The Addicted Natural Ch. 09

We made the move gradually, a load of this or that each time we went to the lake house, Fred making his plans like a general. My parent's old room would become the master bedroom. I would have the smallest of the four bedrooms down the hall. Another bedroom would be converted to an exercise room, the den would be made into Fred's office, etc, etc. I would clean and scrub and organize things to Brenda's specifications after she cleared the work schedule with her husband. He spent a lot of time just walking around, looking at the lake like he had that first night here. It was quite a drive back into town, and we would often spend the night here. But almost every day had some portion of time set aside for my Master and me in the office of the big house. I supposed that it had to do with the money, but I never thought about it. Money held no power over me anymore. I was free.

Last Thursday, Brenda took me shopping at one of the finest dress shops in the city and picked out a business pants suit that cost $700, as well as finding one for herself for considerably less. The tailoring was done that same day, and while we waited, I spent two hours in the beauty shop having my hair and nails done. When I questioned her on these things, she'd only tell me that "Freddy" had said it must be like this. There was no arguing with that logic.

The next morning we were all at the big house by eight o'clock, and the whole place smelled marvelous. Martha had been up very early baking, and the air was rich with the odor of cinnamon. Master stopped in to talk to Ben and Martha while Brenda and I went up to my old bedroom and started getting ready ... for what? Brenda was conspiratorial at first but finally took pity on me and told me that today was the day I would officially end my old life on this earth and begin my new one. Today in this house, the "loose ends" would all be tied up. She admitted that she herself had no idea what would happen, but that Fred had been planning this for the past three weeks, and that I was to do exactly as I was told. Oddly, this only made me feel more secure. My life of "no decisions" was a pleasant life indeed.

We took turns doing each other's hair, helping each other dress, checking each other over for minor flaws. At the end of 45 minutes, we stood side by side before the big mirror and admired our handiwork. My gosh, we were foxy! But professional-looking, too. In fact, VERY professional-looking. My hair was in a tight bun atop my head, my sleek, silk tailored pants suit hugged my curves, accentuated my figure, and displayed my sexuality in a "no-nonsense" kind of way. My silk blouse was slightly open at the neck, and my underwire bra displayed just enough of my cleavage to leave no doubt whatever that these babies are real! As a topper, Brenda disappeared for a few minutes and returned with Mommy's necklace. THE necklace. The one that had been featured in a magazine article several years ago. It sparkled like fire when she fastened it for me, and I was almost overcome with emotion. The chain consisted of twenty diamonds that totaled about 40 carats of pure flawlessness.

Brenda, on the other hand, was dressed to assume the "executive assistant" persona, and she did so (as she did with almost all things) in a sort of innocent-sexy-professional way. Her long, shiny black hair was in a single braid that snaked all the way to the top of her butt, and with her glasses on, she was the sort of no-nonsense secretary that would entice every executive to have daydreams of a purely non-professional sort.

Our high heels clicked sharply as we made our way back downstairs to the big office, where Master was sitting at the massive desk. Brenda was especially disappointed when he told her wait outside in the hall for a few minutes, but she obeyed without comment. I instinctively walked over to him and presented myself for his approval, and I was overjoyed by his brief smile and nod of acceptance. He reached forward, sprang the latches on Daddy's old briefcase, and I was stunned at what was inside. The mahogany box from the mantle at home (I had already come to think of the little house as "home"). I stood, waiting for the feeling I knew was about to seize me, even before he lifted the lid and took out the watch. The watch, you see, has a very strange effect on me. I don't know why, but I try to fight it. Silly, really, since I know there is absolutely no way I will ever evade its profound and overpowering hold over me. As always, when he held it up and began swinging it by its gold chain, I fought and fought and fought its effects and then surrendered and plunged down and down and down into the deepest possible trance imaginable. It was heaven! And when he told me to wake up, I felt oddly self-assured and very professional.

