[K][T] and Family Ch. 05

When I reached the album of Edith and Angela, Francine said, "Holy fuck, Schwartz. You should do this for a living." Realizing what she had said, she clapped her hand over her mouth and turned bright red. In case you did not understand, Francine never blushes. I had to keep my mouth from falling open. Siobhan stepped over and patted her on the head. Even Christine laughed aloud.

When Francine regained her voice, she said, "Damn. Who knew I wore a size 15 EEE? Seriously, send those to me. Edith and Angela would appreciate getting them. In fact, send me everything you have. I have the emails of just about everyone and can get the rest." It was my turn to blush. I sent Francine the folders, hoping I would not be embarrassed down the road.

I wanted to see my Teddybear, so that could wait. As I turned to go, Siobhan pulled me into a fierce hug. "You did so well tonight. I'm not entirely sure you know how well. In case you did not notice, you have a legend, which is a hell of thing, because legends have no weaknesses. Pedro said it best on Tuesday, you did not disappoint." Behind her, Christine, teary eyed, nodded agreement. Francine's agreement was more sardonic, "Get the hell out, before what's-his-name forgets what you look like."

Rather than go through the the back to the new wing, I exited the garage onto the drive and went up the steps to the Ballroom. The remains of a gathering were being cleared. Several places I saw couples doing what couples do in semi-public. It was one of the dances I had expected to see. I did not see evidence of a band or of dancing. It seemed my assumptions were amiss.

Passing through, I noted the scent of pipe tobacco. The Lounge had been in use. A quick check revealed that the Parlor had been used as well. As I returned to the hall, Evaine Schaefelker was running toward me. Out of breath, she panted, "Is it true?" That could mean many things, but this had to relate to the Amish. Her mood was upbeat, so it would be good news. She was on the ladies side of the great divide, so here was one thing that would stand above the others.

I said, "If you mean the house staff, yes. We will be hiring. Christine will be the nanny, but we will need a cook, additional cleaning help, possibly laundry. It is late for a garden, but fresh produce would be good for the table. I would have to check with Sean and Mitchell, but housing upstairs could be included. Does that answer your question?" You would have thought she won the lottery. She literally skipped off. I found my mood had lightened.

I went to Security, but not because I expected to find Sean there. I asked for and received the recordings of the dinner. As good as my chicken marsala was, the BarBQ looked like more fun. After the dinner, when I expected a dance, there was a sing-in. No wonder there were chairs on the dance floor. I did not ask for coverage of Sean, but he came and went several times, usually with one of the Elders. No wonder Evaine thought something was up. It did not take a genius to figure out what.

Before I left, I uploaded images of Francine, Christine and Siobhan. Once again I admired Siobhan in frock coat, top hat and cane. The pronounced breasts, feminine bow and makeup did not clash with the supposedly masculine suit. She owned it. It was a long way from the ratty jeans, torn T-shirt and army boots of four days earlier. I could credit the corset, which made the fit of the suit possible, but the real secret was Siobhan being comfortable with her body. As much as they had praised me for the party tonight, I was more proud of my part in guiding Siobhan.

For some reason, that thought completed the evening. Siobhan had praised my poise at Francine's party, but she was the one directing traffic. She met every celebrity before I did, obtained names, made announcements, policed the line, quelled the hangers on. It could have been a mob, but Siobhan brought order and decorum. It was ironic that she said I might not understand how well I had done. Siobhan clearly had no clue of her own impact.

Thinking back to Christine's image files, there was another folder to make. I snorted a laugh. Christine was ahead of me. There were nearly as many images of Siobhan greeting people as there were of me. I would have to thank Sean for finding her.

That brought up Sean. I half expected him to meet me at the garage or here. That he as at neither meant he had something planned. A shiver of anticipation ran through my body. Whatever it was, it would not feature me as a performing seal. I had had enough of that for one night. Why did I ever consider going into theater?

As I went through the house, I tried to glean clues. The sound system was playing Debussy piano selections. As I listened, Reverie passed into the first Arabesque. Odd choice. The quiet tones of Debussy belie the dissonance that is inevitably buried inside. Twin lines, parallel rather than traditionally harmonic, with counterplay and echoes between them.

Had it been Ravel, Debussy's contemporary, I would have known what Sean was thinking. Ravel, if you will excuse the phrase, was a literal impressionist. Debussy disliked the term "impressionist" as applied to his music. His style used more blurring of the musical image. Yet, in spite of the dissonance, Debussy captures a tranquility that escapes Ravel. Two parallel lines, interacting at a distance, producing—what? Not harmony, at least not in the traditional sense. Mood?

It was certainly that. Sean was feeling the complexities of life. I could relate. He was looking for tranquility, which left out some of the more energetic possibilities. When I realized that, I realized that I was prepared for him to be quite vigorous. Restraints, gags and some tenderizing with the lash would suit my mood admirably. I could let go and accept whatever Sean dished out. The key words being "let go." I wanted to forget cares and immerse myself in a world without choice or responsibility. I denied Christine that option, now Sean denied me.

That was the other side of the message. Sean chose a tranquil mood. Debussy is sensual as hell, but in a broad sense. Ravel did Bolero, which is almost literal sex. Debussy did Clair de Lune and Nocturne. Even if Sean and I had parallel roles, there would still be interaction. I knew what Sean wanted to do. If I could not abandon responsibility, a massage was a good second choice.

