Katherine's Friend

A Custom Story by The Midnight Talebearer

"Stories Without Limits"

The Playboy offices were in a tall, beige, concrete, building that seemed uninteresting, despite being several stories high. Lydia Jones hadn't been expecting the Taj Mahal when she'd joined the legal team, but each time she showed up, it was just a little more depressing. The building seemed to lack all charm. That, and windows. It had shockingly few of those for its size. Lydia made a note of it, but she was determined to stay positive. She had come all the way out here to start a new life, after all.

The Beverly Hills sun was uncommonly strong for November, so that Lydia felt like an ant under some sadistic kid's magnifying glass. She could barely believe it, but the heat was drawing the moisture from her soft, peached-toned, skin. She dashed for the building's unimpressive, glass doors, smoothing the jet-black skirt of her suit as she went.

Inside, everything was cool and shaded, and Lydia's low heels sent echoes throughout the room as she walked over the black, marbled, floors.

Thank God for air conditioning, she thought to herself. There was a desk on her left, just a few steps ahead, and she was before it in two quick strides.

"Good morning, Ms. Jones," came a squeaky but genial voice from behind the desk. It belonged to a pale, elderly, man with a dark, wizened, face and keen eyes.

"Huh? Oh, good morning," she replied distantly, etching "10:45" in the log, under "Tine In". Without another word, she turned purposefully toward the elevator banks.

As she waited for a car, Lydia turned over the phone call she had gotten an hour ago in her mind. They wanted her to oversee some new promotion, that much was clear, but she couldn't figure what all the secrecy had been about. As a rule, Lydia was not overly fond of secrets, and puzzling through this one was not helping her mood.

I don't like flying blind, she thought, wondering what all the fuss was about. All the secret keeping at her last post had nearly driven her insane. She tried to tamp down the wave of bitterness that suddenly rushed over her as she thought about it, stepping into the car that had finally arrived, but it was too late. She could feel it writhing inside her, clawing desperately, like an enraged housecat.

She jabbed the sixth floor button a little harder than she meant to, and winced as her finger spiked with pain. Instinctively, she squeezed it in her other hand, hoping the pressure would provide a bit of relief. She swore in a low voice, and tapped her foot impatiently, until the doors finally opened, and she stood in the gray, carpeted, hall that led to the magazine's offices.

"Let's get this bullshit over with," she mumbled to herself. She walked to a heavy, wooden door, dragged it open, and stepped inside.

The offices were large and tolerably well decorated with plants, end tables, and ferns.

"Mr. Peters is waiting in the rear office, miss, and he actually seems to be in something of a decent mood today," a heavy, gravelly, voice called out. Lydia gave the stout, Black, gray-haired, old receptionist a polite nod, taking in her pleasant, toothless, smile.

Good old Diane she thought to herself, feeling just a little bit better as she reached the door of the rear office. Diane had been the first person to greet her when she'd arrived three months ago, fresh faced but confused, and since then, she'd taken on the role of grandmother. She gave excellent and very poignant advice, and every now and then, she could be counted on to show up to the office with a batch of homemade cookies in hand.

"Who the hell has time to make cookies these days?" she wondered quietly. "I really ought to do something nice for her."

Lydia delivered three sharp knocks to the door before her. There was a brief rustling inside the office, as if someone were hurriedly gathering a stack of papers together.

"Come right in, Lydia," a man's voice answered wearily. It was businesslike, yet slightly frantic, and bore a pronounced Midwestern accent. It belonged to Matthew Peters, Matt to his colleagues, and Lydia flashed him a small smile. Matt sighed quietly and nodded back, feeling a growing dislike for his chosen profession. He had come on board many years ago, hoping to get a foothold in the business, and while that had indeed panned out, his life had become one corporate disaster relief effort after another. Chaos. It seemed to follow him everywhere he went, and the effort of combating it was beginning to drain him. "Take a seat. We'll begin in a second," he added.

"Sure, Matt." Lydia replied, moving toward her end of the table with something like quiet grace.

Lydia let herself in, took a seat, and tried not to think about how good a drink would have been right then. She wasn't too thrilled to realize most of the people in the room looked like they were thinking the same thing.

