Mike & Karen Ch. 07

She entered the music room, wherein sat so many instruments: the harpsichord, the piano, her violin and cello, the flute, and even a pair of harps, one orchestral and the other Celtic. And of course, she could play them all. Her preference may have been the stately violin, but she was more than proficient with any of these. Comfortable chairs were spaced around the acoustically designed room, allowing her parents to listen to her while she practiced or played for them.

She knew there would be a command performance this weekend, there always was. Her father expected her to keep practicing, no matter where she lived, and her university life was not to interfere with her phenomenal talents with music.

She actually didn't mind playing for them, to be honest. Her mother was clearly transported by listening to her, and it was one of the easier ways to get her father's approval, because God knows, it wasn't by venturing into the world of Experimental Physics.

Poor little rich girl indeed.

Odo shuffled down the hall toward her, managing to somehow look dignified in spite of his advanced age. The beagle had been her father's constant companion for almost as long as Karen had been alive. They got along very well, although it was clear that Odo considered her a beloved child of his master, and not another human superior. It was cute how the animal almost doted on her sometimes.

She smiled and squatted down to caress his neck, making the old dog snuffle and wag his tail. His jowls were decidedly grey, his skin drooping off his body, and his spine seemed rather wattled. He nuzzled her hand lovingly and then turned around, expecting her to follow him down the hallway.

Karen sighed as she stood and began following. Clearly, she was being summoned. She considered her entrance; should she just walk into the study with her schoolbag on her shoulder, much as she had during her boarding school days, or to opt for a more dignified approach that would not ruffle her father so much?

She dropped the bag in a small chair next to a portrait of some ancient relative of days gone by. She corrected her walk, returning easily to the model of elegance and poise she'd been bred to be. There was no time to change into more appropriate clothing, but it wasn't really necessary, either. Elegance was innate, not sartorial.

She followed her canine chaperone into the study, where the melodic strains of a Bach keyboard partita were playing from a radio. Her mother was standing in one corner on top of a white tarp, busily painting away on some project that screamed psychedelic freedom. The spattered coveralls Miranda Gordon wore were a stark contrast to Jonathon Blackwell's crisp charcoal-grey suit, which didn't dare crease, even though he was sitting in an ornate chair, reading The Robb Report. He looked up from his magazine, his cool blue eyes regarding her evenly.

"I am glad to see that the trappings of university life have not interfered with your punctuality," Jonathon mused, his voice and face showing the faintest traces of approval in his otherwise inscrutable expression.

"The last time I checked, O progenitor, the purpose of institutions of higher learning was to improve upon one's character, was it not?" she retorted, smirking and then curtsying, even though she was not wearing a dress.

"Oh, Jonathan, show a little compassion, you ogre," Miranda chided as she put down her brush and went to her beloved daughter, hugging her lovingly. "Don't mind your father, Karen, he's missed you terribly and it has interfered with his circuitry."

"I missed you both too, mom," Karen whispered back, feeling her eyes tear up. "Being away is still hard."

"Perhaps, but you are the most gifted member of either of our families, my girl, and you will do great things," Jonathon Blackwell said, rising from his chair and approaching the pair. Miranda stepped back and the father stood in front of his daughter, his hands on her upper arms, assessing her. "You're growing into your adulthood well, Karen."

"Growing takes little effort, father," Karen replied, standing tall. "Living up to my name is my challenge."

"No, my love, exceeding your name is your ambition," Miranda pointed out. "And let's be honest, it won't be difficult for you."

"I daresay nothing should be difficult for her," Jonathon almost agreed. "Your breeding speaks for itself, girl."

"As you command, father," Karen said, sighing inwardly. Direct approval, just once, wouldn't be such a bad thing. "Since I am here for the weekend, what will I be doing?"

"Nothing exhausting," the Blackwell patriarch said, turning and walking over to a small table on which sat a crystal decanter and some brandy snifters. "Akhtemar, direct from Armenia. Miranda?"

