues with the auction catalog.

At 3:00 PM, I took the car over to the warehouse. The guys were still working, but their attitude was festive. The end was not only in sight, but drawing close. Moreover, it was truly outstanding work. Even a layman, like myself, could see it. My visit was short. I gave Justin the package of envelopes, but told him not to open them til Sheila was present. I did reassure them that their full negotiated payment was included, which earned a sigh from them all. Then I asked Peter to get me video of everyone opening their envelopes. Coward that I sometimes am, I would not be there.

In the car, on the way back, I received a response from Sheila.

You better be around, you overstuffed teddy bear.

Teddy Bear? Me?

Sheila:

Sean was talking to my senior manager, Claudia Johnson. As the shock of seeing him rolled through me, Claudia noticed the eye contact and waved me over. I put on my best eager employee look and did as I was told. The meeting was short. Sean explained that I had brought him over the week before, and that I should get any commission involved. Claudia, somewhat reluctantly, invited me to sit in. I had a perfectly legitimate client appointment, so we were both spared the embarrassment. I motioned for Sean to call, then went to find Francis, who was late, as usual.

An hour later, I collected CC and went back through the rabbit hole. I inquired if she had any interest in yoga, but that issue headed for a young grave. Once back in the office, I called out for non-fat pizza, and started showing CC the basics of my business software. Two days of working alone must have helped, because she picked it up in good order. Eventually, I gave her a list of things to work on and left her alone. I could recheck everything, but no one works well with someone looking over their shoulder.

Sean had sent me a series of texts.

I am looking into real estate possibilities in the area.

As owner of the building, you may be interested.

Your manager is very professional. Commend her for me.

This corporate membership also has possibilities.

You may be seeing me around.

I text back. You better be around, you overstuffed teddy bear. Then I went to change for my afternoon appointments. Tess worked through the first two, but asked to observe the third. As before, I bound her in Second Position. I added a butt plug, my 14" dildo, Long John, a gag and nipple clamps. I asked her if this was good enough, or if she wanted some lashes later. Tess nodded eagerly. I was tempted to do some then, but settled for a clamp on her clit.

The session happened to be with Mario, my most addicted pain slut. He usually worked collared, leashed and blindfolded. Remembering Sean's method, I put him on all fours, and had him sniff Tess thoroughly. He could not reach her running cunt, but I removed the nipple clamps, and let him slobber all over her breasts. It was difficult to tell Tess' reaction. Once Mario was finished, I gave each nipple a hard flick with a finger nail and replaced the clamps. That got a reaction, but I chose to ignore it. Tess would already be getting a whipping which should require medical disclosure. Mario, I strapped to the whipping horse and gave a good caning.

After Mario had gone, I released Tess from her bonds and gestured her to the whipping horse, where Mario had just been. I added weights to the nipple and clit clamps. Then, I left to change. My outfit needed to be something easily washable, so I chose a one piece swimsuit. Tess had asked for a whipping, and I intended to make it memorable.

I started with the small lash across her back, ten strokes each side. Then I pulled out a wooden ruler and paddled her feet, with one swat at her sopping cunt. I used the flogger on her buttocks and thighs, occasionally getting a jerk as a strand caught pussy. I removed the weighted clips, seeing her jerk as the circulation returned. Finally, I used the heavy lash, just once, on the length of her back, being careful not to draw blood.

I coiled the lash, showed it to Tess and said, "Tess, this is where it gets serious. Do you want to continue?" Her eyes had been running tears for some time, but then they went wide with shock. I could tell she wanted to say there were no limits, but in fact there were. Whatever drove Mario to seek pain, to the point of permanent damage, was not in Tess. She closed her eyes and gave me a tiny shake of her head.

I untied her from the horse and literally carried her straight to the shower. I was wearing a bathing suit partly for this reason. Once the water was running warm, I put us both into the flow and washed her with a scrubby ball. As her feet became steadier, I wet her hair and washed it with my favorite herbal shampoo. Then I shed the suit and let her return the favor.

Things could have gone on from there, but we had things to do and places to be. We dried and dressed. On the way out, I grabbed some legal documents. As expected, Sean's car was waiting. It was 3:45 PM when we arrived at the warehouse. The mood was vastly different from the one on Monday, or even Thursday. All the major decisions had been made. Most of the work had already been sent to the printers. All that was left were several the highest profile pages. They had been the subject of much discussion, over the last two days, but that was past. They only needed final approval, from the Art Director, i.e. me. Since I was a rank novice, compared to Justin and Peter, the sign off was a bit surreal.




Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 06



Once that was done, we would trek down to the cars, go to the printers and tie a ribbon on the package. The mood was not festive, but did not miss it by much, though I was not to that point yet. My concern was CC. She did not have a place at the printer's meeting, but I did not want to leave her alone. With some misgivings, I went to Jason, who would also not be going to the meeting.

"Jason. We have one small piece of unfinished business. I gave Richard and Paul a signed photo of our session, but not you yet. While we are gone, why don't you and CC pick out some possibilities. I still have creative control, so do not go overboard." Jason nodded, a bit wide-eyed. "CC is very inexperienced, so you might give her some pointers. In fact, I want you to give her a lot of pointers."

I turned to look at Jason full on. His respect for what I could do was almost a tangible thing in the room. What I said, Jason would take as law, so I chose my words very carefully. "You have my permission to take her back to your room and teach her how things are between a man and a woman. If she is not a virgin, in the normal sex meaning, she is close to it. I want you to show her how it is done. Keep some distance. Talk her through it. Explain as you go." By then, he was seriously wide-eyed, which made me smile. I had not told him the big surprise.

"I just did a session with her. I will not go into that, but it reached the point where she she asked out." I paused and he slowly nodded. Jason understood just how far down the road of pain that had been. "She came, I do not know how many times, but not the last time. I want you to coax the last one out of her, using only ordinary means. I know this is a lot to ask, but you have skills. Are you willing to try?" Again, he gave me a slow nod, which I returned. Just one week before, that nod would have been unthinkable, because Jason would not have understood the question. I felt a flash of pride for my small part in his education.

That settled, it was back to his prize picture. "I'll be back in a while, and we can go over your choices. Make me proud." I kissed him on the cheek, very deliberately leaving my trademark. There was a flash as Justin shot our picture. That man. I wanted to take him where I had just had Tess, then keep going. As Justin, Peter and I piled into the car, I wondered what it would be like to raise children. One thing was certain, they would not be going into ballet. If they leaned that way, it would be gymnastics. At least then careers were expected to end at 17.

Sean:

My presence at the printers was purely form. I was neither the Art Director, the Photographer nor the Technical Director. Having seen the almost finished product, I fully understood how not-empty those titles were. Even if I did not tell them, the printers were more than willing to fill the gap. I expected the accolades would continue for years.

Having nothing better to do, I watched Sheila. In a way, she was in her element. Glad handing, after a performance, is well known to all good artists. This was a virtuoso performance. On the other hand, I could tell that Sheila did not understand the scale of what they had accomplished. To her, this was civic theater. In reality it was closer to Lincoln Center. Sheila's name, her real name, would soon be known world wide, and she had no clue it was coming. The thought gave me something to smile about during an impromptu ceremony.

On the way out, I caught Justin's eye. He gave me a look that said things were under control. I gave him the go ahead. Sometimes, I think Helen and George had gotten into my blood. I sent Sheila a text. See you at 8. Dress nice, but normal. Albert's is not dinner in the City, but I wanted time to do something afterward, if she was so inclined. I also had a couple of rings in my pocket.

Sheila:

If the mood at the warehouse was just short of festive, the mood at the printer was the other side of the line. The smaller things had been coming in over the last couple of days and everyone was floored by the quality of Justin and Peter's work. We carried a flash drive with the final renderings of the highest value merchandise, plus the front and back covers -- and the credits page, which I had not seen.

Justin had been taking my picture all week. I was relieved to see that his selection of photo was a candid shot of me bending over a tray of proof shots. It was a day that I had not been wearing my bustier, but the shot minimized my overabundance and made me look studious. Peter's shot was a profile of him working at his image files. Justin did not appear in photograph. Instead, Immon's Images received the credit, with a shot of his candle light tableau, for the Marquis letter. Jason and "Mistress Cynthia" received credit as models, with one of my clients listed as agent. Even CC was credited as technical assistant. Behind it all, was a long shot of me rolling a stocking, while Jason hung from the wall and watched. Peter had managed to place the photo and text boxes in a way that covered Richard and Paul, but did not distract from the shot. I was touched.

Our hosts were more than touched. They were jubilant. As page after page rolled through the viewer, the cheering got louder. Peter saved the cover for last. Rather than cheers, it earned stunned silence. Finally someone said, "Holy Shit." Then pandemonium let loose. In the noise, Harold Johnstead, owner of the printing company and one of my clients, nudged Peter aside and opened a new window on the computer. I could not tell what he had done, but a young man was sent to fetch something. He returned a few minutes later with a short pile of full color, uncut copies of the cover. Harold produced some markers and asked us to sign the work. I had no problem, but Justin and Peter looked slightly shocked.

We each signed all the copies, about a dozen in total. Harold then passed signed copies to Justin, Peter, myself, and three to Sean. Harold then looked at me. He wanted Mistress Cynthia to sign as well. I held up one finger. He moved to do it right then, but I shook him off. I had the wrong lip gloss, and this was too public an event. Sean gave his copies to Justin. I suspected Cynthia would be signing these as well.

On the way back to the warehouse, I inquired about the little ceremony, where we signed the cover pages. Peter said that it was not the usual practice. I understood him to mean that it was almost unheard of. I had realized that the shots turned out well, but I was beginning to think "well" did not cover the issue. I covered my surprise by taking out the tube of red gloss I use for Cynthia's signature. Everyone was very quiet the rest of the way.

We collected Jason and CC and went to the break room. It was odd to think that this would be my last time to see it. Justin collected the six proof pages. Then Jason, CC and Cynthia repeated the signing ceremony. We each received a page, with Justin taking charge of Sean's.

Once this was done, Justin held up his hand. We got quiet, and he picked up a thick envelope. From it he pulled several smaller envelopes, which he passed out. Clearly this was the pay checks, though mine was too fat for just the check. Inside, I found two contracts, with colored paper clips and highlighted places to sign. I laughed. Sean and I had never discussed compensation. He had drawn up two contracts: one for the Art Director and one as Producer, Director and model for the scene with Jason. Glancing over, I saw that Jason also had a contract. Our eyes met and I gave him a wink.

In addition to the contracts, there was a smaller envelope, a note and a card. I picked up the note. It was from Sean, saying that CC's pay was covered for a month, including any overtime for this project. That was sweet. I looked over to CC, and found her staring at the card on the table. It took a moment for the pieces to fit together: CC, Sean, and a card. When it hit me, my own eyes got wide, while CC nodded to me. Sean wanted to offer me another job, and Sean's jobs changed lives. I almost forgot to open the envelope with the checks.

When I did, my heart skipped a beat. The first check was for five figures. The second was bigger. Together they covered my profits for the year to date, with room to spare. I had expected a thousand dollars, maybe two, but not twenty times that. I looked up and saw that Justin and Peter were watching me. Justin turned to Peter and said, "She doesn't understand." Peter shook his head and agreed, "Not a clue." Justin then said, "She will." Peter just nodded. CC had no idea what was going on, but Jason was also nodding.

Then the party broke up. Sean was buying everyone dinner, at the restaurant of their choice. I turned CC over to Jason. Her outfit would do well enough for any restaurant in town. She gave me a shy grin and patted her Walgreen's bag. I had a sudden vision, of that same plastic bag being proudly shown to her grandchildren. My stars, where was my head?

Sean:

I sat in my car, watching as the others piled into the other one. They were going back to the warehouse to open their Christmas presents. I had planned on going back to the office, but I thought the hell with it. I saw a Foot Locker sign and told George to turn in. A few minutes later, I had an outfit suitable for a gym, and a bag to carry it in. I told George that I wanted to work up a sweat. He understood exactly where I was going.

As luck would have it, Ms. Johnson had not left for the day. When she saw me come in, bag in hand, she did what any good salesperson does. She offered a complimentary visit for myself and George. In short order we were in the Nautilus room, pumping iron. George was trying hard not to embarrass me, but he was a Green Beret and kept in shape. I was an Army tech Specialist who had hated PT (physical training).

After about five minutes, probably at Ms. Johnson's prompting, a personal trainer, named Sandy, came over to offer his expertise. George only grunted and added more weight. I let Sandy move me to a different machine. We quickly fell into a conversation about how the trainers worked, and the different classes offered. Then, I mentioned Sheila.

Sandy's expression became very guarded and more than a little envious. He explained that Sheila was a special case, since she only worked half days, by appointment and only from a closed book. She could, in Sandy's opinion, be running all the trainers, or even the whole gym. She was that good.

When I expressed interest, Sandy got really cagy. He moved us again. This time we were out of sight of the office. Sandy wanted gossip without Ms. Johnson seeing him. It was worth it. He told me about some of the rumors. Sheila was always around during the morning hours, but never seemed to come or leave through the front door. It was speculated that she could get out through one of the empty storage rooms. It was even rumored that she had something to do with the mysterious business on the back end of the building.

No one had ever been able to get in it. Even during business hours, the door was locked. All that could be seen was an empty waiting room. Very rarely, someone would be seen entering, but the door was quickly locked behind them. No one ever came out, but there was parking on the side opposite the gym, and people were occasionally seen exiting there, often with wet hair.

I would never know what else Sandy was privy to, because I cut him off with, "Hello again, Ms. Johnson. Sandy was filling me in on how the trainers and classes work. I must say it is impressive. But I am not the one to talk to. My driver will have more questions."

Ms. Johnson dismissed Sandy, and we went to see George. As I expected, George was a sight. His knees may be bad, but his upper body is impressive, especially worked up, with sweat glistening on his black skin. I grabbed a towel and handed it to him. He gave me the grunt that meant "Thanks Boss." As I hoped, Ms. Johnson's eyes were all over George's bulging pectorals and washboard abdominals.

I had to break the ice. "George, this is Ms. Johnson. Ms. Johnson, George Johnson. Funny, you don't look related." Ms. Johnson blushed.

She said, "Please call me Claudia. Only the staff calls me Ms. Johnson. George, you seem to know your way around a gym. What do you think of our facility?"

George grunted, cocked his head, half shrugged and said, "Pool." I translated, "He likes what he sees. He thinks he can work with it, but he would really like to have a pool. His knees ran into some trouble a few years back, so he likes water work outs. It takes a lot of weight off the knees." That did it. Ms. Johnson launched into all the upgrades they could do with more space. Half the building was empty, except one small office in the back. If that space was available, this could be the best gym in town. And so on.

I nodded George toward the showers. As he was going, I told Ms. Johnson that I would like a formal proposal from her General Manager, for a 90 day trial period and a renewable annual corporate plan. I gave her Helen's number and email as contact person. I also told her that, if my real estate plans progressed, the owner of the building would be involved. So, there was a good chance additional space would soon be available, for a price.

I was not sure how I would break it to Sheila, but she would have to move, and soon.

Sheila:

Once I sent CC off, I had a sudden empty feeling. CC and Jason were both young. They had their lives ahead of them. I had been fighting like a demon for more than ten years, and what did I have to show for it: a studio I could not admit to owning in polite company and a share of a fitness franchise that employed me as an hourly hire. Then the irony hit me. I was 28 years old, had never had children, and I had empty nest syndrome. I was laughing as I checked through security, for possibly the last time.

On the drive back to my studio, I thought about what Sean had text earlier in the day. The neighborhood was turning over. The judge always liked my business sense. He could have left me a small modern building, instead of the hulk I inherited, but he knew I would see the potential in the echoing old warehouse. Now that Sean had brought it to my attention, the same business sense told me it was time to move again.

Sean's plans would be the perfect opportunity, and XTreme Fitness would even pay for it. Repurposing my studio would be a snap. I could turn my wall of rings into a rock climbing wall in a weekend. The studio showers would be a welcome addition to the gym, as would the sensory deprivation tanks. Even the storage and office space could stay as it was. Everything else was empty floor or vacant rooms. Nothing to look twice at.

I could send some messages, do a little work, sign some papers, and Mistress Cynthia would vanish in the wind. Two weeks before, that would have scared the shit out of me. Now, it was something to seriously consider. I even knew where I could go. The City had closed a downtown middle school almost twenty years before, and never sold the property. Gears were starting to move in my mind.

As I arrived at the studio, I saw Sean's Mercedes pull away. Curious, I went to the front entrance, for once. Standing near the entrance was Claudia Johnson. When she saw me, her look turned shrewd, so I returned the compliment. Together, we said, "We need to talk." Naturally, we went to her office and closed the door. I could tell that Claudia though she was in control of the situation. In a way, I was glad that one of us felt that way, even though she had less control than I did. Her opening question proved it.

"What is your relationship with Sean Richards?" she asked, bluntly.

I gave her the simplest truth. "He hired me to help do the photographic work for an auction."

"Why did he hire a fitness trainer to do photographic work?" Claudia was not going for subtle, which was a pity. I could use someone with a diplomatic touch. Still I had to tell her something. The question was, tell her what?

As the silence lengthened, Claudia started to push. I held up a hand, and she settled back. That earned her a brownie point. Finally I asked, "How much do you know about the back of the building?"

That caught her off balance. Once again she gave me the shrewd eyes. This time, she asked a good question, "Who are you to be asking?" OK. Maybe I could work with her.

I decided to check her balance again. "Claudia, I work back there." How she reacted to me using her first name might tell me something. How she reacted to someone, anyone, that knew about the back half, might also tell me something.

"Are you telling me that there is a photographic studio back there?" That was not bad, so I nodded. She went on, "If it were a normal studio, they would advertise and have a sign out front." Follow the crumbs girl. "So the photography is not normal. Is it Playboy, or something like it?" That was also a reasonable guess, so I threw her another bone.

"No. Not in the sense you mean. There are no nude women in seductive poses. However, the images are discrete. By the way, this cannot be let loose here in the gym. Not only my job is only the line, but possibly yours as well. I am pretty sure the GM is in the loop, whoever he is."

That pulled Claudia up short. I had intentionally kept my identity secret from the people in the gym, even the managers. My memos read, "Office of the General Manager" and I signed only with initials. At first, it had been necessary. The deception allowed me to work as an hourly in my own franchise. Over time, the mystery added a layer of force to my comments and requests. Being able to drop hints and get action was a nice benefit. Like now.

Claudia said, "I see. I don't know how much direct contact you have had with the GM, but he is well informed and can be pretty subtle. I will not go into Carolyn Reynolds, but there you have it." I always wondered how canning Carolyn's thieving ass had gone over. Claudia had a point about the subtle. I had laid a trail of hints in front of Carolyn, which she had ignored. After the fact, several of those hints had come to light, because Carolyn was rarely the only person copied. It appeared that my methods had born fruit.

In any event, that was enough for Claudia. Her last question was what I did for the photographer. I told her posing the subjects and some editing, but her attention was already elsewhere. She dismissed me, I made mental notes to reinforce our discussion through the GM's office. As I climbed into the car, I thought of Teddy Roosevelt; speak softly but carry a big stick. That fit well with my own teddy bear. Sean was not one to waste words. I suspected he was already starting the process that would move my studio out of the building.

In the mean time, I had a date to prepare for.

Sean:

I hated waiting. It seemed that all that week, I was waiting for this and excluded from that. Even the final meeting, to commit the pages to print, could have been done without my physical presence. For some reason waiting to pick up Sheila was different. I had just cut her a pair of five figure checks, and I still owed her big time. That she had no comprehension of this fact was a bit amazing.

I had asked Peter to set up video of everyone opening their pay envelopes. The feed had been gone straight to my laptop, among other places. Sheila's eyes when she opened her check envelope were priceless. Even better was the exchange between Peter and Justin about how clueless she still was, and how that would soon change. However, the flat out best portion was watching CC stare at my card. That was simply perfect. Sheila knew I had a position to talk to her about. I had a small internal wager that she would guess the wrong position.




Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 06



My plan was for dinner at Albert's. As fine dining goes, it was the best in town, but a far cry from what was available in the City. One of these days, I would take her to Le Bernardin after a Broadway show. Sheila had played the Lincoln Center at age 15. I wondered if she had ever been back.

However, tonight was a local steak and seafood restaurant. I could not even wow her with my wine choices, because she did not touch the stuff. It was going to be a simple CS Richards show, if there was such a thing. I pulled the car in front of her apartment building and checked the time: 7:59:32 PM. At 8:00:02, the door opened and Sheila came out. Lag went to her this round.

I was wearing my usual business suit, with a clean shirt and a businesslike tie. Sheila wore a classic floral print dress, knee length, and comfortable shoes and a white shawl. We could go almost anywhere in town, including church. I had given George the night off. If I got lucky, there was no telling when I might be finished. If not, I would not have to see him when I came out. As I held the door for her, I realized that this was her first time in the front seat of the Mercedes. Hopefully it was an omen of other firsts. I had never proposed to anyone before.

I asked if she had any preference for the restaurant. She killed my plan by asking to go somewhere out of town. That gave me a lot of options. We had done traditional Italian the weekend before, so I thought something similar would be nice. Sheila liked Greek. We could get that at Vicenzo's Grill and I could still get my steak. I put the car into traffic and we headed for Pennsylvania.

We drove in silence past the edge of town. It was not uncomfortable, but the issues of the day were not light ones. Sheila broke the silence by asking where we were going. I told her Easton, Pennsylvania. She smiled and told me that she had driven to Easton the week before, to meet with Francine Martel. I recalled my own meeting with Francine. It was earlier in the week, but it seemed a hundred years ago, which I told her. She laughed in full understanding.

Then she became more serious. "I saw you coming out of the gym about 5:30."

Was I caught with my hand in the cookie jar? "Yes. I am thinking of doing some real estate work in the area. George and I were scouting. By the way, George thinks the gym could use a pool. Your Claudia Johnson thinks it could use your studio space." There. That covered all the bases.

She surprised me. Most people rarely manage it. With Sheila I had lost count. "I think we, that is I, can accommodate Claudia. I came inside shortly after you left and Claudia dragged me into her office. Since she had already put you and I together, I told her that the back of the building was a discrete photography studio, and that I worked there. I also, somewhat obliquely, threatened her job by telling her that the GM had full knowledge."

My mouth fell open, and I was forced to shut it. I was no stranger to misdirection in business circles. That was a work of art: simple, cohesive, and it explained all the sneaking. The changes necessary to convert her BDSM studio, into a photographic studio which dealt in the same subject, were trivial. Haul in some lighting equipment and haul away some props. The space and layout were suitable for either. Clearly, protective coloring was central to her methods. Her theater training was showing again.

I offered, "You seem to have given this some thought."

She disagreed. "Not much til today. But, this kind of thing has come up before. I have an eye on the old middle school downtown. The juice of it all is that XTreme Fitness would pay me to move. My wall of rings would make a great free climbing wall. The showers are there, and there is room to expand the lockers. My offices and the storage area would serve the same purpose for the gym. I could rough out the changes in a week and have it operating in a month, inspectors willing."

That last jerked a laugh from me. More of my deals have gone south over a customs inspector, usually exceeding his authority, than any other reason. Then it hit me. This was her idea of off-the-cuff thinking. I had seen plans a month old with less depth and cohesion. God she was good. It was time to make her an official part of my half-baked neighborhood renewal program.

I sketched out the ideas I had for the neighborhood. She agreed with most, but cautioned me about the railroad building. Hazardous waste in the soil was a potential deal breaker. I should have thought of that one myself. We batted some additional ideas around til it was time to pay attention to city traffic.

One thing I like about downtown restaurants is that the parking is easy after business hours. I pulled into a metered spot across the street, and we walked into the grill, hand in hand. The décor is exposed rock with a heavy beamed ceiling. They were going for old school, even though the place was less than twenty years in the location. It was also late enough that there were several tables.

We ordered iced tea for me and bottled water for Sheila. I added an order of artichokes milanese as an appetizer. For the main course, I ordered a stone grilled steak with portabella mushrooms, and Sheila ordered wine braised chicken. Since it was late, I preordered the apple flambé and espresso for dessert.

Unlike our Italian meal the week before, the conversation lagged. We had covered the potential pot hole of her real estate situation. That left her reaction to the checks and my little surprise. It did not seem the right time to propose marriage, so I mentioned that Peter had recorded the paycheck scene for me. Sheila blushed a deep red. I could almost read her mind on this point. She was going to tell me it was far too much money. I held up my hand.

"Before you try to tell me that it is too much money and that you did not earn it, I disagree. Moreover, Peter and Justin disagree. Harold disagrees. Do you think he has every commercial client sign the cover proof? Do not make me laugh. I saw you promise to sign one with lipstick -- nice move restricting him to one, by the way -- and I doubt if he has ever done anything remotely like that in his life.

"I paid out over $180,000 today, counting Harold's printing firm, and you were the most valuable part of that. Simply put, the rest of that collection of respected professionals could not have done it at all, much less with the artistic achievement that you did. That cover shot is not suitable for the major commercial photography awards, but trust me, Immons Images will rake in hardware for it. Inside of a week, ten days on the outside, Sheila Schwartz will be world famous in certain circles." I paused for a breath.

"It goes further than that. You made Richards Enterprises look good. This was an auction we fought hard to get, and during our date last week, I was in damage control mode. Today, I am anticipating a triumph. Justin's firm will be deluged with work. Peter will be sought after as a tech weenie. My God, can you imagine the offers that will come to Jason?

"Be ready for Mistress Cynthia to be on everyone's lips. It is a very good thing you are prepared to move out. Events may force you to do it sooner rather than later. You are Indiana Jones, and the big stone ball is rolling straight at you."

In the back of my mind, I was recalling our first session, still less than two weeks before. I had had to pull out all the stops, just to get a small reaction out of her. Our second session was even tighter. This time, I had used the big guns, and all Sheila did was turn ghostly white. Not a sound had come from her lips. God I loved this woman.

