The Matchmaker

by Fiona Wilde

  The Matchmaker

  Fiona Wilde

  (c) 2010 by Blushing BooksO and Fiona Wilde

  Copyright (c) 2010 by Blushing Books(r) and Fiona Wilde

  All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Blushing Books(r),

  a subsidiary of

  ABCD Graphics and Design

  977 Seminole Trail #233

  Charlottesville, VA 22901

  The trademark Blushing Books(r) is registered in the US Patent and Trademark Office.

  Wilde, Fiona

  The Matchmaker

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-60968-345-0

  Cover Design by ABCD Graphics

  Blushing Publications thanks you whole-heartedly for your purchase with us!

  There are plenty more stories such as the one you've purchased from Blushing Books! Visit our online store to view our might selection!

  http://www.blushingbooks.com

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

  Chapter One

  "It just isn't fair!" The blonde woman reached for another handful of tissues, into which she proceeded to noisily blow her nose. "I mean, look at me! I'm gorgeous. I'm dressed to the nines. Some people tell me I look like Paris Hilton! I even have the little dog and everything!" As if to prove her point, she held aloft a bug-eyed Chihuahua adorned with a jeweled collar that probably weighed as much as the animal itself.

  Cassie Bernard tried to look sympathetic, although sympathy was the last thing she was feeling. The urge to laugh in the blonde's face was more like it - an urge nearly overcome by the desire to tell her that a tiny dog and badly dyed hair were the only to things she and Paris Hilton had in common.

  "I mean, really," the blonde continued, cramming the dog into a knock-off designer pet-carrying bag. "How difficult is it for you people to find someone compatible with me. I'm just looking for a guy who makes at least two hundred thou a year, with an Italian car, looking for a trophy wife to spoil..."

  Cassie leaned over. "Well, Miss Anders.." she began.

  "You can call me Marci," said the blonde. "Marci with an 'I'."

  Cassie smiled. "OK, Marci. Here's my suggesting. Perhaps you should consider lowering your standards a bit. I mean, there are lots of guys out there - really nice guys- who make less money than your guidelines stipulate. Maybe if.."

  "Excuse me?" Cassie looked up to see Elaine Perkins glaring at her. Instantly the glare turned into a saccharine sweet smile as she turned her attention to Marci Anders.

  "As awkward as it is for me to openly disagree with an employee, I'm afraid I'm going to have to." Elaine walked into Cassie's cubicle and sat down in a chair beside the blonde. "The problem isn't you, dear, it's these men. Most of them are intimidated by a woman of class, beauty and style. They feel incapable of handling a woman strong enough to go after exactly what she wants."

  Marci sat forward in her chair, leaning towards Cassie's boss. "See, that's exactly what I think! I deserve champagne and diamonds. Why should I settle for anything less?"

  "You shouldn't!" Elaine said emphatically, and then turned to Cassie. "May I see the file you have on Miss --"

  "Anders," the blonde offered helpfully. "But you can call me Marci. With an 'i'."

  "Of course," said Elaine, the wide smile still plastered on her face, keeping her attention on the blonde as she took the file from Cassie.

  "So let's see here," she said, opening the file and putting on the glasses that hung from a jeweled holder around her neck. Elaine pursed her lips and then adopted a grave lip. "Oh, dear, I think I see the problem."

  "Yes?" Marci said anxiously.

  "It appears you signed up for the standard MatchYou package," Elaine said. "Now, that usually works for people who - how shall I put this - are average. But someone like you needs exposure to a lot more possibilities, so you can weed through the ones who are so obviously intimidated by your personal style and strength."

  "What should I do?" The blonde was sounding frantic.

  "Oh it's easy to fix," said Elaine. "Sometimes out exceptional clients are able to luck into a relationship with the standard package, but most savvy, high class women quickly realize that the MatchYou Gold Package is the only option."

  "And how much is that?" Cassie detected a note of concern in the blonde's voice which Elaine chose to ignore.

  "It's $399," said Elaine. "But for that you get three times as many referrals, your own page on the MatchYou Web site and access to our exclusive member's only messenger and paging service."

  "$399, huh?" Marci tapped the top of the pet carrier and chewed her lip nervously. "Well, I guess I could juggle some things. I mean, I could always skip my car payment and double up on it next month."

  "It's a matter of priorities," said Elaine. "I think you'll find amazing success with this, Marci. And with this upgrade, by this time next month you're quite likely to have nabbed a man worthy enough to deserve a woman like you - a man who won't think twice about making those car payments for you."

  The blonde smiled and pulled out her checkbook. "Sold! I mean, really, what's the point of working at my crap job if I'm not going to invest in myself." She scribbled out a check and slapped it down on the desk, turning to Cassie as she did. "And I fully expect to have a date by Valentine's Day," she said angrily, as if her lack of a mate were somehow Cassie's fault. "It's just days away! So find me a big spender."

  "Oh, she will," said Elaine, standing to walk Marci out. The blonde swung the pet-purse contraption over her shoulder, jolting the little dog around in its fabric prison. Through the mesh panel, the little animal looked at Cassie, it's expression miserable.

