Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 03

Eventually, Helen commend that she was leaving for the day. I told her to pick up a coffee for George's stakeout. She sniffed as if she had thought of that long since, which she probably had. There are reasons I like my battle ax of a secretary. Then I became serious.

I said, "Helen, I had a call from Francine Martel." Helen nodded to indicate she understood the relationship. "She demanded that I escort her tonight. This cannot be coincidence." Helen nodded again. She understood that I was being deliberately removed from the situation and promised to get Sheila safely home. I went on, "She will want to work tonight. I cannot stop her. If she does, text me and I will go by the warehouse." Helen just looked sad and tired. I concluded, "I know. I love her too." Helen looked up at my phrasing, then looked at me closely. Then she made a decision with a jerk of her head. I looked a question, but she shook me off. Sometimes our non-verbal communication breaks down.

Once Helen had gone, I forced myself to do another hour of work. At 6:00 PM, I closed the office and drove over to Albert's. My suit had been through a hard day, but I was not given an option to being here. She saw me first.

I heard her call. "Is that you Ricky?" No one has called me that since Bush was President.

"OK Frankie, where are you?"

I heard her laughter. My guess is that no one called her Frankie anymore either. Most Broadway divas seem to like French sounding names. Francine happened to come equipped with one. She certainly was a Broadway Diva. At least she was in New York.

"All right, I won't call you Ricky if you don't call me Frankie. I didn't want to call you Clarence."

"Thank you for that. I go by Sean – it's my middle name in case you didn't know – or by Richards. You may choose either."

"Well C Sean Richards, we have a reservation for 8 and only 7 taken. Would you like to join us? Please. I'm the odd man out."

I did not try to pick up the names. They had not tried to pick up mine. Francine was right; the others were paired off. By the time the desert cart came by, we were alone. So I walked her home, she invited me in. If I had not expected Sheila to be fully up to speed with this, I would have declined. Instead, I

decided to stay for a few minutes, which turned into two hours. At one point she went to get something from the kitchen and I wandered around looking at pictures of her with famous people.

Then I stopped dead. There was a picture of her with Sheila, at maybe 15 years of age, but still Sheila. She noticed me looking at the picture.

She said, "What a waste: prodigy at 14, tragedy at 16."

"What happened?"

"Dancers cannot have D-cup breasts. It doesn't work. She got too big and that was that."

Francine was 5'1", 95 pounds only because of the muscle in her legs.

"I met her. I think we hit it off. We certainly seemed to communicate without saying much."

We talked some more. A lot about dance and her youth training in the studio across town. Some I knew, a lot more I did not. The subject of pain came up. Dancers, it seemed, were a lot like runners. To get good you have to deal with pain, even make friends with it. It was the slow, controlled movements that really could get you.

"That was what Sheila was so good at. The impossible holds and the unreachable stretches."

"I know her as Cynthia."

"Stage name. Francine Martel works fine on a billing, Sheila Schwartz doesn't. What's she doing now?"

This I knew for pure misdirection, but that was what she wanted to do. I deflected, "I see your point about the name. I always noticed yours whenever I saw it. She's teaching. Not dance, but a lot of the "control" that you've been talking about. Executive training, that kind of thing."

"So she has been training you?"

"Not exactly."

"You train her?"

"Closer, but not exactly."

Without appearing to move, Francine had managed to work her way next to me, not that I objected.

She said, "Maybe you could train me." Exaggerated pout and pleading impression. I reached out and gave her fanny a swat.

She jumped away, and taunted me, "Aren't you supposed to spank a bare bottom."

"Very well, take off your pants and undies and come lay over my knee so I can spank you properly, little girl." I could play too.

I wondered how far she would take the role she had just dropped into. You can never tell about actors. Sometimes it will be them and sometimes it will be the role. Sometimes they pretend to play the role.

She adopted a little girl voice, "But daddy, I'll be good." She intended to carry the role a little further it seemed.

I said, "Now Sugar, you know if I have to come get you, it will be worse. You've earned an extra swat already."

