"Little" Sister Pt. 02

You needed to be at the reception in Manhattan to understand how much of Sheila's soul is invested in ballet. Susan Farwell and Lisl Rhinehardt, two of the best known ballet names in the western hemisphere, sang her praises for hours. All Sheila wanted to talk about was the art. The scary thing, from my perspective, is that all those graceful people would stop talking, just to watch Sheila walk across the room. Even I could see Sheila had more grace in her flow than the others.

That was what made the Sugar Plum Fairy so obvious. It put Sheila and Francine on the spot, but there was no way in this life that they would refuse. You have seen the video. They did that cold. Ten minutes before, they had no idea that they would be dancing. Francine is such a show off she would have done it if I asked. For Sheila, I needed a pitchfork to push her out. Even Christine, the Mistress of Pranks, thought the joke was good.

Getting the newlyweds off took just a few moments. Sheila was wearing garters because she wears garters. The one they used was not a spare put on for the occasion. It was one more reason for her to blush and they had not even joined the Mile High Club, yet. I donated my Army boots to drag behind the limo. Francine said, "Well good. It's about time we got rid of those." I never told her that it was a mismatched pair. I had the other two in New Hampshire.

Gerald watched them go, quoting the Bible. It was fitting, because we were left behind, just like the eleven disciples. When Gerald turned to me and said I had done well, I was so shocked I went a little light headed. It was not just me. Mouths fell open. Stories of the moment are told to this day. Going back to the house, and my soon to be fiancé, was anticlimactic.

Chapter 8 -- After the Party

The day after started like the week before. I had too little sleep and there was a lot of work to be done. Sean had promised an open house after the wedding. It was Sunday morning, so the Amish were holding their service in the ball room. The merry-go-round was shut off, in deference to the Amish service, but a lot of the staff's families were playing the games. About ten o'clock the Amish joined the party, so we could start the carousel. Some of Francine's people even played their roles on their own time, which touched me.

At one o'clock the catering truck arrived. All week it had been cold sandwiches and chips. For Sunday we received fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, creamed corn and iced tea. Sean must have asked the chefs to do it, because this was quality stuff. There were decent rolls, but the Amish supplemented it with bread from the wedding and pickles and condiments from the barbecue. On behalf of the staff and family, I thanked them for all the work they had done. Elder Neufeld thanked Michael and Mitchell for offering the work. We all agreed that God had blessed it.

The rest of the day was a welcome break. I met with the senior Amish women to set up a method of communication. Evaine Schaeffelker would be going to Pennsylvania with them, so I promised to drive over and pick her up. She suggested a train, but I was firm. It would be too easy for Evaine to keep pushing back her departure time. I wanted her back before she joined the community. As it was, I expected at least three boys to try to follow her during their Rumspringa.

Yet another of my misconceptions was that Amish have churches. Not. They meet in homes. None the less, I followed through on giving them the wood fired stove. I did not know which house received it, nor did I wish to know. I also handed out many smaller gifts. The house library has many farm and orchard books. The storage rooms had many implements from a century ago and longer. Some I kept, because Sean intended to start using the land again. Others, such as an eight mule harness and a lumber hauling wagon, had no place in our future plans. I made a gift of it all. The wagon was stout enough to haul the stove.

Even that took only a day. Tuesday was full of departures. With a few exceptions, my students went home or back to Hanover. The Amish drove their wagons to the train station and loaded up. Francine flew back to California, which left me holding the bag on Sheila's business. When things are that transparent, often there is a good reason. I just wanted to know what it was, eventually.

Christine woke me in her usual fashion, with her lips. No student can survive without being able to get up before seven, but I was getting used to rising at five. Given the late nights playing Mistress to a bunch of horny grad students, this did not make for cheery mornings. I grumped and pouted as Christine led me through the ablutions and mandatory caffeine.

Next stop was Security for the daily update. I was not meeting Gerald in a corset and robe, so I added the basics—stockings, shoes, bra and panties, skirt, men's style shirt. Make up, jewelry and jacket would come later. It says something that I considered a bra one of the basics, much less the corset, but I was in training.