  "I know how you feel, little guy," said Cassie as the two walked out, but her reprieve was short-lived. A moment later, Elaine was back in her cubicle, the saccharine sweet smile and tone a thing of the past.

  "What in the hell was that?" she said hotly.

  "That was me, doing my job?" offered Cassie haltingly.

  "I don't think it was," Elaine countered, slamming the thin cubicle door, a ridiculous gesture since the top was open and everyone in adjoining units could hear what was said. She stood facing Cassie's desk, arms crossed across her conservative blue blazer.

  "Tell me, Cassie, please, what are the top rules of your job?"

  "I know what they are ---"

  "Good, then you won't mind repeating them."

  Cassie sighed. "Promote the maximum services to each client, never date a client - no matter how tempted we are - , and always remember to uphold the MatchYou image of professionalism and optimism."

  Elaine snorted. "Well, at least you remember them. Now let's see if you can remember to follow them. The way I see it, you broke numbers one and three. You weren't optimistic, and by encouraging that woman to lower her standards you increase the chances of her getting a mate, and as soon as she gets a mate we lose her business."

  "But aren't we supposed to help them find a mate?" Cassie asked.

  From the next cubicle she heard a gasp. No one questioned Elaine Perkins.

  Elaine was silent for a moment. "Of course," she seethed. "But our matchmaking service isn't a charity, Cassie. If it were we couldn't hire psychology graduates like you, graduates who - I might add - would still be pounding the pavement looking for work if we hadn't have opened an office in this town."

  Cassie said nothing. As mu
ch as she hated it, Elaine was right. The job at MatchYou had been a godsend. The growing company set itself apart from other matchmaking services by touting their employees' skill. "Unlike other companies, MatchYou counselors are all college graduates trained in the psychological sciences," the commercial said. "So you can be sure when you sit down with your personal counselor, he or she has the background to help you find the best mate for you."

  It had seemed like a worthy job, a way to help. And the pay was good, too. So Cassie felt lucky to have the job. And later, even after she learned that it was all a sham to sell clients the most expensive plans available, the reality of her financial situation forced her to put ethics aside and continue on until she could find another employer who could match the salary and benefits she received from MatchYou. So far, nothing had materialized.

  "I'm sorry, Ms. Perkins," Cassie said. "She just seemed so..."

  Elaine's saccharine smile continued. "You have to put your personal feelings aside, Cassie. The people who come here are losers, for the most part. If they didn't spend money on our service god only knows what they'd be doing with it." She turned and opened the door. "I'll just pretend this little incident didn't happen if you try harder to remember why you're here. And remember. We have a whole basket full of resumes from psych majors who would love to have your job."

  Elaine walked out, tapping on the next cubicle as she did. Through the walls, she could hear her boss chiding Jill Smith, who worked in the next cubicle. "How many times do I have to tell you? Phone voice. Use your phone voice. Leave your accents at home. Speak slowly and articulately."

  "Yes ma'am," said Jill. "I'll try to sound a little less southern from now on."

  "You need to try and sound a lot less southern," stressed Elaine. "We get calls from all over the place. Our counselors need to be able to put callers immediately at ease. We can't do that if our counselors sound like they just came off a farm in Tennessee or from a gas station in New Jersey. Our next speech class is Tuesday. Make sure you sign up."

  Cassie listened as the sound of Elaine's heels clicking down the row of cubicles became fainter and fainter. She was breathing a sigh of relief when Jill's head popped up over the top of her cubicle.

  "Please remind me what the hell we're doing here?" she asked.

  Cassie looked up at her best friend. "I have no idea. I can't even remember falling down the rabbit hole."

  Jill laughed, disappeared and then reappeared a few moments later in Cassie's cubicle. "You know, that Tennesses/Jersey comment was aimed at us," she said. "The bitch."

  "I know," said Cassie. "It's a stupid rule to begin with, but if you ask me, we've done better than most people at covering our accents. Do you know last week my mom called me and I accidentally answered the phone in my 'work' voice and she didn't recognize me?"

  "Wow," said Jill. "I don't know whether to be impressed or scared."

  "Scared is probably more appropriate," said Cassie. "Speaking of which, don't you think you'd better get back in your cage. If Elaine comes back through here she'll be all over you about time management."

  "There's ten minutes left before quitting time," said Jill. "I'm not worried. Besides, I wanted to find out what you were doing this weekend. Ed's got tickets to see Blues Travelers in concert. You and Barry want to go?"

  "I'd love to go," said Cassie. "But Barry's got something cooking with one of his friends."

  "Like what?" Jill frowned. "The Super Bowl was last weekend. It's not like he can use football as an excuse to neglect you."

  "Barry doesn't neglect me," Cassie said, and realized as she did how unconvincing her voice sounded.

  "Yeah, right," said Jill. "He just puts you last. He walks all over you, Cass. When was the last time you two did something you wanted to do? Something together?"

  "It's been awhile," Cassie admitted. "But Valentine's Day is coming up and he said we'd go out then."

  "Oh really?" Jill brightened. "To where?"

  Cassie began straightening things on her desk. "He wants us to go to that new place out on Eastwood Road."

