Betrayed Ch. 09

Chapter Nine: The Game's Afoot

The weeks passed; March, April, and into May. I won't dwell on the mechanics of the surgery or post-op. Either Angie or Dianna was at my side almost constantly, but never together. I don't want to say I 'juggled' them, but it was sometimes a delicate balancing act. I was head-over-heels for Dianna, but couldn't deny my feelings for Angie. How could I choose between one or the other? In truth, the choice might not be mine to make; I might end up with neither.

Dianna, especially, was much more emotional than I had ever seen her before. She fussed over me, telling me how much she flat-out adored me. Then she would burst into tears for no reason I could see. Hey, I thoughtIwas supposed to be the victim of raging hormones around here! I certainly appreciated her raw display of emotion for me, yet I couldn't help but wonder; was there more behind her tears than just love?

My nose looked...pert – another new descriptor I thought I would never use about myself. It was still a touch swollen - andnumb; they told me that goes away after about a year. OK, I liked my eyes; sue me. Everyone else was crazy about them, especially when they were made up. My cheekbones and lips were both fuller. It was scary to see people I knew and cared about juststare at me, speechless, captivated. I knew I would get used to it – I had to get used to a lot of things – but at the time, it was still new.

The rest of the body was new, too. I had already been wearing a corset every day before the surgery, so that didn't make a difference. The resultsweredifferent. Angie and I were both on target to have twenty-inch corseted waistlines by the time of the show. Dianna's corseted waist was already eighteen inches - the bitch. Paul was absolutely ecstatic.

The prosthetic breasts were gone. I was a full DD-cup all by myself; well, me andPerma-Plast.They looked huge at first; but then, so had Dianna when I first met her. That was one more thing I was getting used to in a hurry. It was nice to be able to show off my cleavage – a modest amount at work and more on my own time. My backside had filled out just as nicely.

This is one of those little joys women never tell men; only each other. There had been a few occasions – becoming more frequent with time – I had walked past some guy in the office or on the street, traveling in the other direction. In a second or two, I heard athumporclang as he walked into a wall, file cabinet or light pole because he wasn't watching where he was going. If any woman tells you that doesn't bring a smile to her face, she is lying to you.

Thephysical transition was surprisingly easy. Thementaltransition – with the understanding I would not be changing back – was much harder. It took a while to get beyond the angst and anguish. How could I abandon all that I had been? I came to realizeI hadn't. Intellectually, I was still the same person, doing much the same routine. The packaging was different. The perceptions, both internal and external, were different. The emotions also were different; in part, due to the hormones. Over time, my perception on a whole was one of gain, not loss. Remember that hot fudge sundae? What if you could eat from it every day, never lose your taste for it, and never gain an ounce?

Upon returning from Post-Op, I surprised even myself how quickly I wrapped my mind around work. I had watchedCNN andCNBC while I was recuperating. I had seen some report or other about the continuing drought in the western U.S. and Canada. As soon as I was up and around, I booked a flight west to talk to some of the farm groups that had appeared on television.

I heard first-hand from them how bad the situation really was, minus the candy-coated coverage the corporate-owned networks had given the story. I called the office immediately and orderedSTGto gobble up Winter Wheat futures like Pac-Man. About a month later, the Department of Agriculture announced the harvest would be down about twenty percent, due to the drought. Harvest gold turned intoreal gold for us as the price of Winter Wheat skyrocketed.

Most people had not anticipated how bad the Asian Bird Flu epidemic would be, nor how it would affect poultry priceshere. It was simple; after having to destroy a significant percentage of its poultry population, China would need to re-supply itself with untainted chickens; alotof them. We bought poultry futures – and made out like the fox guarding the hen house. Essentially, China caught a cold, the rest of the world sneezed, andwe cornered the market on tissues.

Those trades, on top of the oil deal, had made this a banner year for our company – and the year wasn't even half-over. The Christmas bonus checks were gonna filleveryonewith holiday cheer this year and they were looking atSTGas their 'Santa'. The guys inStrategic Trades were calling my instincts eerie; Twilight Zone stuff. They claimed it was like Lance never left; that he cloned himself intome, somehow. I just smiled and thanked them for the lovely compliment. I didn't mean to intimidate them. I had worked with some of them three years; they just didn't know it.

