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The Rolls and the Pipe Ch. 01

By: D. Mattanthas



It is not very often that you see an unpretentious looking young man step out of a Rolls-Royce.

My name is Paige d'Lephaunt. I am a journalist working for a major Chicago newspaper, and on this particular night, I was waiting for my subject at the Riva Café on East Grand Avenue. For those who have never been there, the restaurant is a fairly large building on Navy Pier, overlooking Lake Michigan. The large dining room is open and is strewn with tables in what is best described as organized chaos. I had never eaten there, and with the prices as high as they were, I am glad that my bosses were paying for my meal.

I was sitting in the foyer, purse in hand, waiting for my date for the evening. I had not been told his name, only that he was a wealthy academic from Europe. Dave, my editor, suggested that I dress nicely – apparently the Riva is a ritzy place. Oh, and trust me, it is! I may be a journalist, but I was treated as royalty – it helps that I have a by-line and I used to be food reviewer. As I walked in the door (ten minutes early), the maitre 'd appeared at my shoulder and asked if I had a reservation, calling me by name. 

"Yes, I do. I'm here with, uhm..."

"I understand. We were informed that you would be here – your guest requested that he remain anonymous. Please wait here until he arrives." With that, the dark haired young man disappeared, returning a moment later with a high backed oak chair. "He called ahead to inform you that he might be a moment late. 'Business calls', he said."

"Oh," I said, disappointed. I hate waiting. "Alright then." I felt like I was on display, sitting there in the foyer of one of Chicago's foremost restaurants, without a partner. Not that I was complaining too much. I'm twenty six years old and I keep myself in shape. I stand just over five and a half feet tall, and I have dark chestnut hair that hangs to my waist. As any woman with curls can tell you, it's a pain in the proverbial ass trying to keep curly hair of that length neat. I'd struggled for three hours this evening trying to get it tamed. I love my hair – because of an accident at my birth, I have golden blonde streaks shooting through my chestnut curls, and I never have to worry about tangles.

I'd sat near the window for nearly twenty minutes before a decently sized car rolled up. It was a silver thing, long in the bonnet, conservative headlights and coach doors. It was a Phantom. Oh, my god! I thought. What shocked me more was that a young man stepped out of it, handed the keys to the valet and walked toward the doors. He was dressed in a dark blazer, jeans, and a white turtleneck. I suddenly felt overdressed! He had long hair pulled back into a ponytail, glasses and a trimmed beard. A sudden bustle behind me had me standing up and checking my hair and makeup. The maitre 'd had informed the owner of the new arrival, and Phil Stefani came bustling out of the back room. Four servers appeared out of no where, and I was left standing in the middle of the foyer. Which, I assure you, was a distinctly uncomfortable feeling.

I tried to step out of the limelight and behind the welcoming party, but the maitre 'd smiled and pushed me back into the middle, whisking my chair out from behind me.

I gulped.

"Is that who I think it is?" I asked the room in general. The welcoming party tittered an affirmative.

"Oh crap." The laughter rose.

Now, bear in mind that I'm an experienced journalist. I've interviewed the president, celebrities (Bruce Willis was thoroughly entertaining, and I nearly got into a cat fight with Jada Pinkett-Smith), oil moguls and five star generals. I have never in my life been this intimidated. All this happened in a span of thirty seconds, and I was already a nervous wreak.

The glass doors opened and I heard a peal of deep laughter and a healthy chuckle from the doorman. My guest walked in the door (wearing steel toed boots, nonetheless!) and raised his head to look at, well, me. I nearly fainted.

All of my fetishes, everything that I considered attractive in men was personified on this one individual. I barely heard this man cheerfully chastise Mr. Stefani for such an elaborate welcome – I was focussed on his steel grey eyes, his blonde hair, trimmed beard and shoulders that threatened to break out of his jacket. This man was enormous! He stood over six feet tall and looked like a cross between Triple-H and the Beast! 

Oh God! I thought again, this time in desperation.

I stood in the foyer, unnoticed by this man while he joked with the owners, complimented the maitre 'd, flirted with the female servers and intimidated the waiters. I felt small, all of a sudden, and wanted to crawl back into whatever hole I'd sprung from. I shifted cautiously on my high heels and waited for whatever was to come to happen. It did.

"And I imagine that this enchanting creature is Miss D'Lephant." Oh God! He's standing right in front of me!

"Yes sir," said Mr. Stefani. "She is the reporter from the newspaper." How did he know...oh. It took me a moment to remember who I was.

The man seemed to think for a moment before stepping a half pace backward. He grinned, bunching his cheeks like apples and showing a pure white grin of perfect teeth. He stuck his hand out. "It is a pleasure, Miss d'Lephant. I am Kaiser Mattananthas." 

"Kaiser?" I squeaked as I extended my hand. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I blushed and squeaked. Most embarrassing. 

"A joke of my parents. They studied 19th Century German history," he said as he dipped into a bow and kissed my knuckles. I had only had my knuckles kissed once, and it was a horrible experience. The poor kid who'd done it had braces and had never known a girl intimately, so I got heavily drooled on. This was completely different. His lips barely touched my skin, but the very touch sent intense tingles up my arm and sent shivers up my spine. It took every iota of strength I had to keep from falling to the floor. My mind was in a whirl, and I barely remember the walk from the door to the upstairs dining area. Mr. Mattanthas and I were given a corner booth, and from there we could look out over the Chicago skyline and out over Lake Michigan. Cruise ships and little tug boats flitted or plowed ponderously over the water, while personal vehicles cruised the street below us. Mr. Mattanthas walked behind me and pulled my chair out for me, letting me sit down as he pushed the chair in. He sat down across from me and folded his hands. 

"So, what can I do for you, Miss d'Lephant?"

"Uhm, uh, well. I am supposed to interview you for the paper's new feature page on uh.... What?"

Mr. Mattanthas was laughing. "I've never seen a journalist so nervous! What's the matter?" he asked.

"What?" My first reaction was to deny it. "I've interviewed a lot of people more famous than you. Why should I be nervous?"

"Dunno. Why should you be?"

"Eh?" At that we both snorted and started laughing all over the place. 

"That was the most articulate thing I've ever heard!" he laughed. We were still laughing as our waiter appeared at our elbows.

"What is your pleasure?" he asked. Mr. Mattanthas wiped his eyes as he collapsed into guffaws again.

"Sorry, give us a minute."

"Certainly sir."

We slowly got our selves under control, but we burst into laughter a number of times throughout the night. The waiter came and left again, bringing our order half an hour later.

"Let's start over," suggested Mr. Mattanthas, snickering a little.

"Excellent idea."

"I'm Kaiser Mattanthas, you're Paige d'Lephant, currently a feature writer for the newspaper."

"Correct, and I know nothing about you!"

"Correct."

"So, what do you want me to know?" I smiled.

"What do you want to know?" he countered, quirking an eyebrow. 

Oh God. He's going to be difficult!

"Vital statistics, job information, you know. The usual."

"Oh really? Vital statistics are usual information?" I snorted at his facetiousness. 

"Okay then. I'm twenty eight. I'm six-one, just under three hundred pounds."

What? "But you look less!"

"So I understand. It's mostly skeleton, but there's some muscle, and an equal amount of fat, let me assure you!"

"I'd have to see that to believe it!"

"Perhaps some other time." Again, what??? "I live in Sweden and Scotland, but I was raised in Canada. I was born in Saskatchewan, actually."

"That's in Czechoslovakia, isn't it?" He roared with laughter before gracing me with a look of disgust.

"I take it history and geography weren't strong points in school for you, were they?" I nearly slapped him.

"My majors, actually. Journalism was a minor, but it worked out for the best. I ended up getting a job as copygirl for the Tribune when I was twenty one, and the rest is history." He grinned as I realized what he'd done. "Stop that! I'm supposed to be the one interviewing."

"I see. I understand I'm also your guest....." Ooooh. Now he's being assholish! "Yes you are, now please answer my questions!"

"You have to ask them first! Ahh!" he cried as I tossed a balled up napkin at him. "Okay, okay! Pax! Pax!"

"Alright then." I was feeling rather smug at that point.

The time flew. He and I spoke for over three hours. He told me about the papers he'd written as a college student in Alberta, now widely known sources for academia. I learned that he had earned his first fortune in real estate as a youth (read: twenty) while in college. He petitioned the United Nations in 2008 for a UN funded university, designed it and hired the staff and faculty, and effectively dropped off of the face of the planet after its opening ceremony. He owned a string of restaurants and bars across North America and worked with the UN as education advisor. He presented me, at that point, with a collection of his written works for the newspaper – 28 volumes of history on World War Two. I'd used three of them while in university, actually.

"You're him?" I cried, shocked.

"Yep. That's my true name, but few people can pronounce it, so I use Kaiser Mattanthas as my daily name...and to the press."

"Oh." He smiled self consciously and shuffled his feet under the table.

We spoke for half an hour more before the maitre 'd informed us that they were closing for the night. Mr. Mattanthas rose and stood behind me as I got up. Ever the gentleman.

He paid and walked me to my car, the valet following in his Phantom.

The Rolls and the Pipe Ch. 02



The normal schtick here. While nothing adversely sexual will be happening for some time, this story is on a site that is strictly legal-age only. The Rolls and the Pipe is a slow-moving story, but I would like to think that it is worth it. Please offer feedback!! Frankly, I don't expect you to offer feedback until the story is complete, but each to their own. Enjoy! 

* * * * *

From Kaiser Mattanthas' Perspective: 

I drove up to the doors of the Riva Café – it was one of my favorite haunts in Chicago, and the owners knew me by name. Their maitre 'd had been one of my students and they'd given me a discount from the moment he was hired.

I idled the Phantom for a few minutes while I collected myself. I didn't go on many dates by preference, and this interview was just that – a date. Young Paige d'Lephant didn't know it yet, but the staff did. I looked around my car for the things I would need: I pulled the SOCOM pistol and a spare magazine from the glove compartment and a small jewelry box from beside the gun. I slipped the gun into the holster in the small of my back and placed the magazine in my front pocket. I tucked the little box into the inside pocket of my sports coat and stepped out. I passed a box from the trunk to the doorman as he came to greet me, leaving instructions for it to be delivered to my table before the end of the night. The valet (a former member of the Navy Seals, and one of my agents) took the car and disappeared around the corner. I waited for a moment as I watched the smoky grey Rolls-Royce hum away.

I sauntered up the walk to the doors and Gerry opened the door. 

"I understand you're here to see a skirt!" he whispered.

"Yep. You never know, I might get to see under it too!" I joked. He was an old school friend, and he knew that I was still a virgin – I'd made no bones about it. 28 years old, famous across the planet, and I'd never gotten laid. Oh well – better not worry about it. I'm not like other men, let me assure you – that's not just arrogance, either. I know I'm not – I don't think about sex all the time. I have little use for sex, and I've deadened myself to it. It's become a long-standing joke among my friends and comrades that I'll be the most successful virgin since Jesus. I walked into the restaurant laughing.

There before me stood this little, slight thing – 'bout five and a half feet tall (with high heels) long, long dark hair and this nervous look on her face. I always look at the face first – I believe the eyes are the gateway to the soul. If you can't read what's going on in a person's eyes, get the hell away as fast as possible. I had to stand still for a moment and catch my breath.

She was wearing this black dress...a sheath, really. The dress hung off of her upper arms, and it clung to her curves like it was painted on. It hung down to the tops of her knees (and what nice knees they were!), and she wore an anklet on her right leg. Her high heels were tied up her calves and she held a matching purse in finely manicured hands.

And her hair! I love hair. Her hair just hung! I'm sure that the golden streaks were natural – they had a similar sheen to my own hair – and the deep brown curls hung to her waist. The volume and body of her hair was just fantastic.

When you are worried about confronting someone, it is often best to leave them hanging for a moment, and that is what I did. I made the rounds and played with the staff. I knew them all except for this one girl, and I let her know she was welcome. Blushing girls are quite attractive.

I left Paige standing there for a few moments. She was nervous, more visibly nervous than I was. I didn't quite know what to do, so I left her hanging. Not the most gracious thing to do, but I'm insecure. By the time I made my way around to her, I knew what I was going to do.

Paige had a glazed look on her face as I circled around to look her in the eyes. "And I imagine that this enchanting creature is Miss d'Lephant."

