Los Cinco Hermanos Ch. 07byeidetic©
Wherein Sandra returns with a secret, and the vacation starts
Author's note: this is part 7 of a 12-part story arc which I've put under Group Sex (see Chapter 1). Like all my stories, it begins with character development and in this case, over several chapters. The chapters can have the elements of a number of different categories and I will try to give advance warning. This one is primarily moving the story and characters forward, and a little Masturbation. And a gentle reminder: this is all Fiction – Willing Suspension of Disbelief recommended...
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
The phone rang. I woke to find Sandra still wrapped in my arms, also struggling awake.
"Sandra?" I asked, hoping that's who was waking up with me. "Would you answer the phone? It's our wake-up call."
Only semi-awake and obviously running on radar, she fumbled for the phone next to her side of the bed and answered it. She must have been expecting the hotel recording because she just listened for a moment. Then she got a surprised look on her face.
"Hello?" she said tentatively, suddenly looking around and apparently not knowing where she was.
"Um, no... this is Sandra... um, just a moment... she's right here..." and she handed me the phone looking very confused.
"Hello, lover," I said into the phone.
"How did you know I'd be the one calling?" Dave asked.
"I didn't," I told him. "You're all my lovers... you especially. Just a sec..." Then I turned to Sandra.
"It is 6:30 in the morning. We are at Jerry Sterling's house in the Hollywood Hills. We were his guests last night. I'm driving you in this morning. Your suit is clean, there's pantyhose in the drawer and a half-dozen blouses hanging in the closet for you to choose from. Why don't you hit the bathroom first while I take this call? It's right through there, Sandra." I pointed to the bathroom door.
"Yeah, about that..." and she gave me a strange look. "Did we...?" but she let it hang as she started to get out of bed.
"Ooooohhhh, God, am I sore!" she moaned as her feet hit the floor. Suddenly she looked embarrassed.
"I'll help you with that, too, in a minute," I told her. "And Molly will have breakfast waiting for us upstairs. Go on... scoot!"
She wandered off into the bathroom in a daze and I turned back to the phone.
"Hi!" I told Dave. "I'm back!"
"So I heard," and I detected some concern in his voice. "Does she not remember last night?" he went on. "Because that could be bad."
"I have no idea who she is or what she remembers," I told him cheerily, "but she didn't sit on my face when she answered the phone, so I think I'm dealing with a rather embarrassed Sandra. Whether she knows what she thinks she should be embarrassed about, I haven't a clue. But we'll figure it out."
"I hope you're right, luv," he told me. "See you upstairs."
I hung up and dragged my sorry ass out of bed. I found Sandra sitting on the toilet, staring into space. Figuring I could pee in the shower, I turned on the water. That got her attention.
She looked at me, realizing we had both slept naked with each other, and sheepishly asked, "did Sandy come out last night?"
I smiled. "Yep," I told her. "Shower's almost warm."
"Um..." Sandra continued, very hesitantly. "Did I do anything I should apologize for?"
"Not that I can think of," I told her. "What do you remember?"
"I remember watching the movie with you and the other two women and losing control," she told me. "I remember you taking me aside, and us talking about Sandy and my control problem, and options... and how we could see if Sandy might be sated and leave me alone..."
"So far you're spot on," I told her, "now c'mon in and let's get showered. You can tell me the rest while we clean up. You shouldn't have any cum in you, because the guys all used condoms, but you've got a lot of pussy juice to wash off your face, and off your neck, and out of your hair..." I let it dangle to tease her. For a moment, she looked panicked.
"What did Sandy do?" she asked, starting to hyperventilate.
"Easy girl," I told her. "Only what everyone else wanted her to do. What else do you remember?"
"I remember talking to the others about my problem with Sandy and them agreeing to let me deal with it and stay out of it," she told me as I pulled her into the shower and stuck her under the hot water. "I remember going back into the movie theatre and starting to watch that very, very hot porno you were in... and then it starts getting fuzzy. I'm pretty sure I was masturbating, and I think there was some verbal teasing going on, but that's about it."
"Beth, I'm sore in places I only get sore when Sandy goes ape-shit," she told me.
"Oh, don't worry about that," I smiled, breaking out the shampoo and starting in on her hair. "Jerry keeps a numbing salve in the medicine chests. We'll get some on you after we're out of the shower."
