by JJ Giles
“Oh, God...years,” she whispered with a tear. “I couldn’t actually tell you.”
“How long has it been since you’ve had sex?”
She stared into Morgan’s piercing green eyes a moment. “He thinks I’m out fucking everyone in the world, doesn’t he?”
“If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have reason to beat you, would he?”
“I’m not,” Cheryl said adamantly, perhaps a little too insistently. Enough to perk Morgan’s curiosity. “I, uhh...suffered a short indiscretion years ago, but that was a very long time ago. I felt so badly about it I could never bring myself to give into the urge ever again. I felt like total trash.”
“Is that where your son came from?”
“No,” she said quickly. “Our son is the product of his brother’s teenage indiscretion with a prostitute. Alex was only twenty at the time. Alex is gay...a queen and he embarrasses Jerry so bitterly. Alex was just trying to be what Jerry’s father expected him to be and never could or would. Jerry purchased the child from the woman and to this day I don’t know if it was to keep the child with the family or to protect himself from future claims against the family’s wealth from the child. But my son is the sweetest, most affectionate, caring and gentle man on the face of the earth. I miss him so desperately.”
“Is he gay?”
“No,” she said adamantly. “He was the most sought after escort for all the little girl’s society parties. He had girlfriends and girlfriends. He’s just so cute. Such a sweet little baby face. He assured me that he has only the softest hint of a beard because his clients think he’s too young to handle their money.”
Morgan smiled. Her kind of man. “Is he married?”
Cheryl shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think so, I should say. He came around a few months ago, just dropped in out of the clear blue sky. He didn’t have a ring on. And he was so angry to see my arm in a cast and wouldn’t believe that I fell down the stairs.”
“Did you fall down the stairs?”
“As a matter of fact, that time I did. So if he isn’t interested in having a family, I can certainly understand that. As far as he’s concerned, family sucks.”
“And you’ve got time to do nothing but worry about everyone else when your children are grown, your husband is working and you're doing nothing but waiting for him to show up and beat your stupid ass because that’s the only thing that makes you feel alive anymore.”
Cheryl glared at Morgan. “How dare you speak that way to me?”
“Because it’s true. You could leave your husband and end with a nice tidy settlement. It won’t keep you living in the luxury you’re accustomed to, but you could still live quite nicely. One maid instead of four,” Morgan chided. “Maybe have to drive yourself around. But you could still live quite nicely. So there’s a reason you stay. You care to tell me what it is?”
Snidely, Cheryl studied Morgan a moment.
Morgan continued, uninhibited. “You’re in love with him but he won’t let you express it?”
Cheryl never loved that man and never would. But she could punish him to the end of the earth and back. She could drive him to insanity with the flick of her fingers. And she enjoyed every moment of it.
But this was fascinating. A sex therapist? She wasn’t Jerry’s type at all, except for the tits. The thought that Jerry hired a dominatrix to punish her was the most amusing thing he’d ever tried. But just to keep Morgan talking...
“Of course, I am.”
“Have you ever had an orgasm?”
Cheryl gasped, her vision returned to Morgan’s steady gaze, retaining a nearly uncontrollable laughter. “I don’t know.”
To Morgan, that meant no.
“So the question is do you have any interest at all in working with me? Learning a little about human sexuality and especially in learning how to express what you feel for him in a way he can understand?”
Quietly, Cheryl huffed, not believing this was happening. “Does Jerry know what’s going on here?”
“No. And we’re not going to tell him what goes on between you and I. But I did call you from his office where I had him masturbate and spill all over his floor. He gave me your number.”
Incredulously, Cheryl stared. “You’re having sex with my husband?”
“No. I’m a sex therapist. I train people how to contain their emotions and express them sexually so it’s mutually beneficial for everyone involved. Today was my first session with him and to get his attention, I had him masturbate. Tomorrow it will be something more, but it won’t involve intercourse. Beyond that, it’s none of your business what I do with him any more than it’s his business what I do with you. So would you like to follow me downtown to an apartment I keep there?”