"Yes sir," said Mr. Stefani, the owner of the restaurant. "She is the reporter from the newspaper." I knew that of course. I looked her in the eye and took a step backward, out of her comfort zone. I extended my hand to shake hers. She took my hand as I smiled and introduced myself.

"It is a pleasure, Miss d'Lephant. I am Kaiser Mattanthas." 

"Kaiser?" It was the first word she'd spoken in my presence, and I hoped to Aphrodite that her voice was not as high as it sounded. I covered my mild disgust with a polite smile.

"A joke of my parents. They studied 19th Century German history," I said as I bowed my head and brought her fingers to my lips. I'd used this tactic a number of times over the years, and I always got favorable responses. Paige was no different. She brought her other hand to her lips as I gently caressed her knuckles with my lips, and a small gasp escaped her lips as I applied a little bit of tongue. Knuckle-kissing is an art, and I like to think of myself as a master. I effectively shut her up until we reached the table. This I was glad for because I was confused myself. She certainly didn't look like a reporter – she looked like she was out for a good time.

I'm certain that, at this point, I come across as a callus, deranged and thoroughly confused individual – Frankly, you wouldn't be too far off the mark. I'm male. We are not as stable as people like to think. Trust me.

The evening progressed in a pleasant manner. Paige, from the start, was very nervous, and I was having a great deal of fun irritating her. I have great respect for the media, but I am also wary of them. Anything you say or do can be used against you. I ordered for the pair of us – the chilled Buckingham fountain (a collection of oysters, shrimp, crab, mussels and tuna) as an appetizer, the rack of lamb for the lady and a massive twenty four ounce porterhouse with lobster bisque for myself. Suffice it to say, we were both pleasantly sated by the end of the evening. I felt slightly distended, but I have little trouble with that. I metabolize things rather quickly.

It goes without saying that her voice was anything but high – she had a pleasant alto voice with a phenomenal range.

I walked her out to her car after supper. I had been careful to let her know only the basics – what I'd done with my life, how I could afford a Rolls-Royce (a 2003 model, obviously used, but a Rolls nevertheless). We stood chatting at her vehicle for a time, the headlights from my following Rolls back-lighting us in the parkade. 

"I had a good time, Paige," I said.

"Well Mr. Mattanthas, I would be lying if I said anything different. I think you learned more about me than I learned about you, but I don't think that should count against you."

I smiled. "I'm glad. If doing what I do best should count against me, I'd be a very unhappy man." Paige raised an eyebrow and didn't say anything.

I shifted and leaned backward against the low wall of the parkade. "This is going to sound a bit weird, Paige, but I need you to do something for me."

"What's that?"

I took the jewelry box from my pocket and opened it. "I need you to wear this. It has a tracking device and a small video camera in it. It projects the data to my security forces and, subsequently, to me."

She took the box and looked into it, gasping as she withdrew the necklace within. "Why?" she asked, holding it out to me. I took the fragile chain in my hands and looked at it.

"I'm a dangerous man to be around, Paige. You signed a paper before meeting me here, a waiver stating you knew the danger you were going into. You signed it, and I have the original," I said in response to her shocked look. "I'm hated by many paralegal organizations, and I'm being hunted by a conglomerate of weapons smugglers...and universities who believe I'm infringing on their profits. Frankly, you have no choice but to wear this – if you are being followed by anyone, I'll know, and I'll be able to take measures to protect you. It's not foolproof, but it's the best chance you've got."

I took the links in my hands and unfastened the clips. I stepped forward and slid my hands under Paige's hair, fastening the necklace around her slender neck. I stepped back and looked at it. 

Now, I had the opportunity to watch the movie called The English Patient when I was young – I think I was eight – and I think I've liked necks ever since. Each link was made of damascus steel (a high-quality tool steel with a pattern formed from differing hardnesses of steel), and a titanium and platinum valentine hung from the apex. A clear diamond (really the lens of a miniature video camera) sparkled from between her collar bones. A thin ring of gold was wrapped around the circle that the valentine was suspended in. The necklace, one of my design, did nothing but accentuate her beauty.

"Oh my God!" she whispered. I nodded. 

"Check it Gerry," I said. The doorman stepped out of my car (Paige looked surprised, she obviously thought it was the valet) and triggered a PDA.

"Up and working boss. View's not bad, though you might want to suggest to the lady that she tip the camera back to level!" I snorted as Paige blushed and pressed the back of the pendant against her skin.

"Good night, Miss d'Lephant. I hope you will be able to write a good story!"

I slipped into the driver's seat of my car and Gerry and I drove off. 

I wondered if I'd ever see her again. For her sake, I hoped not. 



The Rolls and the Pipe Ch. 03



The Rolls and the Pipe: Chapter 3

Chapter 3 of The Rolls and the Pipe is here. It's a dual perspective piece, and therefore will be a bit longer than the other two chapters. Things might get a bit steamier in this chapter than the other two, but as I write this, I don't know. Words flow from me and onto my keyboard, resulting in text on the computer monitor, so I can't guarantee what's coming.

Other than that, remember the usual schtick: 18 years of age or older only please. Mucho feedback appreciated, enjoy the story, all that guff. 

By the way: The Rolls-Royce that Kaiser drives is not governed like most – he had the governor removed (in North America it's governed at 210kph, and in Europe 280kph). The interior is a stained red oak, burgundy and black leather upholstery. It has a small wine cooler installed in the back seat, with a small storage compartment between the rear seats, a glove compartment in front of the passenger's seat. I would have preferred to make the vehicle a standard transmission, but I know of no conversion kits for the Phantom. The exterior colour is a dark silvery-grey.

* * * * *

Paige de'Lephant's Perspective

I'm rarely out of sorts. I was raised by middle-class parents in a middle-class neighborhood with middle-class neighbors and with the usual middle-class bullies. I had average marks (you know, 75%-ish) in school and the usual flings in high school. I was stable and proud of it. I had to deal with my chores just like any kid and argued with my parents about curfew just like everyone else. I had a happy childhood, and I could deal with anything. Kaiser Mattanthas was the unforeseen variable in the mathematical formula of my life. In J-school, I learned that this phenomenon was known jokingly as "phrenology with an 'f'".

I got to work the day after the interview and sat down at my terminal. I puttered around, fixing the mistakes that my editor caught in my column, tidying up my desk (journalists don't have cubicles in most cases – our workstations are open to everyone else. "The New Adventures of Superman" – the Daily Planet – had that right) and doing basic maintenance. It wasn't until that I sat down after lunch to write down the interview that the events of the night caught up with me. 

Ever had writer's block?

I sat at my computer for over an hour, just staring. When I 'woke up', I discovered that I was staring at the little pendant that Mr. Mattanthas had given me – staring directly into the diamond and rotating the little thing between my fingers. I quickly looked around and stuffed it back around my neck – I had gotten an inkling of how powerful he really was the previous night, and I wasn't about to cross him. It's not every man who has a squad of U.S. marines protecting him.

I finally put my fingers to the keys and pounded out a story.

Kaiser Mattanthas: A Paradigm of . . . What?

By Paige d'Lephant

I have stood in the shadow of greatness. Well, that is not entirely true. Rather, I was intimidated by it, had supper with it, laughed with it and insulted it. Equally, I was insulted by greatness, laughed at by greatness and humbled by it.

This week I had supper with the United Nations' single most powerful delegate – Major Sir Kaiser Mattanthas, Ph.D., M.Ed., B.A., B.Ed., B.Sci. M.Sci.. 

I suppose the best way to introduce my evening's companion is to relate a little of his history – a topic that he tried to refrain from addressing while being rather forthcoming about it.

Mr. Mattanthas was born in Canada in 1984 – 28 years ago. He entered college-level education at the age of 16 and graduated with his Bachelors degree in History (Hons.) in 2007 from one of the most prestigious universities in the Western Hemisphere. He was published as an academic author before the age of twenty-one and, in 2008 convinced the United Nations to grant him the resources to fund the first multi-national university. 

Located in Scotland, the university provides free education to students – but before you get too excited parents, the school is highly exclusive. He personally chooses each and every student. They are given a well-rounded education from the age of six, and currently five world leaders are graduates. His work in studying World War Two and the Vietnam conflict has resulted in his honorary masters and doctorate degrees from Cambridge and Harvard. His studies into genetic engineering has resulted in his masters in the subject after receiving an honorary degree in genetics in 2007. His Bachelor of Education degree was conferred upon him in 2007 by the United Nations in collaboration with McGill University. He says that he bullied them into giving him those degrees, saying that he is lazy and did not want to do the work. Yeah right! 

For his work in military expansion and theory (his personal interests lie in strategic analysis), he was honored with the rank of Major in the United Nations Peace Forces.

Kaiser Mattanthas was knighted earlier this year by King William of Britain. 

He achieved his fortune in real estate shortly before graduation and is currently living with the financial burden of $480 million (in Euros) in an undisclosed location. This is all common knowledge – you can find it in any newspaper or tabloid. What people do not know is that he is a normal guy!

When I first met him, he was dressed simply, in steel-toed boots, jeans and a sports jacket. He arrived in a second-hand Rolls-Royce, and was intermittently quite charming and as crude as most of my former boyfriends. He cites Dennis Leary as one of his heroes and pays lip service to celebrities, stating that their public images are strictly business-oriented. He reads fantasy stories more than anything and claims that you don't need to study textbooks to know something. With a testable IQ of over 150, I doubt that he means it.

Unfortunately, that is all I learned – like I said, he was quite private about himself.

I do know, however, that he has a huge security system – each and every one of his graduates are protected by his personally trained agents. I encountered at least six during my interview with Mr. Mattanthas. I therefore suggest that you enjoy him from afar, but if you ever have the opportunity to meet him, you will be swept off your feet.

Before he gently catches you and returns your emptied purse to your hand.

I'm afraid that I didn't do Mr. Mattanthas justice, but I think you can forgive me. My emotions were so cross-wired that I don't think that I could have written anything better...or anything more flattering.

I tossed my pen to the table after proofreading my submission. I always print things out before editing. Paper trail, you know. It wasn't what I wanted, but that's what the boss would get. I grabbed my jacket and walked out, tossing the papers on Dave's desk. 

"So how'd the date go Paige!" he yelled. I cringed – I didn't want the rest of the office listening.

"It was alright. He's a bit of a snob, but all rich people are." He quirked an eyebrow and scanned my copy.

"Apparently that wasn't all you thought!" he joked. "Listen to this guys!" I jumped – the rest of the people from my department had snuck up behind me. Bastards.

"'... and was intermittently quite charming and as crude as most of my former boyfriends...' Oh my! Comparing him to old heartthrobs already, eh?" he snickered.

"Aw, cram a stapler in it, Dave." I stuck my tongue out at him and turned to leave. He got a glimpse at my necklace as I put my coat on. 

"He gave you jewelry after your interview!?" Everyone started to crowd around.

"No, Dave."

"I've seen every piece of jewelry you have! That's new. You don't have the cash to buy it, and I know that –"

"Shut UP Dave!"

"Alright. I'll want to talk to you tomorrow. This is a problem. Go home."

I scowled. I felt like yelling at him, felt like telling him the truth, but I couldn't. Kaiser (oh God, I'm not thinking of him as 'Kaiser', am I?????) had made me promise. I just left and slammed the door behind me. I hailed a taxi and went home.

Kaiser Mattanthas' Perspective

Well, that went well, I thought. I'd been able to give her jewelry and protect her at the same time. I love giving little gifts to my dates, regardless of familiarity, and I always have. I think I started that practice when I was eleven.....

When I went home (an apartment on Ogden and Kedzle, just outside of Douglas Park, my primary holding in the 'States), I walked into the kitchen, tossed my jacket on the counter and grabbed a chocolate milk. I had a fully stocked bar, but I dislike alcohol, so I keep it for my friends. I went to my study, opened a window and sat in my easy chair. For those who are interested, this particular apartment was more than two thousand square feet. I had a full bath (75 cubic foot jacuzzi with jets, a toilet, urinal, sink and shower stall), a bedroom (queen sized bed, garderobe, table with Hepplewhite chairs and a Queen Anne's table and en suite half bath), a study (book-lined walls, a couple of cabinets, solid walnut desk, a coffee table, three easy chairs with ottomans and a love seat, a computer table with office chair and a single recliner – red paisley, of course) and a full kitchen (designed off of the one at my main house and my pride and joy). My foyer and entertaining area were one, with a fish tank (lobsters), a couple of couches and a coffee table or two.

