From Jenny to Mei Ch. 28

Pondering her own emotions she came to understand that, as the horrible American saying went, 'it's all good.' Whether she was indeed in love with another woman or not, knowing Mei was indeed, all good.

##########

Tim wanted the first contact email to say something, to set a tone for his relationship with Tatiana, the escort he wanted to try first. He figured she got a lot of inquiry emails and didn't want to be just another 'John'. But on the other hand he didn't want to seem needy or give her the impression he was a clinger or pervert.

'Tatiana. My friend contacted you by phone and email regarding an appointment with you,' he wrote, wondering if it were too businesslike. 'Having reviewed your website and the glowing reviews it seems to me like we would be a perfect match.' Was that too familiar? Was it unique enough? Did he need a comma? He wanted to make an impression and considered for a moment. Wouldn't a whore have heard everything by now? A girl with four hundred reviews must have had over a thousand guys? Surely not every customer leaves a review. What could possibly make me stand out?

In the end he left the email businesslike and congratulated himself for not coming across as a fool. But before returning to work he looked again at her website, at the photos of her in soft looking black underwear, at what he expected to be enjoying very soon. His face flushed and his scalp itched; 'I'm going to be nailing that fucking hot body whenever I want,' he said to himself then spent the next few minutes fantasizing about his first appointment with Tatiana.

##########

In the dressing room of Patricia Wang's cute little shop in the rue Daguerre, Markéta received the call with a shrug. It was the third today, the others having been ignored. She was beginning to feel Pierre was becoming unreasonable.

"Allô, Sébastien?"

"Markéta, my dear. Avoiding me, no?"

"I've been busy trying to hide a barrel in a dress." He laughed at her description. "Really, you have no idea," she said in a hushed tone, "these Russian women are so lovely when young but then it all goes to hell."

"Wait until you have a child or two."

"Never. I'm having my tubes pumped full of concrete."

He paused and, after a heartbeat or two, said with a lowered voice, "He would like to see you again."

She remained silent preparing her reply.

"I know," he said with what she knew was genuine sympathy, "but what you don't see is the result. Your therapy is like a tonic for him, one that gives him steel in his spine. Frankly, I would not have thought it possible."

"I'm not objecting for the reason you think, Sébastien. I am concerned that too often might be... might not be, healthy."

"I would agree with you, Markéta but some stressful days are ahead. Of course I trust your discretion, but cabinet politics being what they are ..."

That might mean a reshuffle was ahead and Pierre would be firing men who had, in many ways, more power than himself. Since traveling in the social circle she now found herself she had gained new insights into French politics, a subject she found as fascinating as it was sometimes revolting. Those who held office were not always those who wielded power and her poor Pierre was perhaps the most powerless president in France's history. Most commentators thought that 'le houppette' (powderpuff) was clinging to his post by threads which could be cut at any moment. If he were going to rebel and fire a minister then he might be committing political suicide.

"When?" she asked, while trying to keep the worry and annoyance out of her voice.

"Madam is in Paramaribo starting her South American tour so anytime would be convenient. I will need to send you a car."

"Very well." She was resigned to abusing the president again. "May I spend the evening?"

Her request surprised him. "I can ask."

She heard the error in the tone of his voice. "No. I mean..."

The silence was a profound one until, by long habit, it was snuffed out by Sébastien. "I... I..." he stammered for a moment. Was she asking what it sounded like she was asking?

"Listen, it's ok..."

"It's just that..."

She cut off his explanation. "Don't you think I know, Sébastien? I just wanted... thought that... I just don't want to be cast out like trash, even though I know how he values the... um... my help."

He didn't want to injure her with rejection but he didn't want to give what she was asking, or what he thought she was asking. And then he realized what it was that she needed. "I would... Yes, forgive me. I understand. I would be delighted."

"Just a bite maybe and a smoke, then somewhere to lay my head for an hour."

Markéta wanted, especially after what she was going to do to Pierre, a refuge, a place and some time to separate the 'event' from the quiet, lonesome hotel room she called her Paris home.

##########

Mei was eager. She didn't want to be eager but she was. She knew she should feel worse but each time she asked herself why she did not the question slid off her conscience.