Gerald was as precise and correct as always. It may have been my imagination, but he seemed to brace to attention before delivering the report. Many things were ongoing, most of which were clean up from the wedding. Most of the Amish had gone, but three families remained and more were expected over time. A crew would be breaking down the merry-go-round for moving. That would take two days. Basic clean up of the ballroom and front of the house was complete. Detailed cleaning would be ongoing. Sean had approved additional staff. Contractors would be in to take measurements.

For new business, my brother George would arrive, three days late. Security would meet him at the airport. He could have the guest room I usually used. My old room was getting comfortable. I made a note to have Mitchell Gilbert begin preparing the old servant quarters for long term use. My second note was to get bids on a new gas stove and installation. Anything else could wait for the evening.

I thanked Gerald. He gave me a sharp nod. As I left the room, I heard, "Who would have ever thought we'd see..." cut off by Gerald sharply calling a name. My look was new, but I was still scaring the staff. Christine was silently laughing. When did she show up?

I went by corporate offices to see how Sheila's new offices were coming along. A four office suite had been set aside, which told me volumes about where the new division was in the social pecking order. At a nearby office I found Sheila's new personal assistant, Roxanna. She was sorting piles of paper as I walked up. Before I reached the desk, the phone rang. She gave a practiced smile and raised one finger.

"Good Morning, Richards Enterprises, Digital Services. How may I direct your call?"

"I'm sorry, but Mrs. Richards has not yet assumed her duties. We are expecting her to be available after June 12th."

"Yes, ma'am. Sheila Schwartz-Richards. She and Sean Richards were married Saturday. Surely you heard of it, the merry-go-round wedding."

"That's quite all right. May I leave a message that you called? Do you wish to record a voicemail?"

"Very good. Thank you for calling."

When she hung up, I asked, "Client or prospective client?" Roxanna nodded. I asked, "How many do you get?" This call was the 5th or 6th in a day and small change. "Get a hold of Harlan Lipton, please. We are going to start diverting this his way."

Harlan Lipton was loosely related to the Lipton tea family. His own money came from a legal practice that, locally, was second to none. He had been one of Sheila's clients for years, even though he was past sixty when they met. Arthritis and gout forced him to give up on his patronage of Mistress Cynthia, but Sheila spoke fondly of him at the wedding.

The call to Mr. Lipton made me wish I had looked at all my email. There was a note buried in the spam folder. It gave the address and time of a meeting. Since I was expected to be there—expected to run it most likely—it was a good thing I found it. I also had a heads up from Richard Foster, but not from Francine. She was out of town, but the little bitch was getting under my skin. I told Roxanna to refer future callers to the email, since mine had been swept by the filters.

I needed to collect Christine before I went to the meeting which reminded me of something. Even though Christine was sleeping in my bed, in theory she was Roxanna's roommate. Sheila was subletting them her apartment, until the lease expired. I asked if things were OK with the apartment, since Christine was not around. Roxanna's face blossomed in a smile.

I'm a student of life and social interaction. Roxanna did not need to tell me that this was her first place solo. Even when Christine moved in, it would be temporary. Christine would get a room at the House, because she was going to be the nanny. For as long as it lasted, that fairly nice apartment belonged to Roxanna and she loved it. Then her smile turned a bit sideways and she asked me if I wanted to see it. I was tempted.

Instead I said, "I'm on the Board of Directors. That makes me your boss. It also happens that I am getting serious with a tall German gentleman. My life is not as free as it was a few weeks ago." I thought for a minute. "I'll tell you what. Sean gets back Saturday night, if all goes well. Saturday morning I will take you for a drive in Shadow. She's my BMW 503. Do you like open roadsters?"

Roxanna's motor was definitely running. We made the date and I left, wondering about the effect I was having on people, women in particular. Roxanna was only the most obvious. Women on the staff deferred in ways they had never done before. It was not just Gerald. All the men in Security, most of them former military, gave me space. It was something to chew on.