Pulling a small tin of G.L. Pease's Bohemian Scandal tobacco out of a cabinet (one of the last tins in the world – September 2004 had brought a huge fire that had destroyed tons of Syrian tobacco, Pease's prime stock) and a Dunhill quarter-bend bulldog from a pipe rack, I sat in my recliner by the window. I sat there until nearly four in the morning, puffing and re-filling my pipe as needed. When I get depressed or have a lot on my mind, I withdraw and become nearly hermit-like. I am an introvert by nature, and I use extroversion as a way to protect myself. I don't like people.

But frankly, I was intrigued by Paige. There was a time when I wanted to become a journalist, but the formation of the university had taken precedent. Journalists, for the most part, are super intelligent. Don't get me wrong, there are some stupid ones, but in the field you have to be able to see and interpret things that others cannot – any investigative journalist (tabloid authors excluded) can tell you that. Journalists survive off of charisma: their own and others. They are not paid anywhere near as much as they should be (something like $12000 American per annum), considering the skills and work involved. My press secretary, for example, is paid more than eighty-grand a year. She's quite thankful. It helps that I'm paying for her three kids to go through school. I never said I was greedy.

She seemed to see right through me, seemed to take interest in every aspect of everything I said, and wheedled things out of me that I had no intention of saying. Machiavelli, my Siamese, snuggled up onto my lap somewhere during the night. He had been fed by the maid and fell asleep quickly. I stroked Mac and imagined what Paige would feel like. I'd only touched her hand and Mac felt hard in comparison. Siamese fur is softer than goose-down, and that should give you an indication.

I sighed. I went to bed that night thinking of a dark-haired beauty that I had known in high school, and had fantasized about for the past decade. Paige brought back some painful memories.

I was awoken around ten the next morning by a beep from my security line. The White House has its Red Phone, I have my own.

"Yeah," I grunted. 

"Trouble, Abe."

"What?"

"Your date from last night is, shall we say, under surveillance?"

"Marc, what the hell are you talking about?" I had known Marc when I was in junior high, and I'd traced him and his cousin (a personal trainer) down and offered them work when I struck it big.

"Damn man! She's one of the hottest pieces I've ever seen, and you don't know who I'm talking about? The chicky from last night is being trailed!"

"What?"

"Yup." I heard tapping from the other end. "Check your screen." 

I flipped a switch on the phone casing and a TV screen flickered on. I seemed to be looking at a Mickey D's concession stand from Paige's breast level. 

"'K. Yeah, so?"

"The grey haired man on the left, by the wet bar." Rotten Ronnie's had started serving alcohol as standard when a German firm bought the company three years earlier.

"The one with the handle bar moustache and Harley jacket?"

"Yeah, that's him."

"Isn't he a bit too obvious?"

"That's what you'd think. I ran a check on him, turns out he was in the French foreign legion in the 1970's. Got arrested in Moose Jaw in '90 and got slammed for unpaid alimony eight times. Name's Jim Bregure. Got hired by them three years ago, about the time you dropped out of sight."

"Ah."

"Yeahm. Anyway, Gordie said that he was near the Riva last night, and Dream mentioned seeing him near the 'paper last month."

"Right. So, what do you think?"

"Get over there and figure something out. And...wait a sec...." Marc seemed to turn from the phone. "...Yeah. Deedee says you should get another date going."

"Right. Thank her for me."

"Yeah. Ciao."

I hung up.

A week later, I was whisking out of my 2012 Mercedes (a white job, fully kitted out with a stereo system, carriage lights, hydraulic shocks, the works. I love the computerized instaform seats with integral 9x5 subs!) in front of the 'paper where Paige worked.

I breezed in through the main doors and walked straight past the receptionist. I still prefer the term secretary, but whaddya do? I walked straight up to Paige.

"We need to talk."

"Kaiser!" she shouted, drawing the attention of absolutely everyone in the office.

"Now." I turned and left. At this point, most of the office had gathered around – 120 journalists and photographers struggling with recorders and cameras. They don't worry me: I use a magnetic pulse to destroy images and recorded sound. They'd have nothing but fuzz. I strode out, Paige running behind me.

Paige's Perspective

God. If I had thought that he was impressive in casual dress, man was I wrong! 

Kaiser stormed through the door as though all the hounds of hell were after him – well, actually, he looked grimly amused, but that's irrelevant. He was dressed in pure white – his jeans, shirt, trench coat, belt, shoes, everything. His hair glistened golden as he brushed past the boss and the receptionist. Big men look big in black, but Kaiser literally filled the room when he was wearing white. Not only that, but he was angry – I could feel it.

"We need to talk," he said. When men with bass voices get mad and are trying to restrain themselves, things rattle.

"Kaiser!" I shouted. You'd be surprised too if someone like him arrived out of the blue and demanded to speak with you!

"Now," and he turned and left. Metaphorically speaking, the waters parted and I rushed after him in the wake of his passing, tossing on a jacket.



The Rolls and the Pipe Ch. 04



Wotcher. Welcome to the fourth installment of The Rolls and the Pipe. Noticing that I was only writing one page on Literotica screens, I will be trying to write more per installment. This is a personal preference: I like continuing to read. Longer stories (I'm reading "Drumbeats in His Soul" right now) are my preference. In fact, I only own books over 300 page because I read them in only four hours or less. I rip through a Lit. story in fifteen minutes.

I will be trying to show a little more of Kaiser's "ugly" side in this story, and showing a bit more of his insecurity. Paige will blossom, I hope, and I encourage any female who reads this to give me feedback – I know how men's minds work, and I have a good idea how women's work, but I am always seeking to improve my knowledge.

Enjoy. 

*****

Kaiser's Perspective

I don't think I was angry. Actually, my rage had played itself out the night before, so I guess I was in a post-fury state of insensitivity. As I led Paige out of the newspaper's main doors, I could feel the stares of her coworkers on me, on us. My conscience caught up to me just before I pushed the doors open, bringing me to a halt. I took a deep breath, lowered my arm, and turned around. 

Just as Paige caught up to me, throwing her jacket haphazardly around her shoulders, I said, "Sorry. I guess I should talk to your boss first." 

"Yes, you damn well should!" she said indignantly. So did her boss.

"What the hell is going on here?" he asked. "Who the hell are you?"

"Kaiser Mattanthas."

"What's a Kaiser Mattanthas, and why should I care?" he yelled. "Scratch that! Who are you to be coming barging into my newsroom and shanghai one of my reporters?" His face, normally ruddy with well-fed, mid-life health, turned a rainbow of purple as he turned lividly to Paige. "…And what the hell do you think you're doing running off with him!? Eh? You have work to do, and I can't have my reporters running off after some dorked up wallbanger on a crazy whim!!! Get back to work!"

"Sir, I think we should go into your office – I was just coming to speak with you. It would not be wise to speak here, surely," I said.

"And why the hell not?"

"The media is abroad." He blinked. He looked like a surprised fish.

"Well, what do you want to talk to me about?"

"The employment of Miss d'Lephant, the safety of said employee, and, perhaps, the survival of yours truly."

"So?" I think he was determined to be belligerent.

"Uhm," I thought fast, "…and the survival of your job." With any luck, he'd be worried about his own job security already, and apparently he was, for he said:

"Ah. Right this way." 

Paige's boss (I assumed) led me to his office, and I waved Paige in before I shut the door. I answered his inquiring look with a rock-solid expression of my own. "Paige," I said, "I think this gentleman and I need to be introduced."

"Uhm, Dave, this is the gentleman I interviewed last Tuesday, Major Mattanthas. Kaiser, this is Dave Williamson, Editor-in-Chief." She turned to me. "What's this about?"

I coughed delicately and smoothed my beard. "Do you still have the necklace?"

"Yes," she said warily. "Why?"

"It turns out that I was right."

"Oh God."

"Nope. A hit man, actually."

Mr. Williamson interrupted. "What? Why does Paige have a hit man after her?"

"Because of me."

"What?"

I sighed. "It's a long story, Mr. Williamson. Do you have a moment?"

"No, but I won't let you take her –"

" – And I won't leave without her –"

" – So I guess I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

"Nope."

"Let's sit down, shall we? Can I get anyone a drink?" This from Paige.

"A rye and coke," said Williamson.

"Water with a twist, please."

"Right."

As Paige busied herself with the drinks, I related my information to her and to her boss.

"The night Paige interviewed me for the feature page, I informed her of the inherent dangers of associating with me. You know little about me, Mr. Williamson, but suffice it to say I am a very, very powerful man. As with all powerful individuals, I have equally powerful enemies.

"Last Tuesday, a man by the name of Jim Bregure was sighted near the café where we dined. He has been hired by one of the syndicates who are dedicated to my eradication to shadow me . . . and by proxy, eliminate anyone I associate with. Apparently, the syndicate had been informed that we were dining out that evening, and Paige became their newest target.

"The necklace she wears is a gift from me."

"I thought so," commented Williamson.

"Yes, well, it's a security device. Camera, tracking device and a microphone are hidden within it, and the data is sent to me via an encoded FM tightbeam. It works off of a similar system to a cell phone. Wednesday, Miss d'Lephant was eating at a McDonald's restaurant on The Loop, and Mr. Bregure was sighted, through the camera, nearby. He's been prowling around her apartment for the last two or three days, and lately she's been followed by a hit team. We don't know who they are, but there you go. She's been marked out as a target – the usual plan is kidnap, interrogation and one of three things will follow: torture, blackmail or, unfortunately, death." These things are not easily said, and I tried to make it short and sweet. I did not want to be telling Williamson this, but for Paige's protection, he needed to know. A little information here and there, a diligent prod in the side, and you can manipulate someone's reactions as surely as a computer game. Manipulation has always been one of my strong points.

"Ah."

"Yeahumm."

"Paige? You knew about this?"

"Only vaguely. I signed a sheet of paper, without reading it, and apparently it waived my security over to Kaiser's companies."

"Right." Williamson sat back and thought. I crossed my ankles and nursed my Twisty. I waited for Williamson to respond, and passed the time gazing out of the fourth-story picture windows behind his desk. Not a pleasant sight, really. The 'paper is across the street from a decrepit women's clothing store. Plus sized lingerie stared out at me from bulbous mannequins and Rosie O'Donnell's ruddy face and whisky-soaked nose shone out at me. I shuddered. At least it wasn't Roseanne.

"So my star reporter is a target for the mob, her only chance is with a conceited nancyboy who's big enough to kick my ass from here to Vegas, and I can expect her to be out of circulation for weeks."

"That's about it, except for the loss of work thing."

"How do you mean?"

I uncrossed my legs and rested my elbows on my knees. "Essentially, you hire a free-lance photographer to partner Miss d'Lephant. The photographer will be a personal body-guard packing some serious baggage and orders to do anything to protect your employee. You will provide documentation to allow Miss d'Lephant travel permits, and she will continue her feature series."

"Where do you come into this?"

"Two options – she could accompany me to various functions and interview the celebrities and government officials I meet with on an exclusive basis." I left my sentence hanging.

Paige piped up. "And what's the second option?"

"I could be the photographer."

"WHAT?" They yelled. 

LATER…….

I sat back in my chair and puffed slowly. I let the smooth, cool smoke of the tobacco sift upwards through the stem and circulate in my mouth. I ran my tongue over it, tasting it and enjoying its texture. I puffed out, creating a long line of narrow smoke rings that faded as they floated out the window.

As you can probably tell, I have some fairly strong (and eccentric) tastes – I drive a used Rolls-Royce, I wear work boots and I smoke the finest tobacco of the finest tobacconist in the world in a pipe made by the finest pipe maker in England. One of the pipes I smoke is one of Alfred Dunhill's pieces of art – a briar pipe with a silver military-style spigot and a chestnut-coloured acrylic stem. The quarter-bend pipe was a good friend of mine for years, starting with a storybook character. For years I'd emulated the fictional character Qwill Qwilleran, and I had the pipe, the cats and the literary interests to prove it. Now, I also had the money. I was set for life. Except for one thing – and I was now closer to achieving that then at any other time in my life. This is what happened:

After I'd barged into the newsroom and scared the metaphorical piss out of Paige and her boss, I'd taken Paige home to discuss details. I brought her to my place out of courtesy – when you nearly kidnap a woman, you should at least grant her the courtesy of allowing her into your inner sanctum. My wealth is staggering (to most, anyway), and I prefer to live as simply as possible while maintaining a decent comfort level. As I said before, my Chicago suite is a 2000 square-foot apartment, consisting of a good-sized kitchen, a study, comfortable bedroom, a bathroom to drool for and a delectable living room. As Paige walked in the door, she had to stop for a moment to take in her surroundings.