"Well all right, if you promise not to hit too hard." Pout, pout.

"I promise to warm your buns properly. Now one, two, three..."

"I'm coming. I'm coming."

"What did I tell you to do with your pants and panties?"

She did not blink. Instead, she peeled off her pants and panties just as I had demanded. Her pubic hair was firmly trimmed back. Francine either played the field, or was planning ahead for tonight. I would bet either way. It was my turn to squirm in a role. I decided to push a bit further as well.

Firmly, I said, "Now stand between my legs, lean over my left knee and put your hands on the floor."

"Are you going to hit hard?"

"You deserve a good spanking and you are going to get one. Now. Bend. Over."

She did. I closed my legs to pin hers, put my left hand on the back of

her neck and held her down while I wound up the first swat. Whack.

"Yow. That's enough, daddy."

If she had dropped character, I would have let her up. Instead I counted off ten swats. By five my hand was red and my fingertips were numb. I never realized punishment could be so demanding on the punisher. No doubt Sheila could have told me. The punishee's buns had a nice red glow. And a wet one.

I said, "There now. That's done. Now daddy is going to check to see if his little girl's temperature is all right." She certainly smelled all right. I took my middle finger and ran it down the center of her vagina, just under the lips. She squealed and jerked, trying to get loose.

It was a fight, but I had the size and the leverage. I finger fucked her with three fingers and thumb on the clit. Before long her squirms had a different feel to them. It did not take long.

Then, she said, "Oh shit, I'm coming. YEESSSS!!!"

I let her up and said. "I guess daddy's girl has grown up."

"You're a bastard Sean. I'll get you for that."

"Feel free." I leaned back and put my hands behind my head.

"You asked for it sucker. Get those pants and panties off."

"I give you permission."

From the look on her face that was a bad move. She knelt and undid my belt and fly. Then off came the shoes and socks. Whew. I need new insoles. She grabbed my slacks and boxers, and said, "Lift." I lifted and off they came. She sat back on her heels, pulled out the belt and folded the slacks carefully. The belt she looped twice through the buckle.

Then she knelt up again and dropped the loops over my penis, worked my balls to the top and pulled it snug. She added one more loop for good measure.

"Don't move," she said

I had placed my hands behind my neck. Right then, I regretted the choice. But she hadn't broken character before I forced her to cum, and I was not going to either.

Francine went into the kitchen. She came back with a bowl of water and a towel. Then, she washed my feet, toweled them dry and started to kiss them. In among the kisses were little bites, Plus sucking on the toes. It drove my ticklish side into convulsions. I levered against my neck so hard my shoulders cracked.

Eventually she moved on to my legs, paying special attention to the back of the knee. Then, with the wet end of the towel, she traced along the inside of my thigh. She puckered and blew. I flashed to when I blew on Sheila's moist cunt, six days before. My cock throbbed even harder.

Francine jerked me back to her ministrations. She grabbed the belt and pulled my whole cock and ball assembly up, and me with it, so she could run that damn towel up my crack. My asshole puckered like from a persimmon as she ran the coarse towel over it. Then she wet another corner and started to work up under the belt. Need I say that my penis' head was purple?

Just as I began to worry about my cock's health, she unwound two loops of the belt, then pulled it off. Before I could breathe a sigh of relief, Francine popped the head of my cock with the end of the belt: Whack. A penis has only one eye, she got it all. Whack. Whack. Whack. Down at the base. Whack. Whack. Lip of the head. She stopped to stroke my prick. Then, Whack. Whack. Whack. Front, back, front. One more good hit, and I would explode.

Francine made me wait for it. Taking my head in her lips, she slowly ran the loop out of the belt and dropped it on the floor, without ever dropping the gentle pressure on my prick's head. Once the belt is gone, she pulled her lips back and blow again. The pressure was becoming impossible, but still I had not blown. She licked the throat, and down the shaft to the balls. I was twitching. Francine pulled her face out of the way and clapped her hands on my purple head. Stickiness fountained all over her hands.

Francine sat back on her heels and smiled up at me. "Wanna fuck?"