The simple truth was she wanted to. She wanted to feel, to give, to watch his eyes as she accepted his liquid pulses.

Nothing much happened until 3:20 when the patient decided he needed to use the restroom before seeing the doctor and had left Mei and Dr. K alone in the exam room. She pushed him gently against the closing door and nuzzled his neck with a soft, "Daddy," which was hardly a whisper.

The word, breathlessly uttered from her quivering diaphragm, caused a powerful tingle of licentious anticipation to course throughout her body.

Her hair soothed his hot fingers which glided through her black strands, her smell intoxicatingly stirred emotions within him. "Mei, Mei," he said softly in return.

"It's mèimèi," she corrected while kissing a fold of drooping skin above his collar. "Like, faster with two fourth tones."

"I'm never going to get that right."

"You'll get it. Just practice on me."

"We can't do this every day, you know," he said and then remembered his most prominent concern. "What did your... what did Philip say?"

"I'll tell you later," she said with a sigh that carried with it shadings of sorrow and hints of a story. "And you're right."

"About what? Doing this every day?"

"No," she sounded surprised and quirked a bemused eye at him, "I could do it every day. That's not a problem. It's Philip. It hurt him. That's why you used his name just now, right? You wanted me to remember what I was doing? That there is a real person I'm responsible for?"

They were interrupted by movement at the door. Mei pulled away while giving his crotch a quick pat with one hand and his cheek a soft caress with the other. She left him to examine the patient with a wink and the words, "You'll know where to find me on my break."

"And when is your break?"

"The minute you're done with Mr.," she looked at the chart on the desk, pressing her body near enough to him so that he would smell her hair again, "Clarkson here."