Back in the hall, I became the chief of the group (I felt like the chief of WORLD!), and the three of us literally marched into the executive meeting room in the East Wing of the house. I had rarely ventured into this room, it having absolutely no appeal to me, but Daddy used it many times when he was alive. Now the huge meeting table was surrounded by many people, and I smiled and greeted many of them that I had met before and introduced myself to those who were unknown to me. The IRS was represented (federal, New York and here in Illinois), and I recognized my CPA, personal lawyer, corporate lawyer, other lawyers, other CPA's; at least twenty people. Martha was walking through the room with a tray of pastries. Ben had coffee. A few people had mixed themselves drinks, though it was only ten in the morning.

A man I knew by reputation only approached, and the others gave him room deferentially. He looked so much like Daddy that he made my skin crawl, but I felt strangely in command here and not only stood my ground, but held my head high. This man was the CEO of the richest chain of mutual funds in the world.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Darlingshire," he said cordially while his snake eyes raked my body from top to bottom, back toward the top and finally rested on my cleavage. "I knew your father quite well. We would often talk well into the night in the Manhattan Club about the mood of the market in modern society."

"God! That must have been stupendously boring," I commented offhand, then ignored him completely as he laughed nervously at my snub. I was concentrating now on a twenty year-old man, a geeky youth with pimples, who had just been featured prominently in several Wall Street publications, and was widely heralded as the newest "protégé" of the business world. I knew that he wasn't really a businessman at all; he was a mathematician! I had come to find his theorems fascinating; and I told him so. He, too, raked my body with his eyes, but I found myself thinking this trait was sort of cute in a really young man. Unfortunately, he had attached himself financially to the "snake" that owned all the funds.

I introduced Fred and Brenda to the room as "members of the press" who would handle the releases of information to the various media. Then I took my place at the head of the table and called for order. I thanked everyone for coming, told them that I was going out of the country, and that that is what had prompted my recent business actions. Then I turned the meeting over to the chief lawyer. I had no idea where all the lines I was speaking had come from, and I frankly didn't care. I sat, unmoving and smiling, while the lawyer went over each page of the documents contained in folders sitting before all the key players. I was selling the mutual fund. I hadn't realized until this moment that's what was happening, and I discovered that the concept pleased me greatly. I DID raise my eyebrows a little when I heard the sum that was to be paid. My profit was indeed very modest, but as I listened I realized that the majority of the surplus capital was going back into the fund itself to cover fees. I smiled at the stroke of genius involved. Whose idea had this been? This way, the fund would be maintained as a "no-load." I won't get into all that here, but to put it simply, it means that small investors are more apt be attracted. In other words, the current and future investors were getting a really good deal this way, and the value of the fund could only go up with the news of new ownership, especially if it was being managed by the protégé.

After the paperwork was done, I took Daddy's old briefcase (I DID hope that the pocket watch wasn't still in there!), opened it, and took out my battered old notebook. This had always been kept safely locked in the vault in the office, and it contained the "strategy" that I had developed. Making a dramatic show of it, I leaned forward and placed it in front of my favorite leering geek. He flushed, had to keep himself from snatching at it, picked up slowly, and leafed through it. (He later explained to me that he had spent almost a year trying to "reverse engineer" my process. The answer, after he'd read my notes, was very simple. But answers, once discovered, almost always are, aren't they?)

There was applause, and there was champagne, and there were pictures, and finally, they all left, though my lawyers and CPA's stayed for lunch. Martha had outdone herself preparing lunch.

I won't get too deeply into the proceedings after the meal, but suffice it to say that by day's end, my fortune was gone. The string of guests came one at a time, and each one of them left the house very, very happy. A huge part of the money was donated to the University for a Department of Textile Arts and Sciences, including a new building that would bear Mommy's name. One stipulation was that her quilts would be displayed under glass in the hallways. There were six large charities that each got massive donations. The house and grounds (as well as funds to cover an annual grant), would constitute a new center for abused women and children ... the largest in the state.

