Three Sides of the Coin (Catherine I) (18 page)

             
She stood in the sexy light brown dress, with her very sexy underwear underneath.  She knew she would have to move very carefully to keep from exposing too much.  But she smiled at how it was a shame to not be able to show that lingerie.   She blushed at the thought of Captain Jack's eyes drinking in her form, both in this dress and in the lingerie, even if it was an accident.   She wondered if that was his goal, to have her stand before him in the bra and panty.   She knew she would refuse, of course.   But she wanted him to want to see her, to see how beautiful she was in them.   She wanted someone to see.   She, who had always prided herself as the standard by which the world shall be judged.   At the question of whether women dressed to please men, or to please other women, she replied always, without a doubt, that she dressed to please only herself.   Now she wanted someone else to be pleased by this.  She supposed it was the La Perla talking, but she wondered, just a bit, if it wasn't another bit of her becoming unhidden.

             
The shoes, in the third box, of course matched the dress perfectly.  The same color as the dress, they were covered in reptilian pattern, with at least a five inch heel.   The shoe cradled her foot with an open toe box and an Achilles heel cup all connected by an artistic array of leather lace, making the entire operation both one that felt substantial, and yet displaying an air of lightness.   

             
She wondered if the choice of clothes told her any more of Captain Jack.   He certainly had nailed the sexiness part, but suspected many men could do so.  But he also had a level of class to these choices.  But the peek-a-boo aspect of the first dress and the shortness of the second made her feel like a display item.   The strings on the shoes and the underwear made her wonder if his nautical nature was showing, or whether he was sending a subtle message that he controlled her image.  Just a pulled string here and there and she'd be shoeless with her panties pooled around her ankles.  Now she wondered whether she was creating a man she wanted, rather than looking for the signs of the man that was there.

             
Reluctantly, she removed the clothes and redressed for her walk through the park. The invitation to the art gallery said 7 PM, but the strong firm handwriting on the card next to that time said 6:30 PICKUP, YOUR DOOR.    So she had time, plenty of time to walk down Fifth Avenue to the park, stroll about and get back to the hotel for a shower and her preparations.   It was a lovely day she supposed, but she remembered almost nothing of her walk.  She kept checking her watch.  She did not want to be late.  Did the note mean to meet the door of her room, or the door to her hotel?  Should she be by the door at 6:30, but if no one showed up exactly at 6:30, should she bolt downstairs and hope there was the five minute grace period she hoped for?  What clock should she trust?  At what moment has 6:30 ended and 6:31 begun?   Should she be at the hotel lobby door at 6:30 and risk being seen as too anxious?   Why should she, the queen of all scheduling, be worried about someone else's failure to communicate fully?  Was that his goal?  To put her off her confidence?  Was it a game that she had enlisted to play without knowing the rules?

             
She came back and was dressed, by the hotel clock at 6:15, 6:14 by her watch, which she always synchronized to the official clock of America with a time cube that allowed her to be to the exact second.  Not that she was ever on time.   No matter what she was doing, she always felt she could do more.  So when she got up half an hour early in the morning, she started an extra load of clothes, organized another closet, or paid another bill, as a result she was an extra fifteen minutes late, because she got up early.  Oddly, many women know this exact feeling.

             
Steven told her he was not fooled.  Since she always knew what time it was, to the Greenwich Mean Time second, and because she never was late to the movie previews, (Her very favorite part of the movie was the coming attractions, which was ideal for her, the entire movie laid out in a 90 second preview.), she was late because she did not feel the event needed her presence.   Being late, he said, was her being arrogant and disregarding what others thought.  So here she was 15, okay really 16, minutes early.   It was a long time for her to spend trying to figure out why she felt this way.  Yes, she liked be dressed this nicely.  She got up several times to view herself in the mirror, twirling this way and that to see how things looked.  Oh no! Don't twirl tonight, the dress flows too easily, flies up too nicely.  But those panties do look nice.  Will he like it?  Of course he will.   Should I change my lipstick? 

             
At 6:29, by her watch, (she wondered if someone knew what the room clock said), there was a knock on the door and Captain Jack stood before her when she opened the door.  She sighed in relief inwardly, the time crisis resolved and her fear of disappointing him evaporated.   He said little, his eyes looking at her and a bit of her wanted him to ask about the entire outfit, whether she liked it? (No, she loved it!), whether it fit nicely? (Did it ever!), would she show him? (I don't know.)

             
"I brought you something,” he said.  He held open a long jewelry box.  In it was a necklace of diamond squares alternating with what seemed to be platinum rings.  She bent her neck, holding her hair to the side as he fastened the snap on the back. .  It was perfect for her neck, a choker with room for a finger or two between her neck and the metal.  She knew this because that was exactly what Captain Jack had done. The touch of his hands was brief and gentle.  Once the clasp was shut, she raised her eyes to the mirror in front of her.  He stood behind, almost looming over her.  She softly touched her hands to her neck, and almost whispered, "It's a lovely necklace."  He smiled and leaned in.  "It isn't a necklace, it's a collar." 

             
Did he tell a joke?  No, whatever sense of humor this man had, it did not run to such.  Her eyes widened and she looked at the necklace, now a collar and it felt suddenly, altogether different.  And in her sexy dress, and her sexy lingerie, and now in her collar, she felt proud to feel that way.  She felt proud to be a display for him, a thing to be led about.   The money, the clothes, the jewelry had bought and paid for her.  But she also felt a secret desire to do it all for free.  The hidden Catherine loved the feeling of being at the call of someone else's whims.  She felt a sense of freedom she had never felt before.  She had no choice.  And she, who loved options, loved having none all of a sudden.  She felt a serenity she would never have allowed herself, could not allow herself.  This masterly man turned her into his toy.  And she prayed it was all an illusion, a figment of her overripe imagination.  She hoped he did not know what he was doing, that he would not make a single other demand of her, because she did not think she could say no to him at this moment.  He turned and made a gesture towards the door.  She, of course, obeyed, as she must.

