Matrimony

Do not try this at home! And don't read it if you are under eighteen years old as it is a story written for adults and not kiddies and contains words of a sexual nature that you will misunderstand. Although this story is set in the same Universe as my 'Making Dreams Come True' stories and features some of the same characters and locations, you do not need to read them first as this one is "free-standing".

Matrimony.

A 'Making Dreams Come True' Companion Volume.

*****

1. Prelude to Change.

It must have been brewing for sometime even though it was one of those ideas that seem to spring into the mind fully-formed. Thoughts, such as this can, however, be very deceptive and are often a surprise to the mind into which they spring. I'm Irina Ermakova, by the way and at thirty-five last birthday, I seem to have convinced myself that I am getting old.

It was another beautiful spring morning that I awoke to face, I stretched, savouring the feel of the satin sheets against my naked skin, I usually sleep like that, except in the middle of the winter - mind you it doesn't really get cold here. How different life was to my childhood in Akademgorodok: there, we couldn't afford sheets of any description. Silently, I gave thanks to God as I always did upon waking: things could be worse, much, much worse... I could still be living in Akademgorodok and I could still be broke: so yes! Things could definitely be infinitely worse. What would I have if I had stayed in Mother Russia? If I had stayed in Akademgorodok? A two room apartment and a dead-end job in some University or other in a country run by the twat, Putin and his everything-phobic cronies. It was all too terrible to contemplate: life in England was better, here everyone is too polite to let me know if they are snooping on me.

I stretched again and spread my arms and legs in an attempt to fill the whole of the king-sized bed. I was alone, my 'companion' of the night before had departed when I fell asleep after fucking her. All of my 'pets' were instructed to leave before Mistress awoke. Sure I enjoyed their 'company' before I fell asleep: but I preferred to wake-up alone. My pets all know what I am: indeed, some of them are the same, but I am 'Mistress' and my word is law in my household. One of the things that I insist on is to be allowed to collect my thoughts in solitude: or at least I had until now. For some reason things things felt different that morning and I needed someone to cuddle.

Is this all there is? I thought. Me waking up alone every morning for the rest of my life? Maybe it's time that I got married.

Shocked, I froze... Where did that idea come from?

I stretched for a third time but this time I opened my eyes only to be momentarily dazzled by the sun that streamed in through one of the bedroom windows. I grimaced - at least it was sunny. England, where I was now living, was usually wet, or so I had been led to believe when I had moved here five years before. Still, wet or not the climate was mild and pleasantly warm although, if I was honest (which I seldom am - I'm a banker after all.) I would admit to missing the freezing, bitter Siberian winters in much the same way that I missed agonizing toothache following a visit to a good dentist.

I slid out of my King-sized bed: the satin sheets offering no resistance to my smooth bare skin as I did so. I stood and ran hands down my body caressing first, the firm and shapely D-cup breasts with their large areolae and jutting nipples. Next I moved on down to grope my well-padded arse before feeling my side-hips and finally grasping the erect six-inch cock that jutted out from my groin:I stroked it off a couple of times and felt my balls jiggle in their soft floppy sac as I did so. I smiled. Life was indeed good here in my English home.

I ambled across the bedroom to the chest of draws where my underwear lived, and felt my morning erection jouncing as I did so. I smile as I selected a matching informal set of powder-blue silk bra and matching panties. Then staring at my erect cock, I willed it soften and go limp, but being what it is, it took absolutely no notice as it seemed to stare, one eyed, right back at me from the mirror... My friend and employer, Helena Yorke who is of the same modified gender always describes herself (and all of us women who are like her) as 'shemales' although I do not particularly like the term because of its 'sex-trade' implications. When I mentioned this to her she had laughed and said that I should always trade on my sex as it was my most potent weapon.

