Georgia Plays The Game Ch. 10

One Afternoon

Kali did not do nervous. After her life, after all she'd been through, not then not now and not never. She'd dealt with some sketchy mother-fuckas, she'd dealt with large sections of society that wanted her dead or at least gone because of the color of her skin. She'd dealt with the other sections that hated or distrusted her because she was a female and doubled down on that because of her sexuality. She'd given all that the sturdy middle finger and marched on through her life. She was a tough cookie and not ashamed of it. She was not a woman that you could intimidate or pressure or coerce. She was her own woman and she was fiercely proud of that. Kali did no DO nervous.

Except that she was sat in her vehicle, not the limousine this time, and she was watching the clock creep slowly toward the time of their appointed meeting. Finally it was close enough and she almost had to drag herself out of the door and onto the sidewalk. Her instincts took in the other car parked down the road. The man in the passenger seat checked her out and having seen who she was returned to whatever it was he had been doing. She was expected.

The house was unpretentious - one like thousands in this section of the Capital. She turned off the sidewalk and began walking up the path. Before she reached it the front door opened and an African-American man of about sixty years of age stepped out to great her. He had a warm easy smile and offered her an old-fashioned hand shake.

"Kali my friend, it's been a while. Even longer since you came over here. What can I do for you?"

"Mr Taylor - I'm sorry to be a bother to you. I'm here because I need to talk to you about Charli."

Kali suddenly realised with a blinding clarity that there WERE times when she could still do nervous.

Cutting A Deal

Taylor exchanged a glance with his trusted lieutenant. He knew that Antwan was far more at home in these streets than he himself was. Antwan had been born over here and no matter the spreading sprawl of developments between the two cities there was still a big difference between the Capital, Taylor's home turf, and H-Town. Especially this particular part of H-Town.

To be sure Antwan could have dealt with this himself. It was a family matter for him after all. However, there were certain proprieties to be observed. Respect had to be shown when you were asking another's co-operation. Sending a deputy, no matter how trusted or high in Taylor's own estimation, would not have sent the right message. In any case once this connection had been established there were sure to be other occassions of potential mutual advantage or profit.

Taylor had half expected to be going down to one of the clubs in the 'meat market' district. High- to medium-end strip joints - some catering to a tourist and business clientele. Even H-Town had its up-market area, mostly around the world-famous University. It turned out that white boy college students liked to see a pretty girl too and Cassius was not a prejudiced man. The only colour that had ever counted with him was 'green'.

Which made it interesting that he hadn't agreed to meet Taylor at one of his clubs in the 'meat market.' That zone was notorious nationwide, had featured in numerous press articles and TV documentaries. To date four US Presidents had pledged to force local government to close it down. Hadn't happened of course - too many prominent figures liked to drive out from the Capital to those very same clubs. Nonetheless they remained a symbol of depravity - of a 'wide-open' culture that so many seemed to deplore even as they craved its attractions.

To anyone in the know, of course, the regular denunciations of the 'meat market' were as farcical as they were futile. Those clubs were the public and almost respectable side of Cassius's business. A few 'extras' might go down but they were out of sight and out of mind.

Neighborhoods like this one didn't have much time for such niceties. However, sex still sold and Cassius was real happy to supply that particular demand wherever and however it might be sought. It was just that round here his girls had to work that little bit harder. The neon and bright lights were still there but what happened behind them was rather more primal and much less covert.

There were two large African-American men stood outside the club they had been told to meet Cassius at. Clearly a welcoming party - no joint needed that much security at this time of the day in the normal course of affairs. When they saw Taylor and Antwan approach they stood aside from the door in a silent invitation to pass through.

Taylor glanced at his friend and lieutenant. He trusted Antwan's instincts. "He's a businessman - only starts trouble if he really needs to." Taylor nodded - that had been his inclination too.

They were quickly proved right. Before they reached the open doorway to the club it was filled by the figure of Cassius himself, welcoming them in.

"Rare pleasure Taylor," the two men bumped fists and then Cassius glanced at Antwan, "hadn't seen this one since he got the new jewellery. That white piece of yours still let you out Antwan?"