“For what purpose?”
“For your first session. A massage. Just to feel something gentle for perhaps the first time in a long time.”
“I have massages regularly.”
“Not like this,” Morgan said with a smile.
Cheryl knew those kind of massages well. Cheryl loved those kind of massages. And if Jerry was paying for it... More importantly, she needed to know what was Jerry up to. “And Jerry knows about this?” she asked, unable to believe.
“Yes. And he understands that I’m going to teach you to be submissive to his every desire. You see, I think he loves you, too. He would have gotten rid of you a very long time ago if he didn’t. But he doesn’t know how to treat you properly. He doesn’t understand what you need from him, the deep and abiding desire you have to be dominated. How much you need him to take charge, to tell you what he wants and needs, and to be rewarded for your service.”
“And you...?”
“Are going to teach him to take care of you.”
“How?”
“By making of him my adoring slave so he can finally understand what he creates in others.”
A smile impossible to contain broadened Cheryl’s lips. “He doesn’t know who you are, does he?”
“Not yet,” Morgan cooed. “But he’s a bright boy and I know men better than they know themselves. Already I have his attention. Already I have him feeling like the errant schoolboy and me the mean old schoolmistress. But he’s a bright boy.”
Cheryl drew in a deep breath through her nose and let it out slowly. “And you want to teach me...?”
“All the proper etiquette any good submissive should know. You want his attention, don’t you?”
“Desperately,” she said quickly. “But...”
“No. Some people are just naturally submissive,” she whispered. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of in that. You’ll soon find out that those of you on the floor are much more powerful than those of us standing there with a whip. You break our hearts. You devour us with your devotion. We can’t help but give in to your desires, your needs, your soft sobbing and gentle pleas. We’re whores for that.”
Cheryl laughed a little. This could actually be fun. Jerry had hired a dominatrix to discipline her because he couldn’t. “Downtown, you said?”
“Follow me.”
* * * *
It was the Waterford Hotel, one of those high-rise condo buildings in the very center of the city. It wasn’t the newest, but the apartment was one of the more spacious Cheryl had seen in this building. The view of the river meandering through the city yet contained between the flood walls, was beautiful. The apartment itself was stark, rough stone flooring without a rug to cover it and the only the piece of furniture in the front room was a massage table. The only window covering, the sheerest of sheers, could be pulled.
“You don’t live here, do you?” Cheryl asked nervously.
“No, I don’t,” Morgan said. She placed her bag in the empty refrigerator to get rid of it. She opened another cabinet and removed a bottle of olive oil.
“Submissives,” she said as she approached the shivering woman, “do exactly what they’re told to do, when they’re told to do it, exactly the way their Mistresses want it.”<
br />
“But I’m a woman,” Cheryl protested.
“I don’t have a problem with that,” Morgan said. She threw the bottle to the table covered in fresh sheets and grasped the belt around Cheryl’s waist. Quickly, it was opened and the pants fell to the floor.
She slid her fingers under the shirt and raised it. Cheryl was quivering uncontrollably. The shirt was removed, leaving Cheryl with only her lingerie.
“Lie on the table facedown and watch the river follow its prescribed path without resisting its confines. Simply flowing.”
Filled so horribly full with the humor in this, Cheryl turned to the table. She’d never met anyone like this. Someone who would simply tell her what to do. But to find out where this was going, she obeyed. She sat on the table then laid down and rolled over.
She felt Morgan’s fingers unhook her bra. It was pulled over her shoulders and then from beneath her. Morgan tugged at her panties and they, too, disappeared out of her life. But Morgan’s slippery hands were indeed gentle as they swept over her shoulder blades and her exposed ribs.
“You’ll be going on a special diet, too,” Morgan told her. “You need a little meat on these bones.”
“Jerry likes those runway models.”