I took her coat and placed it in the closet next to mine. That doesn't seem like much, but I believe in symbolism – it's a test to determine how perceptive people are. She was awed, so she didn't notice. Don't blame her, frankly. She walked down the hallway to the den, carefully avoiding stepping on Cleopatra's tail (she is my other Siamese) while Mac stared at her forehead from on top of the bookshelf. Flopping down on the nearest couch, she tried nonchalance:

"So. What did you want to talk to me about? WOOP!" Apparently she'd miscalculated the depth of the cushions.

"Well, you need to know a bit more about me if I'm to protect you, don't you?"

"Not really."

"Oh? No trust issues then? Not concerned that a virtual stranger has imposed himself on your life? And, by proxy, is threatening your life? I'm impressed." I have a dry sense of humor, and sarcasm factors heavily into this type of situation.

"Okay, fine. I do want to know. I want to make sure that I'm not putting my life in the hands of a psychopath."

"Well, I'm owned by cats, so I can't be too much of a psychopath," I joked. "Before we start, can I get you anything to drink?"

I stood up and walked to the mini bar at the end of the den and got her drink, and poured a double-malt scotch for myself. Handing her her drink, I leaned back against the smokestack of the fireplace behind me.

"So what did you need to know?"

"Promise?"

"Of course. Trust is definitely necessary right about now."

And so it went. She wanted to know the scope of my security systems (the majority of which I kept from her), my influence in the government (not a lot, but enough), my control of the military and police forces (total, when in demonstrated need). She wanted to know about my social life too, and I indulged her in that.

"I'm an introvert by nature. I don't like people, but I like individuals. Large numbers of people make me paranoid, and I'm scared spitless by women. End of story."

Of course she wouldn't let THAT one go: "Scared of women?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Do you care?"

"What?"

"I'm not about to tell you something that personal unless you're willing to accept the ramifications of it. Wanna know what they are?"

"Uhm, okay…" Paige sounded uncertain.

"I learned years ago that I needed to become more private. My friends in school knew one side of me, and refused to accept the real me. You know I'm intense, but I'm a lot less so now than I was then. They saw the part of me that was happy-go-lucky and loud. Someone like me is…an anomaly, and not well cared for by society. I was in a very, very bad relationship in senior high, and I was emotionally scarred for a long, long time. I still am." I sighed. "That said, I don't give my 'self' freely to anyone anymore. You see what I want you to see, and nothing else. Telling you why I'm afraid of women – of relationships – would be tantamount to me putting my life and soul in your hands."

"Oh."

"Intense, eh?"

"Yeah."

"Do you still want to know?"

"My life and soul are in YOUR hands. I think it would be a fair exchange."

"Maybe. If a choice I made caused you to get hurt, you'd likely recover. If you made a choice with MY soul…I would die. Emotionally, and physically soon after."

"What?"

Now, I know that sounds melodramatic, but you'll understand why in a moment….

"This is the problem – I'm a one woman man. Telling you that would seal a bind on my heart – and I've been very careful not to let that happen." I took a deep breath.

"It was my first overtly sexual experience, and well, I'm kind of embarrassed about it."

"Don't spare the details. I don't mind."

I sighed.

"When I was in high school, I wasn't well liked. I know, boohoo. I was born five weeks early, and the doctors figured that the part of my brain that deals with social learning didn't develop. I didn't clue in to signals from the opposite sex until I was 20. Which is not to say I didn't notice girls – quite the opposite. Puberty hit me at eight."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. Anyway. I nearly got suspended a couple of times for 'stalking', and after I realized what the definition of it was, I stopped. People are weird: I was only trying to find out why these girls were refusing my admittedly clumsy advances. The bottom line was that they didn't want to speak to me. At all.

"This one girl, Ilsa, took a liking to me. Cute girl, I guess – 'bout 5'2" and one-twenty, maybe one-thirty in weight. She was pudgy. That was okay, then. She wanted to spend time with me, and I needed company. After about four months, she started getting fresh. We'd flirted a couple of times (well, all the time really)," I parenthesized. "Finally, in February of my graduating year, she got overbearing, and I started avoiding her. One time, she caught me 'napping' in the library and she kissed my cheek, thinking I was asleep. I don't sleep easily, so I was resting a bit. I nearly exploded right there. Another time, she cornered me in a foyer and tried making out with me right there. Wasn't the best time, really.

"Just after my grad ceremony, she was over at my place. She was trying on some dresses I'd designed the previous year, and she got horny."

"Don't stop. Tell me it all." Paige sounded kind of breathless, but I shrugged it off.

"You asked for it. She peeled the dress off of her torso and pounced me. I grabbed her around the waist – and I lost control. I tossed her on the bed and jumped on her. Well, beside her really." I was getting agitated, and started pacing. I put the tumbler of whisky on the counter and strode back and forth, gesticulating with my hands.

"I hoisted myself up beside her and – with typical virgin abandon, seized her breasts. I was going crazy. My sight ended up flickering like I was near a strobe light and I zoned in. I think I was a bit rough, but I don't really remember. I ran my hands under her breasts, up her sides and tickled her rib cage. I caressed the bottom curve of her breast and drew her nipple into my mouth. I suckled for a moment and moved over to her left breast. Massaging her right breast – "

"Use the word tit. It's easier."

I quirked an eyebrow. "Alright. I caressed her tit and tweaked the underside of the left as I drew it deep into my mouth. I pinched lightly as I sucked. She was going wild. Leaving her chest, I worked down toward her belly button and flicked my tongue around it before plunging in. She moaned really loud at that point, as I remember.

"Just as I was moving the dress down from around her hips, I received a mental slap upside the head. She started muttering with a false British accent, huskily, and started urging me on." I took a deep breath.

"That, I think, is what caused the mood change. Ilsa had a boyfriend, a guy who was one of my 'sort of' friends. Big and ugly as a brick. I have a moral code that I live by, and she nearly destroyed it – I nearly had sex with another man's girlfriend. I froze up and backed off, nearly cracking my head open on a bookcase behind me. She asked what was wrong, and we entered into one of those deep soul-talks. She removed the dress and replaced her clothes, and we spoke. She was frustrated – I know that – but I just couldn't go on. She was a Wiccan, and held some very fundamentalist views. I, well, I disagreed. She said that she would do all she could to take on the world's problems onto herself, and would not allow anyone to get hurt.

"I took a very literal view of that. To prove a point, I sliced my arm open – this one." I pulled my sleeve back and fingered a two-inch long scar on my left arm. "I ended the relationship that day.

"Ilsa had severe mental issues – she was sexually frustrated, disliked her parents, and had severe personality disorders. I was struggling with the same problems, and she was pouring all of her problems onto me. I like to think I'm a kind, helping sort of person, and I was trying to solve her problems for her. I discovered that day that there was no way in hell that I could do that. As the relationship progressed, my behavior issues became worse and worse, and I needed to stop. I'm glad I did." Paige started to interrupt, and I waved her silent.

"It took me the better part of three years to recover from that relationship. When I came through, I realized that I'd put so much of myself into her that when the relationship was broken off I essentially killed part of my essence. I can't afford to invest that amount of emotional energy into someone unless I can be deadly sure that I'll be safe in a relationship." I breathed deeply and picked up Mac from the counter. He'd found my whisky.

"That's a part of it. I hope it answered part of your question."

"Kaiser, I –" It was her turn to sigh. She unfolded her legs (I saw – discreetly, mind you - a small wet patch on the inside of her jeans) and walked toward me. She reached out and took Machiavelli from my hands. After she put him on the floor, she turned to me and put her hands cautiously on my shoulders. Her voice was soft as she spoke.

"That was a little more information than I needed to know, but I'm glad you told me. I think I know a little bit better who I'm going to be spending my time with."

She looked me in the eyes as she ran her hands down my chest and around under my arms. She leaned in close, stepping between my feet, and hugged me. I put my hands around her and just held.

I just held her.

To the Reader:

Wow. Uhm, I hadn't expected to write that!!! 

You may have guessed by now, but this episode is largely autobiographical. Ilsa's name is not Ilsa, but the events are true. One of the most traumatic experiences in my life.

For those of you who have asked: I do smoke a pipe. I typically smoke a Brigham 2pt, an estate pipe from the '60s. I have never met Greg Pease (maker of G.L. Pease tobaccos), but he helped me a great deal when I started pipe smoking last September. Great guy, and the moment I can afford to buy some Bohemian Scandal, I most certainly will! The pipe Kaiser smokes is a real pipe, and Greg has promised to help me find it. Some schmuck in Italy bought it in December. Wank. If you know him/her, let me know!!!!

I don't own cats, but I hope to someday. Nor do I drive a Rolls!!

Anyway, Thanks for the votes – at the time of writing, Ch. 2 has the highest rating at 4.62. Thanks all!!!!!!

Please keep the feedback coming, and I will be working on Ch. 5 soon!!! I have ideas, but your thoughts are more than welcome.

Darrikk



The Rolls and the Pipe Ch. 05



Welcome to Chapter Five!

Before I go on, please remember that Lit.com is an adult orientated site, so if you're not 18 or older, vamoose.

I got inspiration to write this chapter while reading a story by "impressive". While Impressive's writing style isn't my favorite, this individual writes fairly well. I suggest that you go read!

I have been realizing that my writing style is a bit heavy, and I apologize for that – I'm trying to do better!

* * * * *

Kaiser's Perspective

As Paige stepped close in to me I wrapped my arms around her and held. She rested her head against my chest and folded her hands together behind my back. I stood with my legs apart as she squeezed tighter in to my body and I ran my hand across her shoulders and the other down to the small of her back.

Her head was tucked just below my chin and I breathed in, taking in the scent of her shampoo and perfume, sorting out the chemical smells from Paige's own unique odor. I breathed in slowly and steadily, keeping my arms locked against her back. As I inhaled Paige was slowly becoming pressed between my arms and my body, a combination of intense strength and soft comfort. I had been told I was a champion hugger – but it was only because I enjoy hugging.

We stood there for a long, long time; Cleopatra and Machiavelli twisted their tails around our legs and pawed our thighs as we held one another. I ran my right hand slowly up and down Paige's spine, feeling the wool of her sweater, counting the bumps down her spine, getting my hand tangled in the mass of ebony curls hanging to her rump. I wished then that I had a third hand.

Paige's Perspective

I entered his arms, feeling a bit apprehensive. I knew that his story had been hard to tell, and he needed a hug. I didn't know how he would take it – I was a stranger, and he had said that he didn't like people. He said that he was uncomfortable around women. Would he push me away?

His body was tense as I pressed my body against his. He was a big man, but he was not seriously overweight. He was comfortable to hold, though I needed to stretch to get my arms around him. When I let my head fall to his shoulder he relaxed and brought his hands up. His arms surrounded me as I felt his muscles bunch and shift under my cheek, and I gasped as his hands slipped smoothly under my hair and around my body. For a long time he just stood there, feeling me against his body. Then he started to breathe.

He moved his head down so his mouth was next to my ear and I felt his beard tickle my head. Slowly, oh so slowly, he inhaled. I didn't know that a body could hold so much air! His arms seemed to tighten around me as his diaphragm and chest expanded. I was pushed into his chest and arms as he breathed my scent, my face cushioned by the padding on his body. When I thought that I was about to be squashed by his body, he slowly exhaled, tickling my neck with his breath. Kaiser moved one hand and I squeaked – thinking he was about to let me go.

But no, that was the last thing he was going to do. He used his right hand to smooth the wrinkles in my sweater, counting my vertebra as he went. He made small circles with his fingers, applying different levels of pressure to my back muscles as he went, sending small shocks through my body. Kaiser flattened his hand against my back and started to rub gently up and down my back before tightening his grip on me again. 

A small 'yeow – schnickikikk' came from our feet and I started. Kaiser's hands pulled away from my sides as we looked down. The Siamese looked irritated.

I laughed nervously and looked at Kaiser from under my eyelashes. His mouth twitched and his eyes twinkled. 

"Sounds like it's time to feed the cats," he said, softly. "Did you want me to send someone for your things?"

