Meet Me in St. Louis Ch. 07

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

Instinct took over.

That makes it sound as though there is a division between it and the conscious mind. We say, "I did it on instinct," to excuse ourselves, well, mostly to excuse ourselves. It is like the use of the "emotionally disturbed person," defence in Court. "My client did not intend to hit him with a hammer, your Honour, but years of abuse left her emotionally disturbed and she was not responsible for her actions."

It is a good defence. A shame that more juries do not have on them women (and men) who have suffered such abuse; they might understand. It's a shame that shyster lawyers diminish its effect by overusing it. But then that's life - full of shame, moments which once past cannot be retrieved. The Rubicon is crossed. From that moment all is different.

And yet, Caesar decided to cross the Rubicon because otherwise he faced death for defying his enemies at home. At some point that great brain infused instinct with a stiff dose of reason. The two are not as binary as we would sometimes have ourselves believe. To have gone back to Rome without his army would have meant certain death for Caesar; to cross the Rubicon was to threaten civil war and possible death. Thus put, the choice, whilst not much of a choice, was nonetheless obvious. Crossing the Rubicon might have brought death, but it might also have brought glory.

Did Eve want the apple when the serpent tempted her? He had prepared the ground well, making it clear that God did not want them to eat it because he wanted to hold onto his power; once they had eaten the apple, they would have been like gods themselves. Power. The serpent was a male serpent. Power matters to men. Does it to women? In some ways, of course, but is it the ruling passion it is with men?

Cynthia's ruling passion at that point was to nod, say yes, and push her dress up so she could rub herself until she came. She had that power. But the moment she gave into that instinct, power would drain from her.

It was not that, like Eve with that apple, she did not want it. Watching Jen and Trixie had left her warm and swollen under her panties, which were damp with her need. At that moment she wanted it more than anything else. She would have given anything for it.

Which was where instinct kicked in, infused with a strong dose of reason.

"I do, Grace," she replied, watching the other woman's grin. "But I am not doing so. But if you need to, I shan't mind!"

The look of bafflement on Grace's face provided at least some compensation for the lost orgasm.

"Me, no, no, I am used to it, I, I just thought you might want to as it is your first time watching."

Cynthia smiled to herself. A good attempt at recovery, but she thought to herself: "I know your little game, madam."

Later she would reflect on that moment. She would always tell herself that "instinct" had saved her, but she was too self-aware to believe it. Instinct unaided would have had her naked and kissing Grace's feet; instinct would have led her down a path of servitude. It would have done that because part of her wanted it.

She had fantasised more than once about what it might be like to be an "escort?" To be available to anyone who wanted you, to have no choice, to do as you were told. Part of her wanted that.

There were, reason then added, millions of women who lived their lives that way. They had no choice. There was something decadent in her desire to ape them, at least sexually, and yet, even that would be a false equivalence. Women in that world submitted to men. That was not her desire. So, even in submitting to Grace, Cynthia would be making a choice. If choice involved reason, reason told her not to go there.

America was the land of opportunity. Aunt Emily had offered her opportunities she never would have had at home. She would not, she knew, have minded being like Charlotte was with Amanda, but that was not what was on offer at that moment.

The temptation was great. She could submit. She could follow any and all the desires she and others had. She could be the best escort in Emily's, the most in demand, the most skilled. But the moment passed, and she remained Lady Cynthia.

"Well, if you are happy to go, let's go and see Charlotte."

Grace, who could not quite believe that her prey had escaped, had no option but to agree. As she told Deborah later:

"What the fuck happened? I had her. She was ripe and ready for the plucking - and then, poof, nothing!"

Charlotte, who was taking a drink with two of the clients, smiled when she saw Cynthia.

"If you will excuse me ladies. So Cynthia, what did you make of it?"

"It was interesting. Are there many like 'Trixie?' Is that one of the things you cater for?"

"It is, you'd be amazed at the number of respectable women who want a version of what Mrs Kurtz wants. We provide a safe place for them to experiment. Would you like some supper?"

Cynthia welcomed the opportunity, and she and Charlotte occupied a private corner table.