Antwan unconciously glanced down to his ring finger and the band of gold there. Then he returned Cassius' glance. "She keeps an eye on me - when she's not keeping you from getting all your clubs closed down."

There was a moment's silence and then Cassius roared with laughter. He slapped Antwan on the shoulder. "Not sure I wouldn't stay home awhile if I had the lovely Jessica waiting there for me. All that and free legal advice too. Say one thing for you - you ain't no fool." He laughed again and then set his face into a business-like expression. "I know Mr Taylor hasn't come down here to hear two homies baggin each other. What's on the agenda?"

So they told him what they needed from him and he listened and considered. "So what's in it fo' me?"

"Apart from the obvious."

"A dime for the ages but I've hit it already. You'll be on point that your main motivation is not mine necessarily. I like a little garnish shall we say."

"Half the cut."

"Shit that'd be the fee for setting up yo' cameras and making sure my clients don't walk off with them. Niggas gotta eat!"

For the first time Taylor stepped into this part of the discussion. "Shall we cut to the chase Cassius? What do you want?"

So Cassius told them. A ridiculous figure of course. But everyone knew such formalities had to be observed. Antwan's lovely wife had already given him a suggestion as to what might seal the deal. Something that Antwan had to offer rather than Cassius demand.

So Antwan offered it and the deal was done.

Lateral Thinking

The man was perhaps in his late twenties with a mop of shaggy brown hair above his handsome face. He was skinny with his ribs showing below his pink skin. He wore a leather bracelet on each wrist and a leather anklet on each foot. Other than that he was naked. His limp penis hung down as he held a position on all fours. His blue eyes were shining with excitement, with anticipation. He yearned for the arrival of his Mistress.

Grant Symington had grown up a trust-fund kid. From prestigious schools to the ivy league to the board-room of a world-renowned company had been the easiest of transitions. Everything had always come easy, dropping into his lap like gifts from the Gods. Had he taken time to consider it he might have sensed that history was why he felt such yearning for moments like this. For a man who seemingly could have anything and anyone the allure of the unobtainable could be intoxicatingly strong.

No cameras recorded these private sessions, there was no audience. The stage was empty safe for a chair and a young woman who stood next to it. She wore a tight outfit that followed the curves of her figure precisely. Grant looked up at her but saw that she was studiously ignoring him. He swiftly dropped his eyes again. She was very attractive but he had come to realise that she could not compare to his Mistress.

His heart seemed to skip a couple of beats and his breath caught in his throat as he heard the firm click of heels over the wooden flooring of the stage. He wanted to look up - to feast on her beauty, her arrogant dominant loveliness. However, he knew that was not his role. He hung his head in supplication before her.

"You again - I see you have been properly prepared." Charli's words were clipped, laden with contempt. She flourished her riding crop at the backside of the man. Grant's pale buttocks were striped with red marks. The 'preparation' had been expert - the pale skin was bruised and marked but not broken. In truth Grant was milk-toast even in his perversions. He preferred humiliation to outright pain, preferred to make his tribute in dollars rather than blood. Which, needless to say, suited Charli perfectly.

The clicking of the heels stopped. Grant desperately wanted to look up but he knew his place. "Heel," said that imperious commanding female voice. Grant almost fell over himself in his eagerness to reach her, scrambling along on all fours towards the pair of feet which was all of her that he dared to look at. The feet shod in fiendishly high heels, almost ballet boots, with dramatically scarlet soles.

The second woman watched him go. Her eyes took in every moment of his self-humiliation. The ridiculous shuffling on hands and knees towards the blonde woman who called him. She had never seen him like this before - she would not have believed it even now but for the evidence of her own eyes.

"Do you want to worship me, little puppy?" Charli's tone was mocking. "Show me how much - beg for a treat."