* * * * *

It was not until later that night at supper that I asked what he meant by "feed the cats". He smiled and refused to comment, saying that the comment had a lewd connotation that was inappropriate for a lady's ears.

Kaiser pushed his chair back and crossed his ankles in the isle. He started fishing around in his vest and pulled out a pipe and a round tin of tobacco. A small silver-tipped rod and a box of matches were arranged neatly on the table beside him. I watched in fascination as he opened the tin, dipped the pipe into the tobacco, and packed it down. He did this three times before raising the stem to his lips. He lit a match and walked it around the tobacco, pressing it down with the little silver thing. He puffed a bit and lit another match.

Kaiser noticed me watching just then, and looked up at me as he touched the match to the tobacco again, a small smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes. His glasses mirrored the light of the match and made him look slightly sadistic. He blew the match out in a puff of smoke and settled deeply into his chair with a contented sigh.

"What are you thinking?" I asked.

"Do you really want to know?" That was his returning question that he asked every time I asked a question about him.

"Yes." I answered as I always did.

"I'm sitting here, having just finished a good meal, with a good pipe, in a comfortable chair, with an astonishingly gorgeous woman. I think that I'm relaxing a little bit."

Oh. Wait! I thought. He called me gorgeous! It was the first compliment he'd ever paid me – well, of that nature, anyway. I blushed.

Kaiser smiled a little and closed his lips around the stem of his pipe. I breathed in the aroma of the smoke and sighed, settling my elbows on the table. I watched as his eyes closed slowly as he enjoyed the pipe. Every once in a while he'd huff and breathe in deeply, like he had when we'd hugged. 

"'On land, on sea, at home, abroad, I smoke my pipe and worship God,'" muttered Kaiser. "Johan Sebastian Bach."

"My great-grandfather used to smoke a pipe," I said.

"Really?" he asked, his eyes staying closed.

"Uh huh. He used to pick me up and put me on his lap. He'd let me hold his things as he filled it and then I'd cuddle up to him as he smoked and read the newspaper. Grand-dad didn't like smoking and would stay away, and Daddy would smile and go out to chop wood."

"Sounds kind of cozy."

"It was." I sighed. "When Grand-dad died, he left me his pipe. When I'm lonely, I pick it up and smell the old tobacco and remember."

"My family has smoked pipes for centuries," he said. "My old man used to sneak tobacco from my grandfather and smoke corn-cob pipes after school. Both of my grandfathers smoked pipes for decades. We have a picture of my great grandfather smoking a pipe in World War One. I blame them for my interest in it. Tobacco's in my blood," he joked.

Kaiser opened his eyes and looked at me. His gaze dove directly to my eyes. He rarely looked at anything else. He always seemed to be searching for something. I blinked and he looked away. 

"So what do you want to do now?" he asked, taking a sip of water.

"I don't know. I like dancing, or we could go to a movie." His face didn't flicker. "Or we could go back to your place, or you could drop me off at home."

He coughed. 

"Home's out of the question, unfortunately."

"Why?"

"Broken into, destroyed, razed. Choose any three."

"What?"

"My enemies are moving a bit faster than I would have liked. Normally, I would have assigned 24 hour a day protection and surveillance to you and your property. Unfortunately, when my men arrived at your building to install the security system this afternoon, they startled a troupe of burglars. The firefight that ensued ruptured a gas line and your place burned up. They were able to save one thing, though."

I was shaking in rage and fright. It was all I could do to ask what it was. 

"This," he said, putting the pipe back into his mouth.

"WHAT!" Kaiser grinned.

"Yup. Have to say, it's one of the best smokes I've ever had!"

"You bastard."

"Oh, probably. So. Did you want another drink? Then we can go and see what we can sift out of your apartment."

It was thoroughly exasperating how he could be such a total ass and then show a sensitive side.

  Kaiser's Perspective

After I dropped that bombshell, I bought a pitcher of margaritas. Paige downed most of it and I called a cab. We drove to her apartment on the Loop and watched the last few firefighters clean up. We rode the elevator to her floor and got off. Paige was shaking with nerves, and it didn't seem as though the booze had relaxed her any. We stepped out of the elevator, her hand tightly gripping mine, and we walked down the soaked hallway to her door. The solid oak portal had been kicked in and the drywall and wallpaper were sagging from water and chemical spray.

I stood in the door in shock. Everything was wet, and I mean everything. Paige's apartment was nicely furnished with cream carpet, hardwood floor in the kitchen and leather furniture. Of course, the gas line rupture had caused the leather to crinkle and break, but the black and tan of the material was still visible. A soft layer of ash covered the walls, and a melted fish tank sat on a dresser in the corner. I swore.

"Oh shit."

Paige walked slowly into the room, dragging her hand along the wallpaper and destroyed furniture. Occasionally a small sob wracked through her petite frame as she surveyed the destruction. I could only begin to understand what this must be like for her. She had been a very self-sufficient woman; she'd purchased every single thing in this place, and had been close to owning the apartment. Her home had been destroyed.

And I had brought it upon her.

* * * * *

We gathered up her clothes (what remained of them) and any relevant information pertaining to insurance. When she found that her small office had been ransacked, she had convinced me to help her move some furniture. She showed me the fire proof safe she'd kept under her desk.

"Smart girl," I muttered. She opened it and handed me the contents. We left soon after, but not until I'd found and removed the small display case that had housed the pipe. I tucked it into my jacket, nodded at the police inspector and followed Paige out of the complex.

"It looks like you have one choice now."

"What's that?" she asked. She was obviously struggling to contain a massive sob.

"If you are up to it, you should stay at my place," I said. "A hotel is not safe, and who knows who they have in the police department."

It was a sure signifier of her exhaustion and sorrow that she didn't complain.

* * * * *

We took the cab back to the restaurant and I led Paige to my car. I sat her in the passenger's seat and loaded the trunk with her stuff. I said nothing as I drove her home, but my mind was whirling. I mean, what was I doing taking a girl home? A successful woman at that. She was vulnerable and it was against everything I believed in to do this – people need help in tumultuous times, not baby-sitting. But, equally important, was what I intended to do when I got her home. I was questioning myself now. Oh well. What'll happen will happen, I thought.

I parked my Mercedes in the parkade and led Paige to my flat. I found myself holding her hand at one point as we walked up the stairs.

Paige nearly broke down again as I keyed the door – I picked her up and carried her to the couches. I laid her down and removed her socks and shoes, draped her jacket over the back of the couch. I grabbed her clothes and put them nearby.

After I covered her with an afghan (one my mother knit for me), I slowly walked over to my chair and packed my pipe. I sat for hours, watching her sleep away her exhaustion and sorrow. I watched Mac climb onto the couch and curl up in the hollow of Paige's belly. Little Cleo yowled for attention and soon both Paige and I were basking in the warmth of little cats.

Paige's Perspective

I slowly rose from the depths of my grief-induced sleep. I felt warm and cozy, something warm and fuzzy on my belly and I smelled a mouthwatering combination of pipe smoke and cooking food. With a jolt, I remembered where I was – I remembered the destruction of my home very well, but everything after seemed a blur. Kaiser's male Siamese was curled up next to my belly on an afghan, and I could see my toes at the end of the couch. The cushions were deep enough that I felt I was receiving a full-body hug. I didn't want to move.

I heard something then – a spattering of grease, a clink of metal against metal and soft whistling. Machiavelli's ears perked up and he jumped from the sofa. With a long stretch and a lofty look at me, he sauntered into the kitchen. I heard some mumbling from the kitchen and soon Kaiser walked out, drying his hands on a towel.

"I was just about to come wake you. How do you feel?"

"Like I don't know how to get out of this sofa," I joked. Kaiser's eyes seemed to sparkle.

"Here, let me help." Kaiser bounced down the stairs to the den and squatted next to me, cocking his head to the side. "You know, you look cute when you sleep," he said. Flipping his towel over his white-clad shoulder, he stood and inserted his arms under my knees and my back. He straightened and I whooped. He stood me up on the coffee table and started walking away. 

"Where are you going?" I asked as I stepped down.

"Fillet mignon needs constant attention. The cats might get at it." He paused at the door. "Supper will be ready in about twenty minutes. The bathroom is down there, and I've put your clothes in the wardrobe in the guestroom. I thought you might want to shower before you eat. It's been a long day."

Kaiser left me standing and blinking in the middle of the den.

Cleopatra appeared on the back of the couch and yowled. I followed her to the other end of the suite and started getting ready for supper. Walking into the lucious bathroom, I twirled in glee. I had never had a chance to sit in a jacuzzi, and this was the biggest thing I'd seen since the swimming pool. I pressed a button the water started filling the tub. I fiddled with knobs and got the water temperature right. 

Just as I was stepping into the strawberry-scented water (I had found some bath oil in a cabinet), Kaiser knocked on the door. 

"What kind of music did you want to listen to?" he asked.

"What?" 

"There is a sound system in there – the control panel is to your left. It's connected to the disk-library in the den. Fiddle around with the buttons until you find what you want." I looked over and saw that he was right. "Supper can be put off a little while longer if you want."

"Yeah, that might be good," I called. "This is heavenly." I heard him chuckle as he walked away.

I played with the buttons and got some Mozart, Bach, Lil' Kim, Will Smith, Pantera, No One's Alone, Usher, and others. I settled on a modified Gregorian chant with deep bass and I slowly slid into the water. I sighed as I slid in to my neck. The jets seemed to move independently, and the streams of water caressed my body as I relaxed. One hit my clit and I sat straight in the tub with a cry.

"What is it?" Kaiser called.

"No-nothing! Just bumped my head," I called back.

I settled back into the tub and started washing, every so often allowing my body to slide back into the stream of water. The bath oil, the warmth and the water jets were making my body tingle all over. I washed my hair with a pine scented shampoo and ran conditioner through my long tresses. I exfoliated my body with a rough glove and ran warm body oil over myself. I was more relaxed than I'd been for months. I was rubbing my body with a massaging stick when I slid under the stream again. "Ohooooo," I moaned.

I slid deeper in the water as I let my hand run down my body. I played the baton over my nipples and the sensitive parts of my body. The water was moving slower now, in a rhythmic wave over my body. I traced my hands in circles over my body, pinching and tweaking my nipples, caressing my neck and gently scraping my legs with my nails. 

Before long, I moved the baton down to my crotch. Just as I slid it into my sopping wet corridor, Kaiser knocked. 

"Supper in five, Paige."

"WHAT? What - Okay, okay, I'm coming, I'm coming – " I panted, nearly wailing in frustration. With a hurried look at the door, I rinsed off the baton and emptied the tub. I got out and a gentle blast of warm air hit me from all sides. I picked up a towel (it was deep, soft and very, very large) and patted myself dry. I dried my hair the best I could and wrapped it in another towel.

I stepped out of the bathroom and quickly across to the guestroom. I dropped the towel from around my body and stepped quickly over to the wardrobe – a giant oak and mahogany beast with koa-wood trim and brass knobs. The doors had mirrors on the inside and my clothes were hung neatly. My delicates were folded and placed on the shelves that lined the sides. I blushed at the thought of Kaiser touching my intimate clothing. Interestingly, they were folded precisely how they would have been at a store. I saw a baby-doll that I knew I didn't own, and a white robe with a purple and green coat-of-arms embroidered on the lapel.

I threw on a pair of sweats and a spaghetti-strap tank top and tied the robe around me. Tying a pink ribbon around my wet hair, I padded barefoot down the hall, Cleopatra weaving between my legs. The pair of us met Mac in the den and we all went into the dining room where Kaiser was waiting. He was just putting down the last of the table settings and lighting a candle as I walked in. I leaned against the door and smirked.

"A little elaborate, don't you think?"

"Well," he said as he straightened a small wreath, "I could just throw this away and order in. I hear that 'Warf-side Dumpsters' have a special on cat right about now." Mac yowled in protest and Cleo squeaked.

"No, no, that's fine," I laughed. "It looks wonderful." Kaiser walked around behind a chair and pulled it out. I sat and he disappeared into the kitchen. A few clangs and bangs later, he came into the dining room with a pair of plates – fillet mignon with mushroom sauce (it looked like a Portobello glaze with sautéed shitake mushrooms), a spinach salad, and Yorkshire pudding. I think I gasped because he grinned as he set my plate in front of me. 

"Eat up," he said.