Sandra looked at me oddly again, and I was hoping that she was okay with all my banter. I was trying to ease her into the idea that everything was cool. Then she brought me up short.
"Beth, lay it out for me. What, exactly, did Sandy do last night? And I mean did what, and with what, and to whom, and how and all the rest of the gory details. I can't face them if I don't know what I did..."
I started soaping her body, and thought for a moment before I went on.
"I can give you the short version," I told her. "The long version would require us getting together after work today. Don't freak, and... Jerry filmed Sandy in case you want to see what you don't remember. He'll destroy the video, no copies, if you want him to. But it might be a way for you to remember what Sandy did."
She'd gone stiff as a board when I'd mentioned the video.
"I told you not to freak," I chided her. "It's not a big deal. The only people that know about it are the people involved."
"Beth..." she drawled as she turned to look at me, all pulled in. "This is me, not freaking out."
"What are you afraid of?" I asked. "Sandy was a delightful fuck."
"I am afraid," she told me levelly, "of what I don't remember. Bad things have happened in the past, when Sandy got loose, and I only have what others tell me to go on. It's like I'm somehow a functional schizophrenic. Or two functional schizophrenics, one body. And that is very scary."
I knew she was right the moment she said it. The question was, what to do about it. I was trying to formulate an answer to that when she interrupted my train of thought.
"Turn around," she told me.
"What?" I asked. I hadn't been paying attention to what was going on.
"Turn around," she iterated. "It'll be easier for me to shampoo your hair from behind you."
I complied. "Look, the Cliff's Notes version is that Sandy's animal needed taming and the guys were exactly the right ones to do it. She wanted it rough and she wanted it extreme, but they weren't about to do anything permanent to her. Neither were Ginger, nor Molly nor I. You were telling me how Sandy wanted the attention, wanted the men. That's what we gave her, and more."
"Is that why my ass is sore when I sit down, or turn?" Sandra asked.
"You haven't looked in a mirror, yet, have you?" I asked.
"No," she admitted. "I was afraid to..."
"The welts are almost gone," I told her, "and the bruises are fading, although you'll feel them for awhile." I guess I wasn't doing too good a job of thinking about how "conservative" Sandra was going to handle this information.
"They whipped me?" she asked softly as she pulled my head under the shower to rinse out the shampoo. It was distractingly nice to be tended to...
"Paddled," I told her. "Leather strap, got you pinked up pretty good, plus five strokes with a crop."
There was a very long pause as she rinsed out my hair, then began soaping me.
"And I liked it, I suppose," she finally said, the question implied.
"Sandy liked it, yes," I told her. "No blood. No scars. Nothing permanent. To the edge but not over."
"And that included shaving me..." she added. Christ! I hadn't thought about that.
"Is that a problem?" I asked.
"Only because I intentionally don't shave because it's the opposite of what Sandy would do," she told me. "It'll grow out."
"Maybe it doesn't have to," I told her. "Maybe we figure out how you can make peace with Sandy and not have the internal civil war going on all the time."
"That would be nice," she told me. "Impossible. But nice."
"I daresay you haven't had much practice..." I quoted to her. "Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."
"Yes," Sandra smiled. "Wonderland. I guess that would make sense here. Does that make you the White Queen?"
"There are a lot of reasons why I wouldn't want to be her," I pointed out. "She's a lot more complicated than people think."
"Aren't we all?" Sandra asked, and I realized how very right she was.
"I think I want to watch that video," she told me as she moved to washing my front. "Um..." she paused. "Can I, uh..." and she pointed at my nethers.
"Have at it!" I smiled, spreading my legs. "They have fond memories of you being there before."
Sandra blushed, but she continued washing me. "Do you know if Jerry has some kind of video player we could take in the car?" she asked. "I could watch it on the way in to work."
"I don't think that's such a hot idea, for a couple of reasons," I told her. "To start, I'd rather not have to clean up the car if you were so offended, you threw up in it."
She gave me a look like I was crazy to think she lacked that much class.
"Or, if you get turned on and are distracted all day, whether or not Sandy makes an appearance, it could screw up our presentations to the students, or management, and it would take some extraordinary damage control, especially if you were found jilling in the lunch room with a pop bottle."
She gave me another one of those looks, but she did start to smile.
"Yeah, that wouldn't be too good, would it?" she chuckled. "Okay, you win. Can I come back here tonight?"