The brunette woman nodded her assent. Karen looked at her mother, repressing a sigh of contentment upon seeing her. Yes, she loved her father, as difficult as he could be, but her mother was her true joy and inspiration in life. Her lush brown hair was threaded with red, courtesy of her Scottish lineage. Her brown eyes were rimmed in a bluish-green that enchanted anyone staring into them. She was statuesque and curvy, capable of looking very posh and regal when called upon, even when she wore coveralls to paint her hippie art.

Jonathon Blackwell, in contrast, almost seemed like a painting, akin to those portrayed on the ancestral wall, done in crisp colours but somehow formal and deep. His cold blue eyes were like lasers, but also spoke of subtle, brilliant intellect. His hair was an ash-blond, kept short but formally stylish. His demeanour was aristocratic, his expression always one of analysis, given to disdain. Few things in life outside of his wife, his daughter, and his beagle carried his ready approval.

"Karen?" he queried, holding up a snifter. "I know you're not quite legal to drink yet, but maybe an exception?"

"Thank you, father," she replied, clasping her hands in front of her lap and nodding. "I will take one."

"Let's go to the atrium," Miranda suggested, leading the way. Karen followed, while Jonathon and Odo brought up the rear. The atrium was strangely calm, since the house surrounding it blocked most of the October weather effects. They sat around a small wrought-iron table together, with Odo curling up near Karen's feet, clearly pleased to see her.

"So you said 'nothing exhausting' would be happening during my visit, but then ceased to elaborate on the subject," Karen pointed out while swirling the brandy around gently in its snifter, to release its bouquet and flavour. "What, then, am I in store for?"

"I was hoping to visit an art show with you," Miranda mentioned, sipping at her drink. "Will there be time for that, Jonathon?"

The blond aristocrat considered. "We do have a visitor coming this afternoon," he said finally. "You might remember him, Karen."

"Let me guess," she ventured, almost interrupting her father, but her neutral tone made it quite clear she was unimpressed. "Would it happen to be Edward McNoughton?"

Miranda glanced over at her husband, whose eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "And how, pray, did you extrapolate that?"

Karen shrugged: "I keep track of your stock and dealings in the business columns. I know ol' Eddie's dad, Chester McNoughton, has been wooing you for some time now about forming a partnership between our electronics and mainframing endeavours with his advertising juggernaut. He sends over Edward, his eligible bachelor son, to talk about coalescing this partnership around connubial bonds, much as your father had done with the Gordons."

Jonathon said nothing, merely observing his daughter.

"He's sending over a suitor for me, isn't he?" Karen almost demanded, although she could already see she was right.

Jonathon nodded slightly. "You are truly brilliant, Karen. Well done and well played. As tempting as this merger he suggests might be, I think its future is best left up to you. Entertain Edward tonight, Karen. After that, the decision is yours alone."

Karen's heart thundered in fury in her chest, but she didn't let it show. She would obey her father, at least up to this point. He was the great authority figure in her life, and she owed him that much. She closed her eyes and nodded her assent. "Of course, father. Now if you'll please excuse me ..."

She stood up, went to her mother and kissed her on the cheek. She kissed her father similarly before going into the house, taking her brandy with her. Even Odo could tell she wished to be left alone. Miranda looked at Jonathon and sighed.

"She's too good for him, Jonathon," the matriarch stated honestly, knowing that she held her husband's ear like no one else on earth possibly could. "That twit could never be worthy of such a prize."

"Of course not," Jonathon replied, frowning. "This was an offer made to me specifically, Miranda, not to the family. Agreeing to it would put even more capital in my corner and help to keep the family wolves at bay."

"Perhaps, but I see in your eyes that you think it's not worth the price, which is her happiness," Miranda said gently, putting her hand on his. "And the sad part is, no matter how independent she might be, Karen could very well sacrifice her happiness for the family's future."

"You disapprove?" he asked somewhat archly.

"Would I have fallen in love with you and married you if I did?" she cooed, smiling.

Jonathon sighed. The one woman (well, one of two) that he was powerless before, asking him to overlook the empire he'd been bred to rule, for the sake of his daughter. What if they'd had a boy?

He'd just have to leave it in Karen's hands.