I thanked my lucky stars I was so good as a commodities trader; Sam Spade, I wasn't. Memorial Day was two weeks away and I didn't feel any closer cracking the case than before my surgery. Angie, and I were in rehearsals for the fashion show. Dianna had gone to visit a girlfriend in Los Angeles, but promised to be back in plenty of time. Paul was not worried by her absence. As a veteran of previous shows, he was confident she knew what he expected of her and would "come up to speed" quickly.

I was grateful for the respite from throwing Angie and Dianna together. Then again, perhaps Ineeded to throw them together to force one or the other to show her hand – if, indeed, either was in league with Jeff Spencer. No one in my inner circle had given the slightest hint of being in on a conspiracy. There were no signs coming from outside, either. Was it all a desperate ruse on the quarterback's part?C'mon, Guys; I can't make the bait any riper, juicier, or more tempting. On the other hand, maybe I can....

Rob and Jim had one of those society charity things to go to the third Saturday of the month. The Mayor and most of the City's movers and shakers would be there, including those in the various sports franchises. To the boys, it was a given that Angie and I would accompany them. In fact, they put it to us exactly that way – at the Executive Staff Meeting Thursday morning. They were at a loss for our reaction.What do you mean the invitation took you completely by surprise? It doesn't take you three days to get dressed, does it? You know those guys who go berserk with an assault rifle in the workplace?I'm beginning to understand....Anyway, I had more important things to dwell on at that moment. I didn't have a thing to wear... or did I?

I must have stared at the dress a hundred times, hanging there in my closet. You want to talk aboutguilt? I had left messages for Dianna at the number she gave me, but she hadn't called me back yet. Sure, I could have cruised Michigan Avenue and found something else. My instincts were nudging me; there was something aboutthisdress and its connotations to the unfolding conspiracy that made it the perfect choice. If this bemy 'Maltese Falcon', let me wear it well....

Oops! Perhaps a littletoowell. I was now bigger on top than Dianna. I had gone the whole route; salon, then the red calfskin corset and matching thong, sheer black hose, the dress itself, and the jewels. I wouldn't need the coat; it was unseasonably warm for May (this, in a city where it is not unheard of to see snow the second week in June, then ninety-plus degrees by the Fourth of July). I overflowed the bodice provocatively. The skirt fit my tush snugly, too. Then again, if I was chumming for sharks, why do half-measures?

Rob looked positively dashing in his black tie and tux. In line with the marine analogy, he gasped like a fish out of water when he first laid eyes on me. It took a very stout straight-arm to his chest to bring him back into focus and away from his all-too-obvious advance. We were doing the 'star turn' all the way; he helped me into the back seat of the limo, then seated himself next to me. We picked up Jim and Angie, then sipped champagne on our way to the City Cultural Center on Washington Street, formerly the Central Library.

"Iknew I would see you in that dress sooner or later," Angie gushed. "My God, Girlfriend; if you take a deep breath, you're gonna bust right out of it, you shameless hussy, you!"

"And this," I retorted with mock cattiness, "from someone whose body makes aDonatella Versace original look likeFrederick's of Hollywood?"

Actually, Angie was stunning in the fuscia satin bustier-style sheath. We had fled the office immediately after the Thursday morning meeting and found it in the couturier salon at 'Needless Markup'. Her eyes glazed over when she saw herself in it in the three-way mirror. Those eyes filled with tears when she read the price tag. She wept openly when I put it on my platinum card.

"Listen,puta," I had teased, "you got me into this mess three months ago. I'll be damned if I'm going it alone."

I had kissed her softly on the cheek to soften thefauxblow.

"Besides," I had cooed, "you deserve it."

There was more champagne and canapés when we arrived, plus an honest-to-God string quartet in the main salon and a harpist in the smaller 'Conservatory' – what, once upon a time, had been the Reference Room. This was rare air, even for someone who has been in the corporate culture for a while. There is something intimidating about rubbing elbows with people whose last names appear on public buildings and corporate logos, not to mention packages of hot dogs or bacon. Angie was already on Cloud Nine and I was working on getting a leg up.