"Charlotte, can I ask a blunt question?"

"Do you ask any other sort, darling?"

"Not really. Whose idea was it to show me Mrs Kurtz?"

"Grace's, I left it up to her decide what to show you, why?"

"Because I think that she wanted to see if I was another Mrs Kurtz."

Charlotte's face registered her sense of surprise.

"Really? And are you?"

"In another time and place perhaps, but not here and not now. I did not escape from the confines imposed on a woman by Society in England only to apply some fresh fetters made in America. But as you were direct, can I ask whether you are another Mrs Kurtz?"

Charlotte coloured.

"We have not got that far yet. I have my role as Diana to play out here, and it would not make that easier to succumb to my baser desires."

The two women continued to probe and fence as they ate. Cynthia could see that Amanda was keeping some of the clients from disturbing them. Her role intrigued her.

Every now and then, a couple would emerge downstairs, fixing their clothes and hair, always looking satisfied. Emily's clearly provided something these women needed.

It was not until late that Mrs Kurtz appeared with Grace. Back in her elegant outfit, her hair brushed, one would hardly have imagined the 'Trixie' she had been a few hours earlier - but there was a look of satisfaction about her that told its own story.

"Mrs K, do meet Lady Cynthia, she is Emily's niece and our new owner."

Mrs Kurtz blushed a deep red.

"Do not worry, Mrs Kurtz, your secret is as safe with me as with Grace and Charlotte."

"Thank you, Lady Cynthia. I love this place - and so many of us."

"It will be safe in my hands."

As the clients and girls melted away, Charlotte offered to walk back to the hotel with Cynthia, and in the bar there, over some very boring non-alcoholic liquid, they discussed the events of the morrow.

It took Cynthia time to get to sleep. She wanted relief, but reasoned that it would be wiser of her to learn some self-control. If she could resist Grace's wiles, she could certainly resist self-pleasure; it was not as though, at Emily's, she would lack options.

She woke just before seven o'clock, bathed, dressed, and went down for breakfast. Charlotte and Grace were coming over mid-morning to discuss tactics, so Cynthia treated herself to a second coffee and some ghastly concoction called "hash browns." Then Petra and Fred turned up to relieve her.

Cynthia had a twinge of envy. It was clear that she had made the right decision cutting Petra loose from any romantic obligations she might have felt, the two of them looked very happy together. The world had many places for heterosexual relationship, but her preference had no public recognition; it was frowned upon; women like herself were "perverts," going against God's will. And yet, God had made her too, and if he had wanted her to desire men, he'd have equipped her accordingly.

"You two look happy."

"We are, Cynthia." Fred said, before Petra could.

"Well, I have been thinking, and Emily's and my estate could do with an American lawyer - would you like the job, Fred?"

"You mean it?"

"I do."

"I have some contacts here already, and there's plenty of my kind of business, so yes, sign me up."

Petra looked at her.

"Cynthia, you're the nicest woman I ever met."

"Well, darling, you are worth it! But I fear I am going to be keeping Fred occupied for part of the morning, but you are welcome to join the conspiracy!"

The "conspiracy" was a meeting at the Soulard House to discuss the future. Charlotte welcomed the idea of Fred taking over as their lawyer:

"We can fire Franklin as well as... well," she smiled, "doing what I have planned! He can work with our accountant, Dankworth, and it is good to have you on board Fred!"

"Thank you, Ma'am, a pleasure. Old Franklin left New York yesterday afternoon - he will be here on the noon train."

"What I would suggest, Cynthia, is that if you are happy with this, you see him, come here with him, and we can do the rest!"

"Agreed."

Franklin was affability itself when he met Cynthia in the lobby of the hotel.

"My Lady! What a delight to see you! I shall make sure everything is done expeditiously. I even have an independent valuation of the properties, so you can be sure you are getting a good price!"

Fred had told her all about the "independent valuations," which came from a friend of Franklin's who got a cut of what was made. As he habitually valued places at twenty percent less than the market could bear, there was plenty of money to be made this way.

Cynthia smiled sweetly.

