The Good Sister

"My girl friend is leaving me," said the most melancholy of the four friends.

"I noticed that you chose from the club menu," said the oldest. "I thought perhaps it was just because it's Silvia's time of the month."

"No she's at home in tears," said the most melancholy. He looked at the girl who knelt beside him without enthusiasm. She had the large breasts and rear that he favored but she lacked the quiet subservience that he prized. "The maitre'd told me that it was this one's first night on the job. The guy goes, 'I don't know whether to charge more for the novelty or less for the inconvenience. If she proves too bad, we'll punish her for your entertainment at no extra charge.' That's something to look forward too, I guess."

Each of the four had a girl. The oldest member's, Heather, sat on his lap. Every now and then she took a sip from his glass and then pressed her lips to his. His doctor'd told him to cut down on the booze. As with smoke, the oldest member explained, second hand was the less harmful.

At 38, Heather was the oldest of the four women women by nearly a power of 2 but if it weren't for the lovely Janetta who knelt by the richest member, Heather would have been the one who garnered the most attention, as much for her obvious affection for the oldest member as for her beauty. When it came time to leave, Heather would prove to be quite unsteady on her pins and the oldest would angrily promise to punish her soundly for stealing when they got home.

"What's Silvia upset about?" the oldest asked when his mouth was free.

"Well, you remember that when I met her she was a college student working in a bar?" asked the most melancholy.

"Just like me," Lilly, the young woman kneeling beside him put in. The black collar that adorned her neck buzzed and she bounced. Her breasts wobbled deliciously. She gave a little squeak of pain.

"You must only speak when spoken to, child" the oldest member told her in a kindly tone.

"Well," continued the most melancholy, "When Silvia moved in with me she stopped working and dropped out of school. Took to a life of luxury like a turtle takes to a sun warmed rock. Wouldn't even clean the kitchen though I told her I'd whip her if she didn't. She goes: 'You'll whip me anyway, so why should I?'"

"But what's gone wrong?" persisted the oldest.

"Well, every time her mother calls she gets really down and weeps for hours. She's told them nothing, you see. Now her mom and dad've gotten worried and are talking about coming up. Silvia's plan is to move out and start taking drugs. She knows someone who deals. She prefers that to the truth. They'll put her in rehab and in 3 months she'll have her life back the way it should be, she says."

The richest member spoke up after a commiserating silence, "Do any of you remember David? A tall guy in his middle 40s? This would have been 10 years ago. His and Clara's situation was similar. Things worked out well for him."

"I remember him," the oldest member put in, "And the girl of course. Very tight the one time I had her. She squealed very prettily too. She'd try to hold it in and then it would all burst out. Like a party noise maker."

"Then perhaps I shouldn't bore you with the particulars," the richest said politely.

"No, no," the oldest said, "My memory is hazy and could do with a refresher. She was a lovely creature. And perhaps it will give our friend some pointers on how to deal with Sylvia."

"Not likely," said the most melancholy.

"I remember," put in the oldest, just as the richest was opening his mouth, "That David had a tendency to be overly rough with the women. Only a little mind. I mentioned it to him once, he listened but only out of politeness."

The richest member waited a moment then said, "Before I start, we should have another round. Janetta!" He prodded the lovely girl who knelt at his side.

"And some of those nice crab and artichoke hors d'oeuvres," spoke up the fattest member. Then on reflection he added, "And the brioche? And some of the oysters? I'm in the mood to try them from this young thing's little pussy." He also had taken a girl from the club's menu. The oldest had brought his girlfriend and of course the richest had brought the incomparable Janetta.

"We should send two of them then," asserted the oldest. "Perhaps you, my dear," he said to the most melancholy's girl, "will accompany the beautiful Janetta?"

The two girls were made stand back to back, sweet ass to ass, heel to heel. Their ankles were cuffed, right ankle to right, left to left. They were sent off on their journey.

Their slow progress along the carpeted path, past the other little clusters of easy chairs to the bar at the far end of the room provided much amusement for the 4 friends and for the other little groups of members.

On their way back, Lilly clumsily let a foot get tangled between the incomparable Janetta's and down the two went, spilling drinks and food all over themselves and the carpet. Janetta shouted an angry "Shit!" and elbowed her partner in the ribs to everyone's amusement. The barman helped them back up and when back at the bar he rinsed them with the bar siphon, dried them with a towel and reprovisioned them with drinks and appetizers.

Half way back they passed a little island of easy chairs occupied by a pair of women. One of them was the sort of slim blond whose looks burned you with desire while freezing you with fear. The other was a plumpish energetic brunette. A young man knelt between each's legs. The men looked a little like turtles themselves as their heads were hidden under the women's skirts.

"Come here darling," the blond called, "We would not treat you so."

