Meet Me in St. Louis Ch. 06

"Well, Cynthia," Charlotte said after the toast, accepting her invitation to call her by her Christian name, "now you have decided, there's no need for the hotel - we have some rooms waiting for you next door at Emily's old place."

Cynthia smiled but shook her head.

"I appreciate the kindness and the gesture, but it would send a signal to old Franklin - one that we do not want to send. Let him come, see us in the hotel and come to the obvious conclusion. I take it you have plans?"

"I do," Charlotte replied, "and... "

"I don't need to know, Charlotte, you and, is it Grace, are more than capable of dealing with this - far more capable than I am."

Charlotte appreciated the comment, later thinking how smart it was of Cynthia. At one fell swoop she had distanced herself from possible illegal activity, on the other she had demonstrated her confidence in Charlotte.

Lunch was a convivial affair, partly because of what Charlotte called the fake fake alcohol. It said "non-alcoholic" on the label; but the label lied.

As the conversation ebbed and flowed, Cynthia tried to take the measure of the women she was dealing with. She had thought Charlotte a natural blonde, but she could see, close up, that the fetching blonde effect was chemically induced. She was more than a foot taller, and she would have put her breast size as a generous B cup. She was unfashionably curvaceous. Was she a lesbian, Cynthia wondered? Indeed where any of them, all of them?

Grace was quite another matter. The natural red was showing through the dye, and she had that pale Irish skin, with freckles, which went with the accent. She was, Cynthia noted, only a few inches taller than herself, slightly built in her own manner. It was clear that she had something of a temper. Cynthia could imagine what she might be planning for Fleming.

Her friend Deborah was, by contrast, unremarkable. A stout working class girl who would always do her best, she, too was curvaceous. She was, Cynthia thought, a girl who liked to please and to follow a lead; that would explain the relationship between her and Grace.

By way of another contrast was the enigma of Amanda. A little shorter than Charlotte, but taller than Grace, Cynthia put her at five foot three or four. Her blonde hair was entirely natural, and her breasts, while smaller, were a full B cup. The way she looked at Charlotte, and vice-versa, told Cynthia that there was something between them. They were so demonstrably Mistress and Maid, that she thought it had to be a cover for something else.

Even as Cynthia was trying to read the dynamics between her new partners, Charlotte was doing the same. That Cynthia was in charge was clear. She guessed she had to be, to avoid being overlooked (as she was physically). But she got no clue to the woman's sexual leanings. Petra was her sort of woman, and if it came to that (as it might) then Fred Burke was her sort of man. How did Cynthia envisage her role?

After lunch they relaxed. Burke suggested that as Cynthia wanted to stay at the hotel, they should check in and invite Franklin to St Louis for Monday, an idea which garnered universal approval.

Once the newcomers were gone, with suitable expressions of affection, Grace asked Charlotte what she made of it all?

"On the whole, positive. As far as I can make out, we can continue to run the place as we always have, with Cynthia getting Lady Emily's share of the profits. What's your view?"

Grace was well-known for her scepticism. It was not that she trusted few outside her immediate circle, it was that she trusted no one at all outside it.

"If I could work that little woman out, I'd be a deal happier. That Petra, well she's real attractive, and I wouldn't say no, similar with her guy. But she's going to need us for this Franklin fella. I'll get in touch with Jack." Jack Balanchine was the "go to guy;" if you had to ask what it was you went to him for, you wouldn't even know him.

"Just what I was thinking, Grace. You set it up. And now, ladies, let's get things ready for this evening. I will take Cynthia to see her aunt's grave in a while."

At the Central Hotel, Cynthia made a decision. She was used to being overlooked on such occasions, and the Reception Desk manager automatically deferred to Fred.

"Mr Burke, one room for your wife and yourself, and another for your daughter?"

Fred was about to say something when Cynthia intervened.

"Oh that would be nice... Daddy!"

Petra looked at her and smiled. She knew Cynthia was giving their relationship her blessing. She had been worrying how to deal with her growing feelings for Fred without hurting her employer, and now, with characteristic delicacy, Cynthia had told her not to worry.'

Once checked in and unpacked, they met again in the Lounge.

"Charlotte said she would pop round about three and take me to the cemetery, so why don't you two enjoy St Louis? Sent that cable to Franklin, won't you, Fred?"

He promised he would, and Cynthia watched the two of them go off together. They made a good couple, and she was not going to stand in their way. Her own future was veiled in a cloud of unknowing.

Cynthia was grateful when Charlotte turned up with a cab to take them to the cemetery. She had felt herself becoming maudlin. She smiled to herself at the irony - that a cemetery should be the alternative to being maudlin; but then, as she reflected, she had never really known Aunt Emily.

The cemetery seemed vast. Charlotte talked about "Emily" as they walked to the grave, which was marked with an expensive but simple marble headstone which bore the dates of her life and her name, with the subscription: "she was loved."

"That's a lovely touch, Charlotte. What more can one ask in the end?"

"Than to be loved? Nothing. Do you mind my asking if you have a lover?"