"We'll ask when we get up to breakfast," I told her. "I really can't speak for Jerry, but my guess is yes."
"Then, tally-ho!" Sandra told me, handing me the soap. "Finish yourself off..."
"Are you telling me to count?" I demanded, trying to keep a straight face.
"What?" She was genuinely puzzled.
"Tally, comma, ho," I said. Sandra blinked for a moment, then started laughing.
"You really had to stretch for that one," she told me, and I had to agree.
"And speaking of stretching," she added, "where did you say that cream was?"
* * * * *
Breakfast was light and wonderful, and for once, everybody was there. Sandra was very embarrassed, regardless of my encouragements to the contrary, and everybody was ignoring it. In fact, they seemed genuinely happy to see her. Although I have no idea how she would have bolted in the middle of the night, especially way out here. Call a cab, maybe.
It was agreed that she and I needed to get moving, and I took the Ferrari again. Sandra seemed almost lustful as she sat in the luxurious leather seat next to me. Jerry had virtually insisted that she come on back out this evening and we'd hash through any issues that might have come up. That's as close as anyone got to admitting there might be a problem.
As we pulled into the parking garage, she said quietly, "You know how you said how important it was that I keep your newfound relationships quiet? Well, now it seems I need you to..."
"Enough said," I interrupted her. "What happens at Jerry's, stays at Jerry's. Besides, I like you too much to screw you over."
"Whew..." she exhaled. "I'm damned glad of that. You know, you never answered my question."
"Have I really been a bitch to you?"
I took a breath. "I don't have a standard to judge that by," I told her. "You've been strict and occasionally a little snarky. You certainly haven't fucked me over the way my ex has, or other ex-boyfriends, for that matter. There are times when you seem really anal, but now that I know the battle for control you're fighting, it makes sense. You're more vicious playing politics than I would have expected, but then, you're playing in the same shark pool with some major league assholes. So, even if I've thought you were a bitch at times, or felt you were being unwarrantedly bitchy to me, overall I'd say you haven't been that much of a bitch. Okay?"
"Okay," she answered thoughtfully.
"Ready to go knock 'em dead?" I asked.
"Let's do it to it!" she told me and we got out of the car and headed for the medical center.
* * * * *
My day had gone smoothly. I had intelligent students paying attention and asking good questions. I had a mix of doctors and nursing staff, support staff and administrators, so we ended up going over a lot of material. But by the end of the day, although tired, I thought we'd accomplished a lot. The half-day wrap-up tomorrow would be a breeze.
Sandra's day didn't go so well. She'd handled her Admin duties just fine, and been able to concentrate and stay on track in her Board presentations. But every time they took a break, she found herself running to the bathroom and jilling off. She was getting serious push-back from the horny, excited Sandy side of her.
As we drove out to Jerry's, she told me she had one heart-stopper in the afternoon. She'd finished her reports and delivered them, and had a solid half-hour to go to the bathroom and jill. She'd been in the middle of her third cum when someone came in and went into the stall next to her. She'd had to stifle her sounds and stop jilling, to wait for the other person to leave. She was absolutely terrified of getting caught.
Except the other person didn't leave and after awhile, Sandra realized that the woman in the next stall was also jilling, and getting pretty vigorous about it. Vigorous enough that it would cover Sandra doing herself again. So she did... start doing herself again, inexplicably excited by the woman in the next stall.
Sandra was building up close to another cum when she heard a distinctive low moan from the next stall and the woman suddenly stopped moving and got very quiet. Quiet, except for a low "hnff, hnff, hnff" of gasps as the woman came. And that just did it for Sandra. She couldn't quash her moaned, "Oh, God!!!..." as she came, too, trying to be quiet and almost making it.
When her crashing pulses had calmed down and Sandra was back in control, she noticed the sounds of the woman next to her jilling again, confirmed by the motions of her shadow visible under the wall separating the stalls. So Sandra started again. She desperately wanted the cum.
"Race ya..." the woman next door's voice came softly across to Sandra, and she was virtually struck dumb. The voice belonged to the PAMC's Executive Director of Nursing, Dr. Pamela Cooke! The third most powerful woman in the organization was in the stall next to her, masturbating!
Confusion ruled the day, as far as Sandra's brain was concerned. She was afraid she'd been found out. She was afraid there'd be problems. She was afraid she wouldn't be able to look Dr. Cooke in the eye after this. She was afraid of being branded a pervert for being so fascinated by the idea.
