Palmistry

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Haroldx
Haroldx
35 Followers

"Well, it is sort of cool looking, but it's sort of weird, too. I mean it's like I actually sort of like how it looks, but it makes me feel sort of strange, kind of embarrassed, but not exactly embarrassed really, more like subservient or something. And why is it locked?"

"Do you remember what I told you last time? You must do a very good job. You will wear the collar until the job is completed to my satisfaction. It's locked so that only I can remove it, which I will do only when I've inspected and approved your work."

"But being locked in it makes me feel so... so... It makes me feel like a little girl, like I'll be punished if I don't clean up my room. And I don't want you getting any ideas about me, either. I'm just here to clean the house."

"Just so. Perhaps you should begin. Just do a good job and you won't need to worry about being punished."

"Yes, sir."

Sharon plugged in her vacuum and began doing the main hall. I sat in the living room reading a book and watching her. She looked sexy in her new outfit and collar in a way she never had before. I didn't have any romantic interest in Sharon, but something made me want to fuck with her head. I suppose I should have been ashamed of myself, but I didn't think about it. I wasn't sure where I was going with this, but something in her or in me made me want to mess with her.

"All done," Sharon announced several hours later.

"Well, let's have a look." I wandered the house, followed by Sharon. In the dining room I pointed above the mantle. "See those cobwebs up there?"

"Sorry." She got a long-handled duster and cleared them away. We cruised the rest of the house, but I had no other complaints.

"In spite of the cobwebs, that's a better job than you've ever done before. We can probably forego the spanking this time."

"Spanking! What spanking?"

"Just teasing. Now, hold still while I get your collar off." I removed her collar, paid her, and saw her to the door. "See you in two weeks."

"OK. Bye."

The following Wednesday I went to the first meeting of the palm reading class. There were 10 students, three men and seven women. The other two guys were in their twenties, as were four of the women. The remaining three women were closer to my age. The instructor appeared to be in her early forties. She wore way too much jewelry and her outfit was not quite but almost a costume. She wore a long dress and had beads hanging from her hair. Although she was not wearing a gown and conical cap bedecked with mystical symbols, I suspected she might have something like that in her closet.

She began the class by telling us about the history of palm reading (most of which was highly speculative). I had resolved to keep my mouth shut and go with the flow, but when she got to the part about how palm readers had aided British intelligence in WWII by helping to identify German spies, it was too much.

"Wait a minute," I said. "Before you shatter all my illusions, I need to be sure I understand about this. I'd always thought the British had been the good guys, 'their finest hour' and all that. But you're telling us that while the Germans were putting people in concentration camps because they were Jews and Gypsies and the Americans were putting people in concentration camps because they were Japanese, the British were arresting and possibly executing people because of the creases on their palms?"

"They didn't use it on anybody who wasn't already suspected of being a spy. It just helped to confirm what they already knew."

"So if they hadn't used it, they probably would have shot the same people anyway."

"Probably, but it did help."

"If you say so."

As I said, I'd intended to keep quiet, but my outburst in the first fifteen minutes of class got me a reputation. I noticed the instructor (her name was Helen) tended to watch me during class to see how she was doing.

Helen handed out a stack of papers to everyone. The first had a diagram of the major lines and areas of the palm. Each line and area was discussed on a separate sheet. She guided us through the diagram and each sheet and generally did a good job of explaining everything. Then she thanked us for coming and said we'd go into a little more depth next time.

The week dragged on. Go to work, come home, go to work, come home again. I found myself looking forward to the next class on Wednesday.

Wednesday's class was a continuation of the previous week. Helen went into more detail on the various aspects of the palm. I learned more about my classmates. Two of the three women near my age were unmarried and of interest.

Rebecca was a widow with two children in high school. She was 39, reasonably self possessed and came to the class out of curiosity.

Karen was 37, recently divorced and floundering. Her son was going to turn 18 in the fall and wanted to join the navy rather than start his senior year of high school. She was here looking for answers. I thought she must be utterly devoid of resource to be looking here.