* * * * *

It was later – about two in the morning. Kaiser and I were sitting on separate couches on either side of the fireplace, he nursing a tall glass of milk and vanilla and I sipping on a martini. We had chatted a bit during supper, and since sitting down, we had just sat and gazed into the fire in post gastronomic bliss. Cleo was curled up in Kaiser's lap, and Machiavelli stared at them from just behind my shoulder. I was caught up in my thoughts about the past day and I didn't hear Kaiser get up.

It wasn't until he had sat down beside me and put his hand on mine that I realized he was there. I looked at his hand and up to his face. He was looking at me intently.

"I wanted to apologize for this," he said. "I feel responsible for what happened today." I didn't understand what he meant.

"While you were asleep, I got in contact with your insurance agent – I have put a trust fund aside for you, consisting of the insurance money and the money I put in to match it: it'll be available for you when this is over."

"But –"

"No – I owe you at least this much. If I hadn't decided it was time for people to know more about what I do, you'd still be in your own home. This is my fault."

"It's not –" I protested. He smiled gently and patted my hand.

"I'll say good night now. I have to be up fairly early – I'm guest speaking at the university. I called Mr. Williamson and told him you needed a leave of absence. You've got the next two weeks off to recover and get things in order. Good night." Kaiser got up and walked away.




The Rolls and the Pipe Ch. 06



This is, obviously, Chapter 6 of my novella, The Rolls and the Pipe. For those who are just tuning in, Kaiser Mattanthas is a highly successful academic (who looks like a Viking crossed with a blonde teddy bear), and Paige de'Lephaunt is a feature writer for a Chicago newspaper (petite-ish, slender with a fabulous mane of chestnut curls).

In the spirit of the upcoming St. Valentine's day, I thought I'd change the classification of this entire story line from Novels and Novellas to Romance, improving upon the relationship between Paige and Kaiser. This story involves some celebrities (primarily to act as a hook to show just how far Kaiser's influence runs), and I extend apologies to them if they (or anyone else) finds the use of their image offensive.

I hope that people will start voting more often on my stories – the responses I've had have been extremely favorable: the last two episodes have kept an even 5/5. Note that I do not vote on my own stories... The feedback is strictly that of the readers. Thank you!

Please vote!

(PS> This might get a bit steamy, but, as usual, I don't know where my creative juices will flow. No one under the age of 18 please!!! If you are underage, I might get literary on your asses! You've never seen a writer angry before... Pray you never have to! *lol* As with all my stories, the copyright is my own. I haven't bothered to mention it before, but I recently found that Ch. 1 had been plagiarized on another site. DON'T USE MY WORK WITHOUT MY PERMISSION.)

* * * * *

Paige's Perspective

I woke up the next morning to a blast of loud music and the sound of a hair drier.

I rolled over in bed and opened my eyes – I stared at an unfamiliar ceiling and sat up startled as I realized where I was.

"Kaiser?" I called. 

"Yo," he said, waddling out of the en-suite with a brush in one hand and a blow drier in the other. "Sleep well?"

"Uhm..." I stammered as I realized what he was doing. "You dry your hair?"

"'Course. Mum bought me this thing eight years ago, and I've never been one to waste a gift. Besides, with as much hair as I've got, I smell like a wet dog for hours until it dries. Anyway – you didn't answer my question. Do you feel alright?"

"Did my apartment really get trashed?" I asked, fearing the answer. Kaiser sighed and put down the drier. He came over and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Yeah. Just about everything was either burnt or water damaged. Glass was shattered. We got your clothes, I arranged your insurance, and I told you that you were staying here until this blew over."

"I thought so." I pulled my knees up to my chest and hugged myself. He reached over and touched my hand. 

"Hey. It won't be too bad, at least, I hope not!" he joked. "But I really have to fly – I told you last night that I had to lecture today. I still do."

He squeezed my hand and stood up, wandering over to his dresser and disappearing into the bathroom again. A few minutes later, he came sauntering out and started puttering about in the kitchen. He was whistling "Dixie Land" as he threw a couple of eggs into the fry pan. I got out of bed and got my housecoat on. I dashed across to my room, showered quickly, and got out just as he was putting on his coat.

"Your breakfast is on the stove," he said. "Rummage through the 'fridge and cupboards for anything else you need." He groaned as he bent over to tie his boots. "Jayline will be here around two to clean up – she's the maid – and I have a few guests coming over for supper and a nightcap around seven. If you get bored, use the red phone in my room to call for a ride. Marc will send someone by; He knows to expect your call." He threw his thick work jacket on over his shoulders and rushed out the door, closing it with a bang. I stood in the hall in bewilderment for a moment then headed back to the den.

A slight click caused me to turn around – Kaiser's head was half-visible around the door. "Do you know what day it is today?" he asked before closing it again.

I wasn't sure why, but a shudder found its way up and down my spine at the tone of his voice.

The cats were wandering around aimlessly as Siamese often do. Machiavelli alternated between the edge of the fireplace and the piano in the corner. Little Cleo stuck to my ankles like glue.. I soon found myself watching them in fascination, watching their tawny fur change colour as they breathed. Cleo jumped onto the breakfast bar as I ate, staring at me in a slightly cross eyed manner as she personally inspected every bite of ham and cheese omelet that passed my lips. Mac was murmuring to himself in the den, and every so often I'd hear him hit a piece of furniture. The first couple of times I heard it, I was startled into dashing into the hall, looking for an intruder. It turned out to be the cat running face first into a bookshelf as he traced a small moving spot on the floor. Soon it stopped bothering me, and by the time I finished eating and stuffed the dirties into the dishwasher, I had begun laughing at his antics. Little Cleo tagged at my heels as I went into the bathroom.

She critiqued my technique as I finished the aborted masturbation of the previous night and tried eating my hair as I dried it.

I kept to my room most of the day, getting up only to meet the maid at the door. She was accompanied by two average-sized men who introduced themselves as Harold and Eugine. They would be the guys who would be watching to make sure I was safe. I shook their hands, told them that I might need them later in the day, and shooed them out the door.

I lay on the bed, reading over my insurance policy, the list of damages, and the bank statements that Kaiser had written up for me. He had managed to secure over two hundred grand in damages, and then doubled it with his own cash. With the money I had in the bank and various investments, I had nearly $800 000. 

Kaiser had left a letter for me in the file. It basically stated that I would not be allowed to access my money in any way. He'd cancelled my credit cards and had placed a temporary hold on my drivers' license. He said that this would prevent the crime syndicate from tracing my movements. I was not to drive anywhere (and with my license essentially withdrawn, I couldn't anyway), and I was to have an escort at all times. Anything I wanted would be paid for by an independent account. Kaiser had removed all of my freedom in a single deft move. 

I cuddled with the cats in my room for a long time, trying to come to grips with what was happening: I had gone to interview him (and had ended up being interviewed myself); I had been exposed to danger through my acquaintance with him, and I was now essentially his prisoner. I was in a very comfortable prison, but a prison none-the-less. And what the hell was I supposed to think of last night!

I had gone into his room unbidden and begged for him to hold me. Kaiser did not take advantage of me at all – I had cried on his shoulder for hours, and he just let me cry. I think he fell asleep, but at no time did he ever loosen his hold on my shoulders. I had fallen asleep with him spooning into my back. Any other man would have had an erection, but he was calm and controlled. I didn't know whether to scream in frustration or to thank him for his sanctity. I mulled things around for a long time until I fell asleep.

I woke up in the early evening – it was only about thirty minutes later, but I felt like I had slept for days. I walked out into the main living area to find a note on the table. "Paige," it read, "I came home and saw you sleeping. I thought I'd let you sleep a while longer. I'm in a bit of a rush, but have you figured out what day it is yet? I'll see you tonight. Remember to call Marc if you need anything. /K". I looked up and saw a calendar on the counter. One of the days halfway through the month was circled. February the fourteenth. Valentine's Day, I thought. Saturday. No wonder yesterday was awful. I hate Friday the thirteenth. My first boyfriend had dumped me on a Friday the 13th – just twenty minutes after he took my virginity so harshly that I was treated with vaginal tearing. My father had found out he had cancer on a February 13th, and I had been threatened with expulsion from college on a Fri. 13th. 

And now my apartment, my cat, my fish and everything I owned had been destroyed on that same day. 

How was he going to make this better?

Kaiser's Perspective

This was the first morning I had ever woken up with a girl in my bed – nevermind I hadn't had sex with her, but I was buoyant. I was floating on Cloud 9 as I strutted out of the class three hours later and headed home. I enjoyed teaching – I always dressed for my first class just like any other student would. I would sit in the back of the class and start discussing things with students as they came in. As the class clued in that the teacher wasn't around, they'd start talking about their personal lives and would begin filtering out the door.

At that point, I'd stand up and ask them where the hell they were going with all their books in the middle of class. That would throw them for a loop, and they would never miss another lecture. I loved fucking with their minds.

Some of the faculty members were on the payroll of my university and were familiar with my style. On occasion, I'd show up in their classes and start dominating the conversation, challenging the instructor on every point, making lewd comments and, usually, by the end of class, the students would have forgotten about what their Prof. was trying to teach and would listen to me teach the exact same information. Very few students knew who I actually was. They usually thought that I was a student, one who rarely came to class. One young man actually started challenging me, asking why I was arguing with his teacher so much. He shut up real fast when I told him I was his Prof.'s boss – and that I had taught his professor on that same topic! 

I didn't feel like driving that day (I hate driving in traffic) and I had taken a cab. I stopped by a florist's shop and purchased a half dozen roses, asking to have them delivered around five in the evening. Dwane would take them up to my apartment, leaving them in the den. I puttered about for the afternoon, buying some tobacco, replenishing my supply of tinned lobster for the cats and hot dogs for me. I bought a copy of my mentor's newest book (I had given him a $4000 a year grant for research when the university was founded), and indulged in a lewd conversation with a clerk in a convenience store. 

By three in the afternoon, I had received word that Paige had gone out for a time, apparently off to buy a new dress. Harold told me what she had bought (he and Eugene were far more than just business partners, and their background in fashion design factored heavily into my own choices), and I thought about what I would need to compliment her outfit. I decided I had suitable attire at home, and refrained from buying another suit. 

Will and Jada called to tell me that they would be a little late for dinner – a photo shoot had run over time. Sean called to tell me he was bringing some good Scotch, and Angelina asked if she could bring her son. They were a bit older than they had been when they had been big on the silver screen, but they were all good friends. Angelina's beauty had only increased with age. She was now 36 and going very slightly grey at the temples. She had stopped dying her hair at my request, and she looked regal and impressive. Extending the invitation to Will and Jada that they should bring their kids (four now), I settled back and told the cabby to let me off at my building.

I wandered up stairs and puttered around, getting a couple of my purchases put into bags, cataloguing them so that they'd be included at my other houses by the serving staff, and informed my pilot that I'd need his services for an hour and a half that evening.

By the time Paige came back with Harold, all the preparations for the evening were complete.

Paige's Perspective

I stood in front of a rack of clothes for about five minutes, trying to decide which gown I should choose. Harold (who had confided that he was gay, and had taken a stereotypical interest in fashion when he was young) had already helped me choose a brassiere, a garter-and-stocking set and a hairpiece. I was confronted with five dresses:

The first was a midnight blue, pleated at the waist. It was low cut and would show a lot of leg. The second was blood red, trimmed with lace. It was sewn with colour-shifting thread placed in strategic locations, accentuating curves in certain lights. Third was a cream-coloured sheath similar to the one I had worn the first time I met Kaiser (an off the shoulder affair), followed by a tasteful kimono-style dress. 

The last was one of Kaiser's own creations. In high school, Harold told me, Kaiser had entertained a notion of becoming a fashion desire – an idea planted in his head by one of his girl-cousins. This was a piece that had been his greatest pride – designed to be worn at any of three lengths (miniskirt, full length dress and with a train), the colours blended smoothly from a light blue at the top to a rainbow of greens and blues, ending in a shimmering blue train that could be zipped off at mid thigh, ankle or left long. It had one strap and the neckline scooped under the opposing arm. It revealed quite a bit of belly, but a navy-blue chiffon insert was available for the modest. Harold had laughed, saying that Kaiser had always believed in elegance and utility. For obvious reasons, I chose that dress, discovering it would compliment every asset while preserving respectability. It matched my hair, he said. He selected silver jewelry that would match my ever-present necklace, and suggested silvery stiletto-heals that tied up the calf with thongs. A matching belt of open rings hung loosely around my waist. Harold pointed out a pocket that looked like a fold in the fabric. I could use that as a purse. He hadn't been joking about utility!