"Very well. Enjoy your break," he said, trying to ignore her flirting in front of the patient.

~~~~~

"News from your world, Mei Chun honey?" Samantha asked returning to work from a morning off. "What's that man done to you now?"

Samantha, her coworker, had been on the lookout for changes in Mei Chun's personality, and while they hadn't had a frank discussion as in-depth as their lunch together at Boulevard, she had noticed a few things. For one, Mei Chun seemed to have up days and down days. On Monday she seemed to be acting as though she were Cinderella, practically pirouetting through the corridors. Judy said yesterday she seemed nervous and on edge. This afternoon she seemed all business.

"Nothin' new," she said so that Carol could hear then turned her body and mumbled, "nothing I can say out loud, that is."

Mei turned her body to keep facing Samantha as the black grandmother walked from the reception room into the corridor. It gave them a bit of privacy. "Call me on your ride to the gym and confess all."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Sammy?" she said with a coy grin.

"I'm just here if you need me, young lady. I wish I had a godmother when I was your age. There's just some things you can't talk to momma about."

Mei Chun wasn't going to tell her about Dr. K or the revelation that she had a father fixation. It wasn't important for her to know and her concerned warnings would only complicate their relationship. 'Come to think of it,' she thought, 'I bet lots of girls with a need for a strong man have daddy issues.' An image of Dr. K's tall body seen from below sprang forth in her mind. 'Girls like me need some guidance.' She imagined scooping up his hanging dick into her mouth by feel alone, her eyes locked on his so far above her. 'Else we turn into Jenny types.' She leaned against the door jamb and closed her eyes. 'I need control. Need the guidance my daddy never gave me. Need a strong hand... at the back of my head...' The thought of his big hand guiding her as she sucked her work daddy made her feel good, comfortable and secure. 'I'm made for pleasure, aren't I? That's what Ai was telling me last night on the roof. 'You should do what's in your nature,' she said, 'You have a sweet side.' I like being sweet and what makes a slut sweeter than a good, slow blow job?'

##########

Markéta brought a black bag and a vindictive attitude with her to the Élysée Palace that evening. For the first time she felt she was being taken advantage of and was going to make le President pay for it.

Sébastien met her at the car and walked her past the security post while holding the satchel he suspected might raise eyebrows were it to be inspected too closely. He noted the subtle leering looks of the security team directed toward Markéta, and while understandable, he didn't feel they reflected the best civil service traditions. She was a sight, even his thoroughly homosexual nature would admit as much, and he understood the fascination for her that afflicted the president. Still, he would have a word with the head of palace security. Markéta was much too valuable to be offended.

"How is he?" she asked, taking the bag from him.

"He is well. Nervous perhaps, or perhaps anxious is a better word.

"Who's it going to be?"

"Finance, at first."

"Really?" She raised her eyebrows at the news and knew with this secret she was being informed that she was securely in the inner circle. 'I bet Sophie doesn't even know,' she thought.

The Minister of Finance was the top party representative in the government and was instrumental in securing Pierre's compromise nomination. And he was going to fire him and risk everything.

"Yes, well, it has to be done, I'm afraid."

She walked on through the now familiar hallways towards the private residence pondering his chances of success. As she understood it, he would have to find alternative support or risk a total collapse of his authority. But she felt constrained to ask Sébastien more. Perhaps after she was through.

"And, you're sure a little time afterward isn't too much to ask?"

She felt his hand cup her elbow and heard the warmth in his voice. "It will be my sincere pleasure." They were at the door to Pierre's wife's suite. "I'll be here, massaging the appointment book." He gently squeezed her arm in reassurance.

And, for the first time, she felt like a whore. Not, perhaps a whore who sold her body, but one who sold something else, something more valuable. And her payment wasn't money, it was gratitude and admittedly the satisfaction of a job well done. She would make Pierre pay for that little revelation as well.

She didn't waste time playing the mommy game, that now seemed like foreplay. It was time to get dirty. She marched into the room, her feet stomping the parquet floor. "On your knees, you sack of shit!" She set the bag on his wife's bed and pulled out a short quirt, its twin leather lashes looking like a serpent's forked tongue.

He dropped to his knees and watched her approach with fear and lust in his eyes. "I need..." he said as she came to a halt before him and raised her foot to his face steadying herself by grabbing his hair.

"Shut up and lick," she said, uninterested in confessions or expressions of his need for her. And while he slathered her pumps with his tongue she began to whip his shirted back. "You took me away from what promised to be a very enchanting evening with friends," *Smack!* "and for that you'll pay!" *Smack!*

"I am so..."

*Smack!*

"Quiet!"

She allowed him to lave her shoe until she tired of it, pulled it from his grasp and lowered it to the floor. "The other one!" - *Smack* - and while he knelt and licked her left shoe she pondered next steps. 'Make him put it on. Make him suck it. That should be humiliating.'

"Remove your pants," she commanded, "turn to the side and arch your back."

Thoughts of Mei Chun flitted through her mind as Pierre removed his buckle, pushed his pants over his behind and bared his skin to her horse whip. She wondered if Mei's man whipped her this way and hoped he did not. She was an elegant little thing and would respond, she was sure, to tenderness much more enthusiastically than punishment.

"Now your shirt," - *Thwack!* - "hurry!"