At the end of the class, Helen did a demonstration reading on one of the younger women and announced that next time we would all do readings on each other.

It was Saturday again and time for another visit from Sharon. She asked me if she was going to have to wear the collar again. As an answer I buckled it around her throat and snapped the lock in place. Sharon went about her chores. When she finished, I found several things that she missed. I had her correct them, cautioned her that she would have to be more conscientious in the future then removed her collar, paid her and sent her on her way.

On Wednesday, Helen gave us an hour or so of lecture, then handed out a slip of paper to each of us. The paper contained the name of the person whose palm we would read. I would read Karen's palm. Rebecca would read mine. This is exactly what I would have chosen if I had set it up. I noticed that the other single guy in the class had drawn single women and it occurred to me that maybe Helen had stacked the deck, indulging in a bit of match making.

I turned my chair to toward Karen's. "Give me your hand, Karen." Karen extended her arm and I laid her small hand across the palm of my left hand, hooking my thumb over her wrist. I smoothed her palm flat with my other hand, stroking and separating her fingers. This had nothing to do with viewing her palm. I was trying to set a tone, trying to make her feel I had charge of the situation and of her. I looked into her eyes. "Shall we begin?" She nodded.

I ran my index finger gently along her life line. "You see how your life line is deeply and firmly etched? That indicates an enthusiasm for life, an exuberance. But you see how your heart line is more lightly etched and spidery? This disparity between your life and heart line can cause you problems. Your enthusiasm can lead you astray. You've had false starts in your love life, and relationships have been erratic and troublesome. You enjoy sex but seldom find it as fulfilling as you would wish. I see similar things in your head line. It's branched and discontinuous. You don't always think problems all the way through and are sometimes sidetracked to the point where important issues are ignored. Your fate line, like your life line, is strong. This indicates an overall good outcome, but you won't achieve this fate without tribulation. You need some structure in your life, some boundaries set to keep you on course." I carried on like this for a while. I spoke earnestly and with conviction. I had locked my eyes on Karen's, glancing down occasionally at her palm, running my fingers over it to emphasize a point. I couldn't actually see the differences that I claimed to see in the lines but it didn't matter. This was a snow job. I could tell it was working. The eye contact, the physical contact, the tone of my voice, all combined to cast a spell on Karen. This was what she wanted, someone to take her firmly by the hand and tell her it would all be alright. I was a metaphor come to life.

"You read me like a book. How did you that? Can you really see all that in my palm?"

"I read what was there to see. I read what you revealed." This was true. I'd simply fed back to her what I already knew about her, embellished by some educated guesses and common sense. This had been easy, since I knew something about her. I wondered how well I would do on a cold read.

Now it was my turn. I turned to Rebecca and held out my hand. She took it and traced over the lines with her finger, commenting on their quality and significance.

"You're searching," she told me. "There have been changes in your life and you're drifting without having a clear direction in mind."

Rebecca was trying to do to me what I'd done to Karen, but she'd fucked up. She had neglected to set the mood, to take charge and gain my confidence. She was fishing, trying various things and hoping for a hit. Finally, she finished.

"Well, what did you think?"

"Not bad," I told her, "except I think you put too much effort into trying to read my palm and not enough into trying to read me."

"Interesting point. I'll have to try that."

Helen led us through a discussion of our first attempt at palm reading. I was generally considered to have done the best job. I found this amusing, since I'd been the only one who hadn't tried to read palms. I'd just faked it.

Time was up. Since this was the last class, we decided to continue the discussion at the corner bar over drinks and sandwiches. We trooped out. I was the last one out the door as Helen was locking up. She stopped me.

"That was a good job you did on Karen, but you weren't reading her palm, were you. You were bullshitting."

"So are you," I responded. "The difference is that I'm willing to admit it."

