Three Sides of the Coin (Catherine I)

by Lennon, Carole J

  And that was the way it was so many times. Whenever he would chase a pretty young thing, he found that there was a reason they were available. On the other hand, he discovered that many pretty, shy girls had many things to say, all stored up inside, waiting for someone like him to open the floodgates of thoughts.

  For him, shy pretty girls were puzzles. What could he do or say to get them to respond? He found it easy to talk to them. It was a soft and gentle way. The shy girls did not preen or act distant like the party girls. They did not flirt and flit. He could tell, he could always tell. And so he made them laugh. That was the secret to shy girls. Pay attention to them and make them laugh.

  The hard part about shy girls was that there was no off switch. He imagined that all shy girls had as many thoughts and ideas as all the other girls, and once you found the on switch, all those thoughts and ideas were doomed to come flowing out. But not all thoughts and ideas need to come out, if the truth be known.

  So he would find himself with the problem of how to break up with these shy girls. In most cases, he found, they were happy to break up, they just didn't know how. They knew their ideas and thoughts were not interesting to him, but they would usually A.) Try a few more, hoping that something would stick, or B.) Keep up and hope he would break down and beg for mercy, so they wouldn't have to.

  Occasionally, he would completely surprise the young lady and she would be heartbroken. Those were tough on him as he did not ever wish to cause harm. As a result, he weaned himself off the shy girl circuit and his dating career slowed as a result.

  Dating became an increasingly rare event as the only women that seemed to fit him were beautiful, confident women who wanted to be with a confident, smart, but shy man. Since these women usually had the pick of the men, it wasn't often that he would be in the right place at the right time for the rare lining up of the moons that these conditions required. But oddly enough they did.

  What made it all possible was the fact that the most beautiful and confident women were less confident of their beauty than one would think. They knew they weren't hideous, but they all knew they could be better. The essence of confidence rather than ego was this simple fact: confidence admitted to being good, but knew it could, and should, be better. As a result, they tried. Ego-centric women were vain and assumed they were entitled to something, but also feared that they might lose it. So despite their vanity, there was an air of desperation to them that seemed to flow around them like smoke around a fire. They would fling themselves at the best looking men to confirm their pride and rich men to buy insurance for a future. It was never a mission to build a relationship, it was always about them. They would fear age or criticism. Being ignored was the worst punishment and foretold of the end, the old wrinkled woman with the shopping cart. So they pursued stuff and surgeries to buy time and a future. They would drink or drug themselves to buy away the fear and anxiety. As the result, they did the very thing they were trying to avoid: They made themselves ugly. Fortunately, they stayed away from the likes of Steven. He was not good looking enough for them, and never rich enough to be plan B, and maybe, just maybe, they had enough integrity to realize that they would hurt him unnecessarily.

  But the women he needed to be with, the confident beauties, saw in him what they needed: someone to love them, to help them, to augment them, a true partner. And like other couplings they did not always work out. We are all just a few crucial preferences away from total incompatibility. Classical vs. Country & Western Music; Meat lover vs. Vegan; Atheist vs. Devout Christian; Sauerkraut vs. Indian food; Dog vs. Cat person, Liberal vs. Conservative politics . And sometimes these are not at all a deal breaker. So there is some karma in all of our lives. And that karma may have brought Steven and Catherine together.

  He was naturally inclined to defer to women. And Catherine, naturally, liked to get her way on just about everything. And until the Big Fall from the ladder, she thought she needed an equal partner in the sack. But once they started to experiment with a more female aggressive style in the bedroom, they both started to discover things, delightful things, about sex, about minds and about themselves.

  One Saturday morning, as he started the shower, waiting for it to warm, she told him she wanted him to shave all the hair off his genitals and he did so. When he came out of the shower and dried off, she stood in front of him and had him remove the towel. She found it interesting how vulnerable it made him look and how powerful it made her feel to see him like that. She sensed, rightfully, that he felt slightly lessened with the hairless condition and that he felt ambivalent about it. She found she discovered his ambivalence about the sex intoxicating. He seemed staggered by wanting and not wanting the same thing. It amused her to see this clever man reduced to uncertainty. It made her feel the stronger of the two.