After they all finally departed (including, at last, the lawyers, CPA's and tax men), it was Ben and Martha's turn, and we adjourned to the kitchen table, where Fred and Brenda listened while I gave my maid and butler a quarter-million dollar separation bonus and the keys to the Rolls. Martha and I cried and hugged, and we all talked about Arizona, where they planned to move to be closer to their relatives. Then we all went out to Alphonse's for dinner, and we had a great time, though Brenda and I got pretty tipsy on our glasses of champagne.

Now, I've always had the innate ability to add up a column of numbers in my head and reach a correct sum. So while I didn't really have any interest in the money at all, I simply couldn't help but notice that, after taxes, there was still going to be a little left over. Not much, considering. Ten million, give or take. I don't know (or care) where it's going to go, I just know that it no longer concerns ME. I have nothing, financially; but I have EVERYTHING else in life. I have happiness. I never would have guessed that I would ever have been so happy.

On Saturday, Fred got the old johnboat working in the boathouse down by the little pier, and told us that he'd be taking it out on the lake for several hours. Before he left, however, Brenda said she had something to suggest, and she went into the bedroom and emerged holding two bikinis. She'd purchased them the day before, and since the weather had turned warm, she asked Fred it the two of us could lie on the pier and soak up some sun. I was mortified! I couldn't possibly wear a bikini! My scarred back would look terrible! But Fred actively endorsed the proposition, and that was that. He waited while we changed, and we had to put on a little show for him when the swimsuits were on. Again, I felt big and ungainly next to Brenda's lovely form. She's so beautiful! The top to my bikini barely kept me contained. But Master seemed to spend just as much time ogling me as he did his wife, and that made me blush all the more.

Towels and tanning lotion in hand, we followed him down to the dock, where he got the boat launched and roared off as we waved good-bye. Then we spread our towels on the wooden planks of the dock and took turns rubbing lotion into each other's bodies. Two boatloads of drunken fishermen motored by, then by again, honking and whistling, but I took Brenda's lead and just ignored them. The afternoon turned drowsy, and we both dozed a little, only to be startled rudely awake by the crash of thunder very close by. Neither of us had noticed the skies turn cloudy, and now the heavens opened up and it poured. Grabbing our towels, we fled into the boathouse, but we were both thoroughly soaked, water shimmering and droplets running rapidly down our oiled bodies. I took my towel and dried her the best I could, for the towels were damp, too. The temperature had dropped with the coming of the rain, and I began to shiver. Her own moist towel didn't help much as she tried to pat me dry, so she started rubbing my shoulders rapidly in an attempt to warm me. She was very close.

It was one of those moments you read about in books; one of those "across the room" revelations they try to depict in the movies. Her hands were rubbing me, then they slowly stopped as she looked into my eyes. That "something" was there again; the thing I'd felt in the shower with her on that second day after we met. I'd felt it since. Recently, I'd felt it more often, but I never even considered saying anything about it. I wasn't that kind of girl. Neither was she. Were we? Looking back on it, I don't think any force on earth could have kept our lips apart. It happened slowly, tenderly. After the kiss had gone on and on and on, thunder split the cosmos. The lightning must have been right overhead, but we paid it no heed at all, and the kiss went on. Finally, finally, we parted. We were both breathing hard. Her eyes were unfocused for a moment before they settled onto mine.

"Golly," she said.

I barked a laugh and held her close. "Yeah, golly." We were quiet for a long moment.

I said: "I think I've wanted that to happen since the first time I met you."

And she sighed and said: "Me too."

And I said: "I'm not that kind of girl."

And she trailed her fingernail across my bare skin and said: "Me neither."

And I said: "What are you going to do to me?"

And she said: "Anything I want."

And I blushed and looked into her smiling eyes and said: "Don't tease me."

And for a moment, she got a sort of funny, questioning look, but then she said: "I'm going to make love to you."

And I said: "Okay."

We took a couple of lounge chair cushions off a rack on the wall and put them on the wooden floor of the boathouse, then I stood calmly, my hands at my sides, while she unhooked my bikini straps and peeled the garment off of me. She let me undress her, as well, then we lay down and held each other and kissed some more. Our hands began to roam rather freely, and we both had to stop kissing from time to time to gulp air and moan.