***

Karen closed the door to her old bedroom and sighed, leaning back against it, and taking another sip of the brandy while dropping her schoolbag, having retrieved it before coming upstairs. She hated Akhtemar, although she'd never tell her father that. She had, in boarding school, developed a taste for absinthe, to which she'd been introduced by a teacher who was also a lover.

She stepped out of her shoes and took another sip as she headed over to her vanity, sitting down on the plush chair in front of it. She looked at herself in the large mirror, observing her features as she had done countless times throughout her life. Her features were decidedly patrician, like her father's family, but those sharp aquiline faces were softened in her by her mother's Gordon heritage. Her cheekbones were high, but not wedged or angular. Her nose was rather slender, but not long, either. Her eyes were an astonishing tawny-amber colour, which was found in neither family. They were deep and expressive, radiating intelligence and a cool aloofness, but in the presence of those she loved, they were warm and caring.

Her hand caressed her shining bronze hair, which shared the faintest tints of red with her mother. She kept it in a manageable but fashionable Dutch bob, falling just past her jawline. She thought it was rather reminiscent of the elegant but rebellious Flappers of the Roaring Twenties, a fun and sassy style that suited her perfectly.

She slowly pulled off her thin cashmere sweater, revealing her opulent breasts contained within a silken, lacy brassiere. She undid the clasp nestled into her bosom and pulled the garment apart, freeing her breasts from their confines. She was pleased how they stood up straight and did not sag, despite their size, because of the time she took to train and strengthen her lateral, pectoral and oblique muscles. Capped with small, dusky areolas and nipples, she was proud of their appearance and knew she was ogled by men and the envy of women everywhere.

She stood and undid the button of her jeans before shimmying them down, revealing panties that matched her bra. Those came off next, and she moved the chair back and snaked her legs up to rest on it, spreading them to look at her pussy. She had been shaving herself smooth for some years now, except for the tiny strip of coppery hair that sat just above. She considered her netherlips, even and without droop to them, like so many other girls seemed to have. The hood of her clit was visible, the tiny bud just barely peeking out beneath, making her smile.

She used two fingers to pull her lips apart, revealing her bubblegum-pink insides. She almost shook her head as she noticed how she glistened wetly.

The curse of the Gordon women, she thought to herself as one finger from her free hand traced around the outer lips of her womanhood, teasing herself. Always more wet and horny than we would ever admit to anyone.

She closed her eyes and sighed quietly as she felt her finger sliding up and down the slick lips, making her tremble. She couldn't count the number of times over the years she had sat exactly like this, in this very chair, and teased herself until she was so riled that she practically impaled herself on her favourite toy, desperate to cum.

Speaking of ...

She slinked off the chair and wiggled over to her schoolbag, shivering as she felt the wetness between her thighs. She opened the bag and pulled out Roland, named after the greatest of Charlemagne's Paladins. The long, thick and realistic-looking dildo was a comforting weight in her hands. She smiled and gave him an affectionate kiss before returning to her vanity.

Her favourite feature about Roland, aside from his pleasing size, was the suction cup at the base, allowing her to stick him to any convenient surface as her mood allowed. She looked around the room, allowing herself a light giggle as she remembered all the places she'd stuck him over the years for her depraved use.

She couldn't think of many places around the house that remained inviolate, outside of her parents' room, in fact.

She moved her plush chair aside and pulled over another one, one that had a specific purpose. This sturdy, heavy chair had a high back and only a small ring of cushioning around the seat edge, to soften contact with her legs, once the faux center cushion was pulled away. The middle was now quite bare, showing only wood. She smiled as she lovingly fixed the suction cup to the center of the chair, Roland now standing upright and proud.

I don't know, but he seems ... smaller somehow. Why is that?

She wore a forlorn smile as she thought back to the art room, some two weeks before, and what she'd seen when she dared to peek inside.

"I still love you, Roland, I promise," Karen said to her godemiche, stroking it gently. She fetched a tiny plastic bottle of lube from her bag and drizzled it over Roland's head before using her hand to smear it up and down his length. She could already feel the tingle of anticipation deep in her core, and her nipples were hardening.