Apparently, we were perceived as some kind of visiting royalty, on loan to the two investmentwunderkind of the hour. Boy, didweget the double- and triple-takes! Rob and Jim were basking in the glow of attention they were receiving, both for their achievements and their choice of companions. Astute politician that he is, even the Mayor had compliments to pay, citing us as "a shining example of what makes The Great City of Chicagogreat." Considering the direction of his gaze, I wasn't sure if he was referring to our investment successes or our bustlines.

One of the many things I admire about Rob Nelson is his utter selflessness when it comes to giving credit where credit is due.

"I would love to tell you it was some well-planned grand strategy on my part," he began, turning my way. "In fact, it was really..."

He paused in mid-sentence as he felt the increasing pressure of my stiletto heel on his instep. I shook my head imperceptibly, then hugged his arm tightly and inhaled deeply, inflating my chest to epic proportions.

"... a spur-of the moment thing, which I credit to my companion, Lisa Layne," he ad-libbed. "She and her friend, Angelina Torres, were generous enough to take time off from their careers in Hollywood to visit Jim and myself this past few months and lend their moral support. You know how it is; when your muse beckons, you follow."

He's quick on his feet, too. I like that in a man. I couldn't have asked for a better cover story. Since they would not be able to place our names, faces, or anatomies to any big-budget Hollywood productions, I was sure our new admirers would rush home that night and check theirother DVDs.

This was not some sudden attack of modesty on my part. I was seeingother 'movers and shakers' – of the gridiron variety - interspersed throughout the crowd. My instincts had flashed me a warning; this might not be the best time to take a high profile. Then again, in this dress, with my push-up corset, I couldn't help but take a high profile.

As is so often the case in these society affairs – like I would know, right? – our little group became separated by the dynamics of shifting conversations and conversationalists. I had spent a goodly amount of time charming the pants off a group of industrialists (figuratively-speaking, but not for lack of desire on their part) when I sensed a body immediately behind mine; not touching, but definitely inside my personal space. Rob was deft about showing his affection without appearing overly familiar in such a setting. I smiled and moved a fraction of an inch closer in response. After a moment I turned....

Okay, you would think by then I would have been used to incipient heart failure; not so. Jeff Spencer's eyes were almost as blue as mine. His had a predatory glint to them, sizing me up like a piece of meat. Even in my nearly-six-inch heels, I had to look up to him.

"I couldn't help but notice you are the most beautiful woman here," he offered.

Now that was suave – NOT! Are you sure yougraduated from high school, Big Boy?

So this was it. He had picked this time and place – in front of the city's elite – to 'out' me as a man. Mentally, I judged the vertical distance from floor to crotch, factored in flexibility, heel height, plus strength and speed of my up-thrusting knee. Yep; that should just about do it.Sopranos, here he comes....

"Why, thank you, Sir!" I oozed with appropriate unctuousness. "Have we met before?"

"I wouldremember if we had," he schmoozed back. "Allow me; I'm Jeff Spencer of the..."

"Ofcourse," I interjected. "I've seen you on TV. I must say, the camera angles don't do you justice."

No, but I will. Just give me an excuse, Sport-o. Your next endorsement will be for the Vienna Boy's Choir instead of the Vienna Sausage Company.

"On the subject of Justice," he segued....

Here it comes....

"...it's positivelycriminal for a gorgeous woman like you to be standing there with an empty champagne flute. What do you say we waylay a waiter and rob him blind?

So that's your game; take me someplace private and apply a little blackmail, with the implied threat of outing me to everyone who is anyone. You are slicker than I gave you credit for, Buster. Okay; let's play. Perhaps I can get you to give up your partner, too....

"Oh, let's," I chirped, slipping my arm through his. "They aren't beingnearly attentive enough anyway. Perhaps we can shake things up a bit."

Believe me, the smug smile and undulating tush was all an act. Inside, I was screaming. The knee ploy was useless at this angle, unless I could spin on his arm really fast. Godzilla here could crush me like a grape. On the other hand, if I timed it right, I could skewer his foot with my stiletto heel and pin it to the floor, right through that ultra-sheik, ultra-expensive, ultra-thinBruno Magli.I'll have you singing in the upper registers yet, Butch.