I pulled off my tie, threw it over her neck and pulled. "Lets neck a little first."

She wiped her hands on the towel, put them both sides of my face, and kissed me soundly. "Suits."

We did neck a while, but I had things I needed to do, and people I needed to check on. Francine had work in the morning. It would have been a nice affair, had it happened a few weeks before, but not then and especially, not with Sheila out in the cold. I broke the lip lock.

Holding Francine, bare ass in my bare lap, with her cunt drippings staining the couch below me, I looked at her seriously and asked, "What will you report?" She tried to look innocent, but I glared at her. Finally she broke eye contact and shook her head.

She said, "Damn Sean, you do that evil eye better than anyone I know, and I know people in New York that do it for a living. I give up. Mea culpa. Yes, your lordship. I shall report that you are exactly what I told her last week, an over focused SOB, who can bore holes with his glare and enough loyalty for a pack of guard dogs. Now, get the hell out of my apartment. If we aren't going to fuck, I have a date with Mr. Panasonic. Go." With this last, she rolled out of my lap and dashed to the bathroom.

As I pulled on my rumpled outfit, she came back out, wearing a terry cloth robe. She stood up on tip toe, and kissed my cheek. In my ear, she whispered, "I will also tell her that you are inventive as hell and can hold your charge longer than Mt. St. Helen. Now go, before I tie you up and keep you."

The walk back to my car gave me a chance to catch up on the messages. Helen had arrived at Sheila's studio at 5:15 PM. The two of them had left for the warehouse minutes later. Helen reported that Sheila was wobbly on her feet, but still punching. Helen had stayed about an hour, but left her working with Peter on the page layouts. Justin had disappeared into his work area. Food was taken to him, and there were empty bags, but nothing else to report. Security shift had changed at 11:00 PM, but nothing new to report, which meant no one had left.

I pulled into my parking space at 12:45 AM. Night security did not know my face, so I had to stand still for the checks, after which they apologized and gave me an escort. I made a mental note to commend the night supervisor. In spite of the frustration from being in a hurry, it was good to see things done by the book, even when the owner is in a hurry. My escort was named Joe. We went up to the security cage, then followed the lights. Peter and Sheila were deep in discussion.

When I finally had their attention, I said to Peter, "Pack your things up and go back to the motel. This will be here in the morning. First, take Joe, here, and collect Justin. Joe will escort you out forcibly, if you are not out of the building in 15 minutes." Joe nodded his understanding to this. It is so good to work with professionals.

Sheila had not raised her eyes from the workstation while I talked to Peter. As soon has Joe and Peter had left the room, I turned to her and said, "You are coming with me. I am prepared to carry you if I have to." She stepped up from her chair, and buried her face in my shoulder. I picked up her handbag, and led her out the door and down the hall. When we reached the stair, I turned her around, so she went first, and followed her down and out to my car. As always, a touch on the shoulder was enough to guide. It was one of those little things that I was growing very fond of.

She did not protest when I drove her home, when I took her keys out of her purse and let us into her building, when I opened the door and let us into her apartment, or when I stopped her in her kitchenette and unzipped her blouse. Once the blouse was off, I had her sit backwards on the dinette chair, with her arms wrapped around the chair back. With that as bracing, I undid a very tight knot and slowly released the tension all the way up the back. Then I reached around and undid the busk. Once the corset was off, I removed my jacket and shirt, then put the jacket back on. I unclasped and removed her bra, covering her with my shirt. I then led her to the bedroom, removed he skirt, stockings and shoes, and tucked her into bed.

Through all of this, neither of us had said a word. When I kissed her on the forehead, I heard her whisper, "My Guardian."

I stroked her hair back from her forehead. "You are so brave. I love that about you. I love the personal discipline." I moved my hand to her flat abdomen. "But you have held yourself too tightly." This I said stroking her side. Then I cupped her breast. "You need to be able to breathe. Now sleep. The night is dark, but morning brings light." Within seconds she was out.

I left to check on Jason. There were miles to go before I slept.