When I got out of the changing room, I saw Harold speaking into a cell phone, but the teller intercepted me and I went to make my purchases. At the last moment, Harold came by and had the teller run up the bill on his card. He garnered an odd look, but paid no attention.

Harold was driving the Rolls Royce today, and I felt like a queen as I stepped into the back of the car. There were stares from passers-by as Harold played the part of haughty chauffeur. We giggled about it on the drive 'home'.

When we got into the apartment, I found Kaiser sitting in his study, running over a massive book. He sighed as he heard me enter the room and sat up.

"Had a good time?" he asked. I answered with an enthusiastic affirmative and he grinned. "Good. I wanted to let you know –" He hesitated.

"About what?"

"Well, supper, actually. My guests won't be able to make it here."

"Oh," I said, disappointed.

"- So we will be meeting them here!" I just gave Kaiser a blank look. "You asked when you interviewed me –"

"You interviewed me, and you know it!" I interrupted.

He chuckled. "Just so. Anyway, you'll get to see my home. Will and Jada were in Germany and they were caught overtime. Besides, Sean is confined to a wheelchair. It's not quite as far to meet in Scotland as it is to meet here. We've got to go fairly quickly – We'll be late otherwise."

I protested, and he waved it away.

"I have the school's jet waiting. The trip will take only an hour and a half, but there is a five-hour time difference. If we leave now, we'll get there by nine their time. Just in time for supper, our time!"

What could I say?

Kaiser's Perspective

Paige caught a nap on the way across the Big Puddle. The school's plane pushed Mach 3, and the plane hummed quietly, a relaxing vibration that soothed her to sleep. I didn't blame her. It was only the first day after her life had been turned upside down. I had told her she'd be feeling it today. Hopefully tonight would help her feel better.

Paige had the same entertainment education that I had, and would recognize my guests immediately.

Will and Jada Smith – I had met them the first time three years ago. After I made them a gift of free-tuition for their kids to express my respect for their skills as musicians and actors, they had become good friends and confidants. 

Sean Connery – I respected the man, pure and simple, and, because I disliked celebrity image of any sort, I was more able to connect with him than most. Unfortunately, I had bought his friendship (in a way). He had been sued by a former employee the previous year and had suffered a massive stroke – a result of stress. He had been cleared out of all of his funds, and I had offered to pay for his care. I still felt grungy for doing that, but he appreciated it. He was writing a treatise on the history of acting at the moment, and enjoying his mobility-limited lifestyle. He continually complained about not being able to bowl, though.

Angelina Jolie. She was an odd case. The first movie I had ever seen with her in it was "Alexander", back in 2004. I was thoroughly impressed by her portrayal of a highly intelligent, conniving and manipulative mother, and out of sheer admiration I had embarked on a bit of a stalking campaign after I had established my security force. She was unaware of it (and I prefer working behind the scenes anyway), and it turned out for the best. Her adoptive son had been kidnapped three months after I had started surveillance. She had been suicidal for weeks until I had found him. Being a strong woman, she had stayed at work (filming a modern rendition of Hedda Gabbler, of all things), but she was breaking up. Her agent at the time had caught her trying to overdose at one point.

We had found the kid in Columbia, beaten, bruised and mentally traumatized. No ransom note had been issued, and no one at his day care had remembered seeing the men who had taken him. He had been taken purely because he was a boy. His mother didn't matter to those men. It was disgusting, the whole situation. My men had stormed the place and captured his captors – all thirty of them. Actually, there were four kidnappers and the rest were merely part of the conglomerate. We had enough information to sentence them to life in prison.

I personally returned the kid to Angelina on set. She was walking past where her son and I were standing, when I spoke. We were purposefully half-hidden in shadow (his idea), and all she saw was my right shoulder, chin and the gun on my hip.

"I think it is time you had your son back, Ms. Jolie," I had said, and I motioned him forward. Angelina was floored, and I stayed long enough to let her know I was safe and I disappeared. It took her two years to find me, and from that time she's referred to my by my true name, and I call her Angel. Every once in a while, she tries to find some way to repay me, but I've never taken anything in return. Her son calls me 'uncle', and I spend quite a lot of time in her company. She is a good, good friend. She thought I was just another schmuck until I leveled with her and told her what I thought of celebrity:

"It's a front portrayed by the media – the person you really are is hidden behind a layer of makeup applied by those who would make money off your image. It is done mostly for your security, partly to make money, and partly to give the sheep-like, shallow-minded populace something to talk about. I'm not interested in that – I don't care what looser you are dating at any given time, and I don't care about your money. Frankly, I can buy and sell you three or four times without flinching. You're a person, just like me, and don't deserve or warrant worship or undue respect. You have found a way to manipulate your way to success, and the use of others toward that end is something to respect. You needed your son back, and I wanted to judge your humanity. That's what happened, and that's what is. Nothing else."




The Rolls and the Pipe Ch. 06



I was treated to one hell of a supper that night, after she finished slapping me.

* * * * *

We pulled into my driveway around 8:30pm Greenwich Mean Time. The sun was just setting over the mountains in the west, and the moon and stars were peeking over the eastern horizon. The lake behind my home reflected the mingling colours and lights, mirroring the aristocratic form of the domicile that I called my own.

The building is large, an eight story building. The floor plan was done by me, consisting of four libraries, medical facilities, my living quarters, twelve guest suites and various hobby areas. I live in the back on the ground floor in my own 7000 square foot space. My best friends stay here in my absence, or come here for research, relaxation or to spend time away from everything. I tried my best to cater to the every wish of my friends, and, because the UN was funding it as a part of the university's campus, I had carte blanche in design and acquisition.

I had my best fondue pot and my first edition of Machiavelli's "The Prince" here. This was my home.

We drove up the yawning oval drive, Benny (my steward) hopping gleefully down the stairs. He opened the car door for Paige as I grabbed the luggage out of the trunk. He filled me in on the doings of the estate as we walked to my rooms. The burgundy rug on the third-floor had developed a wrinkle that no one knew how to remedy, a moose kicked in the smithy door, and Gramma Whinnie had developed another arthritic joint. My guests would be arriving in an hour, giving Paige and I enough time to get ready for supper, which was prepared in the dining room in my apartments.

One thing that should be made clear: I don't like servants. I pay people who need jobs to do my housework, but I do most things myself – cooking and mending, primarily. Basic things (like tidying and the real care of the building and grounds) are taken care of by the servants, but I exert the right to do what I want to. I prefer independence, but I need to not worry about things that must be done. That's what they are there for. It's really charity and necessity on my part, rather than a wish to be waited on hand-and-foot. That's uncomfortable.

My house is connected to the main building by a walkway – a glass-encased marble sidewalk. It has a library/study, a lounging room (the only place that I typically let alcohol and tobacco to be partaken of), a den, a kitchen, two bedrooms, a bathroom, a dining room and a game room. I have a passion for miniature wargaming, and that is where I indulge my habit. The main building is officially university property, and therefore is not inhabited by me, though I can. I dislike pretentiousness, but value comfort.

The grounds are littered by small buildings: a smithy (metalworking), a shop (woodworking), a grotto (stone working), and various other things. My students are interested in many things, and they take solace in being sequestered at times. Each building has a small suite connected to it, and you can often see dozens of young people milling about and practicing trades of various sorts.

* * * * *

I sat on my bed and considered my choices for the evening's garments. I chose a sports suit (black pants, a glistening midnight blue blouse, black vest and jacket), and selected a steel clip for my hair and a silver chain around my neck. Before you call me effeminate, let me remind you that I have very long hair, and am fairly pudgy. I choose complimenting garments, and use jewelry sparingly – and always a masculine choice. You're all assholes. So there.

I knew what Paige would be wearing (and I was quite flattered that she chose my design over Calvin Klein and Monsuarrat (an Italian who had gained prominence at the tail end of 2006)), and knew we'd look stunning together. I hoped that I would impress her. My feelings for her were becoming confused, but I wanted to help her feel good. My wants were secondary.

I saw Paige talking to Menuille (my maid in Scotland), as they were walking to meet me in the foyer. She looked absolutely stunning – little pink toes winking out from under the hem of the gown, light glinting enticingly off her curves, accentuating the fair skin that blessed her shoulders. The dark fabric enhanced the exotic golden streaks in her waist-length chestnut curls, and the green in the dress complemented her brilliant green orbs. 

I'm afraid I was caught staring – Paige turned to look at me for a moment and she smiled when she saw. She stopped and put me on the spot as I slowly sprouted the beginnings of an erection. I squelched it, and waited patiently for her teasing to end. She kissed Menuille on the cheek and came forward. She grabbed my hand and bounced excitedly.

"Ready to eat?" she asked. I had to clear my throat before answering.

"Let's go!"

Paige's Perspective

I clung to Kaiser's arm as he led me through the marble and brick hallways of the building. He explained to me that he had designed this building, while Douglas Cardinal (an aboriginal architect from Canada) had designed the main campus, twenty-eight kilometers to the east. He told me all sorts of interesting things about the building (like how Queen Elizabeth once cursed like a sailor when she saw a particular painting), and I just gaped like a drunken fish.

We took an elevator to the fourth floor, Kaiser looping the train of my gown over his arm. He led me by the hand to a small, cozy room that emanated happy voices. A Scottish brogue touched my ears, as did a cultured California accent, and the Pennsylvanian tones that beat out comments to everything piqued my interest. We stood at the doorway before I knew it.

About thirty feet to a side, a round table was put in the middle of the room. Tasteful burgundy paisley ringed the top half of the room, with stained oak panels as baseboards. Original paintings graced the walls, and candles sat at every place. Oil lamps flickered around the room and were mirrored by the picture window at one end. A fireplace stood adjacent to the door, and that was where the two empty seats were.

The people I saw around that table had been pop-culture idols for as long as I could remember. They were all dressed in formal wear and seemed completely at ease with one another. Angelina Jolie stood and rushed to give Kaiser a hug, and a cute young man came up and started gabbling in Russian. Kaiser squeezed the tall woman for a moment and gabbled back, patting the boy on the head before accepting a kiss from the actress. Will Smith and Jada Pinkett-Smith smiled from where they sat, beaming across at Kaiser. Jada waved at me and I blushed. The venerable old man in the wheelchair triggered a switch and he turned on the spot, grinning with suave charm as he saw me, then Kaiser.

"Oh dear," said the Scot, "Kaiser – Why didn't you tell me that you were bringing a skirt with you? I would have gotten up for the occasion!" Kaiser just groaned and grinned. He made the rounds, shaking hands and kissing cheeks.

"Where are the kids?" he asked the black couple.

"We sent them to bed early. They found your pool and decided to swim with the dolphins. Tuckered them right out!" said Will.

Kaiser introduced me around, and I felt like a little girl at her first school play. I was so nervous, Kaiser had to guide me to a seat. They all insisted I call them by their first names, but I was so overwhelmed I could barely speak.

For a time they talked shop (apparently Kaiser had invested in a movie company earlier in the year), but the conversation soon turned to sex.

"You still, uhm, 'inexperienced'?" asked Angelina. "You know I'd be willing to solve that problem!" Kaiser protested.

"I've told you before! Never with a celebrity, Angel. Well, never again, anyway!" She laughed and glanced at me.

Will took the hint, "You thinkin' about....?"

"No, he wouldn't know an interested girl if one kicked him in the teeth!" yelled Sean. 

"She'd have to dance naked in a tea cozy or something!" hooted Jada.

"Kaiser is blind to women," confided Angelina. "I've been trying to get him for years, but he just shrugs it off. Says that the thought of –"

"Oh, shut up." Kaiser was blushing a fierce red.

Angelina's son babbled something in Russian to his 'uncle' and got an amused grimace in return.

"You shut up, boy! It just means I've got more integrity than you!" Angelina threw him a disgusted look and kicked him under the table, eliciting a yelp.

And the evening continued. It was full of hilarity and the occasional quiet moment. Will and Jada occasionally left the room, and Sean babbled on about how much he hated James Bond. Angelina left to tuck her son into bed before she came back. The party lasted until two in the morning. 

We all left, feeling completely stuffed and content. I had ended up sitting next to Angelina for the last two hours, discussing everything under the sun. I learned a bit more about her past (stuff that wasn't covered by the tabloids), and I found out that Will was a bit kinky. At least, that's what Sean said.

