Extending the MILF List Ch. 25

Inside the hotel resembled a scene from a disaster movie but with no blood or gore and everyone was still well-dressed. I stepped inside and saw the seething mass of people and got the willies. I never had loved crowds. This crowd was peculiar in that I saw at least 3 groups of females all dressed the same, each group. One had yellow tops and green skirts with a Trojan on the front...I know it was a Trojan because the back of the yellow top read "Trojans" in green on them. Another was red and black and they had "Raiders" on their red tops. The third was white with gray skirts and were "Goshawks", whatever that is. I sidled to the right and just surveyed the chaos, similar to the time we went to Colorado or tried for Christmas to ski, the one big trip we managed as kids, or didn't manage as a huge storm grounded the flights and we were in the company of hundreds in an airport that was singularly unconcerned with our comfort and misery, either one. People sat on their luggage, looking disheveled and chagrined, harried and fearful, angry and sad. It was a miasma of the human condition in a whole variety of options, right there for me to see.

And I had an insight.

Things had been coming at me so fast, so furiously that nothing made sense but neither had I been trying to make sense of anything. Things smashed into me and I adjusted my trajectory as best I could but I'd not been steering my ship of state myself for some time. I'd been running my ship onto the shoals of some amazingly fine pussy, so I wasn't complaining but still, I was driven by the winds and tossed, not piloting in any sense of the word. This was one part of the insight. The other was peculiar.

Have you ever seen movies where the new guy or the stranger or the hero or the innocent abroad encounters some guru who always "knows a guy", talks to everyone or at least in every context there is someone who seems in love with him, has affection for him or owes him some big life-changing favor that allows the movie to make the miraculous mechanics that save the day seem logical and realistic, rather than magical and ridiculous? I have and until that moment just inside that packed, chaotic lobby I'd never asked how the guru guy ever got to know so many people in every context to the point that he could wend his way from place to place, and always know someone who could help. The amazing thing was really that they wanted to help or owed a favor.

This bespoke a past of doing things for people when he could without making it a trade. He had to do dozens or even hundreds of favors to have that sort of access and ease in so many different contexts and a history of noticing and doing something everyone else missed. This told me one thing, that when the guru guy had the chance to do something good for someone, he did it in a way that left them dignity and helped them at the same time...which is a trick. Jesus said when you do something good with the right hand, the left hand should not know about it. This is how charity leaves the dignity of the one getting help intact. And I had an idea.

It only occurred to me because the concierge stood at his podium utterly alone. No one was bothering him, at least at that moment. He stared straight ahead and didn't move, like a guard at Buckingham Palace. There was an open space around him that no one entered. How this happened I clearly had missed but something kept the madding crowd away from him. The lobby was cluttered with a dozen or more staff in blazers and consternation talking to frantic people all around the usually ordered array of counter space, desks and even at the coffee tables. Every chair was filled and nearly every bit of floor space was taken up. So I had an idea. Mr. Blue surely knew people. He knew so much about me, he didn't get it off the internet. He'd done research. Knowledge was power. I suspected he was a fixer of that sort, the guy with a better memory than mine but still, he knew and he had to start somewhere. If I was to be what he thought I could be, then I had to start somewhere too. And now was the time.

I walked up to the concierge and leaned on the podium. "Computer systems down, still, I guess." His head turned to look at me. They eyes were still bland and vacant. "Funny how no one is bothering you. What happened? Bad breath?"

He blinked then, the first movement that seemed to acknowledge me. He shook his head once, slightly. "Tramont announced that concierge services began at a hundred bucks, to keep the mobs away and let people know they couldn't demand shit. It's a fucking mess and letting people get demanding would not help anyone. That filtered out the few who would spend the money, the rest seem unwilling to make me rich." He tried to smile but the tension in his face only allowed the left side of his lips to curve up and he looked sardonic and sly, not the lease bit amused. The eyes did not change their cast of well-defended reserve.

"Who's Tramont?"