  For his part Steven was amazed how something as insignificant as his pubic hair had sheltered him. As he stood before her, he felt subservient to her and then as she sat in a chair in the bathroom and produced a pair of women's underwear for him to put on, he felt knocked down three levels. He tentatively put out a trembling hand and took the white see-through panties in his hand. As he slid them up his legs, he noticed the little pink and green flowers sewn on the sides. There was no doubt that these were women's panties and as he pulled them up, Cat stroked the wrinkles out and her hands were like electricity on him. This is what he had wanted for so long, and it was better than he had ever thought. He had, of course, bought cheap panties before and had tried them on, imagining a moment like this, but this was so much more. This was not just him and his imagination, this was him and the love of his life. He suddenly panicked, imagining that she was going to pull the rug out from under him, to say that she couldn't go through with it and her first thoughts were correct and that he had a problem. But she did not. Instead, she said, "Tomorrow I want you to shave all the hair off your legs and chest. You can leave it on your arms. But the rest must go. I think I like you pretty." She stood and fiddled with his hair and his panties and noticed he was trembling, trembling like a little girl, she thought.

  "You like these don't you?" She asked, smiling into his face, as she ran her hands over his body possessively.

  "Yes," a whisper rushed out of him. "I do. Thank you." He said with a quiver. She found his sudden, almost girlish, demeanor erotic and she reached forward and tweaked his nipples. He gave a contented sigh and she felt a surge of erotic power go through her.

  "Perhaps I should turn you into my little girl." She said playfully. She was amused by the reaction his penis showed to this statement and the confusion running across his face. She rushed ahead to see what other things she could do to throw him off kilter. "Perhaps a bra," she said running her hands across his chest, "To cover your little girlie ‘titties’,” and then, "A dress, a nice sundress that just covers your panties so you'll be constantly worrying about showing your unmentionables."

  She reveled in his frozen posture and ran her hands across his backside. "That way I could push your dress up and play with you anytime. You'd like that wouldn't you?"

  He let out a little sound that she found precious and said weakly, "Yes."

  "I didn't hear you," she brought her lips close to his head and demanded into his ear. She felt him sag and felt another surge of power, as surely as he felt a surge of helplessness, when he said louder, "Yes, Mistress, I'd like that."

  Cat delighted in this turn of events and vowed to take things as far as she could, as quickly as she dared. She found the already willing Steven to be more compliant as she made more changes in the relationship. It was not all sex all the time, but now sex became at least a low background noise in everything they did. She had him wear panties every day they were at home, and slowly found herself fascinated with his nipples as they became permanently hard and seemed to connect directly to the part between his legs. So they became a new sex organ for her to manipulate him.

  Steven found himself slowly being comfortable as her “Fifties housewife" or
"Little lusty girl. He was amazed how his self image changed. As a male in society, he had always thought of himself as bland and quiet and that as his role in that society, he was to augment and be an observer of the more flamboyant females. As opposed to the animal world where the males preened and bragged on their colorful feathers and huge manes, the human world he felt belonged to the female and they controlled both the pace and show. So now, he felt both humiliated and proud. He was humiliated that he wanted to be 'sexy' and showy. It was so out of character for him, but yet sex was meant to be a release from the rest of the mundane world. And so it became more of a release than he had ever imagined.

  Cat's fingers on his nipples, his 'little titties' as she described them, became a touch he found he craved. He found himself curling into her to caresses like a cat. He extended his natural modesty to include his breasts and was careful to keep them covered. When she bought his first bra, he felt like what he imagined a young girl would have felt, a strange pride at coming of age. As things progressed, he found himself, for the first time in his life, wanting to be sexy, rather than just wanting someone sexy to be with. He actually enjoyed the greedy feeling of wanting her to touch him, to pay attention to him and he felt great pleasure when she enjoyed herself with him, both physically and mentally.

  Cat enjoyed seeing him writhe beneath her hands, his wanton thrusting of his body to her hands. She felt ever so in control as she rejoiced at working him into a frenzy and then rejecting him, making him wait. She loved the whimpers he gave out as she would say, "Later. If you are good, maybe later." She thrilled to the fact that he loved her control over him and wondered what else she could do. As the months passed, she found out. She had him compliant and pleasing. She had him talking and confessing. She had him open to her and he became closer and closer. She found their relationship was getting more complex and thorough. Sex and mind and heart all blended together as they explored what she could do. She found herself being more confident, as anything she tried seemed to bring a new level of interaction between them. The more she did, the closer they became.

  She wondered why everyone wasn't doing this, as happy as she had become. Then she realized that it was more than just two people playing at roles, it was two people playing at roles they were destined for. And like Sauerkraut vs. Indian food, it probably wouldn't work for everyone. She doubted that Steven could ever take the dominant role, as Captain Jack had done with her, but she equally knew that she and Captain Jack would have not have likely met in a natural world; and if they had, they would have surely been such a water and oil mix that they would have spun out of each other's orbit within days. And so she assumed that this would be the same with any dominant man.

  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 typ
e 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."