When the color finally returned to her face, she absolutely stumped me. Her first question was, "What position?"

I played that through three times in my head, before it made sense. Even then I could not believe what I was hearing. So I asked, "What do you mean, 'what position'?" I was right. Sheila was ahead of me, again.

She said, "CC said you had a position to offer me. What position?" I was an open book to her.

"Spouse."

"Show me." Again, she was ahead of me.

I pulled the old Clannagh ring from my pocket. "This ring was given by William Trent, 3rd Earl of Clancarty, to his bride Sarah, in 1832. I offer it to you, without let or reservation, in token of my affection. I am afraid it is too small for you to use, except on a pinkie." I placed it in her hand.

Then, I pulled the other ring from my pocket and dropped to one knee. "This replica, suitable for your hand, I offer as pledge of my troth, in the hope that you consent to be my bride. How say you?" I swear, it just came out that way.

I thought that Sheila had been white before, but I was wrong. However, with a face as white as high gloss paper, she did not let me down. "Rise, for your petition is granted. I accept these pledges of your affection and your troth. Let the bans be published."

I threw $200 on the table, picked her up and carried her to the car. We were half way out of town, before I realized we had only eaten the appetizer. Fortunately, there was a Wendy's nearby.

Sheila:

Momma said I had a bump for the weather. She did not mean just wind and rain. I could also sense emotional storms beginning to brew. I found myself home before 6:00 PM, with nothing to do til my date arrived. I tried a shower, but that made things worse. I considered meditation, but I did not know yoga. Instead, still naked from the shower, I went to Tess' sleeping rug and slipped into Second Position. It was surprisingly calming. My experiences with Sean to the contrary, I am not a naturally submissive person. Taking on the form of submission seemed to help me accept the situation.

That still left me with a date to dress for. Sean had said "normal" attire, so he did not plan a scene as such. That left me with a wide range of possibilities. I decided wholesome would work best. That decided, I showered again with purpose, shaving closely and using the herbal shampoo. Then I dried and powdered in preparation for putting on the bustier.

Julian's bustier is the first undergarment Sean ever saw me wearing. It was my favorite since the day I bought it. It is also a royal bitch to get on. I stood for a moment, stroking the ecru silk and thinking about the day Sean took it off. Then, I pulled it to my body, back forward and a bit low. In this position, the upper middle hooks could be set in place, and still leave it loose enough to slip around the body, so the front was forward. Then I could force my oversized tits into the smaller cups.

Once this was done, I stepped to my special vanity. I have a double mirror set up and padded clamps, which serve as third and fourth hands. I used these to hold the waist together while I fastened the hooks. This was nontrivial ten hours after eating, so it was quite difficult four hours after lunch. That done, I sat on my stool and repeated the process on the upper part. I may not do yoga, but I have learned to be a bit of a contortionist.

Once the bustier was in place, I selected a white floral print dress, in a mid century style. It would be suitable for dining or dancing. For stockings, I chose a simple off white silk. For naughtiness, I went with the red panties. Sean liked my hair, so I pinned it to the middle and wore the tail down, with just a white ribbon. I was tempted to use the red lipstick, but toned it down to a pink gloss. The overall effect was very church on Sunday, if you did not know about the bustier or the red panties.

That left me with half an hour to kill. I used a chunk of it to bring Francine up to date via email. I could have called, but then I might have missed Sean arriving. There is no way Francine would let me off the phone before I had to leave. As it was, I headed downstairs with two minutes to spare, which was about the time I needed to get to the entrance door. Sure enough, Sean had pulled up in that two minutes. Our little game of punctuality continued, though I had lost track of who was ahead.

Sean was holding the front door open, which meant there was not a driver. That was a pity. I was hoping to get some necking in. Once we were settled in, Sean asked where I would like to go. Nothing local appealed to me, so I asked him to choose an out of town restaurant. He may have been planning on going to Albert's, but I did not want to meet any of my clients that night. After a moment's thought, Sean headed us out of town, going west.

I asked where we were going, and Sean said to Easton. That struck me as funny, because I had met Francine there the week before. It seemed like much longer. I mentioned this to Sean, and we both laughed. Then I asked about him being at the gym.

Sean was not the least coy about having checked out my building. I doubt he could lie effectively to me, but so far, he had not tried. We soon were deep into a discussion about the neighborhood and his plans to raise money to upgrade it. Eventually, he asked about my plans for the studio. It struck me as ironic that he would ask, when I had spent time that evening thinking on the same subject. Then I decided that we were seeing the same indicators, which confirmed what my business sense had been telling me. I was already becoming resigned to moving.

Fortunately, we had arrived in Easton, so I did not have time to get depressed. Sean had chosen a downtown restaurant, with a rustic motif. The odor of grilling steak hit us at the door, which may be the house specialty, but I could also see plates of chicken and seafood. I was glad to see open tables, because it was a little cool to eat outdoors.

We were seated and Sean ordered soft drinks and appetizers. The menu was eclectic. I chose a wine basted chicken, while Sean went for steak. Then we sipped our drinks and waited for the appetizer. I was in no mood for small talk, and the larger issues needed more time. Sean seemed willing to respect the silence, at least til the appetizers arrived.

At that point, Sean mentioned that Peter had sent him streaming video of us opening our checks. I was shocked, then completely embarrassed. Before I recovered enough to say a word, Sean put on his business face and proceeded to lecture me.

"Before you try to tell me that it is too much money and that you did not earn it, I disagree. Moreover, Peter and Justin disagree. Harold disagrees. Do you think he has every commercial client sign the cover proof? Do not make me laugh. I saw you promise to sign one with lipstick -- nice move restricting him to one, by the way -- and I doubt if he has ever done anything remotely like that in his life.

"I paid out over $180,000 today, counting Harold's printing firm, and you were the most valuable part of that. Simply put, the rest of that collection of respected professionals could not have done it at all, much less with the artistic achievement that you did. That cover shot is not suitable for the major commercial photography awards, but trust me, Immons Images will rake in hardware for it. Inside of a week, ten days on the outside, Sheila Schwartz will be world famous in certain circles." He paused for a breath.

I was in stunned. Everything he said fit perfectly with everything else I had seen and heard. Peter and Justin had gone on about how I was clueless. We had discussed how rare it was for the printer to want signed prints. Sean had told me, from the very start, that the project was stuck and in danger of failing. Justin and Peter had each reinforced it. All I had done was give them a motif and done the session with Jason. Sean was telling me that my small contribution was the difference between success and failure. It started to make sense why he had given me almost a quarter of that large pile money.

"It goes further than that. You made Richards Enterprises look good. This was an auction we fought hard to get, and during our date last week, I was in damage control mode. Today, I am anticipating a triumph. Justin's firm will be deluged with work. Peter will be sought after as a tech weenie. My God, can you imagine the offers that will come to Jason?

"Be ready for Mistress Cynthia to be on everyone's lips. It is a very good thing you are prepared to move out. Events may force you to do it sooner rather than later. You are Indiana Jones, and the big stone ball is rolling straight at you."

That hit me. Jason was going to be famous. I could have guessed that. The shots of him turned out so very well, and he was the model. Justin would get credit, and possibly awards, since he had the photographic credits. That made sense. Sean was saying that Cynthia would also be famous, whether I wanted it or not. That would take some adjustment, but I could handle it.

The hard part to take was Sheila Schwartz being world famous. Sean was not kidding. He had said it twice for emphasis. Why did it suddenly seem unimportant? Elementary, my dear, he has another shoe to drop and the second one is always bigger. That could only mean his card. Mentally I pushed aside all that he had just dropped on me. It could wait. Something bigger was going on.

I asked for the real news. "What position."

Sean looked taken back, but he did not pretend he did not know what I meant. He came straight to the point. "Spouse."

There was a ringing in my ears. The room seemed to swirl around me. Yet, as much as the offer set my heart racing, it came as no surprise. Sean had been working on this for a while now. Looking back over the last couple of days, I could sense his steps. Sean also believed in preparation. He had a ring.

"Show me." My stars, Sheila, is that blunt enough?

Sean simply pulled a ring from his pocket. "This ring was given by William Trent, 3rd Earl of Clancarty, to his bride Sarah, in 1832. I offer it to you, without let or reservation, in token of my affection. I am afraid it is too small for you to use, except on a pinkie." Good heavens.

I knew Sean believed in doing things right, but this was seriously over the top. I might have had the design copied, but not purchased the actual ring. What was with the play dialog, not that it did not seem completely appropriate. Then he got down on one knee.

"This replica, suitable for your hand, I offer as pledge of my troth, in the hope that you consent to be my bride. How say you?" It was exactly the kind of ring I would have had made. This was really happening.

He was doing dialog. I could do the same. "Rise, for your petition is granted. I accept these pledges of your affection and your troth. Let the bans be published." Sean pulled out money and threw it on the table. Then he picked me up and carried me out of the restaurant. Stars and heavens, Momma, I'm engaged.

With theater, there is a final curtain. Sean carried me to the car and we drove off, just like in a script. The problem is that scripts tend to ignore things, like eating the dinner we had ordered. Sean caught that little detail before we made it completely out of town. He had beef and I had chicken, just not the way we planned.

I did get one piece of wickedness in. I text to Francine, Got engaged. How is the show going?

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

"Dad says I was conceived that night. Mom says Dad is just being romantic. She was using birth control, and did not conceive for at least a week, til after the wedding. A whole week? Really, Mom. It suffices that I came along about nine months after the engagement. Dad claims that they turned their whole lives inside out to have a family. Mom says the biggest adjustment was remodeling the house. Evidently, there was something else where they put the nursery.

What I don't get is that Dad talks about his virgin bride, and Mom only smiles. What's with that?"




Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 06



Chapter 12 -- Pillow Talk

Sean:

They say any landing you can walk away from, is a good landing. Does that mean that any proposal that gets you engaged, is a good proposal? My plans were a train wreck, but she took the ring and said yes. So we were at a Wendy's in Easton, Pennsylvania and I had no idea what to do next.

Sheila was gleefully sending a text message. Presumably it was about the engagement, and I had a sneaking suspicion who was receiving it. Once that was done, she looked up and saw me staring. She winked and jerked her head at the door.

As we headed for the car, I asked, where she wanted to go next. That stopped her, for about five seconds. She asked about the distance to Union. This confirmed my suspicion that she had just text Francine Martel. Unfortunately, it was already late, and we could not make the playhouse before 10:30 PM. Then she asked if I could make decent oatmeal? That was good. I had seen her apartment. It was time she saw my house.

As we drove home, I ventured, "I contacted Julian to make you a new piece." This did not seem to rattle anything loose. After a pause, she said, "Dress too?" I suppose I should hate being so predictable, but she is the only one that has the knack. I said, "Of course. What good is a wedding dress corset without the wedding dress? I insisted that you had to be able to dance in it, even if I cannot." She became quiet for a moment, then murmured, "My teddy bear." That, on the other hand, did annoy me.  

If I had any notions that my gated community would impress her, they fell aside. Her only comment was, "Nice house." My garage made a better impression. She accurately named eight of the ten cars, and both of the ones she missed are seriously rare. She went to the 1952 Bentley and stroked the hood for a moment, then said, "This one for the ceremony."

With that obscure comment, she turned to me and cocked an eyebrow. I gestured toward the main house. Once inside, she waited patiently while I punched the code on the security system. Gerald would get very cross if I had a false alarm. Then, I led her to my reading room, cued some Chopin and offered her a seat on the sofa. Instead, she went to examine the sound system. She pulled down the location menu and switched the sound to the master suite. That was clear enough. Before showing her the way, I grabbed a couple of cold bottles of Pelagrino.

The master suite in my home is a bit of a misnomer. It takes up one wing of the house. Before you get to the bedroom, you pass the small gym, which drew her attention. Turning in, she said, "You owe me a massage." That worked for me.

The first thing she did was untie a ribbon and shook her hair out. I could smell the herbal shampoo from the doorway. Then she started unbuttoning her dress, which was a clear call for assistance. I set the bottled water down and helped her remove the dress. Underneath I found a familiar silk corset-like foundation garment and red panties. That called for a comment.

"Why, Miss Schwartz. Were you planning on getting lucky?" I asked, as I unfastened the stays on her stockings.

She affected Mae West. "Luck's got nothin' to do with it."

I found the foundation much easier to unhook from the back side. Once I had it unfastened, I let her take it from my hands. It gave me a chance to marvel at her marvelous back. My hands slowly pushed down her naughty red panties, but my eyes were all about the shape of lovely ass.

"My dear, in all my years, that is the finest rear view I have seen. Would it be too forward of me to request a photo of you, from this side? The lines are simply perfect." She flushed slightly at the comment as I led her to the table.

I love massage. The story is worth telling some other time. It is sufficient to say that my hands knew what they were doing as I grasped her shoulders. She did not melt, not quite, but the groans of tension release were substantial. I told her that she would have use of my personal masseur, if she wished it, but that I intended to massage places he would not be allowed. This provoked a lazy chuckle.

My hands worked down her back to the base of her spine. Most massage ends there, which is a huge pity. One of the tensest places, on most people's bodies, is the ass, technically gluteus maximus. I was soon rolling one half of Sheila's incredible ass with both hands. Perhaps I expected a reaction to the liberty, but all I received for my effort was a contented sigh. After working both sides til my hands were tired, I slipped one hand between her legs.

That earned me, "Finally. What took you so long?" With that she rolled over and pulled me into a fierce kiss. When we came up for air, she said, "You, Clarence Sean 'Ricky' Richards, are going to get fucked. I would not mind getting pregnant tonight, but I took precautions, in case you felt otherwise. So, unless you have something I need to know about, we can dispense with condoms. Now, carry me to the damn bedroom." You have to love a woman who knows what she wants.

Sheila:

After texting Francine, I turned off the phone and pulled the battery. No more messages for a while. Sean was staring at me, so I gave him a wink and motioned toward the door. I was feeling very light and gay. It was hard to keep from prancing, but I managed.

On the way to the car, Sean asked where we were headed. It was probably too late to catch Francine before she headed home, but I asked anyway. No joy. That meant his place. I did not know how much money Sean had, but seriously well off was the low end. If nothing else, he would have a bigger bed, and I was in the mood for some acrobatics.

Sean's house did not disappoint. The community was gated, and the houses were all multistory, with wings. He drove past the house to a garage with at least twenty stalls and almost a dozen cars. I could name most of them, but a couple stumped me. One was an exotic and the other was pre Model T. I decided I wanted to drive off in the Rolls Bentley, after the wedding. Still, it was just the garage, and I had a serious itch.

Inside, the house was tastefully huge. Sean led me past the kitchen, at least one salon and a billiard room. He chose a room set up for reading. There were a number of bookshelves, though not enough to make it a library, Sean cued some mood music, Chopin preludes, and went to a refrigerator for some bottled water. I was interested in his sound system. As I expected, it was wired to the whole house. I switched it on in the master suite.

Sean noticed, but said nothing. He led me to a turn in the hall, which I guessed would lead to his bedroom. As we approached an open door, I could see it was a personal gym. I looked, finding a good sized room, about 20' by 30', which was bigger than my living room. There were three weight machines, but no free weights. Off to one side was a storage area, with towels stacked on a counter in front. Best of all was a massage table. I said, "You owe me a massage."

Sean was agreeable, so I untied the ribbon, and shook it out my hair. As always, Sean wanted a whiff, so I stepped closer as I undid my dress. This was not a costume change situation, so it took a minute. Sean saw that I was wearing the same bustier I had worn at our first session.

He said, "Why, Miss Schwartz. Were you planning on getting lucky?"

That called for Mae West. "Luck's got nothin' to do with it."

Once I had slipped off the dress, I turned my back to Sean, so that he could unfasten the bustier. It takes me ten tricky minutes to put it on. Sean had it off in thirty seconds. Once it was off, he stepped back to look at my bare back. He had seen it before, but perhaps had not stopped to appreciate. I work damn hard on my back, and I think it shows.

Sean did too. "My dear, in all my years, that is the finest rear view I have seen. Would it be too forward of me to request a photo of you, from this side? The lines are simply perfect." I blushed. "Perfect" is high praise, even where praise is cheap. Sean was not one to overuse words.

He led me to the massage table. I spread out on it, putting my face into the support ring. As always, Sean's fingers were magical. He started with my back, then moved down my spine, to the base and then past. Sean started working my left gluteus with both hands. I encouraged him with a sigh. Then, he worked the right one. Then, he let his hand drift between my legs.

I said, "Finally. What took you so long? Turning to face him, I went on, "You, Clarence Sean 'Ricky' Richards, are going to get fucked. I would mot mind getting pregnant tonight, but I took precautions, in case you felt otherwise. So, unless you have something I need to know about, we can dispense with condoms. Now, carry me to the damn bedroom." Some men require a map.

Sean did pick me up, but it was a ways to the bedroom, even though it was on the same hallway. I might need a map, to get around the house. We passed four doors before arriving at the end of the hall. I turned the knob, and Sean carried me in. The room could be called a bedroom, because there was a king size bed over in the corner. There was also a dressing area, a sitting area with a television and a home office. One door stood open, showing a bathroom sink. Presumably, the rest of the required porcelain was further in. Another door, next to the dressing area, probably held the closet. Any other time, I would want to explore, but I had something more important to do, right then.

I said, "OK, Stud. That is far enough. I don't want you to wear yourself out, just yet." Sean set me down. I went on, "Please tell me you have a prenup, to protect all this." For the first time since we had met, I was a bit awed. His bedroom was bigger than my apartment. The personal gym we just left was better equipped than the one in my apartment complex.

Sean sighed, "If it will make you feel better, I will have one drawn up. I should tell you that I own none of this, except the clothes in the closet. Even when Father and Mother pass, I split it with three siblings and a mortgage company." Oddly, that did make me feel better. Rather than say anything, I kissed him. Sean found that to be answer enough.

I suggested, "Why don't we shower together? It might be a bit more intimate." Sean bowed his acknowledgment, and gestured toward a door.

The master shower was about what I expected, given the size of the bedroom. There were two sinks, one with a 360° mirror, a large jacuzzi tub, a commode with bidet, and a large wrap around shower, with natural stone floor. Sean turned on the water, which involved punching numbers on a keypad.

I pulled Sean close and started to unbutton his shirt. Sean joined in, and he was shortly standing in just his boxers, which were tented with a sizable erection. I dropped to my knees and slowly pulled the boxers down. If first impressions are lasting, I would think well of Sean for a long time.

In my business, I have seen a lot of men's equipment. Sean's cock was a bit longer than average, and nicely thick. I took it in one hand, while running the other back to his testicles. Then I came across a problem. I have a great deal of experience handling penises, but absolutely none sucking one. I very much wanted to give Sean some quick satisfaction, but I had no practical experience doing blow jobs. It would have been funny, if I were not so embarrassed. Naturally, Sean picked up on it.

He said, "Yep. This is new for me, too." What did he mean, "too"?

Sean:

Carrying Sheila up the hall, to the master suite, was more work than I was used to doing. I managed to get past the bedroom doors, before Sheila took pity on me. "OK, Stud. That is far enough. I don't want you to wear yourself out, just yet." She rubber necked the room, which is a reasonable response if you are unused to houses of this type. Sheila's next response was definitely the first of its kind.

She said, "Please tell me you have a prenup, to protect all this." What could I say? The truth is usually best, especially with someone like Sheila Schwartz.

I equivocated, "If it will make you feel better, I will have one drawn up. I should tell you that I own none of this, except the clothes in the closet. Even when Father and Mother pass, I split it with two siblings and a mortgage company." Oddly, Sheila did look modestly more comfortable. She also had a good idea.

"Why don't we shower together? It might be a bit more intimate." I bowed to her greater wisdom, and showed the way.

I spend almost all my home time in the main room or the gym. However, the master bath is worth spending time in, as well. Once inside, I started the water in the shower. Then, Sheila pulled me close and started unbuttoning my shirt. Shortly we were both mostly naked. Sheila knelt and lowered my boxers. She made a pleased sound and reached out to stroke my erection. Then, like water on a match, her usual confidence vanished. It could only mean one thing.

I said, "Yep. This is new for me, too." This managed to puzzle her. Rather than answer, I pulled her to her feet, and gave her a possessive kiss. I could tell her my lack of sexual prowess, later. A little horse play in the shower was just what this situation needed. Given that I was with Sheila, I should have guessed things would go a different direction.

Rather than move into the shower, Sheila began taking pins out of her hair. As usual, they looked worthy of some study, but I had other things to do. Sheila turned her back to me and shook out her wonderful hair. She had me pegged. I ran my hands through it a couple of times. At some future point, I hoped she would let me give her a protein treatment, but just then, I had a shampoo to do.

We went into the shower, and she wet her hair. I had a choice of Head & Shoulders and prescription medicated. This was definitely a guy's shower. Hoping she would not be offended, I poured some H&S into my hands and made the best of it. It turns out, the best is pretty good.

Sheila moved back into me and massaged my cock, while I lathered her hair. I have very good hands, but what she tried might be beyond me. Her hand never slid forward or backward. Instead her fingers rippled from one place to another. I laughed, because something occurred to me. When we are unsure of our skills, we both fall back on what we know.

I moved Sheila under the shower head, and smoothed the suds out of her hair. Then I pulled her back out for the conditioner. In this case, I was better off than the shampoo. I had a good quality conditioner, though, unfortunately for me, it was unscented. I worked it into Sheila's hair, then pushed the mop aside so that I could kiss her neck. I was rewarded with goose flesh.

The whole time, Sheila had never let go of my cock.

Sheila:

After Sean made his odd admission, he drew me to my feet. I was not well qualified to judge kissing, but I was more than happy with the one he provided. Then he pulled me toward the shower, which was what I had suggested, but I had a head full of small problems. It took a few moments to remove my set of vintage hairpins, but Sean waited patiently. I turned away, so that I could shake my hair loose. Sean took the opportunity to run his hands through it, as usual. When all else fails, fall back on the familiar.

This time, when Sean pulled me toward the shower, I went. The shower was something to die for. There was a bench, should we want it, and indications that the shower doubled as a sauna. Water could come from at least fifteen different heads, some of them horizontal. The one that was running was about three feet square, and producing a warm, gentle rain. The one drawback was strictly male hair care products. Head & Shoulders is not a brand I like, but one use would hurt nothing, and my hair needed a cleaning.

I stepped into the rain, and wet my hair thoroughly. Sean had picked up the shampoo, so I stepped back, to allow him access. As he lathered my hair, I reached both hands behind my back, to reach Sean's cock. This proved an interesting exercise. My experience with male arousal indicates that a light touch can be very effective, so I went for fingertip contact with both hands. This allowed me to play all over his cock, without forcing Sean to stand particularly still. I had trouble judging the overall effect, not being able to see him, but at least the cock stayed at attention.

My attention was somewhat divided. I tried to give my best effort to Sean's erection, but Sean's fingers demanded notice. Having your hair washed is pleasurable under most circumstances, but Sean was also massaging my scalp. It goes without saying that he was good at it. I snorted a short laugh as I realized that we had fallen into another of our little competitions. This was one we could both win.

Shampooing hair is not a time consumptive task. It was not long before Sean nudged me back under the water. Fortunately, from my perspective, he followed the wash and rinse with a conditioner. After a few moments of bliss, as he massaged the conditioner into my hair, Sean pushed the mop aside and started nuzzling my neck. My stars, I wanted to melt down to the floor.

Attention to my neck was new for me. My sexual history was almost complete lacking in conventional lovers. This had eliminated most of the common forms of petting. This form would not stay eliminated, even if I needed to order Tess to do it. I would be inclined to score one for Sean, but I managed to maintain my fingertip contact with his genitals. It was time to plan my next move.

Looking around, I spotted the most innocent thing imaginable -- a bottle of body wash, next to a scrubby ball. I could not reach it, from where I stood, but I was willing to bet Sean would follow me if I moved. He did. It was tricky pouring soap with one hand, while teasing a cock with the other, but I managed. In short order I had not just the shower ball, but it was full of suds. At that point, without turning around, I took a firm grip with my left hand, and ran the foamy ball across the head of his prick, using my right.

My fingertip attention must have been working, because Sean sprayed cum all over my back. It was kind of sexy. Sean must have thought so too, because he embraced me, in a bear hug that threatened to bend my ribs. He said, to himself I think, "God, I love this woman." It is always nice to be appreciated.

After that, Sean grabbed a clean shower ball, soaped it up and washed my back. Damn. If we were going to be married, I determined that regular coed showers were going to be part of it. Then, he reached around and started washing my front. Good and gracious heavens. The sensation of the rough ball, across the tender underside of my breasts, was indescribable. I never liked my overdeveloped tits, but I was beginning to understand why other women liked theirs.

Then, Sean ran the ball over my cunt. I screamed, and may have passed out. In any event, the only thing holding me up was Sean's arms around me. If this was two inexperienced people, fumbling at sex, things were looking good for the future. I turned to thank him face to face. Kissing is difficult otherwise.

Sean:

Sometimes, it seems that Sheila and I fall into friendly competitions. For example, which of us would be early or late to an appointment. I had won that one, because Mario had made Sheila arrive early. What had begun with me washing Sheila's hair, quickly took on a similar feel. I had access to Sheila's head and hair, while she had access to my privates, but had to work behind her back. Still, if I were a betting man, I would have my money on Sheila.

So it proved. After washing and rinsing Sheila's hair, I applied conditioner. This needed a couple of minutes to work, before rinsing. I used the time to start kissing the backside of Sheila's neck. In turn she move a couple of small steps and, with one hand, never leaving my dick alone, she soaped and foamed a shower ball. Almost before I could wonder about her plan, she took her first firm grip on my cock, and ran the rough ball over the head. I distinctly felt the fibers slip inside the eye of my penis, just before my jizz powered its way out. God, I loved this woman.




Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 06



I gave her a fierce hug, then grabbed a clean ball, to wash my cum off her back. Of course, I could not stop there. I washed the rest of her back, then reached around to scrub her bally and under her breasts. Sheila shuddered, when I first ran the textured ball under a tit. I used one hand to lift each heavy breast, while using the other to scour the sensitive skin beneath. Sheila's breath was becoming very ragged, so I reached down and gave her cunt the same treatment the eye of my dick had gotten. Then, I had to catch her, as her legs buckled. Who knew showering was a competitive sport, or that it could be dangerous?

My shower has a bench, which I sat Sheila upon. Then, I switched the water to one of the extendable heads and rinsed the conditioner out of her hair. I had not gotten her feet and pits, but that would leave something for next time. For myself, I did a quick military wash, and hosed off the soap. Once this was done, I turned my attention to my fiancé and saw her smiling at me. She said, affectionately I thought, "My Teddy Bear."

Only Sheila can hit with things like that. Everyone in the local, and even regional, business community thinks of me as an ogre, or at least a wolf. Teddy bear is just the opposite of my reputation. Then again, Jason Porter called Sheila, the Black Cat, after a line from Long Cool Woman. That fit the moment well enough. As I reached for her, I said, "My Kitten." After that, things became more mundane. We dried each other, then moved to the bed.

I let Sheila have the lead, and we started with me on my back. Sheila wasted no time. She straddled me, then immediately lowered herself onto my stiff prick. She lifted, the lowered again, followed by rocking back and forth. It was almost like she was doing a procedure, from a memorized book. The look of concentration was fascinating to watch. Whatever the reason, she soon found a rhythm, and we moved to our first mutual climax.

If she ever noticed my lack of practice, she never said anything. I noticed that she was incredibly tight. I never said anything, either. What she lacked in polish, Sheila more than made up in attentiveness.

Sheila:

Sean guided me to the bench on one side of the shower area. Going to the wall, he punched a few buttons, and the water switched to a head on a hose. He used this to wash the conditioner out of my hair, then gave himself a very quick bath. I had to smile as he rushed his own shower. I was sure that he did so only because I was waiting. I did not intend to say it aloud, but I did. "My Teddy Bear."

Sean looked somewhat shocked, but then he gave me a crooked smile. "My Kitten." Huh. It fit as well as mine did, I suppose. I would wager cash that no one else thought of us, either one of us, in those terms. That was OK. It would be our secret.

After Sean finished and rinsed, we moved to the other end of the shower area, where the towels hung. He dried me, then I dried him. Then we moved to his king sized bed. Sean was allowing me the lead, so I pushed him to his back and climbed over him. Without any additional preparation, I sank down on his rigid member. It was both like and unlike my favorite toys. I held still for a moment, savoring the sensation, then started to move.

This was a learning-by-doing experience. I rose up, then let down. I moved forward, then back. It took a few moments, but I soon found a cadence to move by. Then, it was about finding the balance between my excitement and his. The first I could gauge easily enough, and I am very experienced at gauging male enthusiasm. After a remarkably short time, Sean heaved inside me, which set my own orgasm rumbling. I weathered the storm, but then dropped forward, onto Sean's chest, with his cock still inside me. The sensation, of his erection subsiding, was one worth noting.

It was my virgin experience, at least with an organic male partner, but I think it went well.

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

"One thing Mom has always been clear about was a desire for, well, me. When Dad proposed, the idea of eloping to the court house evidently had some charm. There were a lot of reasons in favor, but both can be pretty traditional. Dad evidently suggested a small wedding on the grounds, with a reception in the ball room.

"Mom and Dad decided not to elope, but it must have been a close call. Instead they decided to do one quickly. They were engaged after ten days, and married a week later. I think the idea was to get a lot of regrets due to the very short time frame. Oops.

"The wedding was a huge affair, even though it was thrown together in a week. I have visions of Mom dealing with caterers and rental people. Ugly."

Chapter 12 -- Riding the Bear

Sean:

I had been thinking, for a while, that I needed to let Sheila seduce me. In the end, I am not sure who seduced whom. It seemed inevitable, from the time we met that day. Our lovemaking was different. I had never had the time to acquire any great skill as a sexual partner. My lovers generally provided that element, and none of them had lasted long enough to teach me much. For once, I had a bed partner that seemed as tentative as I was. Yet, it worked.

Sheila did not stun me with her prowess. Rather she struck me, again, with her ability to work in unfamiliar territory. I am very good at reading reactions. It is one thing that makes me a good kisser. It was a bit surreal, but also charming, to be on the other side, watching Sheila gauge my reactions. It was also a bit flattering, to have someone else pay that much attention to me. If I had not already fallen for her, that alone might have done the trick.

I was going to tell mother that she would finally have a grandchild from me, as soon as I could arrange it. Sheila said in so many words that she wanted children as soon as possible. Lord knows there was enough room in the house, though security would have to move out. Did Sheila say something about a prenup?

Sheila was still lying on top of me, so I put my arms around her and rolled us over on our sides. That felt nice, so I left my arms around her, not that she seemed to mind. I said, "A penny for your thoughts."

"I was thinking about our trip to the symphony. You brought Triscuit and Laughing Cow. I remember thinking that you felt no need to flash your money. I never dreamed you had a house like this. I had no idea the whole town had a house like this." Leave it to Sheila to find something I had not even considered.

I said, "You can thank my great grandparents for the house, although my parents dis extensive remodeling when I was young. Chances are one of them will make the wedding, unless you want to fly to Vegas and get married tonight. When do you want the wedding, by the way?"

Sheila paused. "How soon can you get everyone that you really want to be here, here? Where do you want the service performed? No, you do not need to talk to my rabbi. I am about as Jewish as Francine is Catholic: not very and not often." OK. That covered my next three questions.

"I would say Monday, and the Justice of the Peace, but you probably want Ms. Broadway Martel to attend. I have a few people from work that will want to come by. Helen will complain loudly if I pawn the reception off on her, but she would kill me if I didn't. Justin can do pictures. What do you say to having it here? We have a gazebo near the lake. It will give the staff something to do. No one has used the main hall in decades."

Sheila was not hard to please. "Done and done. I will get Francine to be my attendant. CC can stand in too. Everyone else will have to sit. You realize that half the business community will attend?" Sheila might be underestimating it at half. It was a good thing we were keeping the time table short, or half of New Jersey would show up.

I said, "In case you were wondering what to wear, I took the liberty of ordering you a Victorian style wedding gown, and the necessary foundation garment. Feel free to strangle Julian when you see him. Do you have any family to bring in?"

"My mother is still in California. I will send her an invitation and a plane ticket, but she may just cash the ticket. Dad is the one I would want, but he died when I was a senior in high school. Everyone else is local or nearby. Now, the important question. How soon do you want children?" There it is, Mother. Someone is thinking of you. You can stop your monthly letter, complaining of your lack of grandchildren.

To Sheila I said, "I understand nine months is the usual. That will do, give or take a week. I think..." I could not talk, because Sheila had grabbed me and was attempting death by smooching. I decided that I had taken the right position concerning offspring.

Sheila:

After our first attempt at coitus, Sean rolled me over and held me close. That was nice. We had to find something to talk about, so the wedding came up. Neither of us is without family, but it seemed like we might as well be, since no one is close. I was worse. Two weeks before I would have been stuck for a Maid of Honor, though Francine is not a maid in any real sense of the word.

Sean was more than willing to do things quickly. I was fine with doing it at the courthouse, but he decided that his staff could knock something together in one week. Having met some of his people, I did not doubt it. That said, I was not going to ask about the cost. His house had a ballroom and a gazebo by a lake. At least location was covered

Sean had asked Julian to make me a new corset. No surprise there. He had also commissioned a wedding gown, fitted for the corset. That meant I could ask Francine and CC to a corset, not that anyone would notice in Francine's case. I saw a shopping trip coming. The dresses might be more difficult, but there were probably specialty stores in New York. On the other hand, I wanted to ask Martha Douglas, who was much more a matron than a maid.

We dealt with my lack of family. Mom might come, but I would not hold my breath. I had cousins who might send gifts. My problem was my client book. I could not omit them, but the invitation could pose problems for them. Half the town's major businessmen, and a few of the businesswomen, had used my services at some point. But, there was a lot of overlap with Sean's business acquaintances, so my clients could play coy if they wished.

Once we got down to it, Sean's family was not much better. As an only child, I had never dealt with siblings. Evidently, Sean had one of each, with multiple levels of meaning. He was fond of and close to a sister. His brother was both difficult and distant. Both Sean's parents were living, but they did not talk to each other, and rarely talked to their children. Attendance of either was dubious. Cousins were more likely, if they lived nearby. As with mine, the invitation would mostly be treated as a request for a gift.

Family. You have to love them. Discussing family segued into an important area, for me at least. It would do no good to avoid the issue, or to beat around the bush, so I just asked how soon Sean wanted children. When he said that he wanted them as soon as possible, I went a little nuts.

Without me realizing it, having children had become the most important thing in my life. I wanted to begin right then, but logic poked its ugly head into the room. I had taken precautions against getting pregnant, which were good for another day. Besides, I could wait til the honeymoon, since it would be only a week or so. That did not mean we could not practice.

I broke the lip lock I had placed on Sean. "Good answer, buddy. Just remember you said it next January. Now, let's get some of the basics down. We are going to need more of this..." I grabbed Sean's prick possessively, "in here." The gesture toward my waiting womb might have been a little obscure, but Sean understood my point. It did not hurt that his point was ready for use again.

Sean did not need any more encouragement. He rolled me over in a classic missionary position. I focused on bearing down with my pussy muscles. It must have worked, because Sean gasped. He pulled halfway out, preparing for another thrust. I relaxed, in anticipation. In he came, and I gripped as he reached the bottom of his thrust. Sean seemed to like this, and it also brought his shaft in contact with my clit. My stars.

Sean pulled back, as I released my grip. In he came. again. Soon, there was a rhythm to his thrusts and my clenches, though the pace increased. Faster and faster we went, til Sean reached his climax. He thrust just a fraction deeper than before, but it was enough. Sean's cock came in contact with my cervix. My world exploded and I think I screamed. For certain I was less than coherent for some time. When I came back to my senses, I was lying beside Sean. He moved in for a kiss, which was fine with me.

We had the basics down. Next time, we go for style points.

Sean:

Babies are not something most guys want to hear about. I am not most guys. Quite aside from my mother wanting grandchildren, I wanted a family of my own. I tend to think of my employees as family, but this was another level. Sheila obviously felt so too, because she grabbed my dick and pulled it toward her cunt. This I could do.

As positions go, this was a boring one. What was not boring was Sheila's insanely tight vagina. At least, it seemed tight, until I reached the end of my stroke, and Sheila gripped down on my prick. Had I not shot two wads already, I would have cum right then. As it was, a shudder went through me. A part of my mind had time to wonder if this was how a small orgasm felt, for a woman.

The rest of my mind was focused on thrusting in and pulling out. As much as possible, I tried to bump against Sheila's clit, but soon it was monkey time. I banged away, and Sheila's pussy muscles grabbed me on the way out. Even with two loads delivered, I had a shot coming, so I buried myself to the hilt as my wad pumped out. Exactly on cue, Sheila clenched and screamed my name.

Shortly after we lay, side by side, covered in sweat. God Sheila looked good this way. I kissed her and she kissed me back. Then, I started licking the sweat off. I thought, if Sheila could hold out til I finished, I might be ready for round four. It was not to be. Sheila patted me on the head then pulled me close. I do not remember falling asleep.

Sheila:

Women have a reputation for crying after sex. I never understood that, til my night with Sean. He was wilting like a week old cut corsage, but he was willing to stumble on, hoping it was in the right direction. Sean was such a teddy bear. I pulled him close and he was asleep before I could think of anything to say. That left me alone with my thoughts and the release of about fifty tons of tension. My tear ducts offered to do some overtime.

I shook them off. Too many things needed to be sorted. I had a business, which had consumed 60 hours of my week for the past ten years. I needed to do it justice and still plan a wedding. That same business needed to relocate. I had a location checked out, but the deal had not been negotiated, much less completed. CC had barely begun her training. I could see she would be very helpful, once I trained her up to speed, but she was still a net time consumer. Then there was Francine, who was suddenly center stage (where else) after being gone for a decade. Once the wedding was done, I would have a husband and a new household to learn. My stars, I needed help.

One thing at a time. Sean was getting married too, and he had a lot more resources than I did. I hesitated to ask, but there was no way I could do it alone. Plus, Sean had been dropping hints that he wanted to be part of all of my decisions, or at least factored into them. I fell asleep thinking how comforting that was.

I woke with a start. The clock radio told me that it was 3:27 AM. My dreams had involved a hungry bear growling at me. Once awake, I realized that Sean was my bear and he was growling, or close enough. I was a bit surprised I did not dream of chain saws. However, there is one guaranteed way to stop snoring. You wake the person up, and I had just the method.

I know, from my long affair with electrical male organs, that I love cervical stimulation. Sean was only a bit longer than average, so it was a stretch to reach that far into me. Still, he had managed it, once, at the very end of our last lovemaking. I was going to anticipate a fantasy and try to get my own rocks off, at the same time.

Sean's bed was huge, so I had a lot of room to maneuver. I peeled back the cover, to lay him bare. He looked so innocent sleeping there. I would never have associated him with the wild night at Harderidge House. However, his penis was something I could easily associate with him. I laid my hand on it, with my fingers just touching his balls. Sean twitched in his sleep, but never woke. Perfect.

I did no have long to wait. We had already had three, or was it four, rounds of sex, but it had been hours ago. Sean had had time to recover and little Sean seemed to know it. He was up in no time. Just feeling him rise got my own juices running.  

Very carefully, I straddled Sean's sleeping form. Normally I would want to watch his face, but in this case I wanted maximum penetration, which meant reverse cowgirl. With one hand I held Sean's cock in position, and parted my lips with the other. When I eased Little Sean's head into my slot, I almost gave it away with a gasp. Whether from the sensations of penetration, or from my unfortunate exclamation, Sean stirred. Once again, he did not wake, but his sleeping movements sent waves of sensation through me, as I tried to stay absolutely still.

Finally, Sean's movements subsided and I began to lower myself onto his shaft. Just as I hoped, the very end of Sean's reach came to the end of me. My stars, Long John, my 14" dildo, was never like this. I put weight on Sean's pelvis, which caused him to stir, but it was time for a wake up in any event.

With all the strength I could manage, I gripped Little Sean as I pulled off of him. Sean had to have been mostly awake when I reached the top of my motion. I simply dropped. When Sean's cock encountered my cervix this time, it was not a brush. I saw heaven and angels, with a heavenly chorus. I swayed, on the edge of consciousness, and began the process again. I gripped Little Sean with my cunt muscles, then Sean put his arms around me and stopped me in place.

Sean's arms slid under my oversized tits, giving them some welcome support, while his lips tickled my ear. He said, "That was the best wake up I ever had. Can I offer you a job?" I could not help laughing. Then his fingers started tickling my ribs and I had other reasons to laugh. The brute had me dead to rights and I could not get away. He tickled my ribs, my belly, under my breasts, my armpit while his other arm held me in place. My shrieks must have filled the house.

Eventually, we fell over, with Sean still inside. He twisted so that he could put one hand in front and one behind. In this position, he could thrust, which he did. I pulled my legs tight against my body, to give him more depth. Sean thrust again. This time he hit home. My breath was paralyzed, but I tried to grip Little Sean as he pulled back. That barely worked. Before I was ready, a third thrust hit home and there were explosions all over. My heavens, I saw the light.

When I was coherent enough to think, Sean was draped all over me, gasping for air. I think it was good for him, too. I could not reach to kiss him, but I put my hand on the side of his face. Sean kissed my palm. As we untangled, I said, "That was supposed to be one of your fantasies. Did I get it right?




Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 06



Sean replied, "Kitten, you can ride me any time." Kitten? Hmmm.

Sean:

Half the erotic stories I read as a teenager involved being woken by a blow job. That was cool, and I always hoped I would get the same treatment. I never thought I would be woken to Reverse Cowgirl, but I was willing to roll with it.

Then, Sheila used my pole for a fire drill. When she hit bottom, my cock hit something, and I damn near passed out on the spot. Then she got a good grip and started pulling off. It is a good thing she was a little woozy, too, because I did not think I would survive another plunge. I sat up and put my arm around her, under those amazing tits, which settled her down.

Then, I told her what a treat it had been, but I was not going to let it rest. My cock was happy where it was, but having Sheila, literally, in my grasp was too good an opportunity to miss. I tickled her.

Boy did that work. Sheila squealed and twisted. I held on and found something else to tickle. It turned out she was ticklish all over. Everything seemed to work. I was just about to stroke her clit, when Sheila tossed both of us over on our sides. That was good. My cock was still, miraculously, buried in Sheila's cunt. Like earlier, she was extremely tight.

I twisted around, so I could at least get both hands down, one on each side. Then I realized I had enough control to pull back and thrust. Jesus is generous to sinners. I gave him thanks, while I prepared to sin some more. I cocked and thrust.

I am not sure what I expected. In my limited experience, women have not responded well when I do the unexpected. In this case, Sheila pulled her leg back to make it easier for me. I cocked and thrust. Once again, I hit the end. Perhaps, that had been the idea. If so, the last throw would be good, because I was putting everything into it.

The third time I thrust, I almost jolted as my cock hit Sheila's cervix. She screamed and shook. Muscle spasms rippled across my cock, as if I needed anything more. I exploded against Sheila's womb. My own orgasm would have dropped me like a rock, had I not been lying down already. As quickies went, that one would be hard to beat.

By the time my breathing slowed to a normal level, Sheila was starting to show signs of life. If I had been a limp noodle, she had been a bucket of goo. A sweaty bucket. I rolled off of her and put my legs off the side of the bed. Big beds have the advantage of keeping you up top, but it can be a long way to the edge. I managed. Then I pulled Sheila after me. It was barely 4:00 AM. It was too early to get up, but we needed to wash it all off. The two of us lurched off toward hot water and towels.

Like it says in the ad, is your heart healthy enough for sex?



Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 06a



Author's note: This chapter is not necessary for the mainline story of Sheila and Sean. 

Tolkien once said, "There is a new character in my book, and he is not entirely welcome." For this story, that character is CC/Tess. This is mostly her chapter, with more on Jason. I hope you enjoy it. Sheila and Sean will be back with the next installment.

As always, thanks to clairegerm for editing.

Interlude: Elle Magazine interview (unedited) 

Jason: 

"Do you know how to tell the difference between a fairy tales and teenager's sex stories? Fairy tales will start, "Once upon a time..." while the sex stories will start, "There we were..." After that there are no noticeable differences. 

"There we were, in my hotel room, the teenage Romeo and the blushing virgin. I said, 'Why don't you take off your clothes and get comfortable.'

"Before I could pull off my own shirt, shoes and socks, she was bare naked and kneeling on the floor. She sat back on her heels, with her legs wide apart, showing her bare cunt. She had her arms high behind her back, grasping her own elbows, which pushed out her perfect C cup tits. Her eyes were fastened on my crotch. 

"I did not say she was a typical blushing virgin." 

Chapter 10(a) – First Time for Everything 

Jason: 

My previous year was the stuff of wet dreams and bad fiction. I had obtained a job working for Justin Immons, of Immons Images, a professional photographer. He was shooting publicity pictures, for a long line of expensive call girls. As part of the process the call girls would demonstrate their assets and skills, especially their technique at fellatio. That would be blow jobs if you live in La Jolla. 

It turned into a full scale competition, and I was the lucky judge (the winner was Roxanne in Scranton in case you are interested). For more than six months, I was getting the very best blow jobs available in the Midwest and Northeast, and that was not all. After they finished demonstrating job skills for the camera, a lot of the girls wanted to do what they wanted to do. So I have had a lot of experience receiving blow jobs, and a lot of experience pleasing women.

Eventually, the river of call girls dried up, but Justin found another sex related job. This one was for an auction of erotica and erotic paraphernalia. The problem was that it did not come close to working. Justin and Peter, the tech guy, could not come up with a layout that would pass muster. Enter Cynthia, the new Art Director. Justin had to swallow his pride and let someone else take over creative control. That is a very big deal in the art world. Worse, Cynthia was not a photographer; she was a dominatrix. Disaster loomed.

The odd thing was that it worked. Cynthia gave us the theme we needed in the first half hour. Then she took me to her studio. We had a session. I will remember that session to my dying day, and we got a ton of good video. Then suddenly, it was like Forrest Gump after the hurricane; everything was easy. Cynthia blended in like bananas on peanut butter. The next day, she started bringing an assistant, CC. 

It was not an obvious fit, at least at first glance. CC had no experience and no skills. But, knowing Cynthia as I had come to, it was easy to see. CC was a born submissive. Cynthia said to put her to work, so the professionals, Justin and Peter, stuck her with the other non-professional, me. We did the drag-and-drop work of pulling shots from files and mounting them in the prepared slots. It was tedious and picky work, but not anything that required intelligence. Over time, I sort of got to know CC.

Part of it was easy. CC was about 5'8", but did not come across as tall. She had a slim figure,without being skinny, but also not athletic. Her eys and hair were brown, and neither brought an automatic second look. In fact, nothing about CC brought a second look, unless you had a reason. She was nineteen years old, but could pass for sixteen. I doubted CC went to bars, but she would have trouble getting in, even with an ID. There was an innocence about her, til you looked into her eyes. There was mileage to read in CC's eyes.

I say "I sort of got to know" CC, because she never, ever talked about herself. That is not strong enough. CC almost never said anything, at all. She was as quiet as my favorite comic, Silent Bob. When she went to a restaurant, she would hold up the menu and point. Talking to her was an exercise in reading facial contortions. Often, it was like playing charades, and she would give you a smile when you hit it right. Trust me, that smile was worth the trouble of getting one.

As things moved along, there was less for me and CC to do, because the tedious part was done. The rest was for the Cynthia, Justin and Peter to work out. By Thursday night, even that was getting thin. To give you a benchmark, on Sunday, we were scared shitless that we would not be ready on Saturday. So, Thursday night, we were feeling a bit loose. Cynthia came in with CC, and loose took on a whole new meaning.

I said that CC was a submissive. I could tell, but it was not made obvious. That night, Cynthia asked me to give CC pointers on giving head. Heaven knows I was qualified. CC dropped to the floor, in the same pose, including hands behind her back. I opened my pants and let her have Lil J. It was only natural to tell her how to do it as we went along. CC was not skilled, but she was very willing. Once we were done, Cynthia called CC names and told her to assume punishment position. This meant ass in the air and face on the floor, with only the elbows for balance. Even before CC was settled, Cynthia pulled down her workout pants. Naturally, there was nothing under them. Cynthia asked Peter to fuck her in the ass. 

It was hot as hell. We have video.

On Friday, we wrapped up the small remainder. The final result was beyond good. I am no professional, but Justin and Peter are. They were both in awe of the way things turned out, particularly the cover shot of yours truly. Soon, the three of them would go off to meet Mr. Richards, at the printer, and do the official turn over. Before they left, Cynthia came up to me, looking very serious. I have a lot of respect for Cynthia. When she is serious, I am too.

She said, "Jason. We have one small piece of unfinished business. I gave Richard and Paul a signed photo of our session, but not you yet. While we are gone, why don't you and CC pick out some possibilities? I still have creative control, so do not go overboard." Cross Cynthia? Not in this lifetime.

Then she turned straight toward me. "You have my permission to take her back to your room and teach her how things are between a man and a woman. If she is not a virgin, in the normal sex meaning, she is close to it. I want you to show her how it is done. Keep some distance. Talk her through it. Explain as you go." Holy fucking shit. She could not be serious. It got worse.

"I just did a session with her, to the point she asked out." It was worse, much, much worse. Cynthia paused, but I had gotten that. I had been in one of Cynthia's sessions, but all I did was bondage and suspension. CC was much more submissive than me. If she asked out before the finish, it was getting dangerous, as in police reports and hospitals. I nodded understanding. 

Cynthia went on. "She came, I do not know how many times, but not the last time. I want you to coax the last one out of her, using only ordinary means. I know this is a lot to ask, but you have skills. Are you willing to try?" Oh my fucking god.

The worst part was when she said, "you have skills." I respected Cynthia, a lot. That was high praise and she was asking for a favor. I could not say no, but I had never had a virgin, not even in high school. What if I let her down?

Tess: 

Have you ever dreamed of being snatched out of your life into something much grander? That happened to me. One day I was a waitress at a greasy spoon diner. The next day I was working for Richards Enterprises and was introduced to my mistress. The next I was given to her. It was like a dream come true.

I am very quiet. Even I think so. Finding the right word can be so difficult. By the time I was old enough for school, everyone tended to avoid me, even the bullies. I guess it is not fun if you cannot get a reaction. I made decent grades in school, because all the tests are in writing, but most of my teachers treated me as if I were slow. After high school, college was not an option. There was no money and no one thought I was good enough anyway.

It goes without saying that I never had a serious boy friend. What might be harder to believe is that no one tried to make me a one night conquest. Not even Ted hit on me, and he claimed every other girl in the class. The weird part is that I would have let them. By my junior year, all it would have taken was, "Let's go fuck." I would have tried anything the guy, or the girl, wanted to do. Instead I went home and read fantasy stories about women who get enslaved by barbarians, but manage to cope through sex. You have heard of Gor, right?

After high school I had to find work. That was easy sometimes. I look good on paper. Some people only want to read the application and see you nod to what they say. I had trouble keeping a job. Sooner or later the owner, or manager, would get tired of me not saying anything and find a reason to fire me. It was pretty harsh. I drifted down to a job waiting tables at a coffee shop on 7th Street. It was working pretty well, because no one wanted to hear about daily specials.