Somehow, I didn't think the waiters were hiding out in the stairwell. Then again, I hadn't bought the champagne ploy for an instant. As soon as the fire door closed behind us, I spun to face him, expecting a mouthful of fist. Instead, I got a mouthful of... mouth – and tongue. My arms flailed about ineffectually as I was pinned to the wall.

Oh, no you don't, you sick sonofabitch! You are NOT gonna have your way with me, THEN out me to half the city of Chicago! Just lean into me a little bit more and I will FedEx my reply; absolutely, positively guaranteed delivery....

He got a handful of tittie, massaging my rapidly-hardening nipple with thumb and forefinger. That brought everything into soft focus. My struggles dissipated like so much dust in the wind. My mind was screeching at this ultimate treachery. What chance did I have to beat him at this dangerous game whenmy own body betrayed me?

His other hand was hovering around his crotch, doing... I couldn't tell what. Then that hand tookmyhand and pulled it forward. Oh... my... dear... sweet... Jesus! Godzilla is right; this guy is amonster! I can't begin to explain it; Auto-Pilot kicked in at that exact moment. I sank to my knees and had him unzipped and exposed – with difficulty – a few moments later. I actually made himback up half a step so I could face it properly. I softly encircled it with my right hand and ever-so-gently stroked its length, all the way to the base. Holding my hand there, I realized with detached awe my small hand covered little more than a quarter of its total length!

Don't evenask what was going through my mind as I inhaled the bulbous, purplish head. At that point, my thought processes had all the coherence of a bowl of alphabet soup. That was the only way I could have gotten that slippery snake down my throat. As I sucked him, one lucid thought gradually came to the forefront:

There is a just and merciful God, after all!

All I had to do was smile, close my eyes, and take a great, bigbite; Vienna Sausageand Vienna Boy's Choir, all in one gulp!

Yeah, right. That was when thenextlucid thought hit me. I was about to maim a hero to tens of thousands of Chicagoans without a shred of hard evidence (discounting what was in my mouth) of criminal conduct. Baby, if you don't think The Media would sniff out my storythen....For all that certain anguish, I still didn't have a thing on him other than my lips and tongue.

God hates me; He really, really does.

The thoughts were coming faster now, on pace with my ministrations to his cock. Jeff hadn't given the slightest indication this was his revenge on me, or even a prelude to it. He hadn't given any indication he even knew me. Was he that good an actor? He was treating me like I was just another of his adoring bimbos. Was it just possiblehe didn't know who I was?

Whether he did or not, Boulder Dam opened its floodgates and dumped a raging torrent down my spillway. I hadn't even realized I had been massaging my own clitty with my other hand. I shuddered through my own release, barely holding it together as I held him between my lips.Surely goodness and mercy.... Anticipating either Rob or Angie – or both – might be in a playful mood that night, I had heeded Dianna's long-ago advice and sheathed my clitty in a latex mitten, tucked discretely back inside my calfskin thong. I could take care of that little problem later, at my leisure.

We corralled a passing waiter as we strolled arm-in-arm into the main salon. As we sipped the chilled bubbly, we were immersed in conversation.

"We reallymustget together again and finish what we started," Jeff intoned in my ear.

"There'smore?" I inquired innocently.

"Oh,yeah, Baby," he replied, "alot more. How about next Saturday?"

I shook my head.

"Sorry," I demurred. "I have a thing planned. I don't know how long it will last."

He nodded disappointedly.

"Actually, I do, too," he agreed. "Our promotions people have me doing a publicity appearance at the fag pageant over at the Hilton. I'm gonna be appearing with some models at a fashion show. I know one of them. God, I hope the rest aren't all dogs...."

My face lit up.

"Woof, woof," I barked playfully.

He gaped at me, astonished.

"You're kidding," he gasped. "You?"

I nodded, smiling. Just then, I caught sight of Angie, chatting with a group on the other side of the room. I extended an exquisitely-manicured index finger in her direction.

"And my friend there, too," I purred. "We're kind of a matched set."