Kaiser and I walked slowly back to his apartment. We didn't say much, and we only encountered three students wandering the halls. The other guests had departed for their rooms – Angelina was actually in a guestroom near Kaiser's suite, while the others were on the far side of the building.

I was still feeling overwhelmed. I was slightly horny too. The warmth, booze and the talk of sex had gotten me worked up. I was feeling sexy, being all done up like I was, and Kaiser was stunning. I basked in the warmth of the moment as I clung to his arm in the elevator. 

* * * * *

The moment Kaiser closed the door to his apartment, I melted against him.

He didn't know what to do, I think, so he held me as I pushed my face into his neck. I was only five inches shorter than him in those heals, so I could nearly look him in the eyes.

"I had a good time, Kaiser," I said. I didn't make my voice husky – he had told me at one point that that was a major turn off for him. I reached back over his shoulder and started playing with his ponytail. I ran my hand up and down his chest, feeling his muscle beneath his clothes. He brought me tight to his body, running his hands over my sides and arms. 

"I'm glad. I was afraid you'd get scared off by the folks."

"I was! But you helped calm me down, I think. Angelina was approachable, so that helped me relax a bit."

"I'm glad." He sighed and breathed in the scent of my hair before giving me another squeeze.

"I'll say goodnight now – I'm pooped," he said.

"But -!" I couldn't voice my disappointment. He raised an eyebrow.

"What?" I turned away so he wouldn't see my eyes welling with tears.

"Nothing. Good night."

"'Night."

Kaiser put his hand gently on my shoulder and walked to his room, closing the door gently behind him. Before too long, I heard the phone ring. Before I could hear what was said, I slipped into my room.

Kaiser's Perspective

Surprisingly, it was Angelina. With no preliminaries, she started chewing me out.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"What?"

"You're leading her on, you son of a bitch!" She was pissed – Angel rarely swears. "I could see, it, Will and Jada could see it, and even Sean could see it! I mean really Abe!"

"I haven't done anything to lead her on!"

"Oh, you might be right. You've only taken her into your home, given her a small fortune in money, introduced her to us, told her some of the most intimate things about you! Even I didn't know some of that stuff!"

"She told you?"

"Hell yes! What do you think we were talking about on the sofa for two hours! Abe, if you don't let me fuck you, at least let her for god's sake!"

"You know what it means to me!"

"Kaiser, you won't find anyone else more devoted. I'm sure of it."

"But I barely know her. I can't sleep with her without knowing more about her!"

"She won't hurt you, young man. She's infatuated – I'm sure she has never been treated as kindly by anyone else as you have treated her!"

"But I ruined her life!"

"Only her material life. You've brought something to her."

And so it went on. For nearly a half-hour she hollered at me. In the end, she hung up in disgust. 

At three thirty, Paige knocked on my door. I was still awake, my mind whirling with possibilities and fears. 

"Yeah."

"Kaiser? Can we talk?"

"Come on in." She was dressed in a short robe that showed plenty of leg. I found myself growing hard. I squelched it again. Even with almost two decades of practice at suppressing my sex drive, I was finding it difficult to do so. Paige sat on the edge of the bed while I propped myself up on some pillows.

"Angelina just called." She paused. "She had something to tell me."

"What's that?" It would have been an ideal time for me to shut up, said her eyes.

"She told me why you won't sleep with anyone."

"Ah."

"She said that you consider sex to be the most intimate thing two people can do – that the partner you choose will have to be strong enough to handle taking a part of your soul in their hands. You have to be able to trust them completely with your entire essence. You feel that you cannot trust anyone that far."

"That's about right."

She sighed and shifted on the bed. The hem of the robe rode up until I could see the crotch of her panties. I grew very hard, very fast. I didn't bother stopping it this time.

"Why do you feel that way?"

I sighed. "I am fragile. I didn't develop social skills until late in life, and even now I'm still trying to catch up to my emotional maturity. My childhood and raising squelched my ego – in effect, I'm living off of pure stubbornness. If I commit myself to someone enough to have sex, I am putting my soul and everything I've worked for on the line. I believe in mating for life. 

"The few relationships I've had have almost all ended poorly. It takes me years to recover from a relationship, even if I only put a small portion of myself into it. If I put all of myself into a commitment, and I was dropped, I would commit suicide. I cannot deal with emotional pain very well. You know too much about me now – I am obligated, on a level, to maintain a relationship with you until I decide to end it. But my morals won't allow me to drop you. I've put too much effort into helping you be happy and safe. If I drop you, I'd be betraying you, and by proxy, betraying myself. It's much the same sort of pain for me."

"Oh."

"Yeah. What Angel said about me being blind is almost true – I see the signs, but I have difficulty interpreting them. I really do need to be kicked in the teeth."

"That's about what I feel like doing right now."

"I don't blame you."

Paige shifted again, swinging her feet onto the bed and lying across my legs. One of her breasts (a small size C, I would guess) hove into view, and I could see right between her legs. I averted my eyes and fixed them on her face. Her eyes were tearing.

"Don't you find me attractive?" she whispered.

Oh god. I moaned.

"Paige, I have to be honest here. You embody everything – and I mean absolutely everything – I would ever want in a woman's body. I love your hair, your eyes, your lips. It's all I can do to keep from staring at you every moment I'm with you."

"What about the rest of me?"

I sat back and closed my eyes. "Your hands are delicate but strong, you have slender arms. I love looking at your neck and imagining how your skin would feel under my hands."

"Go on."

"You have the most perfect legs I have ever seen – not a blemish on them, smooth, curvaceous. I would dare guess that you dance, and I absolutely love that. I love a woman with rhythm. You have strong curves that scream seduction. A taught belly and a graceful back."

"Yesss...." She seemed to moan

"Paige, I've never had a chance to investigate, but I have a good idea that your breasts are the most perfect things in the world. I don't like large breasts, and I never have. I can imagine running my hands over your breasts and bringing them to my mouth. 

"Goddam, I can't believe I said that."

"I wanted to hear it," she murmured. She shifted and I heard cloth against cloth. "Look."

I opened my eyes and looked down. Paige was stretched out across my bed, my knees in the small of her back. She was completely nude, and her hand was buried between her legs. My little soldier jumped to attention – his commanding officer had left the building only to be replaced by the Commander-in-Chief. I closed my eyes and swallowed. Hard. I took a deep breath and looked at her again.

"Do you like what you see?" she asked.

"More than you can know," I whispered, afraid of the words.

"Touch me?"

I leaned down and pulled that dark-haired nymph into my arms, settling her rump on my lap. She wiggled a bit as she felt my erection press against her through the fabric. I pulled her up to my chest and wrapped my left arm around her shoulders. I was careful not to make contact with her breasts.

Instead, I raised my hand to her face. I caressed the contours of her cheekbones and her jaw, my fingers dancing along her lips and eyelids. I traced her ears and smoothed her hair.

"I'm scared," I said.

"Me too."

I brought my hand down her neck and rested it on her sternum. I felt her heart beat under my hand, felt her life's blood rush through the very tissue that I held in my arms. I wrapped my arm around her knees and pulled her to my chest.

Paige's Perspective

As he pulled me closer, I started to whimper. The skin on the inside of my thighs caressed my sensitive clitoris, starting it throbbing harder than I could ever remember. Kaiser buried his face in my hair as I started kissing and nipping gently at his shoulder and neck. I took his earlobe into my mouth and suckled gently. Kaiser took a deep breath, squishing me against him. The pressure aggravated my clit even more as my flesh moved, and I began moaning.

"I don't think I should keep going, but I don't want to stop," he whispered in my ear.

"Don't stop," I whispered back. "Don't ever stop."

Kaiser ran his lips along my jaw and up to my own. "Will you teach me to kiss?"

"Yes," I moaned, feeling his beard brush lightly against my flesh. 

"How do we start?"

"Like this..." I leaned my face in to his, opening my lips slightly. I felt a shock pass between us as we shared our first kiss – his first kiss ever. I suddenly felt stronger and more sure of myself. I opened my mouth a little more, pushing my bottom lip in between his. I started suckling on his upper lip just as he started on my bottom lip. I felt, distantly, his hand moving from my shoulder down my chest. He traced his nails lightly against my flesh, drawing patterns on my breasts, occasionally tweaking my nipples. I reached down and flipped the bedclothes back, telling him to put me down. Without moving his lips from mine, he slid my body in beside him, resting his chest lightly on my arm, supporting my head with his.

His free hand traveled down my side, skipping along, occasionally tracing a pattern. He counted my ribs slowly before running his hand down my ass. He slowly caressed the crease between thigh and rump, wrenching a soft moan from my lips. He sucked the sound into his mouth hungrily, still oddly silent.

His hand began tracing up my belly as my hands wrapped around his neck. I felt him smile as he broke off the kiss.

"I learned to kiss from the mistress, Paige. Will you now teach me the best way to eat? I'm starving and I've forgotten."

"Kiss me," I said, shuddering under his touch. He trailed kisses down my neck, paying attention to the underside of my breasts, licking my nipples. He caressed the edge of my armpit with his tongue before dipping further south. His tongue and lips touched and noted every muscle on my belly, dipping briefly into my belly button, circling it with soft kisses and warm breaths. He began to trail down to my trimmed snatch, two lines pointing in a 'v' to my entrance. He blew a soft, warm gust of air over my clitoral hood, and my little organ bounced to attention, throwing off the covers and prepared to meet the day.




The Rolls and the Pipe Ch. 06



I moaned.

Kaiser's Perspective

Her legs began to open. Without jostling the bed, I moved down between her legs and kissed the inside of each of her thighs. I slowly caressed the flesh of her belly and breasts with my fingertips, drawing soft moans from her with every touch. I wrote my name backwards in kisses all the way down each of her thighs, ending with a period at the junction where leg meets labia. I stayed away from her opening, just touching her thick outer lips with my tongue, occasionally taking a long, narrow swipe that would send spasm after spasm through her slight frame.

When I thought I had teased her enough, I got down to business. She smelled like pine needles and strawberries, and the moment I touched her exited little organ for the first time, her legs clamped around my shoulders and she moaned. I stopped for a moment until the spasms stopped, but then I started again in earnest.

I kissed her sensitive clit, before running my tongue down her inner lips. I drew them into my mouth a little bit at a time, licking them with a pointed tongue. Paige began to come again.

"Now, Kaiser, NOW!" Her moaning became incessant. I rolled onto my back and took her with me. She was so lost in her pleasure that she didn't feel the position change. I used one hand and removed my bottoms. I spread her legs and slipped my 8 ¼" penis inside of her in one single stroke. I stretched her just a little bit. I was larger than average both in length and in girth, and she was much, much smaller than me. She gasped and came again.

Her hands found my chest and she started thrusting against my hips, hard and furious. I didn't know what to do, so I just lay there. Before long, I realized she had a rhythm built up, and I matched it with thrusts of my hips into hers.

She rode me quietly for over fifteen minutes – for my first time with a woman, I think I held out for a pretty long time. Finally, I came, shooting over twenty years of accumulated semen deep into her belly, trusting her previous claims of being on birth control. 

It was the most spectacular moment of my life. I had had one masturbatory experience that touched on this pleasure, but I had lost myself completely to this woman. She had everything I could give her now. My very essence was in her hands, and it was where it wanted to be.

I felt her deep moan of pleasure begin in her belly and finally come out into the audible spectrum. 

No musician in the history or future of the universe can ever capture the music that is the emanation of a satisfied, loving woman.

* * * * *

I woke up the next morning, my penile member still buried deep inside Paige. I was still hard, and I could feel my ejaculate leaking out onto my skin from her cunt. I was holding her tight against my chest – even in my sleep I refused to let her go. 

I looked into her face and kissed her closed eyes, relishing her deep, restful breathing.

"I love you Paige," I whispered. "You are my everything."

I pulled her closer under my chin and adjusted the sheets. 

I hoped my girlfriend will never need a bed.

She took my soul and used it as a pillow, took my seed and used it for nourishment. She took my body and used it as a bed. She took my love and used it as a blanket.

I knew then that she was my temple. I would worship her until the end of time and beyond.

* * * * *

Happy Valentine's Day!

Don't worry, this isn't the end of The Rolls and the Pipe. I have a lot more on the plate for these two, but I have been writing this for 6 hours straight at this point, and I'm absolutely exhausted.

Please vote for this story, and please comment on it!

Thanks for reading!

Darrikk