She took care not to inflict debilitating pain on the fifty four year old politician. The strikes hurt, his yelps and winces showed that clearly enough. What she felt he needed wasn't pain to sear his skin as much as humiliation and an ache in his ass that would last through the difficult days ahead. So she whipped his flesh with measured strokes as he mouthed her calves. And when his suffering started to cool she issued her next order. "Go to my bag."

He moved away from her and toward the bed, opened the satchel and peered inside.

"The straps, get them out and put them on me."

He saw the dildo and, thinking her threat last time merely an empty one, said, "No... Markéta... I."

*Smack! Thwat! Smack!*

"No!? No?! You say no!"

*Thwat! Smack! Thwat!*

"You sniveling little shit!!"

*Smack! Thwat! Smack!*

"You will," she said with unfeigned anger, "or I whip you until you bleed and I walk out of here and onto a plane to California and never return for you. Do you..."

*Thwat! Smack! Thwat!*

"... hear me, school teacher?"

He had the straps of the harness at her feet in an instant and she stepped into them with as much anger as she felt a right to. He brought the straps up over her jeans-clad legs and tried to assist in securing them before she swatted his hands away.

How she wished she could have a more traditional relationship with Pierre. How much more it would do for her to simply strip a nightgown away from her shoulders, lean over him on his wife's bed and allow him to suckle her breasts while she stroked him. How simple it was to mount a man, rock on him for a few minutes, kiss his forehead when he was done and leave him in peaceful sleep. But then a wounded young boy would remain in the Presidential Palace. So when she was tight in her harness she ordered him to turn around, bound his wrists in leather cuffs, took out the expanding spreader bar and affixed it to his knees.

"Merde!" she cursed when she realized the dildo had to go in before the harness was cinched tight. She caught him look back at her predicament and imagined a nonexistent smirk. The whip crashed down onto his buttocks with ferocious strength and anger. "You're going to pay for this, Pierre. Yes - you - are! Pay for using me, pay for your lies to the people, for your corruption and your betrayal of your wife."

The welts on his back were no longer suggestive. The fear he felt was no longer a trepidation that he was going to be emasculated, that it might reveal in him a heretofore latent homosexual predilection. He was afraid of Markéta, her wrath, her whip and the giant black cock she was affixing to her groin.

She gagged him with the extra-large ball, sprayed his asshole with lube and attempted to unceremoniously jab the false dick inside of him, but try as she might his hole just wasn't big enough. She grunted and pressed, indifferent to his cries but it wasn't going anywhere. It wasn't going to work, which she had presumed might be the case. It was a large dildo after all, one too large even for herself. She would be forced to take a bit more time. After all, ripping his anus was not the result she was looking for.

'The medium one should get him started,' she figured and lubed up the butt plug. She mercilessly twisted and pushed it into his asshole while his yelping was held to a low roar by the ball gag.

"Disgusting, filthy pervert," she said, averting her eyes at the sight of little specks of his shit appearing around his anus. "Didn't I tell you this was coming? Couldn't you have prepared?"

His even more intense mewling was, she was sure, caused by humiliation and not pain.

And when it finally slid home she spoke in a more satisfied tone. "Feels just right, doesn't it, Pierre? Like you were born to get fucked by a woman. Just the sensation for a pervert. And I'll show you perversion, Pierre. Come here and suck."

*Smack! Thwat! Smack!*

She struck him repeatedly while he struggled to move in his restraints and lift his shoulders from the floor.

"You pathetic thing. Not even a man enough to raise yourself to suck a cock. Here," she grabbed his hair and pulled him up. "Now suck it like you love it."

She removed the gag and he tried to object but she wasn't interested. "Suck it!" she commanded and whipped his back again.

With tears streaming down his face he mouthed the cock at her pelvis.

"That's it, good boy," she softened for the first time, "love my cock, Pierre. You say how you love me, now show me."

For a moment emotion broke through her anger. Yes, it was perverted and yes, he was in pain and the humiliation pumped tears out of his eyes, but the way he mouthed it and the soft look emitting from his tortured blue eyes, cast upwards in an adoring gaze, touched her. He gave every indication he was worshiping a real penis belonging to Markéta and that too, his loving devotion to her, made an impact on her.

In a softer voice, she said, "Wait here until you're loose enough to fuck." She stood and made for the door, her heels clopping on the wood floor. And she didn't turn back when she opened and left into the hallway.

"Markéta?" Sébastien said standing as she unexpectedly exited the room.

"I just need a moment."

He approached and seeing she needed comfort, pushed aside her dildo with his hip and put his hands onto her shoulder.

"And a towel. Excuse my thing," she said with a hint of distracted amusement.

"I know how it can get in the way," he said seeing the distress on her features. "I'm sorry you have to..."

"It's ok," she said dragging a strand of hair from her face and attempting a smile. "I always wanted one of these."

"They can get one into a lot of trouble."

"I'm letting him loosen up before I fuck him in the ass." The way she said it, with disgust and foreboding, and the fall of her head told him what he needed to know. He pulled on her shoulders and let her fall into him.

"Sébastien," she whimpered, "what am I doing?"

He let her settle and brushed her hair with his palm. "A great service. I know how distasteful this is for you, my dear, and I'm sorry this has fallen on you. Shall I tell him you were called away?"

"I couldn't. He would be destroyed. To be treated the way I did and be abandoned. I couldn't do it to him. I do care for him, Sébastien. It may not seem..."

"I know." He stroked her hair and hugged her.

"But I need... I need some time, afterwards. You won't suddenly get an emergency that calls you away?"

"No. I'll be here for you."

"Good," she pulled away from him, sniffled and kissed his cheek. "Well, I must get back."