"Thank you so much, Mr Franklin. Maybe we should go round to the House for a spot of lunch, and you can look over it while Petra and I do some sight-seeing? You know I have no head for these things, and I'd only be in the way of your inventory."

Franklin grinned to himself. She really was the easiest pheasant to pluck, and nice with it. As he fully intended to "try out" the "wares," he was relieved at not having to make some excuse that would give him an hour or two.

"My Lady, a woman should never have to worry her pretty little head about this sort of thing - it's what men are for! I take it Fred will be there?"

"I think Fred is lunching with the accountant, and they will bring you the books later."

Franklin beamed. 'Good,' the thought to himself, 'Burke could to the hard work while he enjoyed himself.

Cynthia walked with Franklin to the House and having made the necessary introductions, went on her way - all the way to the back of the House where Deborah let her in.

"Thank you, Deborah, I thought it would be useful for me to be here."

Deborah blushed.

"I have not really had a chance to talk to you, Ma'am, so welcome your decision. Do you want to watch?"

"Oh, it is happening in that room, is it? No, men are not my thing."

"It is, Ma'am. Really, you've never been with a guy at all?"

"No, I have always liked other women though."

"Well, truth to tell, Ma'am, I am a bit of a slut, as I like both. But I prefer women."

"That's nice to know," Cynthia said, sensing that Deborah's interest was not platonic.

"Yes, Ma'am, it's just that, well, you know, the job means that I get to do what they need."

What Deborah had not said was eloquent in its silence.

"Would there be a more comfortable room for us to wait in?"

"Yes, Ma'am, we could wait in mine."

The blush on Deborah's cheeks told Cynthia all she needed to know.

As they entered the room, Cynthia caught Deborah's hand.

"You're a sweet girl Deborah, and perhaps we could find a pleasant way to spend the next hour."

"Would you like a drink, Ma'am?"

Cynthia fixed Deborah with a stare:

"Of your nectar Deborah, if you have no objection?"

Deborah flushed red.

"You, you want ME Ma'am?"

"I do!"

"How can I please you Ma'am?"

Cynthia smiled.

"You can take that dress off and your chemise - I am sure you would look delicious in just your panties."

"Oh, Ma'am, yes, Ma'am!"

Cynthia watched as Deborah stripped to her panties, her full breasts swaying enticingly, her nipples hardening - as indeed were Cynthia's.

"Beautiful, Deborah," Cynthia said, admiring her figure - her breasts were C cup, Cynthia guessed size 34, and she had a curvaceous backside. Nothing remarkable had been Cynthia's first assessment; it was one she was revising.

"Now, Deborah, as my maid is absent, I want you to help me undress."

"Oh, yes, yes Ma'am!"

There was, for Cynthia, a delight in Deborah's enthusiasm. She was a sweet girl, used, she thought, to being underestimated, used, and taken for granted; that was the usual way with girls from her background, regardless of the country.

As Deborah helped Lady Cynthia undress, she stopped her when she was down to her panties.

"That will do for now, but I still need you to be more naked than I am. Let's have those panties."

Cynthia watched with pleasure as Deborah's breasts swayed and jigged.

"Now give them to me!"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Looking at her, Cynthia sniffed the panties.

"What is this, my girl?"

"Please, Ma'am, it's my goo, Ma'am.'

"You really are a slut, aren't you, Deborah?"

"Yes, yes, Ma'am. How can I please you?"

"By lying back on that bed and parting your legs."

Whatever it was usually happened to Deborah when she was serving as an escort, it was clear to Cynthia, observing her reaction, that it was not this."

"Me, lie back, Ma'am?"

"Yes, you!"

As though in a daze, Deborah lay back, bending her knees as she parted her legs.

Cynthia noted that she had trimmed her bush as she kissed up the inside of Deborah's thighs; she also noted, with a smile, the trembling, and the sighing. As Deborah's hands touched her head, she knew she was right.

The moment her fingers peeled back Deborah's swollen lips, Cynthia knew not only that she was right, but that this was what Deborah needed, not the games of Emily's, not the transactional nature of the contact she usually had, but something more real.