"The assistant manager. Boxler, the manager it out of town and this volleyball tournament has stuffed the town to the gills. Biggest ever invitational, thirty teams and fans, from six states, all in town and our fucking computer system, here only crashes. Tramont is doing the right things but still, our agents are assigned blocks of rooms and have to call into the company call center to get reservation data, so it's a fucking mess and to boot, there was a glitch at central that double booked all over the country so we have a shit sandwich to eat and nothing to wash it down with. What is more, we had to order people out of the restaurant if they weren't eating or they'd have been stacked up in there too. No place in there to sit, they are stuffed to the gills!"

Misery loves company but telling the story of misery either magnifies it or relieves it and we don't know which until we tell it to someone. Sometimes we win that coin flip and sometimes we don't. I looked around the place, my idea firmly in mind.

"I'm Sonny, I have a suite." I said.

The guy, about thirty or so, handsome in a slick sort of way, a bit plastic but perfect for public relations, with the personality of a mannequin that is required to deal with the self-absorbed and often self-entitled guests at a hotel, he tapped his name tag. "Bruce." He said. "What do you want? I have to be seen taking a hundred bucks or everyone will think they can clusterfuck me. Tramont told me to be strict or everyone would get overrun."

I nodded. Took out my wallet and found my last hundred and held it out to him. I saw the attention of the huddled masses focus on me. "I don't want anything really but I had a thought. Everyone is sitting around on their luggage and you are standing here, in a service industry, doing nothing. Must be killing you."

Now he did look at me and shook his head. "You have no idea."

He was likely right, I didn't. But then again.... "Listen this is a mess but you could make it better for everyone. I had a thought. This is a mess but people are tired and hungry and that makes them nervous and suspicious. You have a luggage check system I know...can you expand it to accommodate everyone? Check everyone's luggage. Keep it in a secure place...organized so you can get it out in order when they trickle back. Then assign that number as the order they get helped with their reservation, a list with phone numbers on it and you call them to come deal with the reservation when their number is say five or six off. Take this idea to the...to Tramont. It's easy and it will clear this place out. Call a half dozen restaurants within walking distance and advise them you'll be sending them people so they can staff up before you start. You work out the details so you can take the whole idea to Tramont yourself. Don't take him a problem, take him a solution and he'll never forget it."

Bruce regarded me with some suspicion. I could see him doing the calculation to see if the idea was within his grasp. Movies rarely dealt with how things worked, just that they did. That is shallow understanding and too many people eat a steak or bite into an apple with no concept of how they arrived in their diet. Such ignorance is the real threat to civilization.

"How do I get him to listen? He's going crazy, a young guy with too little experience."

"Tell him you know how to get everyone fed and out of the lobby...it will catch his attention but have your plan worked out first. Find the space, get the tagging system worked out for the luggage, you know how to do all this stuff, work it out, organize it so he doesn't need to and offer it. Even if he turns you down, be gracious and let him come back around to you."

Bruce was nodding.

"It will be a good thing for you to do. He'll remember it. Then he'll know he can rely on you to solve problems and not be one of the chattering dunces who think pointing and squealing 'problem!' is actually helping anyone."

Bruce was nodding a lot now. "Why are you doing this?" He finally asked. "Helping me?"

I gestured to the lobby. "I am helping them. Life causes enough misery without adding to it. Reducing it for them, that's good for both of us."

"I don't see how." He said, suddenly sullen.

I grinned. "That's why you should do this, then you can see it works even if the 'how' is never apparent." He didn't have time to respond because a hand grasped my elbow and I turned to look into he eyes of a woman I swore I knew but couldn't immediately place. She was dressed casually, a fuzzy long sleeved top with tight blue jeans on her lean legs, skinny jeans that hugged her like denim skin.

"Sonny? We need to talk. I have a table in the restaurant, a booth actually and I have to get back or they will give it away. The place is a madhouse."

I blinked a few times. The tingle of recognition didn't turn into a name or a context or anything very helpful. "Do I know you?" I blurted out. All my savoir faire evaporating, just when I was feeling all urbane and debonair.

She smiled, blushing furiously "It's Pet." She said softly. "Tracie, but we need to talk."

"Pet?" I said dumbly. "As in 'the' Pet?"

