Three Sides of the Coin (Catherine I) (23 page)

As she stood looking down at Steven as he licked between her legs, she let go the curious wonder of what it would be like to reverse this role of her on her knees paying homage to her husband's pride and joy.  She knew as he brought her to another thrilling orgasm, that while the vacation might be fun, the day to day was much more thrilling.   So as she rose over the crest of another stunning sexual fulfillment, it was not an image of her being someone's Fifty's Wife that she imagined, but an image of Steven submitting to even more humiliations to her, to her standing over his cringing body with a whip in her hands, welts on his bottom, and him begging for more.  'Too much?' she asked herself
, as she clutched his head with both her hands to keep his tongue in just the right place.  'Let's see,' she thought to herself with a smile.  She brought his head up to look up at her. 

             
"You pleased me, Sweetie."  She looked into his adoring eyes and knew, just knew, there was more to find.  "Perhaps I should call you Pussy.  Would you like that?"

Chapter 15:  Captain Jack-4

             
It had been a tough four days and once again Mike had been called away mid-week; and once again Catherine had gracefully stepped in and had kept the clients moving forward in his absence.   While it wasn't easy, the client didn't seem offended by the transition, and Catherine took great pride in that.   She felt her confidence grow with each of her solo efforts and the decisions seemed clearer each time.  Her ability to sense and overcome the client apprehensions seemed to flow out of her.   Her always positive attitude of "I can do it," was less a naive brash claim and more a statement of will. 

             
Thursday found her closing out the client's agenda with a flurry of final color choices, floor decisions, stone and wood floors instead of carpets, which would last longer without replacement, and lend a more convincing strength and permanence to the feel of the space.   The clients, at first reluctant, eventual embraced the concept and even rejoiced in it.  She had convinced them that buying price would often be a penny wise and pound foolish approach.

             
But converting people's opinions, apparently effortlessly, was not effortless and she looked forward to a hot shower and a light dinner and a deep sleep before her plane ride the next morning.  She was ever so grateful that the flight from Chicago to Phoenix would only be a few hours, and that the weather report across the country predicted that there wouldn't likely be a delay, even in that relatively short trip.

             
However, as she entered her room in the quiet Sutton hotel, evaluating her dinner options, the box waiting there immediately changed her entire mindset.   She somehow knew that this wasn't for any other night than tonight.   In the box was a mid-thigh black silk dress which hung from the neck, sleeveless, with pleats running neck to hem without a belt.  She recognized it as one of those dresses that was worn by heavy women to disguise their middles, but could be worn by slim women to great effect.   And if those slim women like her, had nicely proportioned busts, then it would make men and some women stop and take notice.  Of course, as well made as it was, as all the clothes sent by Captain Jack were, it complimented her figure all the more.

             
She stood in front of the mirror, almost fully re-energized and touched her throat as she imagined the collar/necklace Captain Jack would most certainly re-apply, and she remembered his ominous prediction for the next, this next night.  The words "Yes, Master," trembled from her lips as she looked at herself.   There were no stockings and she was grateful as she didn't ever like pantyhose and felt a garter and stocking combination would be a bit risqué with this short skirt.  The panties shocked her and she felt amused at the oversight.  It seemed out of character for him to be this thoughtless.  Up until now, he had been very thorough in having every square inch of her body touched by his dominance, and yet he had misstepped ever so slightly here.   If it was him, she wondered.   Her mind raced trying to make sense from the patterns she deduced from his actions.   He might think he was inscrutable with his dominant demeanor and cool, detached mien, but she was picking up hints here and there and found herself excited about this new type person that was Captain Jack.   She knew she wasn't far along in knowing what his history and location where, but she knew he cared about things, enjoyed beauty and intelligence, art and food, grace and energy.   Facts were one thing people could get easily, but misuse just as easily.   Deductions, her hard won deductions, told her more, but only if she got them right.   She knew, she saw, people worked for him.  She knew he had money, lots of money, or at least access to lots of money, and that he was fully at ease with that money. 

             
But she wasn't fully ready to concede that he was the one picking the clothes that she wore each time.  This pair of underwear, if that was the right term, was a vivid red band of lace that came around her waist and two strings of pearls that ran down the front and between her legs to attach to the back.  Obviously, it was quite sexy to wear, and she imagined him ordering her to wear them to bed and to frig herself into a raging orgasm after he had left.  So she gently placed them in the drawer in the nightstand next to her bed, and worried that she might have misread his omission.   She had a pair of black lace string bikini panties that were skimpy enough to share the mood of the dress, but she thought,  and dismissed,  the idea that perhaps she was meant to go not only braless, (She did not see that as an omission, but a certitude with this dress.), but panty less.   She quickly shrugged that off as too tawdry, even for this type arrangement.

             
So she showered and was prepared for his six thirty appointment.  She looked at herself in the mirror, red lips bright, twirled and bent to see how hard it would be to keep from exposing herself to the world and felt vindicated in her decision to wear the black panties as in extreme quick dips, her backside could be exposed.   Any color other than black would be a flag drawing even more attention to the embarrassment.   The simple minimally textured black high heels emphasized her long legs and made the gap between shoes and hem, seem to go on forever.   She thought how artfully designed the outfit seemed to fit her.  If the dress were any shorter, her legs would seem obscenely displayed or at least too coltish and too much like a mature woman's attempt to re-seize youth. 