Then it happened. Two guys came in for lunch. They were talking about erotic photography, the kind with handcuffs. I was getting wet just hearing about it. Then they noticed me listening. A few minutes later one of gave me a card saying Richards' Enterprises and told me to call in the morning. When I did, they told me I had been hired at the diner, so I was already late for work. 

That day I met Mistress Cynthia. She warned me not to call her that, but I still think it. Mistress knew exactly what I was from the first time we met, even if I did not, yet. She told me about Jason, and how she had tied him up for the picture. I was wet before I even met him. Then I saw the video we took the picture from.

You have probably seen the picture by now. It is a simple upper torso portrait of a bound man, staring at something outside of the frame. It is the expression that gets everyone. There is a mixture of pain, fear, longing and lust, all at once, and all folded into a beatific expression of acceptance. The object he was staring at was a riding crop in Mistress Cynthia's hand. Jason and I walked through the entire scene, frame by frame, from all four angles, looking for the perfect shot. Mistress pulled it out in less than a minute. Even Peter, who does this for a living, does not know how she does it. Mistress is very gifted.

For work, Mistress put me with Jason. We worked at the simple, repetitive but tricky part, while she, Peter and Justin worked on the fancy part. It was nice. Jason and I worked well together. After we were done for the day, Mistress sent me to her friend Francine. It was interesting. Francine had me strip naked, then kneel with my hands behind my head, then went away for a very long time. Mistress told me later that Francine had apologized for being gone so long. 

When she finally came back, Francine showed me how to maintain the posture more easily, which I liked a great deal. Then she showed me Second Posture, which is exactly what I needed. I sit on my heels, knees apart, with my hands behind my back holding the elbows. It is very relaxing, yet it gives Mistress easy access to my pussy and my tits. Mistress has gone so far as to bind me in the posture when I am observing her work, though she usually includes a butt plug and dildo or ben wa balls. 

That was how I went, in less than a week, from a lonely girl who had never been kissed, to the happy submissive of my Mistress. In my entire life, the only one that had every made me cum was me. Mistress has found all sorts of ways to make me cum, usually involving whipping my pussy in some way. It is so much more satisfying than spanking it myself, which I had done for so long. Perhaps I should explain spanking pussy, since it does not appear to be well understood. 

My first sexual experience was at age six. I was in the school parking lot, running, when I hit a short metal pole, right between the legs. I must have passed out, because the next thing I remember was being in the nurse's office, with my skirt up and my panties down. Mrs. Voss was prodding the area between my belly and my cunt, not that I knew what it was called. The bruising was very serious, and it must have already been coloring and swelling. Even then, I can remember that some pokes hurt and others hurt, differently.

The next day, my mother took me to see Dr. Carlson. He had my mother hold me while he examined the area. Again, some of his prodding made me squirm because it hurt, and some of his prodding just made me squirm. There was a difference. This time my hands were held. 

This was to become a pattern for the next several days. Every night my mother would hold my arms, while she tested the tenderness of my pelvic area. This is one place where being non-verbal probably helped. Mother would have stopped, if I had said what I was thinking. She might have taken me to a shrink.

In any event, the bruising improved and the probing stopped. Naturally, I started doing it myself. Just probing with fingers was nice. It did not take long to figure out where the sensitive spots were. I can remember wondering why Dr. Carlson and Mother never touched me quite that far down. After a while, I discovered I could get a bit of that mix of pain and pleasure if I hit it with my fingers. Soon I was beating on my pussy lips like a toy drum, literally. I used the sticks from a toy drum. They are sticks about six inches long, with round rubber balls at the end. I still have them.

A while later, I had a discovery. It worked better if there was something in the slot. Fingers soon gave way to other things. I broke my own hymen before I turned eight. It was with the handle of mother's hair brush. The blood scared me, but I was in the bathroom, so I was able to clean it all up. The incident did teach me caution about using anything with even a slight edge. 

The whole thing with having the arms held took a lot longer. Tying your own arms is counterproductive for autoerotica. I did not rediscover that, really, til I met Mistress. She has tied me up and whipped my pussy so much better than I ever did by myself. Now one of my fantasies is being tied to a bed, spread wide, with someone drumming Michael Jackson's Beat It on my special bump. 

Mistress knows me so well. It is funny, I suppose, that I lived 19 years, and never realized I was a submissive with masochistic tenancies. Sean Richards recognized it as soon as he saw me. Mistress not only recognized it, she has been training it. My favorite was the office party. She had me kneel and blow Jason, with everyone watching. Then I was turned over and Peter stuck his big cock in my ass and pounded me out. I must have cum five times. Afterward Mistress told me never to forget that it had been a scene. Scenes are pretend. Life is something else.

Tonight I am supposed to go with Jason and not pretend.

Jason: 

There we were, in a nice hotel room, her naked and me down to my shorts and jeans. I was wondering what to do when I noticed a Walgreen's bag. When in doubt, look for something unusual. With CC's eyes tracking every move, I went and picked up the bag. Inside were exactly the kind of thing you would get for your first real sex: contraceptive sponges, spermicidal gel, sexual lubricant and condoms. The condoms I understood intimately, pardon the pun. Call girls are serious about protection. I was glad to see, thank you Cynthia, that these were in my size. 

It occurred to me that figuring out how to use the other might be fun, but not as a first thing. Contraceptive gel tastes worse than shit, and I know from experience. So, if I was going to eat that lovely bare pussy, we would do that first. In fact, we could do a lot of exploring, first.

I said, "CC, please get a towel, better yet a lot of towels. We are going to explore your erogenous zones." CC's eyes got very wide. Then she jumped up and ran to the bathroom. 

The first thing to decide was where to play doctor. When I thought of it in those terms, the bed seemed inappropriate. My room had a couple of arm chairs, and the rug was thick. I was more than willing to kneel for something like this. I pushed back the coffee table to make room. 

CC returned with an arm full of towels. I doubled up one of the big ones and laid it on the chair cushion, hanging off the front. CC caught my idea immediately, and sat down on the towel, with her legs up over the arms. It was a perfect pussy eating position. In fact, it surprised me that none of the call girls had suggested it. CC seemed to like it very much. I had only been in it for seconds, and there was already a drop of honey oozing from her cunt. 

I said, "CC, has anyone ever licked your cunt before?" I did not expect an answer, but I got one.

"Tess."

That one word was so out of place I stopped short. "You want me to call you 'Tess'?" CC, that is Tess, nodded vigorously. "That means something, doesn't it?" Again, she nodded. I looked a question at her, and she finally answered.

"Truly Scrumptious"

How appropriate. "We shall see." I reached out one finger and picked up her drop of dew. Holding it for her to see, I tasted it with my tongue. Every woman tastes different, and Tess tasted rather fresh. I held the finger out to her, and she took the whole thing in her mouth. Lil J, my cock, jerked in recognition. Tess smirked knowingly. 

I said, "Not bad. We will have to resample in a while, and see if it is different. For now, I will see how much we can get, before we go to the source." Tess' eyes got very wide, as she correctly read my meaning. Her pussy would be the last thing I tried. 

Tess' knees were up, over the chair arms. The angle was awkward, so I stretched one leg out. Tess giggled, but I do not think it was from tickling. We could try that later. Instead, I stroked her calf several times, up to the back of her knee. That brought a different reaction. Then I lightly stroked the back of her knee, which brought a small gasp. That deserved a comment.

"Tess, I know that when your Mistress services you, she prefers silence. That does not apply here. Let me hear you. It tells me that I am doing something right. In most cases, when a girl is with a guy, the guy wants to hear her reactions. Gasps and moans are a good thing, a long as they are real." I could see that this was news to her, but she nodded understanding.

I stroked the back of her knee again, which brought a jerk. I asked, "Do you like that?" as I continued to stroke her lower leg. Tess did not say anything, but she is very good at nonverbal communication. So I pulled her foot to my mouth and sucked on her pinkie toe, then ran my tongue over the webbing between the toes. 

Foot worship is not a big deal for me, but I can hum the tune and dance a few steps. From her reactions, I thought it was a bit more to Tess. To test my theory, I ran my tongue across her arch, then put a touch of tooth on her heel. Tess was still making no noise, but her squirming was speaking loudly. This was worth looking into, but later. I would pass Tess' reactions on to Cynthia. For the moment, I needed to look above the ankle. 

I had Tess stand. When I picked up the towel, I found it was not soaked, but there was sizable damp spot, which smelled hormonal. I took a deep whiff, then passed the towel to Tess, miming for her to do the same. She looked puzzled as she inhaled. 




Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 06a



I said, "That is the smell of female arousal. Since it is very fresh, it is also very light and subtle. It will get funky with time. Train your nose for it, and you will be in on some secrets." Tess' eyes got very wide and she stuck the towel back under her nose. She may be quiet as a snitch in prison, but she is not stupid. 

Standing flat footed in front of me, Tess was too tall to see over, barely. I am about 5'11", so that put her about 5'7". I would have guessed shorter. Tess was the same height as Cynthia, who could seem ten feet tall. The mind plays tricks on us some times. In any event, height does not matter when you are lying down. I sat down in the chair and pulled Tess over, to stand in front of me. 

I reached out and cupped one of her tits. Tess had a nice rack, probably C cup. They were firm, round, only slightly sagging, with a nice ski slope point. The aureoles were pink and somewhat small, but the nipples were the size of pencil erasers, and just as hard. I took one nipple in my mouth and sucked on it. This brought more squirming. I grabbed both her ass cheeks and pulled her as close as she could come. That got me a small gasp, followed by a little kitten mewl. 

If there was ever any doubt, that ended it. Tess liked it rough. I added teeth to the suction on her nipple. Tess squirmed some more. I pinched the other one, and she gasped. It took everything I had, to stop there, but I had made promises. I stood and, in one motion, shoved my pants down to my ankles. Tess stared at my cock, then looked up, and I had to tell her no. Instead, I motioned her to the bed. Tess literally ran.

I grabbed her Walgreen's bag. Inside were contraceptive sponges. Obviously, those went inside, but beyond that, I had no clue. I ripped open the box and pulled out the directions. What the fuck? Tess was looking at me with a blank expression. She was as clueless as I was. Fortunately there were pictures. Guys like pictures: run water on it; knead it til it was all wet; fold it in half; push it all the way in. Groo understand. 

I forced myself not to run to the bathroom. Once there I started water running. Then I tried to open the wrapper, the important word being "tried". I tugged, pulled, twisted, jerked and swore at the bag. It would not open. Finally, I took one corner in my teeth and pulled. That dumped the sponge out into the sink. I invented new swear words, but least it had not landed in the toilet. 

When I made it back to the bed room, I found Tess trying to get the wrapper off one of the condoms. Having been in exactly the same predicament dozens of times, I had to snort a laugh. Tess looked up at me, like a kid caught trying to clean up a mess. Then her eyes went to Lil J. I looked down, and sure enough, my cock was no longer at attention. The expression on Tess' face was tragic. Nothing less describes it. 

I broke up. I fell down on the bed, laughing so hard it hurt. Tess looked at me oddly, then her lips twitched, then giggled. Finally, she started laughing too. We went on a long time. After a while, I reached for her, and she came over, still laughing. She lay down, close but not touching. That made it my move, so I reached out and stroked her tits. After a few moments, Tess reached out to touch my face. Eventually the chuckles died enough to talk.

I said, "I guess we were taking it a bit too seriously. What'cha think?" Tess started laughing again. To distract her, I started to get serious about stroking her tits. "You know that you have outstanding tits, right? I know they are not huge, like Mistress Cynthia's, but even she will tell you that bigger is not always better. Come here."

We shifted a bit closer. I asked, "Has anyone ever paid much attention to your tits, naked I mean? Like this?" I put both hands on her left breast and squeezed it gently, like I was checking the ripeness of a tomato. Tess shivered. I rolled Tess onto her back, so that I could more easily reach them both. With one hand, I held it in place, while I ran the tip of my finger around the outside of her aureole. Just as I hoped, her nipple stood up. 

Now that I had its attention, I gave the nipple a bath, then I blew it dry. Of course, I did not want the other one to feel left out, so I started over on the right side. This could go on for an hour, and I had done that before, but I had a point to make. So, after five minutes of worship, I sat back and looked at Tess squarely. "You have always had them pinched and whipped, haven't you? Sometimes a little tenderness is nice too. Now, let's see what that had done down lower." 

I did not need to look. The aroma of arousal was clear in the air. The question was how best to push her over the edge. I told Tess, "I am going to work further down, though not all the way down yet. While I am doing that, use your hands on your breasts, like I have been doing. Meanwhile I will be doing this." I blew a raspberry on her navel. Tess rewarded me with a startled squeak, then slapped me on the top of my head. Cynthia had said we were supposed to have fun, which reminded me of something. 

I reached down and ran one finger through Tess' cleft. She jerked in response, but that was not the point. I wanted to compare tastes with my sample from earlier. So I held my finger high, then stuck it slowly into my mouth. Tess watched, wide eyed. It was not enough to make a clear decision, so I scooped up another fingerful and offered it to Tess. She took my finger, then smiled at me. I think I detected a trace of knowing smirk in that smile. Even so, fuck this slow foreplay, I am going muff diving.

There are a lot of ways to eat pussy, but my favorite is kneeling by the bed, with her heels on my back. It gives me complete access, and I can use my hands many different ways. When I slipped off the bed, Tess seemed to understand where I was going, because she slid into the perfect position. If she was going to be helpful, I would give her the full course. First a little kissing. 

Tess had shaved her pubic hair, so there was none to play with, but I put my lips on the spot anyway. Slowly, I worked my way down that final inch, to the top of her slit. Then I lowered my nose to bump her clit. It seems weird, but I have had very good luck with this approach. Tess' clit was being very cooperative, so I gave it some lip and applied suction. That really got a reaction. This was another thing I could do for an hour, and had done before. This was not the time. It was not like I needed to get her ready. 

There were so many options at this point. I could roll her clit between two fingers. I could give her the old Triple Jack and One (three fingers and the thumb) fuck. I could turn us both over and eat her bottom up. That was all good, but I wanted to get my own rocks off. So I gave Tess one good lick, she did taste subtly different, and stood to start the main event. 

I said, "This is where it gets real for me. Up to now, it has been foreplay. Now we get to bump little heads. I know you like it rough, but I want you to pay attention to me as we fuck. You ought to be seriously tight, but I want you to clamp down on my dick as I start to withdraw. Are you ready?" I swear, Tess had a tear in her eye. 

It took a couple of pillows to get Tess' pussy into exactly the right place. I positioned myself between her legs and took a deep breath. I gave Tess just the tip of my cock, then pulled it out. Then, I used my hand to start the tip of Lil J at the bottom of her cunt, and pulled it slowly up, between the folds, til Lil J popped up over her clit. Tess whimpered, which was like a screaming fit from most girls. Perfect. I was lined up to do a one thrust, when I spotted something on the bed. Fuck.

Blonde moment. How the hell could I be so stupid. My hand banged my forehead hard enough to hurt. I had wet the contraceptive sponge, but never inserted it. For that matter, Lil J did not have his raincoat. Worse, Tess looked confused and hurt.

Eventually, I wound down. I am not the most imaginative curser, and saying "Fuck" repeatedly gets old after a while. When I managed to gather my wits, I looked pointedly at the sponge. Tess followed my gaze, then her mouth opened into a silent "Oh." Then she looked embarrassed, probably for what she had been thinking. I did not blame her. I would have felt pretty rejected myself. Was there anything else that was going to keep me from measuring her pussy?

I had heard of coitus interuptus, but this was my first experience with the reality. Lil J was sagging to half cocked, and Tess was looking a lot less primed than a minute before. Still, I had to acknowledge an irony. We were naked, willing and in a suitable place, but both of us were frustrated. Back to foreplay.

I reached out and picked the sponge and the box of condoms. Most of my sexual experience came from fucking call girls. That is a situation where a condom is a requirement, or a deal breaker, depending on how you look at it. I had learned that condoms can be sexy as hell, done right. It was time to teach Tess about how to roll on a rubber. 

I must have looked evil, or something, because Tess got wide eyed again. I was learning to read a lot from Tess' eyes. This expression said that she was not sure what was coming next, but she liked her chances. I looked straight into those eyes as I pulled a wrapped condom from the box and tore it open. Lil J had been here before, and he was up and eager again. I held the rubber out and Tess reluctantly took it. 

I said, "This is a condom. They are 90% effective as birth control and also effective preventing STDs. Most guys do not like them, so you need to learn how to make them work for you. Generally the best way is to blow the guy first, to get his load depleted, then suck him again, to get him up. Lil J is already up, so we will go to phase two. First, reach out and take my cock. I am like any other guy; where my dick goes, I will follow. Get me positioned where it is convenient for you to use both hands. Feel free to stroke my balls and my cock in the process. Oh, shit."

Tess hand had taken a hold of my balls. Just the simple touch was enough to make my whole body jerk. Maybe this start and stop routine had some value. I could tell my fuse was really short. I looked at Tess and said, "Maybe..." Before I finished one word, she was on her knees and had Lil J in a lip lock. 

It was not the best blow job I have ever had, but that would be a very tall standard. Even among the professionna providers I had known, Tess would not be embarrassed. Either she had been practicing, or she had looked up some techniques, possibly both. It did not take long: two high suction short passes, then a deep throat while her hand squeezed my balls. Boom.

I poured my first load down her throat, far past her swallow point. That did not stop her from sucking the last drops out was I withdrew. You have to love submissives. I dropped to my knees and gave her a long kiss. Sue me. I'm a bit submissive myself.

Tess: 

I am not used to nice. I shared a one bedroom apartment with four girls. I did not have a bed, and most times the couch was taken when I needed to sleep. Mistress said she would buy me a pet bed to sleep in, which would be an improvement. I was used to sleeping on the floor. Jason's hotel room was way past nice, as far as I was concerned, though he considered it only a bit above average.

I should tell you about Jason. He's only a little older than me, less than a year. He grew up in California and claims to be a surf dude, like you see in movies. He does not look like it, though. He is tall and thin enough, but there is no tan to speak of, and his wavy black hair is always combed. He really looks like an actor from Quo Vadis or Ben Hur. He is not the loudest guy I ever met, but he is always talking. Peter said Jason's talking used to get under his skin, but that it has improved recently, whatever that means. I could work with Jason and we had worked together for days.

Still, when Mistress had told me that I would be spending a night with Jason, it scared the shit out of me. Naturally, this also turned me on. Seeing Jason's room scared me all over again, but not in as good a way. For one thing, the carpet was deep enough to wiggle your toes in. The bed was a king size, which I had never seen before. That left out the arm chairs, the mini refrigerator, the 60" TV and a marble walled bathroom. It did not make me feel better, when the first thing Jason did was to see what was in the Walgreen's bag.

My face was in flame when I gave him the bag, but Jason did not even notice. Instead, he told me to get towels. He had also said something about exploring, but I was not sure what he meant. Getting towels was something that I could do, so I ran to comply. In a way, it got even worse, since there were at least three towels worth in every towel I brought back. The bathroom was huge, and I could see Jason wanting to spend time there—with me. I was blushing as I brought the towels back.

On the side of the room, opposite the bed, was a table and chairs. Jason had pushed one chair away from the table. He folded one of the towels and put it on the chair. Then he asked me, "CC, has anyone ever licked your cunt before?"

I said, "Tess." 

Then, I tried, very hard, to die of embarrassment. I could not believe that I had told him what to do. Jason did not seem to mind. Instead he looked surprised, as he should.

He said, "You want me to call you 'Tess'?" I could only nod, dreading what had to come next. "That means something, doesn't it?" How do I get myself in these positions? I would have to tell him, even though it was my secret name with Mistress Cynthia.

"Truly Scrumptious"

Jason only said, "We shall see." Then he touched my pussy and got a drop of juice. He tasted it, then offered me a taste, which was interesting. So far, the only pussy juice I had tasted had been Miss Martel's. This was different, though I could not tell you how in a lifetime of trying. Jason's dick perked up a notch. I liked that part.

Jason said, "Not bad. We will have to resample in a while, and see if it is different. For now, I will see how much we can get, before we go to the source." Uh oh. That sounds a lot like Miss Martel making me wait for it. I huddled a bit, anticipating something, but not knowing what. 

Instead, Jason said, "Tess, I know that when your Mistress services you, she prefers silence. That does not apply here. Let me hear you. It tells me that I am doing something right. In most cases, when a girl is with a guy, the guy wants to hear her reactions. Gasps and moans are a good thing, a long as they are real." For real? Oh My God. I might have nodded I do not know. 

Whatever I did, I was still in a bit of shock when Jason's hand brushed the back side of my leg, just behind the knee. I jumped a little. This was the first time I had never appreciated how tender that area is. Jason smirked knowingly. It did not stop him from working down my leg to my foot. That was good, but then he started sucking on my toes and licking between them. Holy Shit.

Jason had barely started, when he stopped. He pulled me to my feet, then picked up the towel I had been sitting on. He took a deep breath, which embarrassed me, like almost everything else so far, not that he noticed. Instead, Jason passed me the towel. 

He said, "That is the smell of female arousal. Since it is very fresh, it is also very light and subtle. It will get funky with time. Train your nose for it, and you will be in on some secrets." Oh my God. I had never thought of my embarrassing juice as something everyone had. But, it was true. Miss Martel had it, at least. Jason would know about women generally. Wow.

Jason did not let me think about it. Instead, he started playing with my tits. This was a bit more familiar. In high school, the few guys I had been with had done this, though not with my breasts bare. Jason, naturally, knew breasts well. He soon stroked me to an appreciation of their sensitivity. After his hands came his mouth, which was differently nice. Then he grabbed my ass with both hands. I may have vocalized something. Whatever, I was very ready for Jason to go on to his next trick. It was his teeth. Jason started to nibble on my tits, then gestured toward the bed. I could not go fast enough.

Whatever I expected, it was not Jason grabbing the Walgreen's bag and pulling out the package of sponges. Mistress had bought them for me, because she did not want me pregnant, at least not yet. I hear her call them sponges, but that meant nothing to me. Clearly, Jason knew no more, since he pulled out the instructions. His face was a bit funny, as he tried to make things out, but before I could laugh he dashed off to the bathroom. While he was gone, I picked up the box of condoms, and tried to open one. 

That was how Jason found me, when he returned from the bathroom. I was trying, and failing, to open a condom package. He had, in his hand, what looked like a small round sponge. I was embarrassed, and not in a good way, about being unable to open the condom. Then I looked at Jason's cock and saw that he was no longer excited. I could have died. 

Instead of criticizing me, Jason started to laugh. He laughed so hard that he fell on the bed, holding his stomach. After a while, I had to join him. After all, I was embarrassed to death by not being able to tear foil. I laughed so hard it hurt, and we both laughed a long time. Eventually, we started to quiet, and our hands started reaching and stroking. Jason winked at me and said, "I guess we were taking it a bit too seriously. What'cha think?" That set me off again.

Jason was done with laughing. He wanted to get serious about my breasts. "You know that you have outstanding tits, right? I know they are not huge, like Mistress Cynthia's, but even she will tell you that bigger is not always better. Come here." We both shifted a bit closer. Jason asked, "Has anyone ever paid much attention to your tits, naked I mean? Like this?" Not yet, but I was willing.

Jason took one tit in both his hands and started squeezing it lightly, all over at once. His finger tips brushed the sensitive underside, while his lips came down to suck on the nipple. He gave my whole tit a tongue bath, then blew it dry. Once that was done, he moved to the other. It was hard for me to hold still, and I had not been told to do so, but I had no idea what to do with my hands. Eventually, I put them on his head and ran my fingers through his hair.

This went on for a long time, maybe five minutes. When he stopped, Jason looked squarely at me and said, "You have always had them pinched and whipped, haven't you? Sometimes a little tenderness is nice too. Now, I am going to work further down, though not all the way down yet. While I am doing that, use your hands on your breasts, like I have been doing. Meanwhile I will be doing this."

I expected Jason to move down to my pussy, but instead, he blew a fart sound on my belly button. It was funny and it tickled. I could not help my self; I shrieked a little laughter. Naturally I was embarrassed. We both laughed a bit, then Jason got serious. He stuck a finger in my cunt, which made me jump. Jason pulled the finger out and held it up for me to see, then he stuck the whole finger in his mouth and sucked it off. I remember girls at school doing that so boys would react. Now I understood. Even better, I could do that. Jason stuck the finger in again, to give me the chance. I sucked his finger as hard as I could manage.

It was hard to tell if Jason appreciated my performance. He was moving off the bed, so I could not tell. He got down on the floor, on his knees and between my legs. This could only mean one thing. I held my breath, in anticipation of his tongue on my clit. Naturally, he did something else.




Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 06a



Jason started by kissing my bump. I do not know the proper word, but it is the area that used to have a lot of hair. Jason's dry lips kissed that and slowly worked down to the top of my cleft. There was no tongue, even when he reached my clit. Instead, he did his best vacuum cleaner impression. It was very different from the sensations I usually had had in that area. I was so primed I felt I could scream. Jason must have felt the same.

He said, "This is where it gets real for me. Up to now, it has been foreplay. Now we get to bump little heads. I know you like it rough, but I want you to pay attention to me as we fuck. You ought to be seriously tight, but I want you to clamp down on my dick as I start to withdraw. Are you ready?"I was so ready I may have cried.

It did not happen right away. Jason grabbed two pillows, which he put under my ass. Then he spent a moment getting his own position perfect. I wanted his cock so badly, but something in my mind told me that this was a professional at work. He stuck just the tip of his cock in. When he pulled it out, I was just short of screaming. Then he put the head of his cock at the very bottom of my cunt and pulled it up between the lips. When it hit my clit, I whimpered like a puppy. Jason took his time lining up the next move. I could tell he was going in deep on the first thrust, except that he did not. Instead, Jason slapped his forehead and started saying "Fuck" over and over again.