I smiled as I went to the small gym. Sean was already warming the scented oil.

Siobhan:

There were contingents from Hollywood and the local photographic community. The second group was easy to overlook because of all the press coverage and the associated cameras. From what Francine was willing to say, Hollywood had already picked up on Sheila through the catalog. I was betting the still camera guys—they were almost all male—had pegged the same thing. I managed to talk to the one female photographer. She was on assignment, covering Francine.

I gave her the fish eye and she blushed. The girl had been shooting me. I leaned closer and whispered, "Mistress Cynthia." The girl literally squeaked, so I pressed on, "I was there." Thinking of the young girl, Maria, at Walgreen's, I smiled and said, "You have good taste. It's a pity I do not have time to deal with you myself. You have my permission to think of me when you masturbate—but no climax til daylight." Her mouth was open and the smell of arousal filled the air. It was too good to pass, "Good. Now everyone will know what you are. You do not have permission to wash in the restroom. Wear your scent home with you."

I left her like that. She was a popular girl for a while, but her eyes were never far from me. Later, I noticed her talking to Christine, who was also using a camera. There may have been some sort of exchange, but I did not witness it. When Christine caught me looking, she winked. Cheeky thing.

Odd as it may seem, that was a theme through the whole evening. On one side you had Sheila dealing with the glitterati, with me playing girl Friday. On the other you had the lookers on, with their agenda and interests, many of which were spawned by the catalog. Somehow the two never seemed to connect. There was considerable interest in Mistress Cynthia. With Sheila right in front of them, no one made the connection.

As a sociologist, I found it fascinating but unsurprising. People expect to see kings in palaces and beggars in alleys. More to the point, people expected to see a dancer so they did. Since I can easily play the heavy, I was the heavy in the scene. From what I gleaned from the day before, Sheila had played up having a physical similarity to Cynthia. That was not likely to tip the scale. No wonder Christine was amused. Her Mistress successfully hid in plain sight.

It seemed that I was getting used to Francine's constant talking. It lasted through the tunnel, the length of the Skyway and through the switch to the Interstate. No such luck. As we approached the edge of the metro area, I realized that I had been preoccupied. When I started to listen to what Francine was saying, I need not have bothered. It was all about business contacts and potential clients for Sheila and Sean. By that time we were almost home.

We pulled into the garage as Christine and Sheila emerged from the other car. Sheila started up her notebook and opened some image files. At first it looked like a typical slide show of faces from the party. When I looked closer I realized how insightful the pictures were. There was a whole folder of Edith Dryden and Angela Molinari. The images managed to convey both their regal bearing and their warm humanity.

I never had a chance to comment, because Francine misspoke badly enough to apologize. You need to know Francine to understand how rare that is. She made up for it by offering to distribute the pictures. I was thinking that I would like a few myself, when I realized how many there were of me. They were even captioned with the names and date.

Sheila was talking to Francine, so I glanced at Christine, who winked. I was not letting it go at that, but she spread her hands and shrugged. That stopped me. Christine may have taken the pictures, but Sheila was the one that had done the processing. Then something else hit me. This had been done on the drive back. Not only was Sheila good at this, she was fast. We were looking at her idea of "just fooling around." Damn.

My brain was running behind, because Sheila was almost gone before I had a chance to say anything. Double damn. I grabbed her and gave her my best hug. One thing I love about Sheila is that she hugs like family. I told her how proud she made me, with Christine's vigorous agreement. Francine contributed her usual tactless wit and Sheila went off. That left the three of us standing flatfooted.

Christine was the first to comment. She shrugged. Francine echoed, "What she said." I thought a moment, then asked, "Do you need anything from Walgreen's?" Francine's smile was evil.

Sean:

Sheila keeps me on my toes like no one else. I left instructions to be called when Sheila arrived home. Security had done that. I left further instructions to beep me when she hit the bedroom. That beep never came, which meant that Sheila had come straight to the gym. I could pretend coincidence, except Sheila was already removing clothes when she came through the door. How had she known what I had in mind?

One look at her face drove such thoughts from my mind. I don't know how she conveyed both zen-like acceptance and eager anticipation, bur she managed. I hurried to help her with the corset, which was insanely tight. That Sheila shed the bra before I loosened one set of strings told me how badly she wanted release. Perhaps "wanted" was not strong enough. Foundations symbolize control for Sheila. She seemed to think she had been controlled enough for one day.

The corset was what I expected from Julian—meticulously made, exactly tailored and quite unforgiving. There were three strings. I released the bottommost, which brought a sigh from Sheila. I told her that she could cum, but not touch herself. Most women would not have understood me, but Sheila's response was a contented "hmmm." While I worked on the the remaining strings, Sheila did the impossible—removed her ankle strap heels without moving her back.

Once I had undone the strings, I told Sheila to stand naturally and turn around. As usual, she complied exactly, dropping from her toes before turning. I was tempted to give her what she was requesting, but I had already made my decision. I asked Sheila if she would flog Christine under such circumstances. Rather than answer, she dropped to her knees and kissed me. I kissed her back, then told her to stand down. She rose to allow easier access to the busks. Once the corset was off, she glided to the massage table. Sheila has a fine ass. I made sure to play with it. My fingers had her on the brink of orgasm three times before I whispered in her ear.

"Cum" can be such a powerful word.