Grant got up onto his haunches and held his hands out in front of him, mimicking the 'begging' pose of a trained dog. His eyes shone as he was finally able to look up into the beautiful face of his Mistress. However, he knew he could not show his pleasure too much - not if he wanted to be awarded other treats, even that most exquisite of all rewards. So instead he tried to make his expression as desperate and pleading as he could, he whined pitifully in imitation of a dog seeking its mistress's attention.

"Hmmn," Charli paused as if judging his efforts, "perhaps you can be permitted to clean one of my boots."

Grant Symington, non-executive director on three of the Tri-State Area's most prestigious corporations, set to work lavishing attention on the black boot thrust closest to him. He was suddenly intent on licking clean every inch of the leather surface. He savoured the curve of her encased leg, realised its perfection - perfection shared in his eyes by every part of his unobtainable and cruel Mistress. As he worked, desperately trying to please her, Charli glanced up at the other woman and their eyes met. The latter seemed to shiver a little but Charli was pleased to see that she was still there. She obviously wanted, or more precisely needed, to see what would come next.

As Grant worked on, bent over her boot, Charli reached down and attached a cheap dog collar around his neck. Then she clipped a leash into place. At the precise instant Grant completed his task Charli snapped, "Heel". Like a well-trained animal Grant rushed to take position behind his Mistress - only once peeking upwards to take in the delicious curve of her butt. He was sure she couldn't see him but he was wrong or perhaps his Mistress had second sight. Either way she viciously tugged on his leash and he was pulled up short, gasping for air as the leather momentarily choked him.

"Behave." The command was clipped and then Charli began striding across the stage leading Grant as he desperately tried to keep up on all fours. The other woman watched and took in the stark contrast. Charli's curved figure was all grace and smooth power, Grant was a pitiful exhibition of clumsy subservient weakness. Charli's heels clicked harshly and remorselessly against the wood of the stage and behind her were only the flaccid flopping noises of Grant's bare hands and feet as he scrambled to follow. Charli held the leash tight - forcing him to keep up or feel the collar tighten around his neck once more. The other woman took this all in and then noticed that Grant's penis was no longer limply hanging down. Instead it was hard, standing up against his pale pink belly. What better proof that all she had been told was true - what more blatant evidence could she be given?

She glanced up again and saw that Charli's eyes were once more on her, now glinting with unmistakeable pleasure and triumph. She suddenly knew why she was there. Charli wished to share her pleasure with her. Charli's triumph was not over her - it was over Grant and all the others like him. She took all that in during the few moments that Charli allowed her mask of cruel domination to slip. She took it in and processed it and decided to stay. Charli gave her a nod. She didn't know it yet but that decision was the first step along a long road.

Dee marched once more across the stage, heard the floundering noises behind her, heard the rasping breaths of Grant as he tried to keep up. In truth she would never have dreamed of treating a real puppy like that or any other animal really. Only white boys and especially when they were weak enough to pay handsomely for it. She stopped in front of the chair and then flicked the leash expertly. Grant had been trained well over their past sessions and rushed round to kneel before his Mistress, gazing up at her adoringly. He loved these moments - when he could truly admire her, drink in her icy perfection.

Charli did not love these moments - but they came with her new vocation. It wasn't the dopy white boy looking up at her with his puppy-dog eyes - it was the fact that his little pink wiener was hard. What The Fuck! As if she had any use for that miserable little thing! Most white boys were pretty much useless in her experience but this one did have one little skill.

"Do you deserve a treat? I wonder?"

The man's whining and begging became louder, more insistent, more desperate. His humanity was disappearing in an abject display of self-abasement. Charli spared another moment to glance at the other woman. She saw that the message was getting through and was satisfied.

"You don't deserve it but I'll make you a charity case. You know what to do."

Grant almost hyper-ventilated he was so excited. These sessions had to be handsomely paid for in advance and you never knew what would happen. Sometimes Charli didn't even turn up - she would send a substitute or even just a note telling him to go home. Femdom could become findom so easily. The potential of 'a treat' was always there but its fulfilment so rare that these moments were never taken for granted. He had pleased his Mistress and now she would allow him to please her, or at least to try.

He stumblingly scooted his way under the chair. there was a small platform under the piece of furniture and he lay on his back there. He almost automatically placed his arms and legs in position.