She seemed stung by the remark and I instantly regretted my flippancy. Helen was not a true charlatan. She honestly believed in what she was doing and taught a class every semester at no charge to help bring people to a greater understanding of themselves. The fact that I thought I could see through her did not make her intentions any less honorable. She was not deserving of my scorn.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

We spent several hours at the bar, discussing palmistry and anything else that came up. I had managed to sit next to Karen and maneuvered so that my knee rested against hers, but otherwise didn't push things. I discovered Rebecca and I had some business interests in common and we exchanged cards. Finally, I decided I'd better go while I could still drive. I said goodnight and as I got up to go Karen pushed a folded piece of paper into my hand. I unfolded it when I got to the car. It was a phone number.

I waited a couple days, then gave Karen a call. We set a date for dinner the following Friday. I picked her up at her house and met her son Daryl. He seemed like a nice kid, but I could see that his parents recent divorce and his mother's current lack of direction had left him confused. I could understand how he might find the structured environment of the navy attractive. We discussed him over dinner.

"I'm so afraid he'll quit school. He's just got to finish high school."

"No, he doesn't," I told her. "High school won't do anything for him the navy can't."

"But he needs his diploma."

"He can get a GED in the navy and get paid for it as well. He can learn a trade, earn money for college, and put some structure in his life. He'll come out a better person with a more mature approach to schooling. The only down side is that you'll be alone and that's what you're really afraid of. He's grown. It's time for him to go. Hanging on would be bad for both of you. Let him go with your blessing."

"Have you been reading my palm again? You're right. I know you're right. I just needed to hear it from someone else. It's so hard to let go."

"Just pointing out the obvious."

We discussed other things. Vic, her ex, was her second husband and not Daryl's biological father. I learned that her alimony and child support, paid by her first husband, would terminate on Daryl's eighteenth birthday. She had gotten the house, which was paid for, as part of the settlement and had a fairly good job, so while she had to watch her budget her financial situation was stable. Her divorce had been the result of Vic using her as a punching bag. This had been a problem off and on through their marriage, but on the last occasion her former husband had neglected to take Daryl into account. Daryl was now a rather large young man and had responded to the attack on his mother by beating his stepfather senseless then hurling his unconscious body off the front porch. Not long after, Vic had agreed to an uncontested divorce with favorable terms for Karen and Daryl.

"That's always been a problem for me. I always seem to be attracted to guys who are way too controlling. They're very charming at first, then after a while they beat the crap out of me."

"So now you're out with me. Aren't you worried about making the same mistake again?"

"Yes, a little, but I'm so afraid of being alone. I need to be with someone."

"That's exactly why you need to live alone for a while. Once you learn to be independent, you'll be attractive to men who value that."

"That's what's different about you. No one's ever encouraged me to be independent before. You don't seem to be the jealous type, just the same I think it turns you on to control women."

"Now who's reading whose palm? You're right, I enjoy controlling women in certain contexts, but knocking them around the room isn't control. That's loss of control. It would be embarrassing to be so inept. Women should be made to want to be controlled."

"Let's change the subject. You're frightening me and turning me on at the same time."

"Thanks for the compliment. Have you been to the art museum recently? There's a traveling exhibit of ancient Greek silver..."

After dinner we went walking and window shopping in the neighborhood around the restaurant. We sat for a while on a park bench and watched other people walk by. Eventually, I took her home.

"Would you like to come in for coffee?" Karen asked after I'd walked her to her door.

"Thank you, but not this time," I said, turning to leave. I was not going to make the same mistake I'd made with Jane. I was going for the longer term with Karen. Things would proceed slowly.

"Does that mean there'll be a next time?"

"I'll call you," I told her and departed. She was still standing in her doorway watching as I drove off.

I was awakened the next morning by the doorbell. I pulled on a pair of jeans and a shirt and went downstairs.

"I'm sorry," said Sharon. "I'm a little earlier than usual. I didn't mean to wake you up. It's just that I thought it would be nice to get an early start and I didn't think it would hurt anything but if you want I could come back later although that would be a pain because I'd have to drive all the way home and back again and besides I'm here now and you're up so I hope it's alright if I ..."

"It's OK, Sharon. It's OK. Spare me the explanation and just get on with it."

"Thanks. I'll get started." She headed off down the hall.

"Sharon, come back here."

"What? Oh, yeah. I forgot," she said as I buckled her collar in place.