She smiled at that. I felt dumber, utterly unnerved by the lack of recognition. She'd been dressed, sort of, to fuck really, most of the time, but naked in the room and this appearance looking like some normal woman rattled me. She even looked her twenty-two years, with the sober eyes and hair pulled back into a severe ponytail. It all worked to alter her appearance sufficiently to make her nearly unrecognizable. It stunned me and I followed her into to the seething fury of the restaurant to a remote booth where the roar of the place didn't completely crush the senses. She slid into one side and I took the opposite side.

"This is crazy." She said. The breathy wheeze in her voice was gone. She had a plain contralto voice, words slightly slurred but clear enough.

I nodded. "We need to talk? Tracie you said? How many names do you have? Is Sandra Olivette really your mother?" The questions spilled out of me like peanuts from the tear in a paper sack.

She nodded. "I have a slave name, Master called me 'Demi Tasse', his little dish. Tracie is my name, but it made mother crazy having me back in the house as a pet. It was the last or maybe just the next part of my training, so she called me Candace, so she could call me Candy, as in a piece of. Having my father fuck me was a huge thing for them both and it changed them, well you saw how she is. She told him about how you did her in the stairwell...and that sort of switched her on. He'd been fucking me for a few months but it felt terrible to us all but that night, she arrived home and told Dad about it and said she wanted him to fuck me and he did, right there in the living room. She just watched, hungrily I'd call it. Like the dam had burst and there was no putting Humpty Dumpty back together again."

A waitress brought her an omelet and took my order, bacon, crisp, since I'd eaten already, but Howard took something out of me. And scrambled eggs and hash browns. I kept adding realizing I was hungry. Pet seemed to need to talk to me. And so I listened. I was unclear what was happening, or why, but I'd not find out if I insisted on stuffing both feet in my mouth.

The waitress left us and the clattering, mumbling silence stretched until I had to speak. "So? What do we need to talk about?"

The woman reached across the table and touched my hand, the one holding the glass of water. For some reason I was over heated and the cold of the glass felt good on my skin. The feel of her light touch, her finger tips with the sharp edge of her long beautiful nails sent a flashing shiver through me.

"Feel that?" She said. "Master told me that most people will feel that with someone. We do, we have it. I know, Mother gave me to you and now I am yours but...consent matters and I need you to know that I fully consent to being yours. This isn't me being shifted off like this. The old days of slave markets and no consent, those are gone. Being a slave, a pet today, it engages consent, always. Or should, or it'd be a crime, right? Master taught me that...the idea that an owner can trade you away without consent is a farce and a fallacy, but then again, obeying the wishes of the Master is the thing, isn't it?"

My Mandarin was just not up to par. I heard the sounds issuing from her mouth but I literally had no understanding of what she was saying. This strange woman had asked me a question like the answer was obvious and I had to say that it wasn't obvious at all.

"That's not so obvious to me. I am still glitching from seeing you...like this."

"You mean not as 'Pet'?"

I nodded, curiously unwilling to say it, to speak at all suddenly. But I rallied, like silence was my natural state, right? Not! "This is strange, really. What do I call you? Is it dependent on how you dress? Tracie now and 'pet' otherwise?"

The girl shrugged. "Some people will assert there are immutable rules that everyone should follow, because they follow them. I don't see that and Master didn't teach me that. He taught me that consent matters and no one gives that away. Safety. Pleasure. Consent. The elements of his foundation. Some insist they know the rules for the rest of us, as petty and stupid as writing d/s with a capital 'D' and the sub always with a small 's' even at the beginning of a sentence. I think it's stupid and don't do it and unless you deem it important as my dom, I won't bother with it. Part of the beauty of d/s is that everything is, or at least can be negotiable. To have it imposed by others, who don't know or care about you to fill out some formal bullshit is just making or rather trying to make d/s into a religion and the Catholics and Muslims and Hindus all have more and longer experience at it then d/s practitioners."

Again, with the Mandarin. She kept using terms and words I didn't quite get and the context left me dangling still. I was stuck on 'dom'. "Dom? I'm your Dominic? Is that like a Dominican like the island or maybe the rival of the Jesuits?" I didn't really think that was it, honestly. Nothing about this conversation suggested anything remotely related to Jesuits or their rivals. Call it hyperbole as a way to make the point that my understanding was hardly engaged.

Pet...er Tracie shook her head. "No. Dom. As in Dominant. The 'd' in d/s. The 's' is for 'submissive'. Dominant and submissive. That's us. The 'ds' in the middle of BDSM."