Cynthia hesitated, smiled, and replied:

"Is what you really want to know is whether I am lesbian?"

Charlotte coloured slightly. Emily had always said that the English upper classes were "buttoned up" and never asked direct questions; her niece had not had the memo.

"Yes, I was. Are you?"

"If I tell you, will you answer a question I have?"

"If I can, yes."

"I am. Petra and I have been lovers since leaving England, but her future lies here and with someone like Fred."

"Hence the wistful tone when you mentioned love?"

"Yes. Now my question. Does Amanda take the lead in your relationship?"

Whatever Charlotte had been expecting, this was not it. What had happened to that English "reserve?"

Colouring, she answered with a question of her own.

"How did you know?"

Cynthia grinned, glad that her instinct had been correct.

"I have been there; I recognise the signs."

"You, you are submissive?" Charlotte was shocked.

"That's a broad subject. No, I don't think I am, generally, though I have enjoyed being so on occasions."

All of which led them to a discussion, during which Charlotte spoke of the pressures of running the business and of being 'Diana.'

"Mandy allows me to relax. There is no pressure, not even the pressure to please her."

"It sounds to me, Charlotte, as though you are in love with her."

Suddenly it hit Charlotte. Cynthia was right!"

She hugged her.

"Thank you!"

"For what? "Cynthia grinned as she emerged from her bosom.

"For naming it. I had not done so. But you are right."

"As for running the house, I should be glad to know more about the business to help if I can. And no, that is not my way of trying to ease you out."

"Emily told me you English aristocrats were given to never speaking your mind - what happened with you?"

"Oh the memo went above my head."

"Let's get something to drink and we can talk."

Used as she was to London's cafés, Cynthia did not miss her evening cocktails - but Charlotte did, lamenting bitterly on the folly of Prohibition. But it did not take long for Cynthia to get her onto the topic she was interested in - how Emily's Escorts worked.

Charlotte explained that for the most part it was for women, but that there were good reasons to accommodate some men.

"The Chief of Police and one of the Congressmen are regulars, and so is the wife of the Governor, so we have friends in high places. In some senses Prohibition has helped us. There is a warren of tunnels under the House going down to the Landing, and I have offered their use to some of the bootleggers - which again, gives us some cover where we might need it. We are not in competition with them, and they will protect us from their competitors."

"You've got it well-organised, Charlotte."

"Thanks. The real danger is from the brothels. Some of them would like some of our women to work for them, and they dislike the idea of women going with other women."

"Offends their professional ethics, you think?"

Charlotte joined in Cynthia's giggling.

She explained that there was a general room where soft (and not so soft) drinks were served, and where snacks could be had. This was also where the "mating game" was played.

"We have some regular clients who know which girls they want, and book them in advance. Other regulars like to pick and choose as the moment grabs them. Then, downstairs, we have the dungeon."

"Dungeon?"

Charlotte smiled, she'd become so used to the patterns and modes of the House that she had quite forgotten how others might react.

"Yes. We were speaking about subs earlier. Some submissives like more than a good spanking, so we have whips, canes, and other instruments of pain there. We also have a nurse to hand, just in case."

"I see," Cynthia pondered, rather taken aback, not least by the reaction between her thighs.

"You can if you want. Some women like to make an exhibition of themselves."

"So how does it all work?"

"Basically, word of mouth. Most of the St Louis and St Charles women's organisations have one or two of our regulars in them, and the word spreads. We are discreet, and many of the husbands think their wives are attending educational evenings. They are, but not in the sense their husbands might think."

That brought another laugh.

"Say, Cynthia, if you are not booked tonight, would you like to come to the House?"

"Sure, I can send a note to Petra and Fred."

And that was what she did, which was why, at seven o'clock, she found herself in the main sitting room.

"Grace, Cynthia wants to observe, are you happy to help?"

The smile on Grace's face told its own story.

"If you would come with me, Cynthia, we have an observation post off the bedroom. Jen, whom you have not met, is there with Mrs Kurtz, who is the lady whose family owns much of the area around the waterfront."

Trembling slightly, Cynthia followed Grace into the small room, where, through a one-way mirror, they could see what was happening in the room.

"They've only just begun, so you can watch all the fun."

Mrs Kurtz must have been in her forties, she was tall, clearly looked after her figure, and looked the very image of the soignée lady-about-town, in an elegant and expensive dress. Jen, by contrast, was the sort of young woman one saw serving in the new department stores which were all the rage. What immediately struck Cynthia was that the dynamic was not what she would have imagined, given their disparity if position.

"So, Mrs Kurtz, what brings you to me - again?"

Jen shot her a stern look, which made Mrs Kurtz look down at her well-shod feet.

"Look at me, girl!"

"Sorry Miss Jen," Mrs Kurtz said, looking up and bushing. I am here for the normal, Miss Jen."

"Well now," Jen laughed, we have observers today, not that you will know which of your friends they might be, so you are going to need to spell it out!"

"Oh my goodness! They, they won't tell, will they Miss?"