Morgan smirked. “Jerry doesn’t know he likes women who have some sense about them...not yet. So pay attention. I’m your Mistress. Nothing about you is to be kept from me now. You open yourself to me as soon as you see me. If I want your heart, your breasts, your brain, your opinion or your pussy, I’ll tell you.”
* * * *
“That was different,” Cheryl whispered. Relaxed, as she lay on the table, her vagina having been massaged as thoroughly as her breasts, her ass, her nether lips and her legs.
“Do I have your attention?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to teach you everything you both need to know in order to relate to each other and understand it. I want your undivided attention. I want you doing exactly what I tell you to do. You’re going to be everything you’ve ever wanted to be. The finest lady at the club he belongs to and the whore of Babylon in his bed.”
Utterly repulsed by that thought, Cheryl whispered, “Oh, God.” But for Morgan, her expression was still eager.
“And quit assuming that he prefers runway models to the real you. Pay attention to me.”
“Do you have a husband?”
Morgan choked. “No,” she said, dryly retaining the tears. “I did...”
“Was he...?”
“Submissive? Very. The most beautiful and engaging slave a woman could ever want. Just beautiful.” She smiled bitterly. “And so easily pleased. But you pay attention,” she shouted at Cheryl. “And don’t speak to your husband about this. It’s none of his business.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Yes, Mistress, is the proper response.”
“Yes, Mistress.” Her lips twisted into a smile.
“Get up. Whenever you greet me, you do it naked and offer the things most precious to you, obviously the victims of implants. You grasp your nipples and raise your breasts and lay them in my hands.”
Wholly embarrassed, Cheryl looked away with a chagrined laugh.
“Do it,” Morgan shouted.
This was too much. This little thing is too, too cute, Cheryl thought. Yet Morgan made it easy when she grabbed Cheryl’s wrists and laid them on her breasts.
“Your nipples,” Morgan shouted. “Squeeze. Inflate them for me. Harden them for me. Make me want to caress them, taste them.”
Cheryl couldn’t help but comply. She raised them high and approached Morgan’s outstretched hands and laid her breasts in them to feel them softly kneaded, the oil-slick thumbs further infuriating them.
“Much better,” Morgan said softly. “Get dressed now.”
* * * *
Morgan walked Cheryl to the door to find a man standing outside ready to escort Cheryl Abernathy away. Interesting. A bodyguard.
Cheryl moved quickly. Whatever this was, it was irresistible already. She wanted so badly to ask her husband about it, but Morgan told her that wasn’t allowed. Only if her husband brought it up could she say anything and then very little. Unable to control the hilarity in this, Cheryl laughed out loud. Jerry was having her disciplined, the groveling worm.
Returned to the Mansion, Cheryl went straight to the great room and barked out an order that her wine be delivered immediately. Sprawled on a down-filled sofa, the priceless antiques that once adorned the Mansion tossed to the basement, Cheryl peered out the window at the expansive lawns and the pool emptied now awaiting to be painted for a summer of use by the servants. And then she picked up the phone.
“Jacques,” she whispered to her lover of thirty years.
“Chére,” he cried.
“I need to hang around here for awhile. Something is going on with Jerry.”
“Chère, the social season is about to begin. How can I do without my most popular hostess?”
A little aggravated, Cheryl’s fingers drummed the softly padded silk cushion upon which she laid. The thought of missing out on all those parties was certainly a drag, but the thought of missing out on what was going on with Jerry was worse. “I’ll be there soon,” she said surely.
“Chère, what’s happening?”
“I’m not sure.” The thought of the great Jerome Bryant Alexander Abernathy V lying on the floor at his Mistress’ feet made her swell with laughter. “I’ll call later.”
And then she smiled.
* * * *
Morgan drove the length of the freeway to the state road. Something about Cheryl Abernathy, something wrong with that woman. But whatever it was wouldn’t come because she could think only of her Mouse.