Soon they were down the elevator, and out the door to the limo, the same driver
, (Did he fly him and the car in?  Or just the driver?), held the door and they were down toward the Soho area, where they were let off and they wandered through the gallery, endless canapés and drinks.  Catherine, who could have easily lived on air at that point, tried to keep her wits about her, favoring water after a single glass of wine and making sure she ate the most protein laden of the canapés.   The art was lovely and sometimes bizarre, and fortunately, not the work of a single artist.  She found Captain Jack knowledgeable on the art and he expressed a disappointment on how many artists were a one trick pony, repeating their signature element until it lost its uniqueness.  "There are too few Picassos and Beatles." He sighed.  "With them, you always know it was them, but it wasn't the same over and over." 

             
The dress, the shoes and the underwear kept playing her all night and she not only felt the stares of the people, she caught their glances reflected in the many surfaces of glass, and enjoyed the looks.  She felt she was truly Captain Jack's thing and wanted him to show her off, pull her by her collar like the prancing filly she was, to pull her dress off to the gasps of the art patrons, to see another work of art, the performance art of Captain Jack.  She even imagined his brand on her back side, the artist's signature.   Fortunately, the event did not occur.

             
He escorted her up to the room, and even stepped inside.  She was afraid he wouldn't leave, and wondering if she could say no to him if he stayed.  He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a flattened pink and white striped bag.  "Wear this tonight."   He placed it in her hands and she found herself being turned by his firm, but not rough hands, which then reached up and pushed her head down, slid her hair to the side and unfastened the choker.  Her eyes closed, she wondered if she felt his lips softly kiss the nape of her neck.  Then, with the sound of the jewelry box snapping shut, she opened her eyes and turned to him, awaiting further instructions.  He appraised her and she felt his dark brown eyes taking her in.   She felt foolish, all of a sudden, thinking that he did not need for her to get undressed, that he knew everything about her. "I think I will bring this back next time."  He said, raising the box slightly.  She nodded, knowing that the statement wasn't as much a request or an invitation, but a confirmation of his mastery of her.  He turned and left her standing there, wanting something she did not know, something she did not dare, but something she wanted very badly.

             
In the bag was a white baby doll nightgown.  The top was kept up by two lacy, ruffle straps.  It stopped just at her hipbones with the two front panels separated at both the middle of her body and at the sides.  A single bow connected just below and between her breasts.  The panties were gathered and ruffled at the waist and at the leggings, and the panty, itself had enough fabric that it moved and caressed her every move.  As she lay in bed, she fell asleep dreaming of horses being groomed by rough manly hands and of her slowly undressing herself for a pirate sea captain.

Chapter 12:   Steven-4

              Following what she now thought of as her "Captain Jack Adventure," Cat saw her husband differently.   Actually, to be fair, she felt her husband differently.   She now understood the difference in power between two people.   While she did not crave, or thought she did not crave, being on the low side of the power coupling between two people, she now understood what it felt like to be out of control.   She now understood some of what Steven must be feeling as she had him kneel before her and she would take his chin in one hand and lift his face to see her above him.  She now knew that feeling she saw in him as he trembled as her other hand showed him the crop she was about to use on his ass.   Though Steven had volunteered for this, and it was certainly a more painful interaction, her lack of parity with Captain Jack had sent similar chills through her, perhaps fueled by her emotional distance from the stranger Captain Jack.

             
What interested her so much was how much she now thrilled to the power she wielded over the trembling Steven.   Before Captain Jack, it was fun, but it seemed more of a game then and now it was much more, much more real, much more exciting.   And Steven seemed more responsive.  This spiral of power and submission brought both of them to higher sexual highs.   What she found strange was that this power differential between her and Steven meant not only would he never dominate her (as if he ever had), but 'middle' moments, as she now thought of them, were not very natural.   She loved having Steven in her arms after they were both sated, (her first, of course.), but he relaxed there in her arms, not the other way around.

             
She discussed all of these issues with her philosopher friend, Mike.   She found herself almost in a middle world with him.   As out of control as she found herself with Captain Jack, and how in control she found herself with Steven, she found a middle piece of her life with Mike.   It was never sexual, other than his funny penchant for stray erections, but not quite asexual either.   As sensual as a cat's fur, their friendship was easy and calm.  It seemed strange to her, but suddenly her life was stretching in every direction.   It was not a world of tradeoffs, but of extra layers, a multi-media event of senses.   She asked Mike why she felt no unfaithfulness with her escort work.

             
"You didn't have sex did you?"  Mike asked, almost terrified.

             
"No, of course not."  She replied, thinking Mike as a protective little brother, "Not even close."

             
Mike regained his composure, embarrassed to have over reacted, she thought.  "You didn't do anything that took from Steven did you?"

             
"No.  Steven would have taken me to a concert if I had asked, but he wasn't in the same town.  So, no, I suppose I took nothing away from him.  In fact, perhaps I got something for him out of it." She said with a conspiratorial smile.

             
"Besides the money?"

             
"Well that, too.   I mean I learned some things about myself that makes me better with Steven.  I understand his desire to be submissive to someone.   It was a relief to have someone arrange dinner, the concert, art gallery, even the clothing.  I don't know if I felt more like a queen or a servant, maybe a bit of both.   I suppose a queen is controlled by her realm's expectations of her.   So maybe I felt like both a queen and a servant.   But it was a feeling I had never had before."