I laughed then, a nervous, 'what the fuck is happening?' sort of laugh. One moment I am tying Mr. Percival into knots and getting him to trade me his gorgeous daughters using leverage I'd never used before and then I am talking gibberish with Pet or is it 'pet'? Fuck me. I was thinking in text, like that makes any sense. She looked at me like it was my turn to talk. I felt the pressure and broke under it like a school girl freaking in a Zombie movie.

"Dominant, you say? I am dominant like pudding is the main course in a meal." I grinned all proud and shit.

Pet did not smile back. "Sonny, you are one of the most dominant men I have ever met."

That took me aback, set me on my heels even sitting as I was. She wasn't finished mystifying me.

"Sonny, listen, I don't mean that you are all Genghis Khan, all out to rule the world and make everyone bow down to you. That's not you. At the same time, I doubt anyone ever gets you to bow down to them, or ever will. Your knees would break before you knelt for someone else. It's in your nature. But you don't know what you're doing. You just do it. You have no script, you just, react."

Oh. Now she gets all personal and accurate. "How did you know? Is it that obvious?"

She nodded. "Well, to me it is."

"Fuck. That was supposed to be a rhetorical question. Couldn't you tell?"

She smiled then, not a friendly smile but an unctuous little lip twist that wasn't quite a smirk but had those ambitions. "Listen, Sonny, theory says that you and I sit down and discuss what we will and will not do, sort everything out. That's what I am trying to do, to discuss limits and boundaries and likes and dislikes and...." She trickled to a stop.

"And what?" I asked helpfully. The look of consternation on her face was not just unappealing but disturbing, it disturbed me anyway.

Tracie shook her head. "You haven't a clue what I am talking about, do you?"

I shook my head. "What was your first clue. I'd give you a clue but being clueless I hadn't one to offer so I guess I had to hope you know what you are talking about and can explain it to me." I spoke in a fit of desperate honesty. She seemed to want something from me and I was searching my house to find it without much idea of what I was looking for. I'd say this was a perfect example of frustration, for us both and that doubled it for me.

Pet sighed.

Pet? Tracie? Candy? Demitasse? The girl had more names than God.

"Okay, listen, Sonny. I can't explain this to you, not all at once. I am a sub, a submissive and explaining being a dom to you is a bit beyond me. I mean, I know some things to tell you but it's weird being a sub and telling you what to do!"

"Like Festus asking Doc about which doctor decides the treatment when another doctor is injured?" I watched old TV shows one summer when we couldn't afford cable. TV Land was my friend, but that's another story. Gun Smoke, by the way. Pet was shaking her head, mystified but undeterred.

"No. I don't know. I don't know what you are talking about."

"Ah good, we are on the same page, then." Is that irony? Or just stupidity? I couldn't tell.

She sighed again. "How the fuck am I supposed to have 'the talk' with you when you haven't a clue what I am talking about?"

"The birds and the bees one? I think I know the whole tab A into Slot B stuff pretty well." Her look told me I was talking out of turn. Is that what it means to be dominant? Always talking out of turn? Or is it the reverse, never talking out of turn? Or just never taking turns? My lack of clues was becoming onerous. I was turning in circles and getting really dizzy. It dawned on me that her last comment was not directed at me, but I wasn't guessing to whom she was speaking.

"Okay. Okay. Look, I can't make this all make sense. I'll try, keep trying but...fuck. This is really difficult. I had no idea!"

I looked around. "Harvey? You there?" She ignored me some more and I had the feeling I'd had that feeling before, of being ignored, not the deja vous part.

"Didn't it strike you as strange that my mother gave me away to you?" Tracie asked.

It took me a moment to realize it was a serious question and I should offer a serious answer. Like I had one. "Strange? Honey, it was just another tuft of strange in a forest of strange for Sonny Duncan. If I stopped and squeaked and pointed every time something strange happened to me in the last few months, I'd have done very little else. I got squirted in the eye with breast milk the other day and how many guys my age can say that?" Another rhetorical question she rightly ignored this time. I confess I was a bit relieved, as that may have been overstatement and explaining the truth of the matter would have been awkward.