Picking up Christine was a hassle. She was back at the house, dealing with the contractors. The meeting was a just mile from the corporate offices, but I needed to make the trip home first. That's life. I drove home, picked up Christine and drove back. The meeting was in an old apartment building, undergoing renovations. That fit. Harlan Lipton was in the property group that would be redoing Sheila's warehouse district. On the door were several lists of group meeting times—self defense, AA, cancer support, Alanon. It was a great cover. We were Self Respect Enhancement.

Harlan called the meeting to order, but quickly turned it over to me. Since seats were in rows, I went to the front. Christine followed like a shadow. I introduced myself as Dr. Richards. I would be available for one-on-one counseling, at the usual rates. All details could be arranged through my assistant, Christine. However, regretfully, I was not yet able to offer visual support. I then introduced Richard, as counselor in training. Heads nodded as if this all made sense. If anyone had recorded the meeting, you could not have proven in court that BDSM was involved.

On the way out, Richard wanted to speak to me. One glance told me why. Maria, with whom I was intimately familiar, was one step behind him. Richard wanted to date Maria. I told him that his first responsibility was to ensure Maria stayed faithful to her family and her church. His second responsibility was to ensure she had nothing to confess to her priest.

Since Maria was a firecracker with a wide submissive streak, I wanted the basics crystal clear. As the Dominant, it was Richard's job to look out for her reputation before either his or her gratification. This was not going to be easy for either of them, but shared trials are a bonding experience. When the situation calls for it, there is plenty of time for sex after the wedding.

I emphasized this with my best Dr. Richards glare. Richard swallowed, as first year students often will, then nodded agreement. Maria was looking on with a mixture of longing and amusement. When I asked to see his emails to Sheila, both their faces fell. A couple of minutes showed it was even worse than I thought. Maria and Christine went to do whatever submissives do together, while I tried to make sense of Richard's reporting.

An hour later, I had shown Richard a few shreds of best reporting practices. Warning him that Sheila was a much more exacting Mistress, pun fully intended, I gathered Christine to go. As we left the meeting, Christine kissed me on the cheek and said, "Thank you." Before I could wonder why she was thanking me, she started to chew on my earlobe.

Before we went home, I stopped at a bookstore to pick up a German self tutorial. While I was at it, I bought a guide book to Germany, a German/English dictionary, some books on German history and began the process to get a visa. That evening I composed a letter to Lars Gunter. Using an online service, I translated it. Then I went through and checked that the literal translation meant what I thought it did. It was late when I sent it off.

Christine kept me company while I worked, massaging my shoulders as I became tense. I could seriously get used to having her around. That was when I heard George. My other brother is many things, but quiet and tactful are not on the list. I had said, on occasion, that all you needed to do was listen to George and he was your friend for life. That was because listening to George was nontrivial, occasionally ascending to difficult. It could be interesting when he met Motor Mouth Martel, but Francine would probably just avoid him. Most people did.

I looked at Christine. She rolled her eyes. I said, "Leave him alone. It's no fair picking on the defenseless. He may be smarter than I am, but he's really stupid too." Christine cocked her head as she considered this. When she smiled and nodded, I said, "Get your gag and cuffs. Nipple clamps too. Bruises or not, you are getting a spanking tonight." Christine jumped up and scurried to get her things.

George was having a discussion with a Security tech about how and where to run the data lines. Sheila might have been interested, but I was not. I just slapped George on the shoulder and kept walking. I was in the hall before I heard, "Hey'ya sis." As Sheila says, Oi.

The rest of the week was largely in that vein. As Dr. Richards, I had several appointments to meet Sheila's clients. My basic approach was to immobilize them, naked of course, then ask them where they liked the lash/flogger/crop. Naturally my assistant took notes, since minor variances were important. In several cases, I allowed Richard to handle the implement of choice. This was particularly true of Mario.

That was an interesting session. Mario always worked with a dog collar and lead. Christine got naked on the floor with him, so I unhooked the lead and let them roll around on the floor like child and puppy. Mario nosed around Christine's fading bruises with great interest. When I asked if Mario wanted a set just like them, he broke character and nodded. I told him I would do my best, but only til he flinched. Richard and I alternated a bamboo cane on the buttocks and a dog quirt on the legs. It took seven strokes before Mario broke. When I released him, he kissed my feet. Christine dashed away to email Sheila.