Deborah's pussy tasted strongly of her arousal. Cynthia's broad tongue licked slowly along the glistening pinkness, and suddenly, she could not resist using her fingers, opening her up, twisting slightly as she opened her, and then pressing into the gooey mess. She hoped that the walls were thick, as otherwise the whole house would hear what Deborah was saying.

"Oh, oh, oh Ma'am, please, yes, please fuck me, take me, take me!"

As that was precisely what Cynthia intended, she (literally) pressed on, sliding a third finger in, which Deborah took with ease, pushing herself onto them, her juices bubbling from her stretched lips. She was mauling her breasts like a woman possessed, babbling streams of obscenities as though some dam holding them back had burst; like her pussy, there was an endless stream.

Cynthia found her clit which was unhooded, proudly stiff and needing what she was about to get. The moment she licked Deborah, the woman began to pant, her breath becoming ragged.

"Ma'am, Ma'am I, I can't hold it, sorry Ma'am!"

As "holding it" was the very last thing Cynthia wanted, she told Deborah:

"Cum for me, cum, show me how much you want this! Be a good girl!"

The last words were like a magic spell, Deborah shook, gripping the bed covers, arching her back and pressing herself onto Cynthia. Her screams must have been audible all over the house as her warm thighs gripped Cynthia's face.

Cynthia felt her fingers gripped as Deborah went into multiple spasms, one orgasm being followed by another. She lapped up the evidence of her triumph and stayed with Deborah as, gradually, she calmed down. Only then did Cynthia slide upwards to kiss her.

"That was what you needed!"

"Oh Ma'am, is that how I taste? Yes, yes, thank you Ma'am, I loved it. How can I help you?"

"You just did, Deborah. I wanted to see you like this, and am delighted that you trusted me."

"But, Ma'am, you could do anything you wanted with me."

"But nothing. I just did what I wanted."

On an impulse, Deborah hugged Cynthia.

"Thank you, Ma'am, no one ever treated me like that before."

"Well," Cynthia said, smiling tenderly at her, "be a good girl and they will do so again. But now, I think we need to clean up and see what has been happening whilst we were having a good time."

Just as they finished washing, there was a knock on the door. Deborah opened it. It was Charlotte.

"Is Cynthia here? Oh," she said, spotting her, "I see you are." She smiled, "I gather Deborah enjoyed your company?"

"Oh, I enjoyed hers, so it is mutual. What's happened?"

"Come see," she grinned.

Cynthia walked with her to Grace's room where, to her shock, Mr Franklin was tied to the bed, his modesty covered by a small towel.

"Goodness, Mr Franklin!"

The look on his face was priceless.

Then a tall, good-looking young man stepped forward.

"I'm Jack, and these photographs may be of interest."

Cynthia was rather overwhelmed. She had never been in a room with a naked man, and had no desire to see whatever was in the photographs.

"Thank you, Jack. Charlotte, can this man get dressed, you and I need to talk."

Once out into the main room, the two women giggled.

"What happened? Spare me too much detail."

"Oh it worked like a dream - a wet one for him. Turns out he wanted Grace to spank him, then tie him up. She was only too happy to - and then Jack came in and took the photos. He will be no trouble."

A shaken and shamefaced Franklin was ushered in.

"Franklin, I am shocked!"

"I can explain it all my lady."

"Save it! I do not want to see you again. You will hand all the papers over to Burke. You will behave yourself, or Mrs Franklin and the Bar Association will receive the photographs. Do I make myself clear!"

Shocked, but also a little excited, Franklin agreed. Just at that moment Burke turned up with Petra.

"Now, Franklin, Burke has all the papers you need to sign, so SIGN them!"

Totally cowed, Franklin obeyed.

"I will have no trouble from you, will I?"

"No, no my lady."

"Well in return, you may visit here once a month and Miss Grace will keep you on the straight and narrow!"

His tail very firmly between his legs. Franklin left.

"Well, ladies - and Fred," Charlotte said, "let's make a toast!"

"To Emily's Escorts and ladies who rule the roost."

"Was that 'rooster' perhaps?" Cynthia grinned.