"Only if you don't fucking well get on with it, girl!"

Watching this common young woman addressing the older, elegant lady in such terms made Cynthia shiver. A reaction which did not go unnoticed by Grace.

"I have been a bad girl, Miss, and I need to be punished. I need to spank my bare bottom and make me stand in the corner until you allow me to lick your pussy, Miss."

The look on Mrs Kurtz's face would, by itself, have sent shivers to Cynthia's core, but combined with the words and the tone Jen had adopted, it made her tingle between her thighs; she was conscious that her panties were getting wet.

"Good girl. Now strip, get that dress off, then the rest of your outfit. I want my naughty girl nude. You are my naughty little girl, aren't you?"

"Yes, Miss Jen."

As Mrs Kurtz undressed slowly, first displaying a fine set of lingerie, then just her panties, Cynthia's breath came in ragged bursts. Her breasts were not large, but they were firm, with only a little sagging; her dark pink nipples were had and crinkled, but most surprising of all, she was hairless in her pubic region.

"Jen makes sure they shave, Cynthia, emphasises their inferior position. Good idea, eh?"

Cynthia nodded. She'd never seen an adult with no pubic hair, and there was, indeed, something very erotic about the sight.

"Ever thought of shaving yours, Cynthia?"

In fact, Cynthia's own growth there was sparse, and she had occasionally wondered about just getting rid of it, but she was hardly going to tell Grace that,

"Not really, no!"

Grace, seeing the flush in Lady Cynthia's cheeks, smirked to herself. She wagered a small bet with herself that the little bitch had.

"You have a very sexy ass and nice tits, Mrs Kurtz. What do you have?"

"A very sexy ass, Miss Jen, and nice tits."

"Cup them for me and pinch those nipples."

Mrs Kurtz did so, moaning and rocking from side to side slightly as she did so.

"Who owns those tits?"

"You do, Miss Jen."

"Good girl. Now I think calling you by a grand name such as Mrs Kurtz is a bit much for a nude tart, shall we call you Trixie again?"

"Yes, Miss Jen."

Jen watched as Trixie pinched her nipples, smiling at her obedience.

"Good girls deserve rewarding. What would you like as your reward, little Trixie?"

"Could I please touch myself Miss Jen."

"Touch yourself where?"

"My, my vagina, Miss Jen."

"Nice girls have vaginas, Trixie. What do bad little girls have that they want to touch?"

"Cunts, Miss, they have cunts. I am a slut with a wet cunt Miss, oh please, please, please can I touch my wet cunt?"

"Of course, good girl!"

Trixie's hand shot between her thighs and unashamedly, she began to rub herself, moaning as she did so.

"Oh thank you Miss, thank you!"

She waited a few minutes as Trixie got closer to her climax and then stopped her.

"Now clean your fingers."

Trixie licked her fingers clean.

"All fours, now, slut!"

Mrs Kurtz, now deeply into her "Trixie" role did as she had been instructed.

Jen then removed her panties and sat on the bed.

"Eat me out, slut!"

Cynthia watched, fascinated, as the scene played itself out. As Trixie licked and sucked, she felt herself get wetter. Her hand was tempted.

Grace, well aware of the effects the scene was having on Cynthia, talked as though she was not.

"You can see the game here, Cynthia. Mrs Kurtz is a rich, powerful woman, always has to be on top of things and be in control. Someone like Jen would be lucky to be her maid, yet for some reason, Mrs K likes to be "Trixie" and be treated like this. It's odd, don't you think?"

Jen's hands were on Trixie's head, pulling her into her pussy. Cynthia could see the pleasure taking her over, her face becoming flushed, then her upper chest followed. She was calling Trixie her slut, pressing her pussy into her face, using her.

"I can't work out why you rich ladies like this shit, but as you can see, it pays the bills here."

"Are there other combinations?" Asked Cynthia, trying to take her attention away from what was happening beyond the window.

"Sure, most you could think of. Some ladies like being made to be escorts, Trixie's one of them. In some moods she will let herself be taken several times by different clients."

The noise from the room distracted them both,

Jen came with a great shudder, pushing shamelessly on Trixie's face, not stopping until all the aftershocks had passed,

Cynthia could see how wet Trixie's face was. As Jen pulled away, she could see that Trixie's breasts were also coated.

"Good girl, you pleased me!"

"Thank you, Miss," said a very red-faced and messy Trixie.

"Now, you will fuck one of the clients for me, and then, and only then will I allow you to cum. Go clean up, dirty girl."

"Yes, Miss Jen, thank you Miss Jen."

"Well there you are, Cynthia, that's the sort of thing some of our girls do. Did you enjoy it?"

Cynthia was feeling lightheaded. Conscious of the state of her panties, she wanted to say yes to Grace, but feared saying so.

"I am glad. You can stay to watch Trixie if you want, but Jen is now free for an hour, if you want that itch scratched?"

"Itch?" Cynthia stuttered.

"You do want to rub, don't you?" Grace grinned.

Cynthia hesitated.