Friday was interesting in another way. I had allowed two of my grad students, Conrad and Kerin, to stay over and examine the attic storage. "Attic" is somewhat misleading, though much of the pre Civil War furniture is up there. Most of the storage was on the ground floor or in old root cellars and the like. If it stayed dry, someone put things in it. Damp cellars is not one of the house's problems, so there were a lot of places. Even as a child exploring the house, I had not seen all of them.

Conrad and Kerin started with the attic. Temperatures reached ninety degrees during the day and many of the spaces were not ventilated. In self defense, they settled into a work all night, sleep during the day pattern. At about seven AM on Friday they came to me with a basket of papers. Literally. It was a bushel apple basket. They wanted to to take them to Hanover. Not no. Hell NO! That was just the start. Before one PM I had Dartmouth full Professors on the phone. Not no. Hell NO!

I could see where this was going, but they would pay and keep paying. I kept saying no until the Dean of History, Dr. Lang and the Chief Archivist of the University Library, Dr. Chernikov were on the phone. That was when I started demanding payment. This was nothing so crass as money. That they had or could get. I wanted favors and recognition and I had them over a barrel.

When the smoke cleared, there would be a Richards exhibit in the library archive. Conrad and Kerin could do the grunt work as part of their thesis research. The university would get full digital access, but the physical paper was restricted to one pound total. I referred to it as their pound of flesh. These papers were on loan. I never expected to see them again, but legalities are important. Who knew a Continental Army Colonel in the family tree could be such fun?

Saturday would be the end of my reign as Lady of the Manor. I was more than ready. Friday night I stayed up late, shooting pool with George. The dodo bird had never applied his knowledge of physics to the table. After five straight wins, I told him he needed work on his Geometry. George won the New Jersey Math Olympics in Geometry, twice. He was so mad he was quiet. I pitied Sean, but not really.

Saturday was not a gorgeous late spring day, perfect for a drive with the top down. It was sticky and overcast, with a strong chance of rain. You make do. I picked up Roxanna at 9:00. After determining that she had eaten breakfast, I laid out the ground rules. I was her superior, so she had to come to me. Naturally I phrased it as protection against sexual harassment. The end result was the same. Any physical contact would be initiated by Roxanna. To induce such contact, I took her into the hills of Appalachia and let her see how well Shadow could corner. She was not quiet about her feelings.

I found a nice riverside turn out and stopped the car. Roxanna was all over me. I grabbed a blanket from the back and took her to a clearing near the water. I held both her hands over her head with my right hand, finger fucked her with the left and applied lip suction to her face. She came three times before I took my top and bra off. The next hour was nice. Roxanna lavished devotion on my tits, while returning the finger fuck. We did not break up til the car security beeped my phone. It turned out to be nothing, but it was time to get back.

We took two cars to JFK. Russell drove Sheila's Volvo, while George (security tech, not brother) drove Christine and I in the Mercedes. It was not really necessary, but I hate city traffic. George let us out at luggage pick up and pulled the car away. He and Russell would circle rather than park the cars. If all went well, it would not be long. Right. When has everything gone well at an airport? We spent an hour waiting for luggage that did not come, then filling out missing luggage paperwork. It gave Sheila a chance to show off their souvenirs, which was quite a haul.

They had a whole locker full of small touristy stuff, much of it handmade. There was also a flower print dress for someone Christine's age or younger. Sheila had pictures of herself in the dress. Woof. I always said I would have married her myself. Some of the stuff was off the wall—magnets with Iraq pictures, a left hand leg holster, a bag of beach rocks. Christine's hand went to those and her lips parted. It took me a second, but I made the connection—homemade ben wa balls.

Naturally, for Sheila at least, there were folders of pictures. Some were harsh—a storm swept beach—and some were sweet—Sheila having tea with a young girl. One interesting folder was full of shots of a rusting ship, sticking keel up from the sand. Many of the shots were taken underwater, so there had to be a story. Another image that caught my attention was of Sheila giving a macrame bracelet to an older woman. I looked at Christine, then we both looked a Sheila. She told us the woman, couple actually, would be coming for Thanksgiving. One more story.