The morning erection was the main reason that I insisted on waking alone. It wasn't embarrassment, well not exactly, it was more that I hated being seen as not totally in control of my own body. No, I am not a 'control-freak', or at least, I hope that I am not, but I dislike others seeing me lose control. Sure, I could make good use of it by pushing it into some girl's willing arsehole, or pussy (if she happened to have one) but there usually wasn't time as I had to get ready for work. Sex is fantastic but it is time-consuming, and time was something that I didn't have most mornings.

When I had finished showering I slipped the silk panties on and arranged my now flaccid organ, together with its 'accessories', so that they did not make an obvious bulge. This morning was informal, so a gaff or even tape were unnecessary. Then, when I was satisfied that I had achieved smooth, feminine contours, I rang for my maid to come and help me dress and assist with my make-up. There was a soft knock on the door a minute of two later just before a girl entered my bedroom.

Alicia, dressed in her traditional black maid's uniform, complete with little white apron and cap, bobbed a little curtsy and proclaimed. "Good morning, Mistress."

I grunted my usual reply in Russian without turning to face her, instead I continued to examine myself in one of the room's many mirrors. "Smart casual this morning, Alicia."

Then, as the maid began to scurry around assembling my morning's outfit I stared into the mirror and a familiar squarish face, with its pageboy-styled ash-blonde hair, stared right back: its ice-blue eyes looking right into mine. I poked at my face as I examined my reflection anew. Is that a spot?

Yes, this morning would be spent at home, mainly in relaxation - what's the point of having money if I don't enjoy its benefits occasionally? This afternoon I was required at the premises of "McCorqudale & Yorke", the Merchant bank for whom I worked. As my afternoon was scheduled to include a rather difficult meeting I was determined to make the most of this morning.

* * *

They were a married couple, him in his early forties, his wife about ten years younger, Albert showed them into my office and I invited them to be seated : two chairs having been placed in front of my desk for this purpose. I looked up from the file that I had been reading and greeted them with my best disarming smile.

"Mr Holloway... Donald..." I began hesitantly while the man seated in the slightly less than comfortable chair opposite my desk began to squirm. "I am afraid that I cannot see a way out of your current financial predicament."

I paused and watched him turn somewhat pale: or rather turn even paler than he had been already. His weak chin began to bob up and down and he seemed almost tearful as he tried to answer. "I - I..." He began but got no further.

Instead the woman, the stunningly attractive woman, seated next to him leaned forward. "What?" She interrupted forcefully. "Our company is a going concern - it's profitable, for Christ's sake. Doesn't that count for something?"

When she was sure that she had my full attention she continued with. "We've got a full order book and some very good people working for us. If it wasn't for this slight difficulty, I'm sure that you wouldn't have insisted that my husband should come to see you."

Her voice was as striking as her face, which although a little on the square side was never-the-less quite beautiful, framed as it was by cascades of rich chocolate-brown hair that complemented her good looks. The woman's mouth carried on moving but I missed whatever it was that she was saying. My gaze drifted down to the ample breasts hidden by the expensive charcoal-grey tailored top. "I... I'm sorry, could you run that past me again please, Mrs Holloway."

She blushed slightly, clearly she had realised what had distracted the strange Russian woman seated behind the desk: she knew exactly what I was gawking at but said nothing as she well knew that I represented the only hope that their family-owned business had. She continued, her melodious contralto voice betraying no annoyance. "I was just saying how we have a full order book and that our problem is merely one of short-term cash flow."

I nodded sympathetically. "So it would seem, Ma'am, so it would seem." I picked up a sheet of paper and made a show of reading it - anything to distract me from the vision of feminine perfection I had been staring at. I ram a finger around the inside of my collar, was it me or had my office suddenly become very warm?

"So, as it is just cash-flow, then surely the bank can see its way to granting us a bridging loan to tide us over?" Mrs Holloway continued hopefully. She was here in her capacity of Company Secretary and she was definitely shrewd: much more so than her husband.

I hardened my heart. "I see here that the recently-defunct Carillion Group owes you fourteen million pounds. Is that not so?"

I watched the woman squirm. "Well yes, but we are just waiting for a settlement by the Official Receiver - when we get that payment, we'll be okay!"