Her body had a different problem. It was afraid it wasn't going to get to cum again if the brain didn't take a hike. And that's when Sandy surfaced. Or enough to make a difference. She just grunted an affirmation and started rubbing herself again, fast.
Sandra didn't stand a chance. She'd barely gotten to her own cum when Dr. Cooke had not only gone over – and noticeably so – but cum three more times. She was obviously very multiorgasmic! As Sandy moaned her pleasure as quietly as she could, Dr. Cooke had finished up and exited the stall, washing her hands.
"I win!" she'd said to the closed stall door as Sandra lay there, panting in the aftermath. "Nice way to de-stress, don't you think?" Sandra was barely able to moan an acknowledgement.
"Well, see you around!" Dr. Cooke had announced cheerfully and walked out the door. Sandra told me she had waited several moments to make sure the bathroom was clear before getting herself together and getting out of there. Now she was just plain confused.
"What do I do, the next time I see her?" Sandra was asking me.
"Like I'm supposed to know?" I asked in return. "I've never masturbated in a public restroom, let alone in the stall next to an Executive Director who's jilling herself, too!"
"Christ, I am so fucked," Sandra muttered to herself, looking out the window as we climbed out of the valley.
"Not necessarily," I pointed out. "To begin with, she was doing it, too, and she's the one that made it a race. Right there, Sandy has a kindred spirit. Secondly, there's nothing to say she knows who was in your stall, unless your purse was on the floor, in sight. Third, you only have one more meeting with her, tomorrow morning. I finish class, you come and collect me and we go over our after-class notes. Then you go home. Or wherever you're going."
"Oh, and this is probably as good a time as any to tell you... I'm taking vacation next week. I've pushed my return flight out to the Wednesday after next, twelve days from tomorrow. If you want, I can come into the Santa Clara office on Tuesday, before I go."
"Will you be staying out here?" she asked, turning to face me.
"If the guys want me," I told her. "Not sure about their schedules. I think Paul has to go back to classes, but he's down in Santa Monica, which is drivable. Ron's got a day job and Jackson's trying out for some football team. Dave's on leave, but eventually he has to go back to the Navy."
"Do you think they'd want me?" she asked.
I thought about it for a moment.
"I honestly don't know," I told her. "I would think so. Let's hash that out, with everything else, after dinner tonight, okay?"
"Yeah, okay..." she agreed, then turned and went back to looking out the window, muttering, "I've got a bunch of vacation coming, too..."
* * * * *
Dinner had been grilling, courtesy of the guys. That had been interesting. Getting five guys to agree on how to grill even one kind of meat would have been bad enough. But when they went for hamburgers, hot dogs, brats, chicken and mahi-mahi, it was chaos.
Amusing to those of us not doing the cooking, but frustrating for them. Eventually, Jerry settled it via the "my house, my rules" injunction. He assigned the hamburgers to Jackson, the hot dogs and brats to Paul, the chicken to Ron and the mahi-mahi to Dave. He took charge of the veggies and everything else.
Except, Molly took charge of the alcohol. Smart move on her part. Not so smart to let the guys use the kitchen without basic clean-up rules. Well, live and learn.
That meant the four of us women could lounge around on the sundeck or in the spa while the guys fixed dinner, which meant we had a chance to talk. Everybody knows the important decisions get made by the women, anyway, right?
"So how's Sandy doing?" Ginger asked as we luxuriated in the roiling waters, sipping our Piña Coladas and Margaritas.
"Trying to scratch her way out," Sandra told her. "Today was a bit of a bitch." She went on to explain about her mostly successful attempts to keep Sandy out of the Boardroom and in the bathroom, then Dr. Cooke coming in and twisting her world upside-down.
"So now Sandy wants out, big time, and Sandra wants to know what Sandy did to you guys but is afraid of what she'll see, and Sandra is also scared shitless of what's going to happen with the client tomorrow," she explained, oddly talking about herself in the third person. "Sandra has morning meetings where Sandy is not invited, then we wrap it midday."
"Which brings up another point," she went on, apparently shifting back to normal. "Beth is taking vacation next week and wanted to spend it out here. Depending on how this evening goes, I was thinking the same thing. Do you think I'd be welcome? Before I ask Jerry?"