What had I done wrong? Was I not good enough, for some reason? I was starting to cry, when I saw Jason stare at the bed beside me. There, on the top of the sheet, was the contraceptive sponge. We had never gotten around to using it. Oh God, not again. I tried laughing and crying at the same time. It did not work, but at least Jason looked sympathetic. Jason's cock did not.

Then Jason did something I will love forever. He smiled at me. He picked up the box of condoms and he smiled, as if to say that he knew what to do. Then the smile turned a little wicked, as if he was looking forward to doing it, and I got warm all over.

Jason pulled one condom out of the box and started to lecture. I am sure it would have been informative, but I only caught the part about using his cock and balls to move him around. That I could do. Jason cut off in mid sentence, but I was already going to my knees. Two nights before I had given him a blow job. That was then. This was different. Jason was already very ready, I could use my hands and Mistress had had me studying online. I had no more experience, but at least I knew what I wanted to do. 

I took as much of him into my mouth as I could, and slowly pulled back, while sucking as hard as I could. At the same time, I used one hand to keep Jason from moving, and the other one on his balls. Jason shuddered for me, which gave me an unbelievable sense of power. I caught a deep breath and went for another long pull. This time I ran my thumbnail from his scrotum up the bottom up his shaft. Jason was gasping for air. This one would do it. Trying not to think about it, I took Jason's cock all the way in and on past my throat. My hand had a hold of his scrotal sack and tugged a little while squeezing the balls, just a little. Jason exploded.

The sensation was like nothing I ever felt. Jason's cum poured out below my throat. The esophagus is not sensitive, but some of the warmth came through. My hand kept Jason from pulling back, while I slowly pulled off his cock, making sure I got every drop. My mind was not really on it. I was thinking of the sense of power I felt when I forced a reaction from Jason. 

That was intense. Was this what Mistress felt when she forced me to react? If so, I could see why she was willing to push other people, with nothing for herself. I suddenly understood why Miss Martel had been so ready, at four in the morning. The night before, I had gotten off, but she had not. I liked to be pushed and forced, but so did other people. If I understood Jason correctly, we could do it together. It was as if my whole world had expanded. 

Jason, again, brought me back to the world. He dropped to his knees and kissed me. This made me remember the cum in my mouth. Evidently, Jason did not mind. We held and petted each other for a long time. Then Jason pulled back and showed me the sponge. This time there was no mistaking the evil glint in his eye. One for me, but it was Jason's turn. 

He gestured for me to get back on the bed. In his hand was the little round sponge. This he folded in half, which let me clearly see that there was a string attached, sort of like a handle. That explained how I would get it back out. It is strange what your mind thinks about, when a man is advancing on your naked body. 

Jason was not about to be gentle. The sponge was in his right hand. His left hand thumbed my clit in passing, then spread my inner lips apart. If I thought it was, perhaps, accidental, what Jason did with the sponge was with malice aforethought. He ran the folded edge of the sponge along the top of my clit, then sawed it a couple of times for extra effect. My lower fires had subsided just a bit. Jason's quick byplay threw on the gasoline. 

Then he pushed the sponge through my lips, into my cunt. That was not enough He needed to push it in further, which he did, firmly, with three fingers. Coincidentally, his thumb bumped my clit. I was beginning to notice a theme, in which Jason's thumbs bumped my clit, not that this was a problem. As you might guess, this rough use had me ready for more. Instead, Jason picked up the condom, tore open the wrapper, and handed it to me.

This was awkward. I had never held a guy's penis until this week. Jason's prick was my first and still my only. I had only the vaguest idea of what to do. However, these were his instructions, and I am very good at following instructions. I put one hand on Jason's erection, but my eyes were on the rubber. At first, it seemed like there were two equal sides, but that lasted only a moment. Once I figured that out, I was good to go, or so I thought.

Jason said, "Use both hands to get it started. Then, roll it down slowly, to keep from tearing it. Rubbers are supposed to be tight, so tearing it is a real possibility. Also, leave just a bit at the top, for the spunk. It is possible to blow out the end. No pressure."

No pressure. Right. Following his instructions, I rolled out just a bit, then pulled it back, to make a little gap. Then I unrolled it down his shaft. He was not kidding about it being tight. Once I had it in place, I ran my hands down it a couple times, to smooth it, then I ran my fingernail down the middle of his sack. Jason favored me with a grunt, as I lay bank and spread my legs. 

Maybe, finally, I could lose my virginity. 

Jason: 

Once Tess had sucked my first shot off, we hugged and petted for a while. Tess had surprised me with her initiative, and surprised me again with her technique. It was my turn next and I was looking forward to it. I waved her back to the bed. She remounted the pillows and spread her legs. I flashed back to high school and thought what I would have done to get this back then. The thought came to me that Tess probably would have done it, had we hooked up in high school.

Current events had a small sponge in my hand. I folded it in half, according to the pictures in the box. I just needed to insert it, but having Tess spread out was too much temptation. I folded the sponge with my right hand and goosed her with the left, as if by accident, then spread her open. Tess' clit was a hard point, rising about the rest. I used the sponge two or three times on the point, causing her to jerk. I pushed the sponge inside, then gave it the old three finger push and thumbed her clit at the end of it. Still, Tess did not come. Unreal. 

It was time to back off and let her cool a moment. So, I backed off and picked up the condom, which I had pulled from the box earlier, tore open the wrapper and handed it to Tess. She gave a tiny whimper of frustration, but took the rubber. Like a lot of guys, I do not like elastics, but I loved this part. Having a girl roll the condom on is just plain cool, especially if she plays with Lil J a bit. Tess is all about following instructions and that is what I told her to do. 

For a newbie, Tess did good. She had it right side out and she made a cum reservoir. More importantly, Tess handled Lil J with respect, except for the thumbnail she dragged up the bottom side. I figured that was just getting back for the bumping her clit, accidentally. So, finally, here we were again. The question was how to play it.

With a more experienced girl, I would single stroke her. There is a lot of shock value in a sudden plunge. But, this was a friendly fuck, and I wanted it to be nice. Once again, I parted her lips with my hand, then slipped in Lil J's head and held it there for a second. Tess' breathing got faster, but otherwise she made no sound. Then I slowly pushed Lil J in, to the balls. This took some effort. Tess was literally dripping lubrication, but was also as tight as my fist in the shower. 

Once I was fully in, I said, "Well, young Miss, you are no longer a virgin." Tess' whole body blushed at that. "I want you to grip down with your pussy muscles. Try to drag the rubber right off my cock. If you manage it, you get a prize." Holy flaming shit, Batman. I just thought she was tight.

I pulled almost out. "OK. That was excellent. Now, let up a little as I slide in, and grip down when I pull back. Try to catch my rhythm." It may be obvious to most people, but I have met highly priced call girls that did not grasp the simple concept of rhythm. Tess' took to it like a natural, which I guess she was. 

I started stroking, long and slow. Tess was having trouble keeping her feet on the bed, so I put an ankle on each shoulder. This gave me her thighs to use as leverage, so I started banging harder. As I had asked, Tess was gripping and releasing Lil J with each stroke. I started to pick up the pace. After about four or five more strokes, I felt a spasm run through Tess, and she missed a clench. One orgasm. I thrust especially hard the next time, and she was back in synch. 

I reached down and jerked a pillow out. This dropped Tess' down a bit, so that I was rubbing her clit more often, and sliding Lil J's head along the back side of her vagina. That was very good for me, and it must have been for Tess as well. Two strokes bought me another orgasm. I was getting close, so I focused on getting maximum friction. It was not easy, because Tess was literally dripping lubrication. I went up on my toes and came down hard. Our pelvic bones met with a jar. 

That did it. Tess cried out and her whole body bucked. The massive surge through her pussy shot me off. I was all I could do to stay up on my feet long enough to pull out, then I dropped to my knees and flopped on top of her. Words fail me.

After a while I noticed Tess was running her fingers through my hair. That was nice. I struggled up onto the bed and fell down beside her. Tess smiled shyly at me, radiating happiness like a light house. I kissed her gently and told her she was very special. What a rush. I was limp as canned pasta and the night was still young.

Then I slept.

Interlude: Elle Magazine interview (unedited)

Elle: You say you respect Cynthia. Why is that?

Jason: There is an early 90's gangster movie. The movie sucks, but I always remembered the tag line from the poster. "You only respect what you fear." 

Cynthia is a lovely person, when she steps out of her persona, which is most of the time these days. However, I would never cross her on purpose. When she asked me to show her personal submissive how the other side lived, I was not going to say no, and I sure as hell was going to do my best job. Getting a nice fuck was beside the point. I even did some research, which turned out to be useful.

Chapter 10(b) – Back to School

CC: 

In my readings, I had noticed that teasing and frustration play a big part in kink. That is Mistress' area and she is expert at it. What I did not realize was that it applied to regular sex. We did not plan it, but twice Jason and I had been right on the edge of coupling and had been pulled back. By the time he actually entered me, I was about ready to scream. Then he did enter me.

How can one describe the difference between a piece of rubber covered plastic and a rubber covered man? It should be sufficient to say that there was one. Jason pushed in his full length and held it there while he told me what he wanted. The idea of squeezing was not new to me. It was all over my reading, but I would have not have thought of it, unless he told. In all my imaginings and my few experiences, the thing in my pussy could not feel anything. It was like a light going on in my head.

Suddenly, things made sense. They called gay lovers "Partners". Even het couples use that term sometimes. Sex was something you did together. Mistress' game playing was much more one person doing to the other. I had a sudden tear in my eye, thinking how she had pushed me to make this discovery. I would have been willing to serve her forever, and never known, what? Friendship? 

That was it. Jason was my friend. Just then, my friend pushed deep into me again, forcing his way against my clenched pussy muscles. The feeling was intense. I unclenched and then bore down again. Jason had said I should try to peel the rubber off his dick. That gave me a visual image to work on. We did it again. And again, only this time I lost it in an orgasm, which caused other problems as my feet slipped off the bed.

Jason worked with that. He grabbed my legs and put my ankles on his shoulders. Then he put his hands on my thighs to generate leverage. Another phrase, that had been just words, was "pussy pounder". That was what Jason did to me, not quickly, but hard and all the way down. The slap of his thighs against mine sent extra waves of sensation. Only a few stokes later, I came again. This one was bigger.

Jason went with the flow again. He jerked out a pillow, so I was a bit lower to him. This let him slide his shaft across my clit and rub the back of my space with the tip of his cock. He was breathing hard, so was I for that matter, and I could see that he was concentrating on holding back his climax, while mine built. My climax was going to dwarf the others. 

I put all my attention into following his rhythm. It was hard. I did not have much attention left to spare. It could not go on long, and it did not. Jason broke the rhythm to get up on his toes. Then he dropped down on me from that height. My legs slipped off his shoulders, spreading wide. His dick went all the way in as usual, but this time we also met, bone to bone. 

I saw stars. I think I screamed; someone did. Jason went rigid, then jerked. Everything was electric and shiny and then mellowed into something warm. Jason pulled out, then dropped to his knees and collapsed on top of me. Mistress said it many times, but never before had I understood, my stars and heavens.

The next few moments were a bit fuzzy. I was gasping for breath. Jason looked like he had run a race. Sweat covered both of us. Jason fought his way to his feet, just long enough to collapse beside me. He had an insane grin and I reached out to pull him close. He stroked my hair and told me I was special. It was all very something. 

I lay there, holding Jason, for I do not know how long. I think I must have dozed off, because I became aware of Jason being asleep. The clock on the night stand said 11:00 PM. That really was not late, so I expected Jason would wake up shortly and we could do more things, together. 

That was an odd thing. I had not been "together" with anyone for a very long time. Not since Amy Garcia moved away in second grade. So this was my first time being together with a guy. I was not sure I understood what it meant. One thing was clear. I was going to remember my time with Jason. Did this make us friends? 

I was only beginning to think of what to do next, when Jason started to stir. It was just as well. The moment had passed and this would be an uncomfortable way to sleep. I brushed the hair out of his face, 

and stroked his cheek. He smiled, then rolled over on his back. I was not sure what to expect, but what he said made perfect sense. "Come on. This room has a great shower and we need it right now. Then we can get back to making a report for Mistress Cynthia. 

We half held each other up as we moved into the bathroom. Jason was smart enough to grab a towel on the way past. Once we were under the water, it made me wonder why I had not thought of it. I washed Jason, then he washed me, which was another new experience. Under the circumstances, I think Jason might have tried to make something happen, but we were still logy from our. I particularly liked when Jason shampooed and conditioned my hair. 

This is not to say that nothing went on. I took my time washing Jason's lovely cock. He claims it is only average sized, but it is plenty for me. I also got to shampoo his hair. Jason has the prettiest wavy black hair. After we were out and toweled off, he let me brush it out as he used the blow drier. Then he did the same for me. I could tell he felt recovered when he used the brush on my ass, to tell me he was finished.

What came next was, in some ways, the most fun thing of the night. Jason had me lay on the bed. He pulled out a book, pen and a pad of paper. I swear. He started checking my erogenous zones. We had already established that I could get off on foot worship. 

Breasts: Sensitive, particularly the underside. 

Nipples: Sensitive (need you ask?)

Aureoles: Very sensitive

Back of elbow: sensitive and a bit ticklish

Armpits: (armpits?) Sensitive

Wrists: Very sensitive

Navel: Somewhat insensitive

Back of knee: Sensitive

Inner thigh: Sensitive (we almost stopped there. Jason liked stroking my thighs)

.

.

.

Lips: Sensitive

Ears: Not particularly sensitive

Nape of neck: Highly sensitive

Scalp: Sensitive (this might explain my reaction to the shampoo)

.

.

.

The basic checklist took over an hour. By the time it was finished I was ready to climb on Jason and do a couple of positions I had seen online. He told me I was just getting me primed for the main event: probing the anus and looking for my G spot. He had an idea about where to find that one.

Jason confided that he particularly like his back side, buttocks, shoulders and the nape of the neck. With a couple of passes, I was in complete agreement. I promised him a tongue bath later. He accepted, and claimed he would hold me to it if he had to take a rain check. Ears are supposed to be a big one, but they did not do much for me. The one that surprised us both was my wrists. It took only a couple of licks, a blow and fingertips dragged down my forearm, to have my heart pounding. Jason's lessons on kissing were pure artistry. He promised to take me out, so we could do it in a theater. For some reason that made me blush all over. Then we studied my pussy and my ass. 

This was both very clinical and very sexy at the same time. We started with my backside. Jason stacked all the pillows under me, to push my butt in the air. Then he ran his hands over my glutes. I smiled a bit at the incongruity. I learned the name of the ass muscles from Mistress, at the gym, doing a workout with Martha. Now I was thinking about Mistress doing something mundane, in a setting very like her studio, in some ways. Jason commented that he would love to trade ass massages, when we had the time. 

For the moment, we had other things to do. Jason rolled a rubber over two of his fingers, then applied a dab of KY. Mistress had used a couple of numbered spreaders in my ass, so I had an idea of what was coming. That did not count on Jason. Instead of pushing his fingers into my pucker, he licked it. That was a new sensation. Then he ran his tongue around the rim several times. I was all goose flesh and shivering. 




Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 06a



Then came the KY. Jason put a cold dab right in the middle of the star. I could not help jerking. Mistress would have been very unhappy. The thought of a good lashing made me feel warm, in a conflicted sort of way. Jason just pressed gently til he penetrated my anus, while I tried to relax it. Once he was in, I pushed against the invasion. I had only served Mistress a couple of days, but I knew that much.

Like much of this whole process, Jason left me wanting more. His condom covered fingers caressed the wall of my colon. I did not get much from that, except one spot, which was very nice. When he pulled his fingers back and circled my open rim, that was a different story. I was just beginning to get off, when he stepped back and wrote down his notes. Next up was the search for my G spot. I was already dripping in anticipation.

The exploration of my pussy was just as orderly and clinical as the rest. Jason changed condoms, used more KY. Then, he had me lie back and hold my knees as closet my body as possible. This let him get a finger as deep as he could reach. Holy shit. He called it the A zone, clear in the back by the cervix. Now I understood Mistress' love affair with her foot long dildo. 

Then Jason moved his fingers forward and scratched at the roof of my pussy. Holy shit, again. That was my G spot, and Jason said it was big and smooth, which meant I was really turned on. I could have told him that. Jason used the thumb of his other hand to press on my anus, while still scratching at the G spot, then gave my clit a flutter with his tongue, back and forth very fast. 

I lost it. I screamed so hard I was hoarse afterward. I must have lost consciousness for a moment, because Jason was suddenly over at the closet, pulling toys out of a gym bag. He said that he had noticed something earlier, and wanted to try an experiment. 

Should I be worried? I hoped so.

Jason: 

When Cynthia asked me to show Tess the ropes, I did some looking around. You would be surprised what is available. In an ordinary bookstore I found a book with a checklist of erogenous zones. I figured that I could justify myself if I covered most of the things in the book. Plus, some of the places were new to me. For example, who thinks of wrists as a key erotic point? None of the call girls that trained me did. Yet, a little lick and nibble sent Tess right off.

I had to constantly remind myself to stop getting Tess worked up and get on with the list. It was not easy. Tess is a sexy girl, with all of the usual sensitivities. Like I had with her feet earlier, I had to move on before I, we, were really involved. It was a great way of building tension though.

A number of the erogenous zones are on the back. My favorites are at the top and bottom of the spine. Tess was a girl after my own heart. I told her that we needed to trade ass massages. Tess was perfectly willing, but, again, there was no time.

Given all the distractions, I did well to finish the checklist in an hour. I do not know how it was for Tess, but it was an experience I would not forget. It was stimulating, frustrating and oddly comforting. Then we moved on the main points.

Working closely with Justin, who is openly gay, I have learned a great deal about anal sex. I can find a prostate in just about any conditions. Women do not have prostates, as such, but there is supposed to be a sensitive area in the same place. Sure enough, Tess gave me a deep reaction only in one place. Her rim was another story, as it usually is. I was beginning to get a wicked idea.

Moving to the front, I changed gloves, and mapped out the vagina. Probing close to Tess cervix was entertaining, but not surprising. She reacted quite well to having her A zone stroked. I would have tried for penetration of the cervix, but she was still using the sponge. I may be many things, but stupid is hopefully not one of them. I needed to get this on the list. Giving a half-assed report to Cynthia struck me as really, really dumb. Still it could wait a bit, because Tess was really wired.

Just how wired became evident when I looked for the G spot. It can be very small and hard to find. Not then with Tess. Her G spot was a noticeable bump, nicely smooth. When I say noticeable, I could feel it, but Tess practically jerked sway. This was too good to pass up. I thumbed her asshole while stroking the G spotthen trilled her clit. Boom goes the dynamite.

I have had louder reactions, but not often, and those girls were screamers to start with. Tess is quiet as a mouse at a cat show. I was intensely flattered. I would have felt better, but I had an itch too, and it had not been scratched yet. Tess also passed out, which gave me a minute to collect my thoughts.

Stimulation and frustration seemed to be the theme for the evening, often as much for Tess as for me. Still, nothing lasts forever. We had reached the end of my list, but I wanted to try a couple of other things. This led me to my wicked idea. The best part is that I thought Tess would agree, even if I told her what I intended. 

So I went and grabbed Big Johnson, one of those clear pick double dildos. When I turned back around, Tess was alert. She was also drumming her fingers on her pelvic ridge. It was one more thing to add to the notes. Then I told Tess my evil scheme, knowing she could not refuse. 

"Tess, that is the end of my list. However, I noticed a couple of things that suggest a possible combination you would like." I held up the dildo. "This is what it looks like. It is designed to be, um, very filling, if you know what I mean. I want to fill your ass while I probe your front. Are you game?" At that point I held up two fingers. 

Tess blushed when she saw the dildo, and kept getting redder as I went along. That did not stop her from agreeing. Oddly, considering my usual nature, I was completely serious about this one. I have heard, from several girls, that doing two guys at once makes both the front and back feel different. Tess had a sensitive spot in her colon and the bottom of her vagina, opposite her G spot, was also sensitive. That spot and the one in her colon were separated by only a thin wall of tissue. I wanted to stretch that tissue and see what her reaction was. 

Tess: 

Jason's idea made sense, which was a bit weird, because I did not expect it to. I would have done whatever he wanted, but I was interested in how this turned out, too. It was not going to be easy. The double dildo was easily as large as my wrist, and we needed it in my back side. I turned over and Jason worked my ass patiently. In less time than I thought possible, he was sliding that massive thing into my chute. Once he had it started, he kept twisting it back and forth as he worked it further in. That actually took longer than getting me open enough to accept it

Jason had not been kidding. I felt incredibly full. From the amount sticking out, Jason had managed to get at least a foot of it inside. All the twistings of the dildo had added another new experience to my list. As he had all along, Jason made dutiful notes on his pad. In spite of my huge orgasm, I was getting hot again.

While Jason was making notes, I had rolled over. Then, as I had done most of my life, my fingers started tapping on my bump. That felt really good too, though not different than usual. I looked up to see Jason staring at my hands. I blushed. After being naked with him for hours, that was embarrassing. I must be from another planet, like Miss Martel says.

I did not have time to worry about it, because Jason used yet another condom on his fingers, and was reaching for my cunt. This time, the palm was down instead of up. From the moment he touched my lips, it was different. When his fingers started sliding over the inside of my pussy, I knew why Jason had wanted to try this. I felt tight as a drum and his fingers made me vibrate. It made me want to melt. 

I pulled Jason close and said, "Fuck me. Slow."

Jason: 

Tess' reaction to the dildo was interesting, but not as interesting as her reaction to having it fed into her ass. As I expected, she was fairly relaxed, so getting Big Johnson started was not difficult. The problem was keeping him moving. Cunts are self lubricating, but asses are not. Rather than use massive amounts of Anal Eze, I took it slow, twisting Big Johnson back and forth, with constant inward pressure. Eventually I managed about ten inches to a foot. Tess seemed to enjoy the process, no doubt getting a lot of sensation from the twisting. It was also hot as hell to watch.

Once I had Big Johson in as far as I was willing to push, I rolled Tess over and gloved my fingers with another condom. I could tell right away that the experiment was a success. Tess twitched and quivered quite nicely when I ran my fingers up the bottom side of her cavity. Then something shocking happened. For the first time all evening, in fact the first time all week, Tess spoke without being asked. She asked me for a slow fuck

What could I say? In a way, it felt unfair, because she had had her itch scratched, quite spectacularly, while I was still frustrated. On the other hand, Mistress Cynthia would not take refusal kindly. The real clincher was the challenge. I do not know about what guys are like where you are from. In my part of southern California, the slow fuck is the standard of skill. I asked whether you were good enough to bring a girl, without pounding her. So, I reached for the condom box.

I have mentioned, several times, that call girls like variety from what their clients ask to do. One of the things call girls ask for is sex sitting up, rather than laying down. I have had sex on dining table chairs, secretary chairs, boxes in storage rooms, even a stack of Samsonite luggage (I made a mental note to introduce Wilma and Tess). For slow, comfortable sex nothing beats a skewered lap dance. It was time to make coffee. 

Tess, as I had taught her, wanted to put the condom on herself. I was good with that. She threw in a twist, by sucking my balls, both at once. She did give Lil J a quick kiss, to lubricate the rubber. Once she had smoothed it on, I held out my hand. She looked puzzled when I pulled her to her feet, but that was cool. I took her to the desk, pulled out and reversed the chair and sat down. Tess' face showed understanding. She climbed on with no hesitation. Then came the lecture.

"Tess, you have chosen the ultimate position of control." Her eyes widened at that. Control is why so many call girls like the position. "The chair is against the desk, and will not move back. Cross your legs behind me and put your arms around my back. Good. Pull yourself forward with your legs. Excellent. 

"Now, you have control. Everything, from here on, is at your pace, your discretion, your choice. If you want, you can hold me close and milk Lil J with your cunt muscles. They are plenty strong enough." As I hoped, she tried her cunt muscles then. Wowser. Lil J jumped to attention at her request. "You can push back and slide forward." Again she tried. Again, it was a good thing, but not what I was looking for. I wanted coffee, which meant we needed to grind.

"The other thing you can try is called "grinding." It involves rolling your pelvis forward and then rolling it back" Tess did not understand, but she kept trying things. Eventually, she hit the right combination, and I gasped. "Exactly that. Can you do it again?" Tess could not do it again on the first try, but she found it faster this time. "That was it again. Keep trying." 

This time Tess knew what she had done, but she had not undone it. It took her a moment, but she drifted back far enough to try again. "Good. Now stop. Notice where you are positioned, then do the same thing backwards." This took longer. Eventually, Tess noticed she had undone her first move and did it again. Then she settled back and rolled again. "That's not quite it, but you are getting close. Do it again, aaahhhh, now undo it. Not quite. Do it. Now undo it. That was it. Now, aaahhh, keep it up. You set the pace, I am going to..."

Lil J popped his cork and I heaved up into her. Tess followed my orgasm with one of her own. We held each other close for a moment, then Tess bounced up and down as if to say "I did it", though she never said a word. The bouncing woke Lil J up. My orgasm had been nice, but not Earth shaking. The upside was, it looked like I was good for a double dip. Given the amount of foreplay, I should not have been surprised.

I calmed Tess down and we untangled. This was purely for clean up, because Lil J was already interested. I peeled of the old rubber and grabbed towel. I had intended to just wipe down and suit up, but Tess held out her hand. She wanted to wipe Lil J, so I handed the towel to her.

As hand jobs go, it was not much. However, it was a technique to remember, since Lil J was still very sensitive and the towel is rough. By the time Tess finished wiping him down, with a quick check of my balls, Lil J was up again. Tess gave him a nice wet kiss, and rolled on another raincoat. This time I grabbed a pillow to sit on.

As we were repositioning I said, "That was good, for starters. Now we can work on contractions. Start grinding again, only this time, pay attention to when you clench my cock and when you release. You can also change the pace, to draw things out." 