I sighed: we had been lucky when Carillion had collapsed and had only been out by a couple of million - the merchant banking equivalent of 'small change' but other Banks, particularly the German ones had really taken a major hit. I knew just how silly Carillion's board had been and just how little there was to cover their liabilities. I looked at the woman seated opposite and felt my heart flutter... For some reason I did not inform the Holloways that any payments that they might receive from the Official Receiver regarding Carillion's debt to them would be in the region of 0.1 or 0.2p in the pound. In other words, their fourteen million would be settled for between ten and twenty thousand pounds - if they were lucky that is, for the tax-man, as always, would be right at the front of the queue and they were usually paid in full.

Suddenly my mouth began to utter words that took my brain completely by surprise. "You already have been the beneficiaries of a sizeable lone over the last few months, Mrs Holloway, but as your Company is an old and valued client of ours, naturally McCorqudale & Yorke will do whatever it can to help you through this difficulty. Leave it with me and I will attempt to draw up a rescue package."

The pair of them seemed to brighten and Mrs Holloway rewarded me with a beaming smile. Yes, the bank would do what ever it could and from where I was sitting I knew that that the help forthcoming would be practically zero - because we were a bank, not a charity! I also knew that they were facing a hefty tax bill themselves, so there was little point in us bailing them out.

"I looked at them both and gave them my best reassuring smile. "So, just to clarify things: you wish for the Bank to rescue your company and do what ever is needed to keep it trading?"

Nodding, they both willingly agreed. "Yes," the man confirmed, "just do what ever it takes and we'll cooperate!"

When I showed the pair of them out, they were still thanking me: I had given them hope and in return I as rewarded with a fantastic view of Mrs Holloway's arse as she undulated her way along the corridor. As I closed my office door I sighed loudly. All that remained was for me to justify my actions to Helena who wouldn't be happy that I had strung the Holloways along but that wouldn't be until the end of the week - today was Monday, surely I could think of something between now and then? Something would be bound to turn-up... Well, wouldn't it?

For some reason, Donald Holloway's final sentence lodged itself in my mind. He didn't know it at the time: but those were words that he might well come to regret.

2. Ideas

And then, all of a sudden, it was Thursday and I was still sweating about tomorrow's review meeting with my employer. She liked her staff to behave in a professional manner while I had virtually drooled all over a customer's wife. I was sure that Helena was going to be more than a little displeased by the way I had handled things - an account manager need be more detached. Oh, she wouldn't scream and shout, she wouldn't lose her temper and bang the desk with her fist - in fact I had never known her to get angry, not once, not ever.

"Never lose your temper, dear, it's a sign of weakness." She had once advised me when she had seen me begin to lose my rag. Advice that I have since tried to follow.

No! It would be easier if she did get angry: then, being Russian, I could scream and shout back and believe me: no language is as well-suited to hurling invective as is Russian. It has a greater range of obscenities even than English. But no! She would just look at me and her shoulders would slump ever so slightly while her expression and body language emphasized just how much I had let her down. There would be a pause and then, over coffee, she would dissect my actions, thoughts, conclusions and mistakes with forensic precision, laying them out in great detail over the next half hour. She would then, smile warmly and make 'suggestions' as to what I might consider doing to rectify the situation.

I would come out of the meeting feeling about six inches tall and with a lot to think about - no doubt regarding my ill-fated attempts at trying to mix business with pleasure! She was going to make me squirm, to my tortured and free-wheeling mind, facing anger and abuse was much, much easier than facing polite, thoughtful criticism.

Needless to say, Thursday morning passed slowly: mainly because I was dreading Thursday afternoon. Ah yes! It as the third Thursday of the month which meant that I would be attending one of Helena's soirées. Ms Yorke was always 'at-home' on the third Thursday afternoon of every month and was happy to receive visitors. This was an old British social custom, beloved by the upper classes and one that dated back at least to the seventeenth century.