The rear office was actually a boardroom. Management had put it back here to ensure privacy with an eye toward encouraging candor. It was fairly large and well-lit, an oblong rectangle with a long, mahogany, table in its center. Plush, black and gray, swivel chairs ringed the table, and enormous, high-quality pictures of extremely beautiful women hung on the cream colored walls. Matt, a tall, pale, handsome, man in an expensive-looking suit, stood at the far end, aiming a long, metal, pointer at a massive touch screen displaying a graph.

"Sales are trending downward due to the rise of free, easily accessible, pornography," the man was saying, scratching his long, raven-tinted hair, "and we need a new campaign to turn things around. Pornhub is going to be the death of us if we do not maintain our relevance. Yesterday, we had a productive meeting with Katherine McNamara, whose star is blazing due to Shadowhunters' popularity. She has agreed to pose nude for us for three million dollars, and we have organized a global contest to-"

"A global contest, Matt? Have you lost your damn mind?" Lydia, interjected at once, anxiously twisting her long, red, hair in her fingers. "I thought we agreed to limit all contests to the US mainland to eliminate the possibility of arbitration and litigation in foreign countries. A global contest would expose the company to the need to meet the legal standards and rulings of a hundred ninety-five countries! Say we're sued in New Zealand. Which court has jurisdiction? America? New Zealand? The international Court? I mean-"

"Lydia," Matt interrupted, sighing sympathetically. "Ms. McNamara insisted it was unfair to sell the issue globally but only run the contest locally. She made her participation conditional on a global contest. There is no one as popular we can get for the money we're offering on short notice, so we had to give in."

"But...alright," she sighed heavily, resigning herself to the inevitable clusterfuck. "How does the contest work?"

"In five thousand words or less, a contestant must explain why Kat would enjoy a date with them, introduce themselves, say something quirky, the usual business. Kat has elected to choose a winner herself, so-"

"Herself?" a husky, scholarly, black man in a navy suit and tie responded incredulously. "Granted, readership is down, but that's still some percentage of seven hundred thousand subscribers! What if she picks someone we can't market? My department has to curate this thing so it shows the magazine in the best light."

"Yes, Martin, I know," Matt said, his shoulders slumping as though they bore a heavy load. "But again, she insisted. Apparently, she has volunteers. Every branch of the company must try to overcome these hurdles and make this a successful promotion."

Matt went on for several minutes more, outlining the company's marketing and promotion strategies. The longer he spoke, the more doubtful everyone grew, but the spectre of Pornhub was staring them down like an oncoming train. Everyone knew they had to do something and they left the meeting feeling resolute. Two weeks later, in a simple Sydney flat, a beautiful woman named Lyonesse was enjoying the fruits of their labor.

Lyonesse was a singular beauty, sporting, full, bouncy, curly, blonde, hair. The golden locks cascaded down to her shoulders, framing a clever, seductive, face, accentuated with rich, emerald eyes. She was shaped like an hourglass, with round, large, firm, breasts, and shapely buttocks it was impossible to ignore. She lay in her comfortable, old, bed, wearing nothing at all, with the November 2019 issue of Playboy open to the middle. Kat McNamara was reclined seductively with her hand resting on her pussy.

"Yes. Rub that slit for me, Kat," Lyonesse breathed sweetly as she teased her right nipple."

She imagined the fingertip lightly twirling around her turgid nipple was the lithe, long, darting, tongue of Kat McNamara. It drew a sharp, swift, intake of breath from Lyonesse each time it caressed the sensitive flesh. She could feel the soft, pleasurable chill as the cool air danced across her lover's saliva. The Aussie clasped her breast, showly kneading the flesh, and in her mind, Kat was no longer licking, but sucking. Lyonesse's breath's grew longer and more rhythmic as her clit began to stiffen in its fleshy hood.

"Oh, goddess, yes!" Lyonesse moaned, slipping her hand down to her pussy. "Suck that tit for me. Shit, it feels so good. Do you like the way I cradle your head? How I hold you to my breast? I like what you're doing to my clit. Keep rolling it in your fingers like that. Slip one in my hole, It's so hot and wet for you. Yes!" she cried as she slid two fingers inside.

Lyonesse's skin grew warm, radiating heat from every pore, as her body began to twist and writhe. She felt the rush of blood into her tender nipples and the teasing sensations of desire licking at her flesh like tongues of fire. She heard the wet, sploshing, sounds of her fingers pumping in and out, stretching her slick, sopping, slit deliciously. Moaning urgently, as waves of pleasure began building in her core, she switched to a closeup of Kat's pussy and ass.