Oops. I may have created a monster, right then. I could see the light go on in Tess' eyes, then a wicked look crossed her face. Oh shit. This was going to be a long ride. 

Tess: 

Getting fitted with that monster dildo was an experience. Once it was in, just moving around caused all sorts of sensations. When I told Jason I wanted as slow fuck, he looked conflicted. I could understand that. I had just gotten off, but he had not. Still, Jason was willing. He pulled me to my feet, though I had no idea why. When he pulled out a chair and sat down on the front edge, I understood. After a little positioning, we were settled. I was in Jason's lap with my arms and legs around him. It was very cozy.

I could see why this was good for a slow fuck. First, it was hard for either of us to move, particularly Jason. There was no way he could thrust. Second, it was comfortable. We could just sit, with me impaled, and neck if we wanted. Somewhere along the way, Jason mentioned that you could do this on the floor, but he would have to sit lotus style and his legs were not up for a long fuck. I put on my list of things to try. By then, Jason was ready to give his lecture.

I will not repeat it here, but I did my best to memorize it. This is a good thing. I have had many occasions to be grateful for the education. It came as a shock to find out, months later, that Mistress did not practice Jason's technique. Every time Jason and I met, for years after, we would try variations, even when I was very gravid. 

The technique is very simple, though it was not obvious to me. I moved around, and eventually hit on one phase of it. As soon as I did, Jason brought it to my attention. After much more trial and error, I had the first half down. The second half did not take nearly as long, though we were interrupted by Jason having an orgasm. Fortunately, it was a small one. 

I was so excited, I jumped up and down. This is not easy, when your legs are crossed behind another person's back. I managed, and managed to restart Jason's erection. At the time, it did not surprise me, since I was getting used to my own multiple orgasms. Now, I understand how unusual such things are for men. 

In any event, Jason shot a wad, so we needed to change condoms. I had a vision of doing this bare. We could stay, linked up, and neck for a while, while Jason recovered. As I said, it was very cozy, and for once, I looked down on a tall guy. But, back to Jason. 

When he shot off, Jason maintained a bit of an erection. My jumping had put some starch in what had been sagging. As I felt Jason's cock swell inside me, I felt a surge of power. I had not understood when Jason had talked about control. After the first orgasm, it made perfect sense. I decided to see how long I could make Jason go. Of course we could not, so we undid the snarl. 

Jason walked over to the trash and peeled off the condom. Then he picked up a towel, but I wanted to do that. I held out my hand and Jason took the hint. It was very different from the other times I held his cock. The texture of the towel clearly stimulated him. That was another thing for my growing file of things to explore further. 

With both of us now practiced, resuming the position did not take long. This time, Jason added a pillow, which made sense. I climbed on and settled in. It was amazing how quickly I had gotten used to having that huge dildo sticking a foot out of my ass, but bumping the chair a few times reminded me it was there. I was ready to go quickly, but I did not really want to. I wanted to build for a big climax, which suggested something. Since I had control, I could play a game with Jason.

The game was simple. If Jason loses interest, I lose and I need to apologize, probably with a blow job. If he came quickly, I lost again, but no apology needed. If I could keep him up, but not climaxed, we both won, provided he eventually finished. I set my target on five minutes. There was a clock by the bed, which I could see in the mirror. 

Who knew sex was a competitive sport?

Jason: 

It did not take a rocket scientist to figure out what Tess had in mind. As I said, she was in control and she clearly wanted to stretch out the process. Good enough. Under the circumstances, we were both ready for a long haul. My goal was to make her come first, but not too soon. 

I had an advantage. I could see the bedside clock, but Tess had her back to it. I decided to let Tess have her way for a while, maybe four or five minutes, then I would do my best to bring her off. This, of course, was easier said than done. Big Johnson had made Tess' cunt the tightest I had ever been in. That was before Tess' pussy started milking me. Also, grinding is not difficult and Tess was mastering it quickly.

Tess may have anticipated me, or she could have come to the same place by a different route, or something else. For whatever reason, things started slowly. One minute went by easily. We were getting settled in. Tess was still trying to find a rhythm. I told her to consider timing her grinds with pussy clenches, to milk Lil J. 

Minute two was spent on Tess trying to synchronize her pelvis and her pussy. At about a minute and 45 seconds, she hit one just right, which dragged a grunt out of me. First blood to the challenger. I may have said that out loud, because Tess smiled. It was a nice smile, but there was just a touch of in-your-face mixed in there. This was getting serious.

Minute three made me reconsider the serious part. Tess had seemed to be getting the rhythm down, when she stopped grinding. Instead, she concentrated on milking Lil J. This was nice, but I could do it for quite a while. We were almost to the start of minute four before it occurred to me that Tess might be going slow on purpose. Milking the clock, so to speak.

Almost spot on the top of minute four, Tess changed tactics again. This time, Tess dropped the milking and went with just grinding. There was not any doubt, now, that she was taking it slowly on purpose. Tess may be submissive, but she has a top-from-the-bottom streak.

Her change was so close to the minute that I wondered if I were speaking aloud. I have always talked to myself, and sometimes people have picked up on things I did not intend to say aloud. I would have to watch that. Then I found out I was wrong.

Almost exactly at four minutes, Tess started kissing me. She did not play around. This was some serious tongue diving, mixed with lips sucking and an occasional nibble. I have gotten girls to come doing nothing else. Two could play at that. My arms had been around Tess, but they were available to go elsewhere. I dropped them to her ass and gave a big squeeze. That got me a reaction, though Tess made no sound. More important it got me a moment to gather my defenses.




Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 06a



I knew, since I was paying attention, that I had said nothing. She had to have some other means of keeping time. It did not take long to figure out it was the same clock, seen in a mirror. Tess is also quiet, but she is not stupid. To put a cherry on it, her plan was working. The long grinding, inside a very tight cunt, was wearing down my defenses. When she added kissing to the mix, there was another sensual input pushing me. I had to do something.

I tried thinking about other things. Baseball did not work, because I immediately thought of girls in the stands. I thought of overhauling an engine, but getting your hands greasy is pretty sensual too, not that most girls understand. I settled on math. Mrs. Snodgrass used to make everyone stand at the blackboard and recite multiplication tables. I needed to give Tess good French kisses, knead her ass while manipulating the dildo sticking out of her ass and mentally reciting the products of seven? It was not easy, but I can multitask.

So could Tess. I missed the timing when she went all out, but I would bet money it was dead on five minutes. She had been grinding for two full minutes, while adding other elements. Suddenly she was grinding, milking, kissing and running her hands through my hair. I held it together through eight times nine, when Tess bounced. 

That did it. Lil J did his best to blow cum through Tess and the ceiling, not just the rubber. Tess screamed, again. My money said that was her quota for the whole year. We both sagged. I had to slide my hands up, to keep Tess from falling backward. This gave me a chance to lick the sweat off her neck and breasts. When I pulled her up, Tess put her mouth next to my ear. 

She whispered, "Does this make us friends with benefits?"

Tess: 

It did not take long to figure out that either Jason had planned the same thing, or that he was on to me. It did not really matter, because the race was on, so to speak. The first thing I had to do was get comfortable. That was all right. I had time to get well settled in.

Once I was comfortably seated, I worked on getting the rhythm going. Jason suggested clenching my pussy in time with the grind. That was not as easy as it sounded, and it did not sound very easy. I worked on that for a full minute, but I was getting worried about ending things to soon. So I just focused on squeezing him with my pussy for a while. I almost lost it when he made a crack about "milking the clock", since I was definitely trying to milk the cock. 

That was good, but tiring. At three minutes I switched from milking to grinding. I think Jason noticed the timing, because he stopped talking. I talk inside my head, though I rarely do it aloud. Some people, such as Mr. Richards, will think aloud, but under their breath. Jason thinks out loud. It can be very entertaining to listen to, since he is sarcastic as hell. Having Jason get quiet meant that he thought he had said something unintentionally. 

That was OK. Winning, when the other side is not trying, is pretty sad. If I beat Jason, while he was paying attention, it would mean something. So, I kept grinding, then added kissing at minute four. That was difficult. Grinding was brand new to me, and I was not much more experienced with deep kissing. On the other hand, I had a minute to work on doing both, before I tried three things at once. 

Jason countered by grabbing my ass, which made me miss a beat. Then he bumped the big dildo, which made me miss another one. For the first time I though Jason might be able to win, even with me in control. That made me focus harder on what I was doing, and not on the sensations running everywhere.

Minute five came, which meant first one to come was a rotten lay, or something like that. Jason had his hands on my ass and the dildo, so I put mine in his hair. I made my kissing even more aggressive, if that is possible, and I added the milk to the grind. Jason started reciting times tables, while he worked the dildo and attacked back with his mouth. It could not go on long, and it did not. 

Just before I was going to come, I jerked in with my legs. I could only do it once, but it had the desired effect. I was coming, but Jason was coming with me. Evidently, Mrs. Snodgrass would be very disappointed, whoever she was. 

I must have been woozie, because I noticed Jason was holding me up, taking the opportunity to lick my neck and breasts. It was sweet and I was salty, if you know what I mean. When he pulled me up, I leaned close and asked, "Does this make us friends with benefits?" Jason thought that was hilarious. When he stopped laughing, he said, "You can make me a latte from scratch any time." That confused me for a while, then I realized he meant grinding and milking. Jason's humor is a bit strange.

Once more we dragged ourselves to the shower. This time we just took turns standing in the hot spray. Jason had me bend over, so he could pull out the big dildo. I washed it off, but left it on the shower floor. Then we went to the bedroom and toweled each other off. I do not even remember climbing into bed. I woke up at 3:00 AM and needed a run to the bathroom. When I came out, Jason was awake. He had me put on another condom. He showed me how to make love while spooning. That was also very sweet. I fell asleep with Jason still inside me.

In the morning, Jason woke me up about 7:30. We got dressed and went to Waffle House. I looked at the big sign and wondered if it was the same one I could see from Mistress' studio. Jason ate a big breakfast, while I had a boiled egg and oatmeal. All through the meal, Jason talked about last night and what we had done. 

Jason's critique would have been embarrassing enough, but a 13 or 14 year old boy was listening the whole time. I had an absolutely wicked idea. I gave the boy a wink as we left. His mother asked him why he was so flushed and wondered if he was sick

When we returned to Jason's room, he asked me what I wanted to do. I had nowhere to be, so I dropped to my knees and reached for his belt. For the next hour we traded oral sex. Jason gave me points on fellatio, which were necessary by the third time. 

Jason ate me to my first orgasm of the day, then chanced on my secret. Jason did everything with explanatory dialog, so I could do them for Mistress and Miss Martel. It showed his skill level, when he could give explanations while giving good oral sex. 

In this case, Jason was trying some hand and tongue techniques. He needed to change his position and lost his balance. Without warning, Jason's forehead banged into my bump. He was getting very apologetic, until he saw my face. Then he got almost serious. 

For the next half hour, Jason played mad scientist. He started by thumping my bump with his middle finger, lightly at first, with increasing force. Eventually, he was pounding on it like a piano. I lost track of the times I had come by then. Not satisfied, he went to the shower and brought back the big dildo. With no warm up, he shoved it all the way in. I saw stars when it hit my cervix. Then he rapped my bump with a knuckle and fireworks went off.

I wondered what he would say to Mistress. 

Jason: 

Tess is a wonder, and funny as hell. I wish she would share more of her thoughts. When she asked me if we were friends with benefits, I told her she could make me latte anytime. With 90% of the planet, I would have to explain that one, but Tess seemed to figure it out. 

By that time, it was pushing midnight, and we had both rung the bell at least four times. We moved to the shower, but it was just for clean up and removing Big Johnson. We towled off and went to sleep in each other's arms. Tess woke up a few hours later, needing to pee. While she was gone, I stroked Lil J up and was able to show her the Tricky Spoon. It was nice, but she went to sleep on me, and I soon followed. 

Morning came and it was my turn for the john. Then I took her to the Waffle House for breakfast. Sean had set us up with an account, so I ordered a big meal. Tess ate lightly, but seemed to be embarrassed about something. Since we were talking about things we had done together, I could not figure out what it was. Then, as we left, I caught her winking at a barely teenaged boy, which clued me in. What made it really funny was the kid's mother, who thought he was getting sick.

Back at the room, Tess wanted to continue her education in oral sex, which I was happy to oblige. Her blow jobs were already well above average, and she would be very, very good with some practice. In exchange, I taught her more about cunnilingus, eating pussy. I was well into my third round, when something happened. I banged my forehead into her pelvic bone. 

Of course, I immediately started apologizing. Then I saw her face. Tess was having a mixed reaction. It did not take long to figure out what she reacted to. Her forward pelvic area, technically the pubic symphesis, was unusual. If I thumped on it with my fingers, Tess reacted with the classic mix of pain and pleasure. The harder the percussion, the stronger her reaction, and I could tell this was not news to Tess. 

To push things to the max, I went to the shower and got Big Johnson. Tess was already lubed, so I just shoved him in as far as she went. That brought another big reaction, so I thumped the pubis with my knuckle. That took Tess over the top, way over. 

It was too easy. I could see where her masochistic side came in. She had trained herself to cum from a bruising activity. In that moment, I knew that I could own Tess as a sex slave, just because of this one idiosyncrasy. I looked into her eyes. Tess knew that I knew. For once I did not say anything, I just nodded. 

Tess relaxed so much a tear formed. I held her close and told her she was special. She clung to me like a life preserver. Then I pulled back and looked at her. Tess did her mind reading act again. She sighed and nodded. I had to tell Cynthia, and she acknowledged that it was not my decision. I hugged her even tighter.

Perhaps it was good that our time was almost up. After that, we took our last shower together, toweled each other off, and hugged some more. Then we dressed for the outside world. We had barely finished when a car honked. Cynthia was here. 

Tess: 

I was so afraid when Jason discovered my bump. It got worse and worse as he tested the limits, only to find none. Having Jason fill me with the big dildo, then thump the bump hard, might have triggered the biggest orgasm of an incredible visit. It scared the shit out of me. Knowing my weakness gave Jason power over me and I could tell he knew it. Then he nodded understanding and the world started turning again.

Not long later, after a shower and much hugging, Mistress pulled up and honked. I had brought nothing but the Walgreen's bag, so I took it as a memento. Jason and I went out to meet Mistress. She looked at my face carefully, then looked to Jason. Jason handed her the book and all his notes. That was not good enough, as I knew it would not be. 

Mistress said only one word, "Give." Jason, bless him, shook his head. "Later. This deserves some discussion." Mistress looked intrigued, but she nodded and put the car in gear. We were going to Petsmart to buy me a collar and name tag. That had sounded much better two days before.

Before I closed the door, Jason leaned in and whispered to me. He said the big dildo was mine, but he would give it to me later, when I could do both ends at once. My face was on fire, but Mistress just smiled and put the car in gear. As we drove off, I could see Jason mime a keyboard and say, "Email me."

What would I say?



K&T, LLC Ch. 01



Author's Note: After some consideration, I will am retitling this story. It is still part of the Sean and Sheila saga, but a new volume. Volume one ended with their first night together. As before, sex is secondary, so look elsewhere if you want a stroke Story. Try Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 06A, which will also make the first chapter easier to follow.

There is little sex in these chapters. Sorry.

Chapter 1 -- Changes

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

"Everyone knows about the wedding. Some of it is Justin's incredible photography. The shot of the houseboat against the moonlight won major awards. Odd that he gave Mom a lot of the credit. His candid shots of the bridesmaids are hysterical. Justin somehow managed a shot of my Aunt Jo hanging Aunt Fran out of a window. That room is on the third floor and the whole level was ladies only. Aunt Jo would call it the mare moiety. They did get the makeup fixed in time for the ceremony.

"Mom looked incredible. She made the cover of a bridal magazine, which embarrasses her no end. The whole, now famous, Victorian motif was hers, though Dad claims the equally famous dress. Somehow, they managed to set it up in one week, yet made it the event of the season. The week must have been frantic, though no one ever talks about it.

Sheila:

I was learning to love waking up after an evening with Sean. I was invariably sore, well rested and contented. That did not mean that something significant had not happened. Getting engaged rated as significant in my book. Looking over at Sean, I decided that my Teddy Bear would rank as significant just about every morning.

Things were going to be different, and soon. Once I started the thought, the train ran away with me. I had an apartment to consider, complete with a newly acquired submissive. I had a business to run, and G_d only knew what changes would take place there. Sean might want a honeymoon, which meant that I needed a fill in, and CC was not ready yet. The catalog had been put to bed, but there were wrap up details that still needed tidying. There were some unsettling rumors concerning my building, which deserved a long look. At least the wedding planning should be easy. How complicated could a small backyard wedding get, especially on our schedule?

First things first. I slipped out of bed and grabbed my phone on the way to the bathroom. As expected, Francine had sent me a dozen messages, getting progressively more profane. Knowing her habits, there was no way she was up. It would serve her right.

Phone: If this is Schwartzkopf, you are a shit, the lowest form of life and I am insanely jealous. I hope you had a good fuck. Meet me at the old diner at 9:00. Everyone else, screw yourself, I'm busy.

OK. Score that one for Francine. It was already 8:15 AM, so I needed to hurry. Running back into the bedroom, still naked, I looked for the inevitable intercom. It was on the wall, next to the door. I pressed a button and said, "Who is driving today?" I took a moment, then a familiar voice responded.

This is Gerald. What can I do for you Miss Schwartz?

"Gerald, this ought to be below your pay grade."

You have a point ma'am, but this is an unusual situation.

Wow. I felt like Rene Russo, in The Thomas Crown Affair, when Pierce Brosnan said he never brought anyone to his cabin. Unless I missed my guess, Gerald was Sean's head of security. That meant a lot of things, which I would have to sort out later. For the moment, I needed to get a ride.

"Well, I think I can make it a bit more unusual. But first, would you have someone get a car ready. I need to meet someone in town, at 9:00, and I have no clothes to change into. Unless Sean keeps a closet full of woman's clothes, for his guests ... did I hear you snort?"

Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am. I will have a car ready in ten minutes. Is there anything else?

"Gerald, do you remember when I said I was glad you were the center of information flow?"

Uh, ma'am, that sounds very ominous.

"Gerald, you barely know me, yet you know me well. Here is the short version, which you may unpack at leisure. Sean and I became engaged last night. The wedding is a week from today, here on the grounds, with a reception to follow. I would love to chat, but I have a meeting, and you have calls to make. Fortunately, most people are up by now. Now, aren't you glad you got this message in person, so to speak?"

Sean:

Waking is not usually difficult. There is a radio across the room, which plays annoying financial information til I shut it up. When Sheila came home with me, I had managed to switch the alarm off, so I had had more than two extra hours of sleep. Somehow the clock read 9:12 and I was still half asleep.

I stumbled to the house com. Pressing the button I said, "Who is on this weekend." Then there was a noticeable delay. Gerald would be chewing someone out over that.

Good morning. This is Gerald. What can I do for you. Gerald?

"Gerald, what the hell are you doing, at the com, on a Saturday morning? This is way below your pay grade." My God, Gerald laughed.

Sorry, Sir. It is just that Miss Schwartz used those exact words an hour ago. It has been a busy hour. Oh my hairy balls.

"I take it Sheila informed you of her new status."

Yes, Sir, in passing. The big news was the where and when of the nuptials." Oh shit. "If I may say, Sir, Miss Schwartz has an uncanny ability to do a thirty minute brief, in fifteen seconds. Are you sure that this is where you want to go, Sir? God I loved this woman.

"Gerald, if that was entire briefing, she left out the part about wanting a room remodeled. Hopefully, we will need it in nine months. How is that for compact information?"

I stand corrected, Sir.

"I assume you assigned Miss Schwartz a car and driver today. Did she take it?"

Yes, Sir, and no, Sir. She asked for a ride to her apartment. She was observed to make a quick change and drive off in her personal vehicle. She was not accompanied by Miss Collins. She indicated an 0900 meeting.

"I cannot say I am surprised by any of that. Send her a text message, requesting a conference. She is to have have family grade access, both here at the house and in the garage, starting immediately. Her shadow, Miss Collins, will have overnight guest status, until further notice. We will need to work her apartment into the rotation, as soon as possible, and get her car vetted. Sell that to her as an oil change and tune up. See what she will sit still for and shoot me a note ASAP. Give me a full write up on everything tonight.

"Enjoy your weekend."

Security people will run your life, if you let them. I was glad to learn Sheila had her whip in hand when she dealt with them. Of course, finding Sheila with a whip in her hand is rarely surprising. Security would be putting in some serious overtime this week, and that was if things stayed small. As Han Solo would say, I had a bad feeling.

After talking with Gerald, I attacked the email stack. Word of my engagement had not hit, yet, but rumor of the catalog was running amok. Harold Johnstead sent personal assurances that everything would be available for the Monday mail. I wondered how many extra copies he would be keeping. Just to tweak his beak, I replied with a request for 200 wedding invitations, priority job.

There was nothing from Helen in the stack, but that only meant that she was doing something at church. At least I was not Catholic. Confessing fornication was not something I wanted to try. My best guess was that Sheila was a non practicing Jew, but I would need to ask. Pastor Myers would perform the ceremony, regardless, but I needed to find out. I had visions of stomping a glass in a yarmulke. Not going there. Thank God I owned a catering company.

Helen could handle the invitations. It would be strictly local and family, but I had a feeling that would not hold the crowd down much. Sheila might want a small affair, but I had doubts. In the mean time, I needed to talk to Justin. Rumors would be bad enough, just from what I gave Harold. Having a local photographer would be even worse.

One interesting item was a note from Julian, the corset maker. He said the Bridal Corset would be ready for a fitting on Tuesday. He noted that he was aware of the dress requirements, and guaranteed proper fit. The dress was scheduled for Friday, which was cutting things close. I thanked him. I also told him to expect at least one other person for a fitting. Sheila had mentioned CC was a size 8. My eyeball analysis said 32 C. Hopefully that was enough to get Julian started. I did not bother mentioning Francine Martel, since she would likely wear a corset on the outside.

After that. I went to scrounge some breakfast. I could contemplate what Sheila's reverse cowgirl was telling me. It was a nice counterpoint to fried egg on toast. Heaven help me when people started to get home from wherever they went on Saturday mornings.

Sheila:

I pulled up at the 7th Street Diner at 9:07 AM. That made me seven minutes late, by most standards, or 23 minutes early, by Francine time. However, I was not surprised to be met at the door with, "You're late. Where the fuck have you been, and how much fucking was involved?" Francine can be subtle. Really, she can. This was not going to be one of those times.

I came inside to find Francine next to the wreckage of a three egg omelet, half a dozen donuts, three cups of coffee and at least five cigarette butts. By law, all restaurants are non-smoking, but that has never applied to divas like Francine Martel. Fortunately, there was a cold cup of black coffee on the other side of the table. I drained it and waived it in the air until someone picked up a pot. Only then did I look at my recently refound friend. Everything I was prepared to say died at the sight.

Francine was not only an hour early to a meeting, which should have been impossible, she was absolutely riveted on my face. My guess was that she had been up since 5:00 AM. at the latest, which would be three hours ahead of schedule, on a workday. My engagement was the only thing out of the ordinary, so this was all for my benefit. I would have been flattered, if I were not so appalled. Instead, I came around the table and gave her a Sean-like hug. Funny how I associated hugs and Sean so quickly.

Much of the tension ran out of Francine, but she was still a gossip queen in full bore. I had to tell her every detail of the proposal. Every few seconds I would get a "No" or a "You're shitting me." I did not not slow down til I heard, "Holy shit, you left before dinner was served?" I guess we had, hence eating at Wendy's. Holy shit, indeed.

About that time, the waitress came around wanting my order. Francine ordered a trucker breakfast, while I asked for boiled egg and oatmeal. And more coffee. Suddenly I felt like I was going on four hours of sleep, even though it had been closer to six. Francine gave a knowing look and said nothing. I believe I have mentioned how nervous a quiet Francine makes me.

So, I told her about my time in Sean's shower and bed. I went through it all in loving detail. When I finally reached the part where I heard her message, still less than an hour earlier, Francine gave me a sour look. Other than that, not a thing.  

Finally, she spoke. "Split the bamboo." Say what? I must have looked confused. "It's from the Kama Sutra. Look it up. Good God Schwartz, how can you be so innocent? You have been whipping naked men for a decade, and you do not even know basic sex techniques. You are describing A zone stimulation--look that up too--which you get when Ricky bumps your cervix. I would lay money you own a vibrator that is at least a foot long." I think I blushed at that.

"While you are at it, look up the ballerina position. Sean will love it and you can do it anywhere. Its absolutely perfect for airline sex. I can not do it. I'm too fucking short. Never mind looking it up, I will send you a copy. I have a dozen.

"So, you are getting married. When?"

I had dreaded this question. There was no way I could pull off a nonchalant with Francine. Instead, I went very still, looked Francine straight in the eyes and spit it out. "Next Saturday, at Sean's house. Will you be one of my ladies?" Up til now, I only thought Francine was unnaturally quiet. She might have turned to stone, except that her mouth fell open and she dropped a donut she had been dunking.

It only lasted a moment. "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you. Blessed are you among women... Fucking A, Schwartz, you know how to drop big fucking bombs. Are there any small surprises?" Oh my G_d. I had not even thought of that.

"No, Francine, I am not pregnant. Hopefully, that will change next weekend."

"OK. That covers the next three questions. What about the dress?"

"Sean ordered me one."

"That's right, you said. Here's the deal. I may not be able to get off next Saturday. If I do, it will be because of who you are, not who I am. I have to be honest; I am no longer the headliner I was five years ago. On the other hand, Mistress Cynthia is both famous and infamous. Do you want me to try? Better yet, do you want me to drop the show? Elizabethtown is the last stop, and my understudy, whatever her name is, can use some stage time."

