Three Sides of the Coin (Catherine I) (11 page)

             
And for a moment I thought she was on to my "Act," and I wasn't sure if I was relieved to be found out by someone so insightful, or fearful that she had just then discovered my canard and I dreaded the repercussion either way.   If this was a don't ask, don't tell relationship, once she knew I was not gay, I knew she would no longer tolerate my free peep shows with one of the most magnificent physiques I had ever seen.   On the other front, was the possibility that she could ruin my professional aura and quickly de-leverage both my near invisibility at work and my delightful, trustful relationship with her.

             
I quickly ran through the data in my mind.   She was not one to "Pretend" that she didn't know things.  So she wasn't ripping the shroud from the sculpture.  And I also did not see anger in her eyes, but curiosity.   So I flung another layer on the lie. "Well,” I said, embarrassed, "If the truth be known, I am more Bi than Gay."  This, of course, was another illusion of truth.  Since I am as straight as an Indiana highway, it is strictly true.  To her credit, she did not scream and grab at a bit of cloth to cover herself up.  She actually took on her domme persona a bit and stood with her hands on her hips, legs apart and asked, "What are we to think of that?"

             
I quickly said, "I am sorry.  I have an image to uphold, and since I know you and Steven are inseparable, I really never thought of this as sexual.   You have to admit, I have never made a pass at you, and I never will.  But I do enjoy our time together."

             
She laughed and said, "I bet you do!  I can see it quite obviously."

             
I blushed and continued, “I have been a good and close friend, and really don't think of you in a sexual way.  But I swear, if I was full gay and you set your mind to it, you could convert me to the dark side."

             
I forget what all was exactly said after that, but it seemed to work, and I had offered my payment on her debt to me.   She now knew something about me that amounted to a trust on my part, despite it being forced from my tight grasp.   And I was sincere in my vow of friendship.   I did not have an overwhelming sex drive and was quite content to a platonic relationship with Catherine, but I would have been morosely distressed if she were to pull back from me.  On her part, she seemed to accept me as a gay advisor with an occasional predisposition to have a hard on.  I caught her looking for it more and more often and she seemed to find pride in making me stiff.   It was occasionally that head that she listened to for her final decisions on an outfit's capacity to dominate Steve.

Chapte
r 7:  Steven -3

             
Cat, Steven called her now.  Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Steven often addressed her as Mistress Cat.   The strong feline grace and quick stabs of pain fit the description of the situation quite often.   She found herself slowly drawn into the role as the domme, but stumbled at times, as she did not enjoy seeing someone in pain, even less if it was someone she loved.   And loving Steven was very much a part of her life now.    

             
While Steven did not think of his fall as a life threatening event, Cat really did.   She saw herself as a near widow and realized how much her life was intertwined with this man.   After all these years, after all the accommodations for each other's quirks and preferences, odors and motions, pauses and impulses, she knew she did not want to start anew.  And more importantly, she did not want to lose what she had.   She found herself re-evaluating her husband’s worth and value to her and found his value far exceeded his worth.   He brought in a reasonable salary and increased the value of their home with all his labor, but she feared losing the sound of his breathing in the bed at night, the comments about the newspaper stories in the morning, the ceremony at the kitchen counter each morning, the smell of coffee and the quiet rustling of the paper.  Those were the values she would miss.

She loved to curl her hand over his head and touch his hair, his ears and the nape of his neck.  She would bend her head to his, as he read the paper and would inhale his scent and gently kiss the back of his neck.  She would then run her hand over his shoulder, down his chest and then, ever so gently, flick her fingernails
against a nipple.  A smile would come to her lips as she felt the nipple harden and she would then take the nipple between thumb and forefinger and twist it until she heard his gasp and sigh.   She rejoiced in his response and this was her favorite thing of dominating him.   He had told her the pain became instant pleasure, and she had begun her discovery of what other pains could turn to pleasure for him.  Intellectually, she understood that the thrills of pain are not that far from the thrills of pleasure.   She was sure there was some biological link that she didn't know about and took a mental note to ask Mike if his research extended into that area of knowledge.   What she did know came from Steven.  Once while practicing her craft on his bare bottom with a riding crop she asked if it hurt.  "It is sort of the point,” Steven replied.   But he explained the pain soon subsided and a warm pleasure started to grow from that.   More importantly, he insisted, it was her position of power over him that was so much the focus.   From any stranger this would be mere pain, but from her, it was an interaction of her power and his submission.  Now he felt that he belonged to her, with her, more than ever before.

             
So whatever reservations she had at the beginning, she lost as she felt closer and closer to her husband.   And as a result, she feared another fall from some other ladder or some other injury from some other project.

             
But delayed progress on the house bugged them both.   It was obvious he could not swing a hammer or twist a screwdriver until the wrist was fully healed.   That being said, for the record, he did climb the ladder a week later and finished the last light.   He said it would help him sleep better to know it was done and would not have to wait six or eight weeks.   That was that OCD beaver in him emerging again.

             
So Cat needed money to finish the house, and since Steven the accountant, as a mark of trust, had turned all the household budget over to her, she knew how little they had for building supplies and labor.    Since labor was usually at least fifty percent of any outsourcing, she knew the money would go less far than ever.    Cat had consulted Mike on this and he had told her the salary structure at the Firm was pretty set and would not allow for a raise so soon after her hiring.   However, he had been helpful in suggesting a wild alternative to her.   He told her about a high end escort service and quickly explained to her shocked look that it need not be sexual at all.   He explained to her that lots of very rich men wanted someone attractive and intelligent nearby for various functions, but did not want a lifetime commitment.    He asked her if she had endless amounts of money and Steven had died, would she more likely just want a deliberate evening or two of someone guaranteed interesting, or would she want to hunt randomly for someone who might, or might not, be interesting, and might, or might not, be interested.   She reluctantly agreed to pursue the possibility, less reluctantly after she found out how much she could make.