Mouse, Morgan thought dismally as she turned off the freeway to the state road leading to her empty nest. Oh, Brian, as she listened to his favorite CD, a sappy old Frank Sinatra thing that she would never have cared about if it weren’t for him. “Fuck.” She wheeled toward to the garage and there Kitty stood, nude all but for the lovely twist of plastic wrap around her hips, a little gift for Morgan to unwrap.
“You’re gonna save me, huh?” Morgan asked filled with gratitude.
“This way, Madame,” Kitty whispered.
* * * *
At the end of the day, Jerry Abernathy sat at his desk with his hand returned to his crotch. There was more than entertainment or therapy in Brian’s recommendation of Mistress Morgan. Much more than that. Brian was trying to tell him something. He could only pray vehemently that Brian wanted to come home.
He turned off the computer and laid a few files out for his secretary to gather up. Just as he stood to go the penthouse elevator his office door opened. His stomach convulsed to see his wife coming toward him.
“What do I have to do to get rid of you?” he snarled.
She slithered into the chair before his desk. “Darling, you really don’t want rid of me, do you? You know what’s going to happen if you actually insist.” That grating voice was something he could never warm to.
Quietly, he returned to his chair, his gaze unbroken on her. “Cheryl, I’m beginning to feel that the loss of you is worth everything I hold dear.”
“He doesn’t know he’s not your son,” she reminded.
“That’s the only card you’re holding isn’t it, Baby? But if I go to him, if I tell him what really went down...is it going to be me he blames or is it going to be you? Does he know his mother’s a whore?”
Amused, she huffed. “Do you really think he’d believe it?”
“Probably not. He loves you, Cheryl. God forgive me, I don’t know why, but he loves you.”
“Well, here’s an interesting bit of news. As soon as you moved out, he moved in.”
Jerry’s heart leapt with that. “Brian moved back to the Mansion?”
“Saturday afternoon, Darling. As soon as he realized you were gone. And don’t think he’s left room for you. He’s taken the master suite.”
Elated, Jerry belied his excitement. “Then it looks like you have the protection you need now.”
“It does,” she sighed. “Do you have any numbers in mind as far as a settlement goes?”
“I do,” he said easily. “I was thinking somewhere in the neighborhood of one billion dollars.”
“On the surface, that sounds rather generous. But you’re gonna have to dig a little deeper than that, Darling.”
As if something noxious rose from her person, he turned up his nose. “When you speak to your lawyer, try not to forget that I don’t actually own anything. The Mansion, the cars, the penthouse...all of it is owned by the company.”
“Nasty little tangle, isn’t it? But don’t you worry, Baby. There’s always your salary that gets donated to charity every year.”
Capriciously, he shrugged.
She stood to go, turned her back for only a moment. “I almost forgot. What the hell was that this afternoon?”
Broadly, he grinned. “So you did meet Mistress Morgan?”
She fell to delighted laughter. “She thinks she’s going to train me to be submissive to you? You might want to tell her she’s got it backwards, Darling.”
“I’ll mention it.” Someday.
“You bit off a little more than you can chew there, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know about that,” Jerry offered. “Truth is, she’s the kind of woman I can appreciate. Nice ass. Great tits. If you didn’t notice, they’re real, but what you’re really asking is does she turn me on? And uhh...yeah. I’ll be her little sex toy.”
Through slits, Cheryl glared. “We’ll see about that.”
Jerry shrugged. Go ahead and screw with a woman like Morgan and see what you get back, he thought. The only reply in his repertoire to keep her quiet spilled over his tongue. “Whatever you want.” Bitch.
“Ta, Darling. I’m off to see the Wizard.”
Yeah, he thought. An eighty-five-year-old codger who can barely get out of bed would think you look good.
But there was no inclination to think about her. The thought that Brian had moved back to the Mansion was the best of all possible news. The very thought that Brian was sleeping in the bed they once shared, a prayer answered. His stupid wife had interpreted that event as an expression of Brian’s desire to protect her. If Brian felt a need to protect her, he wouldn’t have waited until Jerry moved out. Jerry read it differently. Brian was taking baby steps toward home.