That was a bag of questions. Dropping a show was a big deal. However, dropping one town in a run, to an understudy, was much more acceptable. An important wedding was reasonable grounds. The second level was that Francine was offering to help with the wedding, and possibly more. My clients were going to need someone, if I took a week for a honeymoon. I am not sure I trusted Francine long term, but she would get off on the costumes and theatrics for a while. There was also the subtext that Francine could use my name profitably, which struck me as upside down.

At that point our food arrived. I ate my oatmeal and egg, while Francine inhaled another couple thousand calories. By the time I was sipping my coffee, wishing it were tea, I had half a plan.

"Francine, I will not say yes or no now. Go to practice and float a balloon. We will talk tonight. Either way, I may need some of your contacts. Doing things on the fly, like we will have to, a costuming company might be the source for the maid's dresses. In fact, a set company might be good for our reception. Give em a call, whenever, and we will talk." I stood and put $10 on the table.

"For now, I need to go take CC shopping. I gave her to Jason last night, so I need to see if she is still my submissive." I heard a fork clatter and caught a glimpse of Francine's open mouth. It was probably the first time in ten years that Francine had let someone else get the last word, much less paid for a meal. It was turning into a good morning.

Rather than go directly to the hotel, I went back to my apartment and made up a crash bag: toilet kit, change of clothes, flogger, restraints, etc. I was not sure who I would pick up. If she was CC, that required one response. Tess would require a different one. My best guess was a close call. I just hoped her night had been as memorable as mine.

I drove the car around to Jason's room and honked the horn. After a short pause, the door opened and both Jason and CC came out. One glance at their faces told me that I needed a fourth option. Something significant had gone on, and it was not just sex. Jason had a notepad in his hand, so I rolled the window down and he handed it to me. I asked what was going on, but Jason said it was too complex for a parking lot. Seeing CC, I believed him, so I let it lie.

As we drove us off, I examined CC. There was a lot to take in. She was freshly washed, but she was wearing the same clothes she had worn the day before. She had a well fucked aura, but not a satisfied one. Far from it. At that point, I realized I was going to deal with this as a CC issue. We needed to talk, but, with CC, that was a problem. I was at a loss, when I saw a sign ahead.

It read "Best Buy."

Sean:

After talking to Gerald, I pulled on a pair of shorts and pumped iron for half an hour. Then I climbed on the bike and set the gauge for 10/20. This meant I was going to ride for 10 simulated miles, and the computer would ding me when I dropped below 20 miles per hour. After I worked up to speed, I started making notes on the recorder I keep mounted on the bars.

Open the main ballroom and clean thoroughly, top priority.

Notify kitchen staff that a major event was coming.

Have Henri coordinate food prep with Richard in Catering.

Hire dance music for the ball room and a DJ for outside.

Get outdoor sound, tables and chairs from Events.

Get with Sheila on decorations.

Contact family, get RSVP. Check with Sheila about having Jo in her party.

Get the grounds crew started. The gazebo will do for the altar, but seating must be laid out.

Priority calls:

Mother and Father

Jo and George

Minister

Best Man

House and Grounds

Once I finished my ride, I did a quick shower and started on the calls. Easiest first, which mean my baby sister, who was now a grad student at Dartmoth. Fortunately, semester was over, so she probably only had research to do.

Phone: Hello.

"Good Morning Jo Jo. This is your big brother calling."

Phone: Don't call me that. It's almost as bad as my real name. Is someone in the hospital?

"Close. I am getting married. Can you make it down this week?"

Phone: Clarence, it is not nice to even joke about things like that. Now, what is really going on?

"I am cold serious. The wedding is set for next Saturday, here at the house. Can you make it, and do you want to be in the bridal party?"

Phone: Oh my God. Are you serious? Of course I will be down. When did this happen? How did Mother react? Have you told Father? Why so soon?

"Slow down. Let me get that in order. Yes, I am completely serious. I proposed last night and we decided to make it as soon as possible, then cut off a week. You are the first I am telling, so neither Mother or Father have had a comment. Tracking Father down may not be easy. Frankly, I expect Mother to send regrets and a white elephant. I hope to have George in my party, but he may have more trouble getting away, if he remembers. Before you ask, no, she is not pregnant, but she wants to be.

"About my fiancé, she is a local business woman, but very low key. She owns some important real estate and has just finished a major publishing project. You should absolutely get together and compare notes. To give one example, she owns, and uses, a collection of authentic, 19th century, hand lacquered, oriental hair pins. If you are going to be in her party, I should warn you that the wedding dress is a Victorian design, including a corset. Her name is Sheila Schwartz."

Phone: No! A corset? Really? Wait a minute, that name is familiar. Why?

"Think dance."

Phone: Right. She was at Gruber's studio the year Mother forced me to attend. She and that short little bitch, what was her name, were the stars. I remember she was going to do a part in The Nutcracker at Lincoln Center. Then. she just disappeared.

"I think she did play at Lincoln Center. I would have to check. However, she overdeveloped, and Herr Gruber, rather unceremoniously, dumped her. That was ten or eleven years ago, but it left scars."




K&T, LLC Ch. 01



Phone: Oh my God. You really are serious. And you are right. I want to meet her, again. That seems so strange. I think I am going to like having her as a sister. There is no way I know her, but I can relate to so much of what you just told me. I never had a sister and now I will. Weird.

"There is more. That "short little bitch" is someone I went to high school with, and even dated once: Francine Martel. She will probably be there, too.

Phone: Oh my God, you're right. Francine Martel. The Broadway Francine Martel. And she is attending, too. Well, she would. She and Schwartz were tight. Gruber even paired them, when we were short on boys.

"If you say 'Oh my God' one more time, I will tell Mother, and she will send you to your room, without internet."

Phone: Fuck you, Clarence. Getting Mother to notice anything but her drink is impossible. Well, maybe her current boy toy. I have research I need to wrap here, but I will be down Monday if I can. This sounds like fun.

"Thanks, Jo Jo I knew I could count on you. I will make sure they spell your name right on the invitation. It's J O V A N N, right?"

Phone: (laughing) I wish. I could almost live with that one. Getting interviewers to pronounce the Celtic spelling is a nightmare. I should more to Ireland.

"Later. I have more calls to make."

My sister was easily my favorite relative. Smart too. Yale does not hand out Anthropology PhDs like candy. Siobhan had that and was doing post-doctorate work and teaching at Dartmoth. She was working on the dissertation for a second PhD in Sociology. Calling George would be less pleasant.

Fortunately, I was dumped to George's voicemail. "George, this is your brother, Sean. I have gotten engaged and we decided for a quick wedding. The ceremony will be next Saturday, here, at the house. If you can make it, I will save you a place as groomsman. Call me."

Mother was sleeping, so I left an almost identical recording. She and my Father had divorced when I was six. The money, and the house, had come down through her side and there was a prenup. My Father was turned out with a mere couple of $Million. I had not seen or heard from him in well over a decade. I think the occasion was George's graduation. He did not come for Siobhan's. I was going to leave a message on Helen's voicemail, but she picked up.

"Good Morning, Helen. In case you missed the earlier message, I have gotten engaged to Miss Schwartz. This particular call was to have you track down my father, if you can. I will check my email as soon as I am done making calls, but that may take a while." Talking to Helen, live, does not differ much from talking to her voicemail. My next call was to my lawyer, Curtis.

"Hello, Curtis. I got engaged and she wants a prenup. How soon can you get one together?"

Phone: Fuck you, Sean. I would say that you have a lot of nerve calling on a Saturday, but what would be the use? Congratulations. Your security guy, Gerald I think, called two hours ago. Who is she?

"She is local. Born and raised here. Her name is Sheila Schwartz. She is a quietly successful business owner.

Phone: Schwartz. That is not ringing any bells.

"You may remember her from Judge Johnson's bequest. Or, try the name Mistress Cynthia."

Phone: That would mean...But, she...Holy shit. Tell me you are not serious. At least tell me you are serious about a prenuptial agreement.

"Ease up, Curtis. You could blow a gasket. Yes, I am serious about the engagement. Yes, she said she wanted a prenup. Note, it is on her request. I am not going to insist. However, I have something more important to ask. Will you be my Best Man? George and I are not close, and it is still up in the air if he can even make the trip."

Phone: Sean, if you had not paid for my house in the Catskills, I would dump you as a client. Yes, I will stand up for you. God knows someone needs to keep you in line. Yes, I will get started on a prenup. Thank you so much for ruining my weekend. Once you figured out that catalog thing, I was hoping for some quiet, at least an hour or two.

"Good luck, Curtis."

After that, I was usually the second, or third, call. This was not a bad thing. My call served to confirm some earlier call. Gerald had gotten the ball rolling, but this was a really juicy piece of gossip. I dreaded when they started calling me. Before that could happen, I needed some face to face time with Gerald. It was lunch time, so we agreed to meet in the kitchen.

Gerald's background may be in military intelligence, among other things, but he could make a living as a sandwich cook. We roughed out a strategy over a couple of Dagwood's, which Gerald had constructed. It gave me an idea. I did not know how Sheila would want to do the reception, but a sandwich-to-order booth could be worked in. Catering could provide Gerald with appropriate attire and a backup sandwich chef. He could have eyes on, rather than remote, if that was what he wanted. It also appealed to his vanity. It never hurts to stroke your people.

After Gerald, I met with the heads of the House and Grounds. I made my desire for full cooperation clear. I also promised a wave of temporary help. That part would be easy, since I had already made arrangements for the auction a week later. Not everyone would do both, but there was a core that wanted all the hours I could drum up. Fuck the budget. You only get married once.

Then, it was the email stack of 1001 questions I could not answer, or should not need to. I missed Sheila already.

Sheila:

I parked the car, then had to walk around and rap on CC's window. I crooked one finger at her, then turned away. She may not be my submissive that morning, but she was still an employee. Inside, I went straight to the PC area. I had just attracted a salesman, salesboy really, named John. Then, CC came quietly up, eyes down, hands wringing in front.

"John, this is CC. CC, stand up straight. This is John. He is going to get you a small laptop for your personal use. John, what do you have?" CC did not exactly give me a dirty look, not quite, but she stood straight and looked at John. John was suddenly as tongue tied as CC, which earned them a hint of a smile.

After a moment, John shook the stunned look off and led us to the display. I let him drone for a while, then picked a mid priced model and told him to ring it up. Finally, CC gave me an inquisitive look, and I mimed talking. CC looked blank for a moment, then smiled. That's my girl.

By this time, John was practically falling over himself to be helpful, but CC was clueless. She had no idea how much sex appeal she was broadcasting, so she was not watching for reactions. That was fine. I had John load a good security program and create a Hotmail account as TrulyCC. My choice of screen name managed to pull a small smile from CC. Since she was usually puppy dog happy, something was definitely up.

After that, I went looking for a free WiFi spot. That turned out to be a TCBY imitator. I bought CC a cone and coffee for myself. Then, we sat down and messaged.

Sheila: What is going on that has you so worried?

CC: I don't know what you mean.

S: Do not play with me Christine. I know you and I know Jason. Something serious is going on. What is it?

CC: Jason found out about my bump. He kind of freaked out.

S: Where is this bump, and what does it do.

CC: Its just above my pussy. If you drum on it, it feels good, but you have to drum pretty hard.

My stars, that was a load. Knowing CC, "drum hard" meant leave bruises and "feels good" meant screaming orgasm. Shit. Jason knew, was willing to tell me and was trying to protect CC. My estimation of surfer boy went up a notch, or three.

S: Jason is a good friend. I hope you two keep in contact. I doubt you will often find anyone with as much in common.

S: Tell me about last night.

That did it. CC text for the next 20 minutes. Jason went up another notch. He had seriously tried to make it enjoyable for CC and also give me information about her wants and needs. He was also very inventive, but I had given him that much credit already. Jason knew more about woman's orgasms than I did, but getting practical applications is always the real test. Jason passed with honors. I particularly liked the double penetration aspect.

Once CC wound down a bit, I tossed the trash and led her into the ladies room. Since this was a converted filling station, the restroom could be locked, so I did. Then I told CC to take off her pants and panties. She blushed a little, but this was getting to be usual for her. I told her to place her feet at shoulder width, with hands linked behind her head.

This gave me a good opportunity to inspect CC from the waist down. Sure enough, the was a small ridge in her pubic area. You would never see it through pubic hair. It was barely noticeable with her mons fully shaved. I ran a finger over it and CC shivered. I had a theory to test, so I cupped my hand under CC's already moist cunt.

I said, "CC, when I get you back to the studio, I am going to gag you, tie you ankles to your thighs, your fingers behind your neck and then hang you on the wall, exposed for the cameras. Then I will put clamps on your nipples and pussy lips, hang weights from them and tease the weights with my flogger. Once you have gotten nicely warmed up, I will push the #4 butt plug in, dry, and put the vibrating egg in, set to high. Then, and only then, I will use the handle of my flogger on your bump."

As soon as I said "bump", my hand was flooded with warm nectar. I lifted it to my nose and inhaled. Then I offered it to CC, who started to lap it up. Once she had cleaned my fingers, I kissed her on the cheek and told her she was a good girl. I kept the panties as she redressed. When I offered to hug her, CC almost melted in my arms.

I said, "I love you, too. Now, let's get you some clothes and accessories. Petsmart can wait."

I took CC to the mall. Aside from being extremely introverted, she had no clue how to wear clothes, much less choose them, not to mention a complete ignorance of cosmetics. I bought her a short floral print sun dress and four inch sandals. With a little hair magic, and no makeup, I had her looking like a braless 15 year old. I told her to look straight ahead, not where her feet were going, with her hands clasped behind her. If she thought of Second Position, it would get her posture right, and she could focus on feeling each step, rather than seeing it.

It worked like a charm. In a mall full of high school boys and girls, traffic stopped when she walked by. The girls would pull aside in groups, to analyze the display. The boys were soon following in a pack. I paraded CC up one side of the mall and down the other. We made stops at The Gap, Old Navy, Belk and others. I picked up a few things, like hair barrettes, but mostly I wanted CC to get attention. She did that—in spades.

Then I shifted gears. I took her into Dillards. Twenty minutes later she was wearing skin tight black stretch pants, with no panties, a strapless tube top and a man's shirt, tied rather than buttoned. While in the dressing room, I let her hair down and applied mascara, eyeliner and lip gloss. The only thing I did not change were the sandals.

As we approached the door, CC began to look spooked. I pressed on. When we emerged, there were at least eight teenaged boys camped outside. Some of them recognized me, but none of them recognized CC. That did not mean they did not watch her, but they stayed put. We went back around the mall, stopping at some of the same stores. The attention was still there, but further back, and centered around the older boys and the occasional young man.

Then I took CC to Fredericks and bought a simple black chemise. The tube top and the button shirt went into the bag. Her hair was pulled severely back and bound in a black ribbon. I had no new makeup, but I added a pair of dark sunglasses.

It was not the perfect look. The sandals were out of place and her make up needed more art. Still, CC was turning every male head under 50. If she had been intimidated before, she was up to scared shitless. I walked her around for about 15 minutes, then pulled her close and whispered, "Imagine this outfit with a collar and leash."

I did not have to imagine the sudden wet spot in CC's black pants.

CC:

My night with Jason was life changing. I had already considered him a friend. When he supported me, in front of Mistress, I knew he was more than a friend. Mistress said as much, as I sat in her car clutching my Walgreen's bag. Years later, I would explain the significance of the bag to Mistress's daughter. At the time I would be eight months pregnant with Jason's son. That day, in the car, I already had an inkling of what was to come.

Mistress seemed distressed. It was too bad, because under it she was glowing. I inhaled deeply. Like Jason had told me, the scent was subtle, but it filled the air. Over the years, I would become very familiar, but I learned the smell of well-fucked-female, that morning, from my Mistress. If I read her correctly, she was noting the same scent coming from me.

It was uncomfortable. Mistress clearly had things to say. I had things I would have liked to tell her, but a lifetime of silence is a hard habit to break. Mistress figured a way out of the problem. She bought me a computer, and my first screen name: TrulyCC. I loved it.

Mistress drove us to a yogurt shop and bought a cone and coffee. Then she opened her PC and motioned for me to open mine. Suddenly, it was easy to talk. I just needed to learn to key. At first, it was frustrating, but I had had a keyboard class in middle school. Eventually it came more easily, or it would have, except that Mistress wanted to know about my bump.

I gave her the short version, knowing she would check for herself, regardless of what I said. Then she asked about last night and out it all came. I keyed til my fingers were sore. Mistress said nothing, but she was quite pleased, I thought. Then she led me into the Women's room.

As soon as she had locked the door, Mistress told me to take off my pants and panties. I knew what was coming, but that did not slow me down. As always, disrobing before Mistress was a rush. She had me stand with my fingers locked behind my neck. Had I been kneeling, it would be the same as the first position Miss Martel had taught me. I was coming to understand that there was a limited number of standard positions. This one seemed to be for body inspection.

Mistress checked me closely, from the waist down. I had told her where my bump was located, but she checked everything, before she settled on the place. For years my short hair covered it, but I had been shaving. Mistress ran a finger over my bump. It did not cause a reaction, that would have required more force, but I shivered in anticipation. Mistress noticed.

She cupped her hand under my sex and told me what to expect: weights on my tits and pussy lips; flogging; a large ass plug and egg dildo; suspension, fully displayed. I was wet and my breath was ragged. Then, Mistress hit my bump with the handle her flogger. My honey poured out into her hand. Mistress smelled my cum, then gave me her hand to clean. I was glad to do that service.

Then, Mistress did an odd thing. She told me we would go clothes shopping. I had not anticipated that. My usual uniform is bare skin, possibly with a collar and/or gag. Why would I need outside clothes? But, she is the Mistress, even if she does not like me to call her that.

Mistress drove us to the mall. In the first store, Mistress bought some high heeled wedgie sandals. In the next, she bought pretty white sun dress, with flowers. She had me put these on, without bra or panties. Then she did my hair in little girl pigtails. Once we were out in the mall, Mistress corrected my posture. Again, this was very like Miss Martel, so I had a reference to work from. I quickly realized I had been walking wrong my whole life. I had trouble walking on the tall sandal heels, but getting my posture correct helped with that as well.

This was important, because Mistress wanted to walk. We went up one side of the mall and down the other. I was told to keep my eyes straight ahead, but halfway down the mall there was a big mirror. I snuck a peek and almost did not recognize myself. I was tall and extremely cute, in a high school freshman way. I blushed all over.

Mistress noticed, but I think she had wanted me to see and understand. At that point we started going into stores where kids hung out. I could see girls looking at me and whispering to each other. Boys were staring, and some of them were following. Then Mistress took me into Dillards.

I had never been in Dillards in my life. I had heard how expensive everything was, but Mistress did not seem to notice. She bought a pair of stretch pants, a boob tube, a man's shirt and something I did not see. In the dressing room, she put on some makeup and let my hair down. This time she showed me my reflection. I looked years older and very sassy.

Once again we walked the mall. I think Mistress wanted me to see the difference in the way the boys reacted. Before the change, the boys were following me around. Now they were watching, but kept a distance, except for some of the older ones. Mistress took us back around the loop, even stopping at Old Navy again. I caught a good look at the two of us together. My mouth almost fell open.

Mistress is very sophisticated. She glides when she walks. I know that she is still less than thirty years old, but she comes across as older. When we first started, I could have passed for her daughter. In this outfit, I looked like her younger sister. I could easily pass for 25. Then I noticed that men were looking. Boys are obvious, and there were many more of them, but I was now out of their league now. The older boys and the young men were more subtle, but the interest was there.

This must have been what Mistress wanted me to see. Next she took me to an underwear store and bought me a skimpy thing, called a chemise. It was something a girl might wear to bed. It went on tight, and my tits really pushed out the top. It felt so wicked it was scary.

Again, Mistress redid my hair, pulling it all back and tying it with ribbon. That must have been the other thing at Dillards. Then she added her own sunglasses. The woman standing next to Mistress, in the mirror, could not be me. She looked ten years older than I was and almost as stylish as Mistress. It scared me half to death. Of course, we needed to walk the mall like that.

Again, the difference was amazing. None of the boys did more than stare, but all ages tracked me with their eyes. I was fully covered, but I had never felt so exposed. I was still trying hard to adjust when Mistress leaned close. She told me to imagine being dressed like this, plus a collar and leash. I came on the spot. It was so embarrassing, but Mistress just led me to a table and had me sit down.

She left me long enough to buy two drinks. I could see at least five men watching me, but it felt like many more. I did my best to look unconcerned, but the heat never left my skin. When Mistress returned, the drink provided a small distraction. Then Mistress pulled out our laptop computers.

Sheila: What have you learned?

That was hard, because there were many things that I needed to sort through. However, Mistress does not like to wait, so I needed an answer. I just hoped it was the right answer.




K&T, LLC Ch. 01



CC: I learned that appearances matter, a lot. Men react to to what they see, even if the changes are small.

S: More.

CC: Age matters in what men look for. When I looked 15, all the boys followed and all the girls talked. Just now, I am not sure they even noticed. Not the girls, at least.

S: Why is that?

That stopped me. This time, Mistress was patient. Finally, I wrote:

CC: The girls considered me threatening, earlier. Now they do not. Women might feel threatened, but they are better at hiding it.

S: Very good. However, you missed the most important lesson. Who did they all want?

CC: They wanted me.

Mistress sat and looked at me, as if to say "Follow that." Then it hit me. All of them, the boys and the men, wanted me. They all wanted me. They all wanted me. Oh my God, they all wanted me. Mistress watched me closely. When I reached the end, she nodded and leaned close.

"Christine, you are a very attractive young woman. It does not matter what your age is or what you have done. Men find you desirable. If we went other places, and dressed the part, you would find that women find you desirable as well. I am only slightly bi-sexual, and I find you desirable.

"The decision what to do about it is yours. Not only do I not want to make that decision for you, I am uncertain that I could. You have many options available to you. Sleeping on my rug is only one of them. Also, there is something you need to know. My rug may not be available to you much longer. Sean Richards and I are going to marry next Saturday. After that, I will be sleeping with him, and trying very hard to get pregnant. Do you understand?"

Tears were pouring down my face, but understanding was one thing I had. I nodded. Then, Mistress made me feel much better.

"Don't worry. I said I would not turn you out without a suitable place. Arrangements will be made, though I have no idea what they will be, yet. Also, I need your help with the gym clients and at the studio. That whole part of my life is going to change, and I will need hands I can trust to help. I want you to stay and learn everything. If anything, I will be giving you responsibility faster than before, because I trust you. There are few people in this world that I can say that about."

I was crying even harder when she said that. Who was I, that Mistress would trust me? Then Mistress gave me the shock of my life.

"I want you to be my Maid of Honor. Will you do it?"

Sean:

One of the things about having competent people is that you have to let them work. I made my calls and answered my email. I scheduled updates and reports. I ordered a hundred things, on the chance that they would be useful. Eventually, I had to stand back and wait for things to happen. Once I reached that point, I decided it was time to bring Sheila up to date.

I tried her phone, but was rolled to voicemail. I used that to say I was sending an email. Just outlining my preparations took half an hour. Halfway through, I made certain Gerald had added her to the briefing list. Then I sent a note to Helen to do the same. Once I had outlined the nuts and bolts, I started on a second, more personal, note. This one was to both Jo and Sheila. I outlined my family situation, such as it was, but the real purpose was to put Jo and Sheila in contact. Sheila may have only a high school education, to Jo's Ivy League PhD, but they both had an ability to cut through the shit and get things done. I figured they might be compatible.

Then, I decided I had enough of the house. I took a notebook and went down to the lake, where all this would take place. Fortunately, the gazebo had been much used through the years. All three of us had our graduation photos shot there, and Mother had used it often, when she was still here to entertain. I made a note to have it checked for structural soundness, but it seemed that a coat of paint might cover us.

Just down the slope was the boat house. If the gazebo was popular, the boat house was shunned. At most, Mother would have had it freshened up for an event. Still, her father was a naval commander, so the house and contents had been well maintained at some point. Having it available for reception entertainment would be a plus.

The boathouse could use paint, but the general repair seemed adequate. Inside we had the houseboat up on blocks. It would either be used or moved out of sight. Grandfather's yacht was still in residence, but it was neither usable, nor easily moveable. However, it was a true classic. Starting a renovation was a possibility. We had a couple of old paddle boats, but only two. I made a note to check out rentals. Ditto some canoes and all the safety gear.

I left the boat house with the realization that none of the family had opened the door in years, maybe decades. If Sheila and I had children, that would change. The same was true of much of the grounds. Somewhere there was a wooded corner with a small cabin. I remember exploring it as a child. Mother was furious. Contrasting that to Sheila's likely reaction brought a smile to my face. Sheila would be an outstanding mother.

With that thought on my mind, I went up the hill to the old house. Much of the family residence has been added recently. My entire wing dated from the 1960s to the early 1980s. However, the original house was a colonial mansion, complete with ballroom. It would be absolutely imperative to have the space available for the reception, yet no one had used it since the era of Elvis and the Beatles.

I mentioned competent people. When I reached the house, I found the ballroom doors open and two of my heads of staff looking inside. Michael Gilbert was head of Grounds. I think he was considering the area outside the ballroom. That appeared to be a good notion, at least on its face. The area was fairly level, and we could easily place a dozen tables. Off to one side was a small patio, with a stone railing. If I remembered correctly, it was off the original main parlor. The patio was too small for dancing, but it would do nicely for a musical ensemble.

The other man was Mitchell Gilbert, Micheal's brother. He was in charge of the house staff, an area much reduced from my childhood. His people would be cleaning the ballroom, as well as preparing all the guest rooms. I did not envy him his coming week. Mitchell seemed to think otherwise. This would be his first chance to shine in many years.

The three of us went into the ballroom and started discussing possibilities.

Sheila:

I did not know what to expect when I exposed Christine to the male population. She was nineteen years old and had never had a boyfriend. However, the raw materials were there, so I just needed to draw them out. I started with the high school boys, because Christine she would remember them clearly. None of them had ever given her the time of day, but that could be changed easily enough.