Charli addressed the other woman for the first time. "Stephanie - perhaps you would like to assist. You will see that your fiancé (the word was pronounced with contemptuous scorn) is wearing cuffs on his ankles and wrists. If you take the metal rings there and connect them to the restraints on the platform. They simply click into place - simple but reassuringly sturdy. They make sure a slave is kept in place."

There was the briefest hesitation. Then Stephanie bent down and clicked Grant's first ankle-cuff into position. Perhaps the noise or the movement did it. For the first time Grant's concentration on his Mistress wavered. He glanced at his soon-to-be wife and watched as she connected his other arm and then both of his legs. His eyes were blazing as if with fever, his cheeks were flushed, his breath was coming ragged and harsh. He had never, ever, felt so excited. To be honoured to serve his Mistress was already almost too much. But this, this...

The chair was of a very particular design. It was wooden and heavy, once its casters were locked it was difficult to move. Certainly a scrawny white boy like Grant had no chance of escaping his bonds or shifting the chair, especially once it was occupied. The 'seat' of the chair formed a crescent broad enough for a person to comfortably sit but leaving a gap where the center of the seat would normally be. Now, looking down from above, you would see Grant's flushed face there, framed by the remaining seat.

Charli's boots were not the only part of her outfit that were black and shiny. She was dressed almost as the dominatrix of caricatures. Why not? Her clients had their expectations. Her stomach was bare but a black vinyl top pushed her superb breasts up to form a mouth-watering cleavage. She wore a thong of similar material and. save her boots and dark hold-up stockings, that completed her outfit. 'Less is more' as a wise man once said.

She approached the chair and stood over it. Then she grasped the back of the chair and swung her leg over to straddle it. She took a comfortable position on the seat - felt her thong rub against the face of her slave as he lay beneath her. She gave one last glance at Stephanie and then, with one fluid motion, eased her thong to one side. Immediately she felt his tongue at her pussy, felt him pushing his face forward onto her. For a slave he was really quite good at this. His tongue quickly found her clitoris and she arched her back to ease her pussy harder onto that questing tongue. She allowed a blissful smile to play across her features. There were, after all, a lot worse ways of making a living!

Stephanie watched as her man slobbered and licked and desperately strained to please his Mistress with his mouth. She did not share Charli's smile. How long had she been with Grant? Yet had he ever tried to do the same for her? She had only ever wanted to make him happy but it was quite apparent that she had been going about it all the wrong way. She watched as Charli gently undulated her magnificent behind. She saw Grant's tongue working hard on his Mistress's clit and pussy. She also saw his penis, rock-hard and standing up straight against his belly as he lay.

Stephanie wasn't a sheltered virgin. She had known that such people as prostitutes and dominatrix existed. But that her potential husband was a client? That he was seeing a student in her own study program - even if Charli was three years younger and basically a stranger. She could never have imagined that until his confession of two weeks before.

She had wanted to scream at him, to storm out, to slap that handsome face of his. However, she hadn't done so. Why? It was really quite simple. She loved him. She didn't love a version of him created in her own mind - she loved HIM. She wanted to share his life with him and she had expected to have to make concessions. Career, family, desires - she expected to have to fit into his requirements and needs. Wasn't that just the way things were?

She had considered this over the last two weeks. She had done so even more after Grant had asked her to accompany him here tonight. Her mind was positively racing now. All her expectations of life with Grant up to two weeks ago were exploding as she watched him desperately try to please his Mistress. She just wasn't sure what was replacing them - except that she still loved him. She knew that this wasn't a threat to her. Grant had promised that he had never actually had sex with another woman since becoming an item with her. She believed him absolutely - crazy as that might seem. Why would he be upfront about all of this and yet lie about that? But what did it mean for them?

"Hhhhmmmmnnn - not as pathetic as usual slave." Charli's voice was like melted honey. Grant was urged on by such faint praise. He lapped and slicked and sucked and teased her wet pussy for all he was worth. His hard cock actually twitched where it lay on his belly.