"Fuck!" she grunted, fingerfucking herself more intensely as she stared at Kat's perfect, puffy, folds and licked her lips. "Let me be your girlfriend, love," she added, beginning to drool. "No one will eat your pussy as often or as well as I will. Goddess, open your legs for me. Feed me your slit. I want my tongue buried deep, stretching your walls. I want to feel your muscles grip it, squeezing it like a cock. I want to savor your juices as they dribble all over my face! Oh, fuck! Ride me!" Lyonesse panted loudly, the waves of her orgasm rushing forth rapidly. "Ride my face, Katherine! OH FUCK ME!" Currents of pleasure surged through her sexy frame, from her head to the tips of her curled toes, as her overheated twat undulated around her soaking fingers.

Smaller orgasms radiated from Lyonesse's pussy like aftershocks. The magazine slipped from her hand and covered her face. Her body writhed against the sheets, cool air dancing across her burning skin, and her breathing was hurried and ragged. Just as she started to calm down, a sudden song rang out in space: "9 to 5".

Wearily, Lyonesse recognized her ringtone. Pushing Kat off her face, she snatched her smartphone from the nightstand and swiped to answer it.

"Timothy, you are a very fine person, and I am very fond of you, but it's four in the morning. What was so important you couldn't just message me on Discord?"

"The new Playboy's out," he replied in a fast, mid-range, voice. "There's a contest to win a date with Kat!"

"Ugh!" she sighed, suddenly quite annoyed. "Don't remind me. Fucking thing's only happening in America! How does that make sense? We're all paying for this shit, but only one country gets to participate!"

"That's why I called," Timothy replied excitedly. "Kat threw a fit, and the contest has gone international. Anyone can enter. You could end up dating Kat!"

"Fantastic!" she replied. "Fuck!" Lyonesse suddenly exclaimed.

"What's the matter," Timothy asked, though he thought he could guess.

"I'll have to write something and I always get stuck. I end up looking at my computer going, 'Okay, what comes next?'"

"You'll think of something," Timothy replied confidently, ever the optimist. "You always do. I love what you write, and Kat will, too."

"Thanks. It's tough, but I'll figure it out eventually. I'm going to go to sleep, Timothy. Thanks for calling."

"No problem, Lyonesse. Sleep well." And the plucky optimist hung up the phone.

The next day, Lyonesse sat before her computer, staring anxiously at a blank screen. She'd tried clearing her mind, a metric fuck ton of Skittles, and even binge watching The Big Bang Theory and Fuller House. Nothing was helping. It was crystal clear what she wanted to write, in her head at least, but she couldn't figure out how to articulate it for the page. At a loss, she visited her Discord server, Themyscira, and talked it out with several of her friends.

A pen aficionado offered a joke and cuddles. A lover of squirrels and stories suggested meditation music. A little white rabbit cuddled up in a ball and sagely advised her to come back to it later. Whether these, and a dozen other opinions and suggestions, held any value was debatable, but they certainly were of value to Lyonesse. The deluge of support had sort of cleared her head. When she returned to her blank page, the words began to flow:

Dear Katherine,

The question is 'why would you enjoy a date with me?' and the answer is 'it's complicated.' See, I've been dating since I was fifteen, which was eight years ago, and there've been a ton of ups and downs. It's a bit of a challenge. The highs are excellent, when you can get them, but the lows can be truly devastating. I've learned that the best dates happen when both people are comfortable and go home having enjoyed themselves. I'm a huge fan of yours. I love what you do, so I'm sure I'd go home happy, but this is a publicity stunt. Those things are highly scripted and coordinated, with photo opportunities, bright lights, and little, if any, intimacy. I can't say you'd enjoy any of that at all, nor do I see how having me tag along would make it better. But if we had a normal, more private, date, without all the drama, then I'd do my best to make sure you enjoyed that. I'm sorry that was kind of long, but I hope it answers the question. Thank you very much for your time.

-Lyonesse

Having formed her letter, Lyonesse went to the Playboy website, and filled out the entry form, adding her name, address, and phone number. She worked without much hope. But the effort felt fulfilling, and she rewarded herself with permission to enjoy the fantasy. She pictured herself having a lovely date with Kat, sharing chicken vindaloo at a stylish curry house. Suddenly, she imagined Kat asking a very odd question.