             
If Mike was accurate on the payoff, and if it would not be stressful on her marriage, it would certainly allow her redesigning efforts on the house to continue.   She could keep Steven off the ladder and the budget out of the gutter.   That being put into play, she returned her thoughts to how to enthrall Steven sexually.

   She found the interaction of the new sexual mindset exhilarating and wondering why she had ever had reservations.  While, yes, it required more work, it was no longer a pleasant task to accomplish and get out of the way, but it became a new way of thinking.  Sex was no longer an act in three parts, foreplay, orgasm and cleanup, but it was a way of thinking and interacting all the time.   All day was spent with touches and caresses that had more meaning than ever before.  His touches on her were signs of respectful adoration, and hers became strokes of ownership.    He seemed quicker to open doors and look into her eyes
and she found herself always going just a little bit more out of her way to drag her hands across his head, back, or buttocks.   Even in public, she found herself playfully patting his backside or twisting a nipple when she could get away with it.   She would laugh at his embarrassment and he found it thrilling that she was thinking about him as often as she did.   Their sex life had never been better.  As an end result, she found herself enjoying the dominate role, and even found herself getting wet as she did so.  It excited her as much as it surprised her.  She never knew she had it in her.

Chapter 8:  Mike-4

              I have always loved New York City in the summer.   There is a lot to love about New York at any time, but the summers bring out the casual side of New York.  There are more dresses and bare legs, sandals and toes, braless tops and tanned cleavages.   It is dream for a quasi-voyeur like me.    You get to see the tourists, the workers, and the models.   At least I think they are models, very tall, impossibly thin.  I watch people, especially women, twist as they pass to confirm what they just saw.  "She's too thin!"  was the most likely comment.  Occasionally they might mention some Eastern European name as a question.  "Was that Shakova?  It is hard to tell without any makeup.  But I am sure it was her."   The companion would shrug, either because they had no idea who Shakova was, or because they couldn't tell without the makeup.   But we all know there are stars to be found in New York, sports stars. Broadway stars, movie stars, and even model stars.   But all the wannabe stars also know that stars were not stars before they were found.   And if stars have to be found in New York, they need to be there too.   So this might be the next Shakova, if she isn't already.   So we watch the reed-like anorexic women, the beautiful faces, the stars we want to be or adore because we know how much more they have than us.

             
I have lower aspirations for my adorations.   I love the lovely looking women who aren't full of themselves, who aren't trying so hard to be found, to be adored.   A simple black dress with flip-flops will catch my eye.  I look for the gentle sway of her hips, the drape of the soft cloth over her breasts.   I revel in the sleek beauty of the slim girl and the soft curves of the fuller woman.   I like the little touches that make the story.  A large brass zipper will make any dress a lot more exciting.  It doesn't matter if it is a front zipper, suggesting a slow exciting striptease showing first the lovely neck and upper slope of her breasts, then the bra, or even naked breasts, then the sexy stomach, either hard-body flat or slightly rounded, so very touchable and finally the panties, always panties.  I find no eroticism in the sans panty condition.   I like my presents wrapped.  With bows!  A sexy panty lets the present be a little more, last a little longer.

             
As I may have hinted before, a back zipper makes my day.   I love the idea of slowly pulling down her zipper.   It is a more cooperative affair and I imagine the whole thing.  She asks for my help and I will slowly pull the tab down, unafraid to let my eyes drink in the whole thing, she seems so vulnerable and trusting to me.   It takes a confident woman to let someone else undress her.  I zip down hoping that she is braless as I love backs.  I find them incredibly sexy, which is odd as for many men there is little we can do with upper backs.   But I love kissing them and stroking them, caressing the curves and muscles, fingers lingering over the boney parts as well as the soft shoulder and sinewy neck.   I love dresses that show off the beautiful backs and hide the ones that are not, so I can imagine them to be beautiful.   And as much as I like an attractive bra for what it can do for both great tits and those not so great, I prefer an unadorned back at all times.

             
As the back zipper continues down to the dip of her lower back and then to expose her panties and then off entirely so I can see the swell of her ass, the symmetry of it all, the fleshy part that entices by sneaking out of the panty.  Oh what joy!

             
As you can see, I can enjoy New York, even if I make no contact with its citizens and visitors.  All I need is my imagination and some hot weather.  And so it was this time, only now I had Catherine to enjoy it with me.  She wore a short canary yellow dress with a back zipper.   I was very impressed with myself as I failed to slobber all over her when I saw it.   I did manage to find myself falli
n
g behind in order to catch sight of her backside, the soft sashay of her butt, the tease of the zipper.   It had to cease, however, after the second time she stopped and turned, catching my eyes too low.  She gave me an amused smile with a quick glance at my crotch, hoping to catch me sporting a proud peacock.   But I was able to keep things in place as my intellectual component of the fantasy overrode the more physical part.  I swear if there is ever going to be someone who has an entirely mental orgasm, it is going to be me.

             
We were meeting with a new client who had heard of us and wanted a bid for our services on a remodel on a building he had just bought.  Because it was Manhattan, it had to be expensive, egotistically expensive.  So we went to the meeting expecting some sort of New York attitude.

             
People misunderstand New Yorkers.   I have always found people in Washington bore egos of monumental proportion.   They believe they are the center of the universe.   But New Yorkers know they are.   It is a great difference.  The Washingtonians keep trying to prove their belief, while the New Yorkers just keep doing wonderful things.   The old saying: "It ain't bragging if it is true,” comes to mind.