  "The wings place?" Jill was incredulous. "Geesh, Cassie. That's a sports bar?"

  "They serve meals there," Cassie said defensively.

  "Yeah," Jill shot back. "Meals served by girls in cut-off shorts and tight T-shirts designed to show off their fake tits." She sighed. "I just don't understand how someone so bright and cute and sweet as you stays in a relationship with such an obvious boor."

  Cassie put her head in her hands. "God, Jill could we please not have this conversation again? I've told you, Barry and I have a different kind of relationship. If I ever decide it's not what I want I'll leave. OK?"

  Jill sat down on the edge of her friend's desk. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I know I come across as pushy, but it's only because I care about you. I've watched so many of my female relatives back home be good little obedient wives only to get treated like crap in return. I just hate to see you end up like that."

  Cassie stood and picked up her purse. "Don't worry, Jill. I still remember what century I'm in. I'm far from barefoot and pregnant."

  Jill laughed. "Thank god for small favors," she said as they walked out and went into her cubicle, where she also picked up her stuff. "Do you want to go out for a drink?"

  "Nah, better not," said Cassie. "I've got errands to run."

  "Oh, alright. I'll call you this weekend, OK?"

  "Sure," said Cassie, taking the back out of the building to avoid having to go past Elaine's office.

  The sky was overcast and heavy with clouds as she walked outside. Bundling her coat tightly around her, Cassie walked quickly towards her blue Ford Taurus. By the time she'd unlocked and opened the door, her fingers were numb with cold. Cassie said a silent prayer as she put the key in the ignition and turned it; when she'd headed out that morning the engine sputtered and stalled. Now it kicked over quickly. Cassie sighed with relief and turned on the heater.

  As the car warmed up, she took the envelope out of her purse and carefully turned it over in her hands. When she and Barry had first started the envelope ritual, it had filled her with excitement. There were two each day - one to be opened in the morning and one to be opened in the afternoon. The first one dictated what Cassie's morning chores - what she was to fix for breakfast, what time she was to wake Barry up, where she was to leave the newspaper after she'd fetched it. It also contained instructions on what she was to wear, and how she was to fix her hair. The afternoon envelopes contained any errands Barry expected to run, what she was to fix for dinner and - most exciting - where she was to be waiting when he got home, and how. "Take the leather strap and lay it on the back of the couch," it might say. "Wear your white teddy and garter belt - no panties. Bend over the back of the couch by the strap. Do not move. I'll decide whether to spank you when I get in."

  Those were the best ones - the ones that promised anticipation. All day Cassie would squirm with it, so much so that she could barely concentrate in class. When she got home and into position, the excitement would have grown to a ball of sexual tension that radiated from her belly down into the throbbing secret places reserved only for the man who insisted upon being called "Sir Barry."

  He'd ignore her upon arrival, another way of showing his dominance. So by the time he got around to tending to her, whether it was to spank her or fuck her or both, Cassie would be dripping with excitement and would feel her orgasm start to build as soon as the supple leather of the strap, his broad hand or the head of his dick touched her bottom. Barry's careful instructions for how she should live her life - his attention - had been a slow drip of sexual stimulation that punctuated every moment of her day. Cassie could look down at her suit and think, "Sir Barry told me to wear this," or look at her lunch tray and think, "Sir Barry told me to eat this," or feel her bare ass against her skirt and think, "He told me to stay bare because he's going to spank me as soon as I get home, and doesn't want panties in the way."

  So much had changed over the
past few years. So much. But the envelope ritual - now reduced to just one instead of two - still gave Cassie a stirring not only of excitement, but also of hope. As always, her hands shook when she opened it, and again that spark of excitement was extinguished as she read the contents:

  1. Pick up my dry cleaning from Jarrell's Cleaners.

  2. Pay the cable bill. The invoice is on my dresser.

  3. Thaw out a roast for lunch tomorrow. I'm bringing roast beef sandwiches to the poker game tomorrow night at Frank's house.

  4. Pick up stuff for the sandwiches and a 12-pack of beer.

  5. My fantasy football group meets for the last time tonight. It's men only. No wives. I'll be home late. Don't wait up and don't call me unless it's an emergency. I've had a bad week at work and need to unwind.

  Cassie sniffed and swallowed hard. She wanted to scream, to ball the note up and throw it out the window, or to write FUCK YOU across it in big red letters and leave it under Barry's windshield wiper where he'd find it, along with a letter telling him why she'd left. But hadn't she promised to obey him? To be good? And hadn't Barry told her that it wouldn't always be easy? Hadn't he told her there were times when she wouldn't like being his slave? Hadn't he told her that part of the price of being his property was developing the inner strength she would sometimes need to do his will? Hadn't he told her that obedience wasn't about getting what she wanted, but giving him what he wanted?

  The answer to all of those was yes. Cassie was good. She was obedient. It was what she'd always thought she'd wanted in a relationship. But there was something missing, for her anyway: Happiness. Cassie was miserable, and as she sat in the parking lot watching the first flakes of snow fall around her she couldn't help but to feel that somehow she was getting just what she deserved.

  Chapter Two