"So, Lyonesse...um...what's it like to masturbate to me?"

"Mass...huh?" Lyonesse coughed in reply, nearly choking on her spicy curry.

"Sorry," Kat laughed quietly, patting her on the back. "I was just kind of curious, you know?"

"Right," Lyonesse nodded, quickly regaining her composure. "Well, I've never done that, believe it or not."

"Because you only buy Playboy for the articles?" Kat queried with a sly smile.

"As a matter of fact, yes," Lyonesse replied, a bit defensively.

"I see," Kat nodded sagely, pausing briefly. "Tell me, Lyonesse," she continued, stifling a fit of giggles. "How many articles were on the cover?"

"...hush," Lyonesse replied with quiet firmness.

Lyonesse shook her head, silently decrying her overactive imagination, and tucked into a Spider-Gwen comic with the certainty that nothing too remarkable was going to happen.

Many thousands of miles away from Sydney, in the gilded embrace of North Hollywood, Kat McNamara lay on a massive, king size, bed, sporting silken pillows stuffed with down. The sheets were made of fine linen, a staggering thread count, and the comforter was nowhere near here because the temperature outside was 29°C. She was slowly manipulating the touchpad of a very expensive laptop, browsing through the thousands of entries she had received. Over and over, she shook her head, wondering what she had expected.

The first few letters she read were positively obscene. As a rule, Kat was fond of sex, but she wasn't going to allow herself to be a living blowup doll. She did prefer respect, and to be treated like a person, but most of these respondents had clearly seen her as jerk off fodder.

The next batch were a bit more promising, but these were clearly obsessed with her. They spoke of her like some kind of deity or treasure they meant to keep locked away forever. She loved her fans, and appreciated that all her success was due to them, but she was her own person, and not a china doll. So she read on and on, growing wearier every minute, until more than two hours had passed. She was just beginning to think the Playboy people had been right about the wisdom of picking a winner herself when her eyes fell on Lyonesse's entry.

She read the words through stinging eyes, wet with the tears of constant strain. A dull, heavy, throb was coursing through her brain, and her fingers were rapidly beginning to cramp. But as she read through Lyonesse's musings, her face broke into a small smile.

"Her," she said resolutely to herself. "I want her."

"Australia, Kat?" Martin cried, looking incredulous. "You want us to fly you out to Australia?"

Two days had passed, and a refreshed Kat found herself facing down several frazzled senior staff members in Playboy's board room. They had reached yet another impasse, once again about the arrangements, and their voices bounced chaotically off the high, smooth, walls. Kat felt a warm wave of passion surging through her, full of empathy for the woman she had yet to meet. It drove her firm, decisive thinking, and was currently making Martin from marketing sweat bullets. But she had thought everything over carefully, and she was sure she was right.

"Yes," Kat replied simply. "That's where Lyonesse lives, and I'd like to meet her in an environment she's comfortable with. What's wrong with that?"

"Readership is down, Kat, that's what!" Martin returned sharply, The entire point of this exercise is to boost sales and make money! We're not really doing that. Instead, we've exposed ourselves to global liability, which means we're spending boatloads on the legal team as it is. We've spent a ton on promotion, and if we do what you want, we'll have to cancel our bookings at several venues, which will mean incurring fees."

"Martin's right," Matt chimed in, fighting the urge to bite his short, stubby, nails with some small success. "Besides, flying out the camera crews, security personnel, the stylists, publicists, and everyone else is going to be expensive as hell. Lyonesse is one person," he breathed, giving Kat a look that said 'please be reasonable for the love of God'. "Why can't we just fly her out here?"

"To do what?" Kat replied heatedly, meeting Matt's gaze. "Wander around a city she's never been to before and try to learn a new, alien, culture overnight? She already has to deal with meeting a celebrity. That's stressful enough as it is. Don't add a completely new environment to her problem. I've generated record sales for you guys. You can afford to accommodate her."

"We're gonna have to," Lydia sighed exasperatedly, slamming her fist into the table, and glaring at Kat with bare hatred in her eyes. "If Kat backs out, we will be sued, and the legal fights will bankrupt us. She's basically got the company over a barrel."

"I wouldn't quite describe it that way," Kat returned slowly. "You make it sound like I'm-"