             
At exactly six thirty, as she knew he would, Captain Jack knocked and she let him in.  She said nothing as he entered her room, as if he knew it was beyond her to object.   She coolly, objectively observed that she would not have done so, nor felt that she should.  She also observed that a year ago she would have.  This is part of the new me, she thought.   She was not willing to say anything at all, just yet as he had her turn for her collar with a wave of his hand, as he drew the ringed necklace from his coat pocket.  She bent her head forward and pulled her hair from the nape of her neck, and when she felt his hands leave, she turned and said, "Thank you, Master."   There, she had said it.  Her eyes darted to his face and a spike of obedient pleasure ran through her as she saw a slight smile fly cross his lips, then disappear.   She was amazed how little of his effort it took to make her happy, and how much she was willing to do to gain his approval.

             
"Are you wearing everything?" He asked.  She immediately spread out her arms and twirled, (not too much, she knew when her skirt would kite out and flash her undies), and said, without thinking, "Yes."  She quickly regretted her statement and stammered, "I think."  

             
His eyes flashed and he ordered firmly, "Show me."  She, trembling, slowly pulled her hem up, slow, not for modesty's sake.  No she was well beyond that, she no longer seemed to have modesty. (Where did it go?  When did it go?  Why did it go? The questions staggered through her mind.)   She pulled up slowly, not to be seductive, but out of fear.  She, the confident Catherine, was suddenly the frail uncertain Kitten, afraid that her very sure decision of an hour earlier was going to displease him.  "Did he want her nude under the dress?  The beaded underwear?  Another color?  How was she to know, he hadn't given her any specific orders?  When did she wish for these sorts of things?"

             
She kept bringing the hem up until it was at her waist, far further than it needed to be, surely.  She turned for him to see the entire panty, worrying that he intended for her to wear a thong instead of her full back bikini.   When she completed her circle, she glanced up, realizing she had nervously looked to the floor like a child, when she twirled.   His eyes were all a rage.  He stepped forward, grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her two steps to the bed, pulling her over his lap as he sat and quickly, firmly swatted her bottom with the palm of his hand, (his large hand, she thought), as the shock of the pain ran through her.   His hands, (his large hands), ripped her panties to mid-thigh suddenly, and then a swat, then  another on the other cheek sent first a pain, then a second later,  a warm feeling through her.  Her voice gone, a gasp, then a second, and a third, jumped from her throat with each hit. 

             
He lifted her, effortlessly, and stood her to her feet.  "I bought them for you to wear," he said calmly, "Do you understand?”

             
She nodded; afraid she would start to cry if she said anything.

             
"Then put them on." he ordered.

             
She waddled the five feet to the drawer, afraid to pull up her panties, or to even drop the hem she still had pinned to her waist, knowing she must look comical, but displeasing him meant everything to her right now.   At the nightstand she pulled the black panties off, placing a long graceful arm to the nightstand to keep her balance, then quickly pulled the pearl and red lace underwear up and unsure exactly where they belonged on her hips or waist, returned to stand in front of Captain Jack, hem held to her waist for his inspection.  She felt that every emotion of honor, pride or self-confidence had completely abandoned her.  In its place, the emotions of the fear of disappointing him, and confidence that he would make his wishes hers had replaced them.  Humiliation would have been an accurate description if she had pride left.  She did not.  In its place, stood a quiet acceptance, no, a quiet insistent need that he let her know what he wanted her to do.

             
He looked at her, almost surprised, she thought, at her open acceptance, her full compliance.  He pulled the red lace until the beads split her down the middle, firmly between the cheeks of her lovely, red welted ass and swollen pussy lips.  His hands stroked her bottom and his fingertips traced along the welts they had created a few minutes earlier.  She heard herself sighing to his touch.  He slid the dress down her thighs and she realized he had to remove her hands to do so. 

             
He stood and hobbled to retrieve his cane.  Had he hobbled when he drug her to the bed?  She could not remember.   "Shall we go?" he said with a strong hand to the door.  "I'll carry your room key."  She realized she had no purse to go with this dress and would not need one now.

             
She did not remember dinner, other than the cool silk of the dress on her still stinging bottom, and how the combination of that, and the beads stroking her clitoris with every move, were erotic charges coursing through her body.  That made everything worse, more humiliating as she imagined everyone was seeing her so turned on and could smell her, hear her wetness squish between her legs.  Her first efforts to squeeze her thighs together in modesty actually made things worse and she felt her safest, most modest approach was to sit motionless, her thighs slightly open, never crossing her legs.

             
Then it was to the Opera house to listen to a blind Italian tenor.   Catherine's tastes in classical music ran to the symphonic.   She stretched forward to the timeline to chamber music, but only so far as Mozart's time.   And she had issues with atonal music, which she felt was a victory of brain over heart, and not music's finest hour.    Masses and operas and oratorios were all well and good for radio snippets, or even those CDs advertized late night, or on marginal cable channels where for 29.95 you can get all five Greatest Operatic Moments, and if you act now, they will double the offer, and if you really acted now, they will cut the price to 19.95, and if you really and seriously act now they will allow you to listen to them absolutely free for thirty days.  All you will have to do is pay the extra shipping and handling.    Of course, by Greatest Operatic Moments, they mean all the music that Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd taught us as children on the Saturday morning cartoons.  

             
So it was to her surprise how thoroughly enjoyable it was to listen to this man, with an occasional duet with some soprano of whom she knew nothing.   As she sat in the dark, she was so entranced that she was pulled into his voice.  She knew no Italian and so she only imagined the words to be sad as he sang, (she believed), of the heartache of the women who left him.   She had heard that people who lose one sense find more in the others as they use them to compensate.  And now she was convinced that he was able to take that extra sensing and pour it into his music and her heart.  She also wondered if her loss of freedom to Captain Jack had somehow made her more sensitive as well.   Perhaps as she swam free of obligation to decide, she became more capable of enjoying the rest of her world.   If it was so, she was happy to embrace the sensation.