She needed this release, especially if that insufferable snot Eddie McNoughton was coming to court her. It wouldn't do to have sexual energy pent up inside her, because she might very well punch him if he said anything to anger her.

And she had promised her father that she would try to stop punching the young men who came calling.

Karen slid her tongue along her upper lip unconsciously as she rose and straddled the chair, facing her vanity. She reached back and braced her hands on the sides of the chair's tall back while she looked at herself in the mirror. She trembled, noticing that she could tell her pussy was wet, even without using her fingers to discover it. She bent her knees gradually, the swollen head of Roland now pressing very lightly against those same lips.

She rocked her hips slowly, teasing the head against her lips, parting them slightly, sliding back and forth between them, moving from the narrow, V-shaped base at the bottom, back to her clit, against which the polymer cockhead pressed, making her bite her lip as it tingled. This was a tried-and-true technique for her, one she never tired of. It was so easy to make herself cum.

She shuddered slightly as she eased down, feeling the head pass through the lips and force her tight tunnel apart. These exquisite moments of penetration were so wonderful to her. She relaxed her thighs and knees to allow gravity to do most of the work and she sank down onto the dildo, gasping as it penetrated deeply, pushing her walls wide. Her behind and the back of her thighs touched the chair as she bottomed out on her beloved toy.

God, she'd missed this. She didn't use Roland nearly often enough at the dorm, simply because there was too little time to do so. Most of her sexual release came through making love to her roommate Lisa in any event, and the slender redhead was decidedly intimidated by Roland's size. She'd tried using the dildo once, and her hips nearly popped out of joint. She was even scared to use it on Karen.

Occasionally, she had enough alone time to get in a quick session with him, sometimes even in the communal shower stalls. But none of those missed opportunities mattered now, since Roland was deep inside her and she felt as full as ever. It was Heaven.

"Yessssss ..." she sighed to herself quietly, sliding her legs closed around the dildo and shuddering as her pussy tightened up around it. She held her legs together for close to two minutes, squeezing her thighs as hard as she could. Her fingers gripped the side of the chair seat tightly and she bit her lip, her eyes squeezed shut.

Finally she gasped and leaned forward, her eyes snapping open and going wide. Her skin was flushed pink as an orgasm surged through her, the first of many she would allow herself before her "guest" arrived. Pleasure coursed through her, and she knew she was soaking the wood of the chair. She didn't care; the furniture was serving its sole purpose at this moment.

She leaned against the tall chair back, breathing heavily, entranced by the sight of her magnificent breasts rising and falling in rhythm. One of her hands reached down and played with her clit and her mushy pussylips for several seconds while she caught her breath. There was already sweat on her brow and her skin was decidedly pink from her exertions.

But this session of self-love was far from over - she looked into the vanity mirror, enthralled by the sight of her pussy split wide by the cock deep inside her. Bracing her hands on the side of the chair again, she watched herself as she lifted up slightly and began churning her hips in circular motions, almost as if she were stirring Roland inside herself.

Through heavy-lidded eyes she watched as she fucked the dildo, now sinking up and down on it slowly, deliberately. The sight of the fake cock sliding into her and then coming almost all the way out was intoxicating to her. She allowed the head to come almost all the way out, moaning as it penetrated her again, flexing her tight pussy against the invader.

The smell of her body, her sexual arousal ... the heady mix of her wet womanhood and the pheromones she was secreting in her sweat had her in a drunken rapture. She hoped that carnal pleasure was this wondrous for everyone else on the planet. She fucked the dildo, repeatedly moving up and sinking down in succession, slowly gaining speed.

She changed rhythms again, thrusting her hips back and forth while keeping Roland deep inside her. His textured, veiny surface grazed along her wet walls, making her grunt and gasp, battering her senses with delight.

Her hands flashed up and suddenly grabbed the rims of the chair on either side of her head, and she squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth as she arched her back and strained, letting out a long, strangled sound before the orgasm burst through her defences and she had to keep from wailing in ecstasy. She ground and churned shamelessly on the dildo, fucking it as hard as she could. Her breath came in wet pants, her face flushed a deep pink now, glistening all over with cleansing sweat.