Helena, and her daughters, would receive and entertain any visitors who might casually drop-in. However all of the ladies who would attend had one thing in common - they were all members of the informal group known as 'The Circle' and what a group it was with a membership consisting solely of gold-star lesbian slave owners. Okay, the group didn't officially exist: there as no formal membership list and women had to be invited before they were allowed to join but even so, it was a club that could not exist. Needless to say, Helena had sponsored my membership - I have half a dozen girls who are my pets, maids or slaves - remember?

I arrived at about two and, as usual, was shown into Helena's sitting-room: here I was cordially greeted by the lady herself. I looked around and exchanged smiles with several of the half dozen or so other guests and began to circulate to exchange news gossip and innuendo.

• "I see Melissa is not here - hiding, is she?"

• "No she is out of the country. They say she's moving to Brazil because there are plenty of girls there, just for the taking."

• "Have you heard about, Julia? She's trying to get a couple of lady-boys from Thailand."

• "I've got one - they're not all that they are cracked up to be!"

• "Care to sell her to me? I've always fancied owning one. Go on! I'll give you a good price.

• "Have you seen the troll that Angela has just acquired - paid a fortune for it, she did."

• "Yes, I've seen it: the damned thing looks like a truck-driver in drag - has the manners of one, too."

• "Still she always did prefer big, rough-looking girls - she just loves to dominate them!"

• "I've heard that she just keeps them sedated."

• "How much did you pay for that little Japanese doll?"

• "She wasn't cheap, let me tell you!"

• "No my two weren't either."

And so on. The conversations were designed to score points and to determine just who was on the way up or indeed, down.

The women weren't exactly friends but then again we weren't quite enemies, either. I suppose 'competitors' would be a better way of describing us. We were a group of women who were hell-bent on dominating everyone and everything, including each other.

I looked around and smiled pleasantly: these were women that no one ever wanted to fall-foul of. Genteel, cultured and dressed to impress: dresses and skirts were in fashion again, or so it would seem from the gathering. Actually this suited me as it was much easier to hide embarrassing 'equipment' beneath the folds and billows of a dress as they did not have to be tailored and fitted in the same way as slacks or trousers. Believe me: I wore a dress precisely for the same reason as at least one of other visitors did. That's one of the positive sides of the group - they weren't trans-phobic: a woman was a woman, as far as 'The Circle' was concerned: cis- or trans-, were all treated with equal disdain.

As the afternoon progressed I had a quiet word with our host as I felt somewhat overwrought by the ordeal that I was facing, which I am sure that she sensed. I broached the subject of tomorrow's meeting and tried to apologise for mixing business with pleasure but she had smiled and said that I was not to worry and then admitted that she "did it all of the time."

"I don't know what came over me!" I said, trying to sound very contrite.

She smiled again. "Oh I do. The details are all in a photograph on my desk at the bank. She's a double 'D' isn't she? Lovely face with a nice arse, and intelligent too, very intelligent. She played you like an expert. Her husband's a bit of a limp dick but she's definitely the one in charge in that relationship: I think it's what they call an FYM."

I looked at her. Yes, Mrs Holloway had definitely taken the lead during our little meeting.

Still if Helena wasn't overly concerned by my actions, perhaps things hadn't been as disastrous as I believed. Either that or she was trying to put me at my ease or let me down gently - oh, help! I must really have messed things up. I looked around and tried to spot a familiar face: someone who wasn't going to judge me for the failure that I clearly was.

Ah! There was someone new so I moved across the room towards her. She was a small Indian woman of indeterminate age and not much above five foot tall. I introduced myself and learned that her name was Ishana. "I've not seen you at one of these functions before." I commented.

"This is the first one of these that I have attended." She admitted looking up at me with doe-like hazel eyes. Eyes that never-the-less seemed to bore right into me.

"Enjoying things?" I asked, for want of something to say.

She had smiled. "It's a little overwhelming." Which was an odd thing for a Mistress to say and should have put me on my guard, but she did look small and inoffensive.

She frowned prettily and asked. "Tell me,who is that very tall, beautiful blonde, the one with long, flowing hair?"