She sort of took charge, naturally, and after awhile, she stopped her French kisses and rested her lips lightly on mine, so that our mouths were always touching. Her left hand was caressing my right breast, rubbing and pressing, stroking and tweaking; and my left hand was doing exactly the same to hers. Her right hand was between my legs, her fingers moving up and down, side to side, round and round my clit; and my right hand was doing exactly the same to her. She would speed up her strokes, and I would speed up mine. She'd slow down, and I would take her cue immediately. The only things she couldn't seem to control were my moans, and she wasn't doing a very good job controlling her own, either.

She suddenly whispered harshly: "Stop! Stop! Stop!" her lips still touching mine, her pleas were breathed into my open mouth. I immediately stopped rubbing her, though she kept up her manipulations of my own love bud. She took a shuddering breath and relaxed just a little. "I was about to cum," she said softly, urgently. "Wait a minute before you start again. And don't let me make you cum yet, either. Tell me before it's too late."

She kept up her ministrations, and I really WAS getting close. I let her keep rubbing me for a few more seconds. "Okay, stop!" I gasped, and for a moment, I thought I'd let her go too far, but I willed the orgasm back into its lair and relaxed a bit. She kissed me lightly.

"Okay, you can start doing me again," she said softly, and I began rubbing little circles around her clit again. She immediately gasped and stiffened against me again. I began rolling her nipple between my thumb and forefinger, and she arched her body into my hand. She was very, very wet. My whole right hand felt oily and slippery. She started rubbing my clit again, as well, and I instantly told her to stop, which she did. "Me too!" she moaned loudly. "Stop! Stop!" And I paused again. We panted and tried to keep ourselves from coming, using sheer force of will.

This little game kept up for several long minutes. I quickly lost count of how many times we told the other to cease and desist at the last possible instant. More and more often, we found ourselves just touching but not moving, gasping and moaning and whispering.

"I feel like I'm on the edge of a cliff that's beginning to crumble," I said softly against her lips. "Oh, Brenda, I'm SO close!" We were down to the point that we'd only give each other a single stroke before stopping. I gave her another little tweak and she shuddered but did not cum.

"Wait for it," she ordered weakly. "Not until I say so!"

I could tell she was about to stroke me again. "Wait! Wait!" I urged, and she paused to give me a few seconds peace. I took a few ragged breaths then grit my teeth. "Okay," I whispered, then gasped loudly as she stroked me once. I arched up and almost didn't make it. I gulp a couple times. "Oooh, that was close," I muttered. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, but not too hard," and she moaned loudly and tried to back away from the stroking finger, shuddering, but somehow maintaining the brittle status quo. "So close," she breathed. "So close."

We did that two more times, then rested again, our bodies physically shaking with expectation. "When I say so," she told me in a ragged whisper, "I want you to look right into my eyes and don't stop rubbing." She laid her fingertip right on my engorged clit, and it was all I could do not to jerk and cum. I touched her the same way. She shivered violently.

"Now!" she said, and we locked eyes and rubbed hard, pinching each other's nipple almost painfully. Her eyes, if I haven't mentioned it before, are the loveliest shade of dark green, like an evergreen tree at wintertime. They immediately flew wide, gazing hard into my own, and her pupils contracted into pinpricks as she began bucking against my right hand. My orgasm began instantaneously, and flooded every part of me. I cried out and shook and held on for dear life to her nipple, stroking with the fingers of my right hand for all I was worth. It just kept going and going. Her pupils dilated now, held mine for more long seconds, then they rolled up into her head so that only the whites showed, and she fell heavily against me, limp, damp and breathing hard.

I gathered her into my arms (once I could get them to work again), and held her head tenderly to my breast, gently stroking her long hair, which was still wet from the rain. Almost at once she stirred, then weakly held me. She was crying softly. I was surprised to find that I was, too.

"I love you," I told her. She only held me, and we listened to the rain on the metal roof for long minutes. It was getting lighter now, and after awhile, it stopped completely.

"Dee?" she asked softly.

"Yes?"

She paused again. I could tell she was about to ask me something meaningful.