In general, getting teenage boys to drool is child's play. I put a on short dress, with no bra, and did the hair in a young girl style. Nothing to it. For the next stage, I went for early 20s casual chic. That worked remarkably well. In that out, plus undergarments, Christine could easily have obtained work as a receptionist in a bank or professional office. The real revelation was when I tried for sophisticated hottie. She looked the part even more than I did. The two of us could have gone clubbing in Town and never paid for a drink.

A big part of the transformation was posture. CC had slumped. Christine stood tall and arrow straight. I could see Francine's hand in that detail. Since balance is the largest part of walking in heels, Christine mastered tall sandals in barely an hour. I almost did not test her with a submissive reference. Almost, but not quite. Christine could play the part of a confident woman, but she was submissive at heart. Attention thrilled her, but embarrassment thrilled her more.

We were setting at a food court, sipping drinks. I asked Christine what she had learned. Naturally, she focused on the reactions to what she was wearing. What she completely missed was that many women could not bring those outfits off. So, I pointed out the woman in all the outfits and watched the light dawn in her eyes. That's my girl.

Then it was time to drop the bomb. The irony of asking Christine Collins to be my Maid of Honor was almost palpable. Other than Francine, who had been absent for a decade, the only women I knew were clients or the wives of clients. As it was, I considered asking Martha Douglas, but she is old enough to be my mother. I could almost see her regretful head shake. I could give Martha a lot of responsibility, and I intended to, but I needed a witness of my own generation.

Needless to say, Christine was stunned. She was already wide eyed before I asked her. I can only imagine how she felt wen I made the request. There was no question what her answer would be. In point of reality, I could simply have ordered it. For Christine, that would have made it much easier. However, I wanted her to learn some control. If she eventually lived with someone like Jason, she would need the practice.

Once that was out of the way, I checked my voicemail. There were a surprising number of simple congratulations. Buried in the middle was a message from Sean, telling me that he would email me some details. This proved to be two emails. The first was dry details. The second was quite interesting, since Sean had also sent it to his sister.

Sean was hinting that she could be one of my ladies. Reading between the lines, Sean also thought Siobhan, make that Jo, and I could be friends. I was willing to try, on both counts. As I expected, Jo had sent an email, introducing her self. I replied, asking if she was willing to wear a corset for the ceremony. Almost immediately, she fired back a note, asking for my IM address.

It was the start of a beautiful friendship. We have pictures.

CC:

When Mistress asked me to be her Maid of Honor, she must have known I could not refuse. I would have found it less stressful if she had simply told me to do it. I wondered why Mistress had not done it that way. I had time to wonder, because Mistress was listening to her phone messages. There must have been a lot of them. As I waited, I contemplated how Mistress had been handling me.

For example, my private name is Tess. Mistress picked that as a shortening of Truly Scrumptious. She remembered my private name, because she made me TrulyCC for my email and IM accounts. Yet, she was not calling me Tess, or even CC. Today, at least, she was calling me Christine.

Second point. Mistress had brought me to the mall. I have read many stories about Dominants taking submissives to the mall. Usually there is nakedness involved, and often a leash. Mistress knew this as well. She had gotten me to cum just by mentioning a leash. Yet, when that happened, she quickly moved me to a seat, where the table would hide the wet spot.

It was almost as if Mistress wanted me to be a regular person, that day at least. But, she kept reminding me what I was. Then, Mistress said she trusted me. Then, she asked me to be Maid of Honor. It was very confusing, but it gave me an idea. I picked up the bag with my other clothes and held it up for Mistress to see. She only nodded her head, toward the restrooms, and kept talking.

In a way, it was the scariest thing I did that day, and I had already told Mistress about my bump. I picked up the bag and walked to the restrooms. I tried to keep the bag in front, without being too obvious about it. Whether or not it worked, I was soon in the Women's room.

I stepped into a stall and pulled off the wet pants. Nothing else seemed to be right, so I changed into the sun dress. Mistress had said nothing about a bra, but she had not allowed one during our time in the mall. I decided that mall time was over. With a little nervousness, I pulled my bra on, then the dress over it. I could have put on my flats, but decided I liked the sandals.

At least I did not to wear have the pig tails, though the tight pony tail seemed wrong as well. I liked the ribbon, so I just pulled it lower. This let a few strands loose, which softened the look quite a bit. I stepped up to the sink and checked myself in the mirror. I looked like me, but in a nice dress.

Just then, a woman came in, about 25 or so. She was wearing a pant suit, with a Kohls name tag. For a long moment she checked me out. I could feel myself starting to blush, when she continued on to a stall. I collected my bag and went to Mistress' table.

Mistress had the laptop out, but she paused to look at me. Her only comment was a pleased smile. This made me warm in a very special way. I quickly sat and pulled out my own laptop. Mistress had forwarded two emails from Mr. Richards and one from his sister, Jo. There was a lot to read, but I eventually worked through it all. Partway through I saw Ms. Kohls come out. She saw me, then she saw Mistress and scowled.

Suddenly I was glad not to be alone.

Chapter 2 -- Au Revoir, Auf Wiedersehen, Til We Meet Again

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

There was a lot going on. The big project with Justin and Jason was still wrapping up. Mom had just met Nanny CC, and they were still figuring things out. Frankly, I have never figured that relationship out, but it works for them. When I was five, Nanny CC had JJ, which gave me someone to spend time with. JJ is second year at CCNY. Take a bow.

Whatever Mom and CC had to do, it must not have taken long. Mom calls it the decision. The world may never know what CC calls it.

Sheila:

Christine and I went to the warehouse. The camera crew was dismantling the workspace, which made me rather sad, but not everything was not downbeat. Jason and I took time picking out his personal shot. It was a closeup of me, with one foot on a stool, rolling my stocking. Other than me being dressed in just a bra and panties, there was nothing risqué about it. I was happy to print it and sign it with lipstick. Peter commended Jason on his selection and asked for his own. I complied, but his I signed my real name, with a pen.

In the course of the afternoon, I asked Justin to be our wedding photographer. He agreed, joking that I could retain artistic control. Then he became very serious. He told me to expect inquiries about photo editing. I had, he said, the deftest touch he had ever seen. Peter emphatically echoed his sentiment. It was something to consider, along with everything else.

Sean arrived and we all headed to dinner at Albert's. Unlike Friday eventing, where Sean was buying dinner as a sort of wrap party, this dinner was for our engagement. Everyone had heard, naturally, but Sean made a formal announcement, followed by several toasts. Even Christine, bless her, got up and toasted "Mister and Mistress", to which Jason quipped, "The suspense is killing me." Things were pretty loose and that line brought down the house.

Of the toasts, my personal favorite was Peter. "Those that do not know you will find the pairing odd. They will wonder why you came together and whether it will last. Those of us, who have seen you work together, have no such concerns. Here is to a lifetime collaboration."

Dessert was an Albert's specialty, Alaskan Volcano. This is a baked Alaska, filled with strawberry ice cream. At the table, hot fudge is ladled over the top, then a cluster of brandy soaked sugar cubes is lighted at the top. It makes an impressive, and messy, display. Given the good humor at the table, Albert's is lucky a food fight did not break out. In all, it was a memorable party.

When it was over, there were decisions to be made. Sean had as much as said that his house was my house. This presented me with the question of my roommate. This was really two questions: one for Christine and another one for Tess.

Then, there was the question of Jason. During the week, Justin and Peter would be going to Philadelphia, to catch up on business. Jason would be at loose ends. I had no objection to him spending time with Christine, but they did not have a car, and Christine had no license. I made the obvious decision, though not an easy one for me. I loaned Jason my car for the week. Sean, or his people, would get me where I needed to be.

I told Jason to take good care of my car, sleep in his own bed, keep Christine not-pregnant and to leave the bump alone. I told Christine that she was allowed to use her gag as she liked, as well as rope, blindfolds, clothespins and anything Jason was born with, but to stay away from anything heavy. She had the key to my apartment, which was her home til further notice. I also told them I would do a double session for them on Wednesday, time permitting, and that he could pick up Christine in the morning.

Then, I had time to look for Sean.

Sean:

They say the devil is in the details. As soon as I decided to have the wedding on the grounds, a million details sprang to life. No one had entertained since Mother had moved to California. The residential wing currently consisted of my room and a guest room, typically used by Jo. One whole floor of the new house was now occupied by Gerald and his people. Everything else was closed up: the old parlors, the guest and servant quarters, the formal dining room, the ballroom and the associated kitchen. Effectively, the original house had been mothballed. We would have an army of people in to uncover, sweep, dust, wax and polish, to generally make things presentable, but there were limits. There was no way the big kitchen would be usable for event cooking.

Outside, there was another set of issues. Where to put seating and how much. How to deal with the slope down to the lake. Putting everyone uphill from the gazebo was a nice concept, until you realized that that would cover fifty chairs, at most. Invitations would be limited, but I had a bad feeling about how many would be accepted. Parking space was going to be a nightmare. Overnight guests would be another.

I spent three hours, going around with the brothers Gilbert, making lists of things that had to be done before we could even start the planning. I gave them the name and number of Goeffry Winston, head of Richards Events, and told them to get started. Then I went upstairs and let Gerald tell me, so very politely, that I was an idiot and the whole concept was unthinkable. The dinner party was a welcome relief.

I had planned a wrap party at Albert's for months, clear back when Cox and Hart were the photographers. By the time the day arrived, a wrap party seemed unnecessary, even out of place. Instead, I made it an engagement party. In spite of our sometimes rocky working relationship, Justin, Peter and Jason had become my friends. They were also the only friends Sheila and I had in common. An announcement party was very fitting, and I found myself looking forward to it.

I was not disappointed. The evening was a huge success. Our massive early frustration had mellowed to a sense of deep satisfaction. We all owed a debt of gratitude to Sheila, though she still seemed to be oblivious. Having a night to celibate her engagement was a perfect way to begin repaying. The series of toasts was something to treasure and, of course, we have it on video.

Not everything was perfect. As satisfying as things had turned out, the night marked a clear ending. Justin and Peter would be heading back to their shop in Philadelphia, which Justin had not seen in months. Monday would be business as usual, for a few days at least. Sheila had already pinned them to doing the imagery of the wedding. I reserved their rooms for an extra week, so they would not have to decamp completely.




K&T, LLC Ch. 01



Jason was up in the air. Justin would be happy to keep him on, but it was obvious that Jason had outgrown his position. CC was another issue. She had moved in with Sheila, and Sheila would soon be moving in with me. Details. Details.

After dinner, I shook hands with Justin and Peter. I promised not to ever hire them again, which caused a bit of a shock, til I glanced at Sheila. They were more than willing to work through her. After that, Sheila said her good byes and they headed out. It would only be three or four days, but it felt like a lifetime. I suppose, in a way, that it was.

Sheila talked to Jason and CC. I tried not to intrude, but I saw Sheila fish out some keys and hand them to Jason. That meant she would be at the mercy of my staff. Ha. They needed to get used to having a wildcat in residence. Then, I noticed Jason was leaving, but CC was not. It looked like I would sleep alone at least one more time.

Oh well. It was not like I did not have work to do, starting with taking them home.

Sheila:

The decision to keep Christine, for the night, was necessary. It would mean not sleeping with Sean, but I had obligations. One look at Sean told me that he could read the dynamic of the situation as well as I could. He was someone who understood loyalty and obligation, so he accepted my decision without comment. Instead, he opened the door and led us to his car.

That was a bit awkward, since I had an errand to run, which could not be put off. Worse, it was well out of the way home. Still, there was nothing that could be done, so I asked Sean to take us to Petsmart. Christine blushed, but I could also see her relax slightly. She knew what I had said, but she did n to yet allow herself to trust my promise. Actions speak louder than words.

When we arrived at the store, Sean begged off coming in with us. He claimed he had calls to return and messages to check. I could tell that he was trying to give me as much space as possible. He may growl, but Sean is such a teddy bear.

Once inside, Christine made a bee line for the canine department. She never picked up anything, but heir hands ran over the collars with a certain reverence. It was appropriate in a way. In the D/s community, a collar is almost like a wedding ring. We may have been hurried, but neither of us was taking it lightly. Accordingly, I chose a working dog's collar. It was of stout black leather, unadorned, and suitable for a Collie or Retriever. There were fancy collars and girlish collars, but those would not have reflected what Christine was on me.

Once I had the collar, I waved my hand at the leashes. Christine immediately picked up a braided leather leash, well mated to the collar. I nodded approval. Then I took her to the toys section. Pull toys are a great asset in my business. They are simply two rings with a rope between. The rings will easily slide over legs, or arms, providing quick restraint. It is possible to carry several without raising eyebrows. I grabbed all they had, then added up a round bed and a small pillow.

Then we had a tag made. The attendant asked what kind of dog I had. I told him I had a bitch, of a working breed, who needed training, but showed some promise. Christine turned new shades of red. Then the attendant gave her a wink, and Christine turned completely white. His name tag said Richard. I considered a moment, then asked Richard if he would consider another line of work. He gave the question the respect it deserved and said, simply, "Yes." I gave him my card and told him to call on Monday.

When we returned to the car, Sean noticed that something was up. He said nothing, but raised an inquisitive eyebrow. I said, "I am trying to borrow a page from your recruiting manual. We will see how it turns out." Sean showed a touch of surprise, but no more than that. I wish I had that much faith in my judgment.

When we arrived at my apartment, Christine and I got out. The packages were a bit bulky, but not heavy. Once I had helped her arrange everything to carry, I told Christine to go up, make some tea and draw a bath. I had some thing to say to Sean, which would take a while. Then I closed the back door and slid into the front seat of Sean's Mercedes. Deja vu.

There was no use beating around the bush. "I will not be coming home with you tonight. Christine and I have things to settle, about sleeping arrangements, among other things. Also, I am loaning Christine to Jason for much of the week. I want time with you and there is much work to be done if we are going to have a wedding in seven days. But, Christine needs to be settled, first.

"About Petsmart, there was a young man tending the register that picked up on my relationship to Christine. I gave him my card and told him to call Monday. I will let him do a session with Tess and see how things go."

Sean asked, "Tess?"

"Christine and I chose a special name for when she is in a scene. She suggested Truly Scrumptious, but it was to long. I shortened it to TS and made Tess. Unless I miss my guess, she has told Jason her special name. I plan to do both of them, together, this week.

"Speaking of things at the studio, you indicated that you had real estate plans in the neighborhood. How extensive and how soon?"

Sean paused, started to speak, then shook his head. "That is too big an issue to discuss right now. I will give you a bone to chew on. I would like to form a partnership. You already own the principal building and the most significant franchise. I can bring cash and a recognizable name. We can talk tomorrow.

"Til then, take care Kitten." Again, with the Kitten.

"Night, Teddy Bear." I would say tit for tat, but I had a feeling this would be a thing between us. OK by me.

I went to my apartment wondering what, exactly, I would find. Christine would be naked, there would be water running in the tub and water heating on the stove. That much was given. The question was how much more would I find. A gag perhaps? Would the bindings and flogger be laid out? In short, would I find Christine or Tess.

As soon as I opened the door, I had my answer. Christine, naked, was kneeling in Second Position, facing the door. However, it was just her. None of the things we had purchased, my usual store of toys and instruments, nor the tag and collar were laid out. Christine had done what I had asked, but no more. I set my purse down by the door, which I left open, so that she was in full view of any passers by.

I said, "Stay there while I check your work." Christine flushed as she recognized I was leaving her on display, but did nothing else. I went to the bathroom and turned off the water. The initiation might take a while, so I did not want the tub running over.

Sean:

There is an old song, Lady Madonna by the Beatles, with the line "Sunday morning creeping like a nun." It is a reference to a man calling on a woman of negotiable virtue. That Sunday I could have used the company, but but it was somehow comforting that no one called. I had been the titular heir to the family name and business for over thirty years, and the actual operator of the business for a decade. Finding women to fill my bed had never been a problem. The problem was finding one I wanted to wake up next to.

Sycophants always try to make you feel as if you are the center of their life. For better, or worse, I could always tell when someone wanted something, especially if it was other than what they they said. Sheila was plainly telling me that she wanted me, but she had other priorities. It was comforting in its honesty. That did not stop it from being lonely.

As I drove home, I played Saint John's Passion, by Johann Sebastian Bach. Everyone thinks of Bach as being the great harmonist, which is certainly true. I think of him as a writer who could make form work for him, rather than the reverse. His fugues have a complexity that is much deeper than the surface. The thought made me smile. As a metaphor for Sheila, a Bach fugue had its points—beautiful, complex, occasionally discordant, always somewhat unexpected.

When I reached the house, I bypassed the liquor cabinet. Back Jack and I had been seeing too much of each other. Instead, I chugged a liter of water and headed for the gym. As I worked the Nautilus, my mind rearranged the room, placing a stretching bar and a small mat. One of the machines would have to go, but there was always the big gym. That brought another thought. One of the storage rooms could be made into a small dance studio.

When I finished the set, I went and showered. That felt like a mistake, since it reminded me of when I had company. This, in turn, reminded me that I still had only men's shower soaps. What the hell. It was something to do. I called for a driver.  

Before I went down to the car, I pulled up the house floor plan and printed a hard copy. It would give me something to look at in the car, as we drove to the nearest all night drugstore. If we were going to have people in the house, some of the rooms would need to be opened, and I needed to figure out which. I left a note for Gerald, that we needed some AUTOCAD plans, for Sheila if no one else.

Once we reached Walgreen's, I started in the soap aisle and worked my way out. I chose a fruit, rather than floral, scented bodywash. For shampoo, I chose an herbal scent, rather than fruit. In went extra soap balls, toothpaste and three kinds of tooth brush. Then tampons, douche, KY his and hers, hand lotion, baby oil, sleep mask, dipping chocolate nibs, a scented oil crock pot, candy thermometer, clothespins, rope.

When I reached checkout, the girl at the counter looked at the tampons and douche, and asked, "New girlfriend?" Feeling wicked, I picked up the rope and clothespins and nodded. "Fiancé, in fact." The girl, her name tag said Maria, turned completely red. I threw another log on the fire. "Naughty girls need to be spanked." Her eyes popped wide open and her mouth formed an O. I considered handing her a card, but only for a moment. Sheila already one one submissive and this girl was interested, not avid.

I held up the chocolate and the crock pot. "Think of what we could do with these." It did not take much imagination, and Maria clearly had that much. Her breaths were coming short and heavy. I leaned in. "Maria, you have my permission to come as often as you wish tonight, but only tonight. Think of me pinching your breast while you masturbate. Say, 'Thank you, Mister Sean.'"

Maria turned even redder, though that should have been impossible, but she said, "Thank you, Master Sean. Come again." The minx said it wrong on purpose. She really did want a spanking.

"Thank you, Maria, but I have other commitments. You should explore this side of yourself, both from top and bottom, but be careful. Unlike what most people believe, it is not about the bondage and the pain. It's about trust. Look for someone you trust, first. Then find out if they are interested in playing these role games.

Returning to the car, I realized what a compliment Sheila had made, trusting me that first day.

Sheila:

It was funny, in a twisted sort of way, but I was more nervous about Christine, and the responsibility Tess represented, than I was about my own wedding. Perhaps that would change as the time of the nuptials approached, but I doubted it. I had rarely been more certain, of anything, than I was of wanting Sean to father and raise my children.

That raised a question in my mind. What did Christine want from me? Part of it, certainly, was sexual gratification, but only part. She also wanted family. From what little she had told me, she had been ignored most of her life. The exceptions were not happy ones. Literally, her fondest memory of her mother involved massive abdominal bruising. Once again I was reminded of a puppy.

How to begin? I closed the door. Tess endured the possibility of exposure, because I wished it. For the moment, I wished her to make choices. That meant something close to equality. Rather than have her dress, I disrobed. Once naked, I went to the living room and sat on the carpet near Christine. I was tempted to fold my legs into a lotus, but I wished Christine to mirror me and I was unsure how easy the position would be for her.

Once she was settled, facing me, I took a deep breath, held for a four count and exhaled. Christine mirrored me exactly. I repeated once, twice and a third time. The ritual was for Christine's benefit, but it also served to center me nicely. I began.

"Christine, and I am speaking to Christine, not Tess, we are about to consider the nature of our relationship. In this consideration, you will be required to make answer aloud. Do you understand?"

Christine's eyes widened, but she simply said, "Yes."

"Good. First I make you an offer. You may continue as my assistant. You will be trained in various areas, regarding the studio, and fitness training, regarding the gym. In addition, you would be responsible for cleaning this apartment, which is now your residence. For this, you will paid your hourly rate and receive free rental. This position is available to you for as long as you wish.

"It is possible that I will have a child in the next year. In that event, having an assistant and, later, a nanny, would be helpful to me. I tell you plainly, these are positions of trust. I believe that you are suitable for these tasks, but there will be responsibilities which you have not, yet, encountered. In short, I offer you a position as my right hand, for as long as you wish it. Do you understand this first offer?"

Christine was completely attentive the whole time. I could see that she wanted to know the alternative. Again, she said, "Yes."

I continued, "The other position is not as an assistant. It is as a submissive. For this purpose, we have chosen a collar and a name tag, to signify your subservience. You would work at the studio as I saw fit. You would not be allowed to work at the gym, or to go anywhere unaccompanied. You would wear your collar at all times, unless I personally removed it. This would generally be done only for cleaning. You would own nothing, not even what clothes I chose to provide you.

"You would be forgoing all personal choice. Much of your time would be spent waiting for me to complete other business. This is not a position of trust. At such time as I had a child, someone else would be hired to care for the baby.

"This is not an offer I make lightly. In my capacity as Mistress Cynthia, I have been asked, several times, to take on a person as a full time submissive. In each case I declined, because I judged that the person did not understand what he or she was asking. You are capable of understanding. Do you understand?"

Tears were running down Christine's face. She understood, which gave me a small sense of pride. When we had met, less than a week before, she would have thought very lightly of her own choices and responsibilities. She, at least, had come to value those. I painted a stark picture, but it was, if anything, too rosy. Very few can be content in a situation where no decisions are allowed.

She said, "I understand."

I said, "Choose. You can be my pet or my companion. Choose."

CC:

Sunday began so very well. My time with Jason was pure bliss. I could tell we would be BFF, with a little sex thrown in, and maybe babies eventually. He told me he would like to introduce me to some of the working girls he knew. They could teach me technique, but also to warn me about pitfalls. Other than Mr. Sean and Mistress, no one had taken an interest in me for many years. Both of them were scary. Jason was like a warm haven I could run away to.

Then, Mistress picked me up and we went shopping. If Jason was the friend I never had, Mistress was like a mother I never had. I could tell that Mistress was trying, very hard, to teach me about life. That gave me a different kind of warm feeling, but something was wrong. I could not figure out what it could be, since everything was developing so well, but I became more uneasy as the day wore on.

The party was a nice break. The food was like I had never eaten before, though everyone told me that it rated only fairly good. Alcohol was available, but I stayed away from it. I wanted all my wits when Mistress came for me later. At least the attention was on Mr. Sean and Mistress, rather than me. I did not need anything on top of the cold thing in my belly.

Finally, the time came. Mistress took me to her apartment and had me assume the position. As she had done before, Mistress left the door ajar, so that anyone in the hall could see my nakedness. Before, that had been a bit terrifying. That day it was only distracting. Other things were more important.

Mistress had instructed me to draw a bath and make tea. She completely ignored the tea and turned off the water before it could fill the tub. That was easy to understand. What she had planned for me could take longer than filling the tub. I was not sure if that was good or bad.

Mistress returned to the room, fully undressed. That was wrong. I was the one who would be naked in the house. This put us too close to equal. It became worse. Mistress sat cross legged on the floor and instructed me to do the same. Losing the familiarity of Second Position made me even more uneasy.

When Mistress had laid out my choice, I finally understood why I was so nervous. This was not to be the easy choice I had expected. There were only two options. I could continue as we had been doing, or I could become nothing more than a pet. Just days before, I had wanted nothing more than to Mistress' pet. I would have a place. I would belong. I would be able to serve Mistress and she would take care of my needs. Somehow that situation had lost its appeal. It seemed so barren. Mistress looked steadily into my eyes and told me to choose.

This was important. Everything Mistress had done pointed to that fact. If it were not important, she could be with Mr. Sean, planning the wedding, or doing other things. Mistress had said she wanted children and everyone knew where children came from. Most of my preparation for Jason had been about preventing pregnancy. Mistress wanted what was best for me, even when I did not understand what best was.

That was something to build on. Mistress wanted what was best, even if I could not see it. She had taken me to the mall, to show me that I was desirable. I had also learned that being desirable could be dangerous. I shivered as I thought of the woman from Kohls. She would not be asking me to choose. She would be taking my choices away. I would be nothing but her pet.

Pet. That was the word Mistress had used. Finally, I understood. Mistress wanted me to choose between being with her or being with someone like the woman from Kohls. That was no choice at all. I wanted to be with Mistress, even if she never touched me again.

As my thoughts came back into the room, I realized that I had been thinking for some time. Mistress had said nothing, done nothing, not even moved. This was important, and she wanted me to get it right, no matter how long it took. Mistress was trying to teach me something.

As soon as I understood that, the lesson was obvious. Mistress did not want me as a pet. She thought I was better than that. I smiled to think that someone as important as Mistress would think of me as valuable, but suddenly Mistress was crying. That was all wrong.

Without thinking, I rolled forward on my knees and hugged Mistress. She responded in kind. So we knelt, together, hugging and crying for a long, long time. Apparently, I was not going to get what I thought I wanted, and I had never been more relieved in my life. Even if Mistress never touched me again, I would still have a place beside her. That was enough.




K&T, LLC Ch. 01



Then it hit me. Mistress wanted me to help raise her children.

Oh my God!

Sean:

I do not know what I expected, but it was not a text from Sheila saying: Hired a nanny.