"I'll tell you what, Sharon. From now on, you're only allowed to be in the entry hall without your collar. You're not allowed in the main part of the house until you've been locked in your collar."

"OK, if that's what you want. It's your house and..."

"Yes, it is," I interrupted. "Now get on with it, if you please."

After she finished, we inspected her work. I found about seven things she missed.

"Sharon, this is not acceptable work. If one of my guys at the office did a job like this, he wouldn't be one of my guys anymore."

"I'm sorry. I'll do better next time."

"I will expect you to, but I think some sanctions are in order this time."

"What do you mean by sanctions?"

"What did your mother do when you misbehaved?"

"Usually I'd get grounded."

"Not practical at the moment. How about when you were younger?"

"Sometimes I'd have to stand in the corner. If I was really bad I'd get spanked."

"We won't consider you to have been really bad on this occasion, so this time you'll only have to stand in the corner." I led her to a spot wall in the main hall and positioned her against the wall. "Now, feet together, stand straight. Good, now press your nose against this spot on the wall," I said, indicating a spot in the wallpaper pattern. "Now clasp your hands behind you, pretend they're tied together. Good."

"This isn't fair. I'll clean the spots I missed, but I shouldn't have to..."

"Sharon, you don't have to come here if you don't want to. But if you do choose to come here, I expect you to do a proper job and if you don't I expect you to accept correction without complaint. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. You are to keep your nose on that spot and not move. I'll return for you in an hour..."

"An hour!"

"Yes, an hour. Now keep quiet. You are not to speak again until your time is up. I want you to spend this time thinking about how you can do a better job, then you can go back and clean the spots you missed." I went to the living room and sat down to read. Sharon wasn't turned so she could see me, but she could hear where I had gone. She didn't know that I had sat down where I could see her in a mirror. After about 10 minutes, she unclasped her hands, stepped away from the wall, scratched her nose, then returned to her previous position. I walked up behind her.

"Sharon, you're not doing a very good job of pretending your hands are tied," I said, cinching a length of rope around her gloved wrists, "so I guess we're going to have to resort to the real thing. Also, since you decided to take your nose off the wall, we're going to add fifteen minutes to your time here." Sharon groaned but didn't otherwise reply. She behaved herself for the rest of her penalty period. I untied her wrists and sent her off to clean the things she'd missed, then paid her and sent her home.

I still wasn't sure where I was headed with Sharon but two things were obvious. I was becoming more turned on by her and this meant events were likely to escalate.

On Tuesday, I got a call from Rebecca. I owned a small delivery company. We ran a few regular routes, but a lot of our business came from regular customers who needed only occasional pick up or delivery. We ran a number of econoline vans and a couple of box vans with lift gates. Rebecca needed a box picked up at the airport. I ran the call myself. I did this whenever possible with new customers. You can tell a lot more about a customer's needs by actually going to their place than you can by talking to them on the phone.

I wheeled the box into Rebecca's office and closed the door. When I turned back around, Rebecca was standing beside her desk with her skirt pulled up to her chin.

"Like what you see?"

Now here was a woman who knew what she wanted. Unfortunately, she was a bit fuzzy on how to go about getting it. "I like what I'm looking at, but I don't like what I see."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I walked over to Rebecca and pushed her gently down into her chair, then perched on the edge of her desk in front of her. "You're a beautiful woman, Rebecca, I like looking at you. But there's a lot wrong with this picture. First of all, if you go around pulling your skirt up in front of strange men, and I qualify, I assume you're ready to accept the consequences of your actions, whatever they may be." I reached down and grasped her ankle, removing her shoe. Then I slipped off her other shoe.

"And whatever might they be?" she asked coyly.

"You're about to find out. Stand," I said, taking her hand and pulling her to her feet. I positioned her in front of her desk and put my hand in the middle of her back, pressing gently forward. "Bend over the desk, Rebecca." I grabbed her wrists and pulled them to the far side of the desk, wrapping her fingers over the edge. "Don't let go," I told her. I pulled her skirt up around her waist.

Haroldx
Haroldx
35 Followers