Janetta tried to pick up the pace and nearly caused another wreck.

Upon their safe return, after carefully setting the bounty on the table, the girls were unhitched. Janetta sank to her knees beside the richest member.

From his pocket the richest took a small paper of pins. He pinched the soft flesh of Janetta's left breast and slid a pin through. She gasped and her eyes teared. For that, he slid a second in parallel to the first, then delicately dabbed the two spots of blood with a napkin from the table.

"You could have taken the ladies up on their invitation," the richest told her.

"Come to me, said the spider to the fly" Janetta murmured, head demurely bent.

This earned her a chuckle and a third pin.

"Each pin is an IOU for punishment when we get home," he said by way of explanation.

"You were going to tell us about David and Clara," prompted the oldest. "That was a fine afternoon I had with her," he reminisced "Amusing and eventful."

The richest sipped his drink, took out his IPhone and handed it to the incomparable Janetta who quickly brought up an app which filled its little screen with text. He opened his mouth to speak but paused to watch the fattest and his girl. That young thing was now perched on the man's cushiony thighs. She took the pale glistening tidbit from an oyster shell, alive alive O, drew it between her cunt lips, shivered deliciously, then dropped it into his greedy mouth. She gave a little yelp when his teeth caught her fingers on the third such morsel.

The richest member, looked down again at his phone, "You will understand that I, that is Janetta and I, have all the details of this case on very good authority. David is our good friend and we've had many occasions on which to speak with Clara." The richest had been a lawyer before he'd embarked on the entwined lobbying and investing careers that had made him his real money. He could still be long winded.

"To give credit where credit is due," he continued, "I will mention that I am having Janetta write my memoirs. Why should those Victorian antiques be the only ones to leave behind illuminating recounts of their lives and loves? She has invented some dialog to make this hopefully more amusing. The principals have agreed that the gist and spirit is correct, even if the words are not exact in all cases. And of course none of the names used are real. The club rules are clear, unless consent is given, anonymity must be preserved."

"This all took place 14 years ago. Clara'd just gotten her masters from Cornell. She'd just taken her first job and was living with her younger sister Danielle and Danielle's boyfriend Rob in Danielle's apartment. So you'll know," said the richest, looking up from the phone. He didn't like to omit details, even though Janetta had not bothered with this bit, "Danielle had a waitressing job in the restaurant where Rob excelled as a young chef. Danielle was taking business administration classes at the local junior college. The pair planned to start a restaurant. Which in fact they have done and a very successful one at that."

"What's it called?" asked the fattest, "Perhaps I've eaten there?"

The richest declined to answer, "Ah, that would break the anonymity rule I'm afraid. I will say that you have eaten there and have come away very well satisfied."

Here the lovely Janetta laid a hand on the richest member's knee. He nodded, looked at the IPhone and got back on track. Now and then as he spoke he'd glance down. Janetta leaned on his leg and with a practiced finger scrolled the text.

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Clara was just going out. It was a Saturday morning, late, about 11. Danielle was haranguing her. I am afraid that unlike Clara, Danielle is often guilty of bossiness.

Danielle shouted, "I'm not through talking to you Clara, you have me really really worried."

Clara paused in the doorway. She was slim girl, much on the lines of Janetta here, perhaps an inch shorter, 5'6" or there abouts.

"Can't it wait?" Clara asked, "I'm in a rush. I've got to get to work, this project is just killing me."

This reply annoyed Danielle. "Clara it's Saturday. Saturday! If you really have to work, work from home like you used to."

Clara replied patiently, "I've explained, this damned project involves dealing with a ton of data. I need the office bandwidth." This point was specious. Clara knew though her sister didn't that she could easily remote control a work computer from the apartment.

Danielle continued her attack, "Look Clara, even Rob's noticed stuff. He's like pointed out that you never wear halter tops or tops with short sleeves of any kind any more and you always wear jeans, never shorts."

Clara smiled sweetly at her sister, "Maybe I've given up trying to steal him."

Danielle scoffed at this, momentarily distracted, "Like you could. If that guy ever did more than look he wouldn't know what hit him." Then as Clara started out the door, "You wait, I'm not done. Rob thinks you're doing drugs."

Clara laughed, "That's crazy."

"I thought so too, but now I don't know. Last Saturday you wouldn't go out to the parents for a swim. You love that pool. And you weren't working. You were right here. In your room. Rob says he heard you moaning. And Rob says you never sit still. I've noticed it too. You're always squirming about.

Danielle hurried on, "Let me speak Clara, Sam and Teal, like from the second floor? They saw you in the parking lot last Sunday. In your car? They said you were acting very strange. I asked if you could've been shooting up and they said definitely."

Clara laughed at that. "Danielle I don't have time for this. Later I'll let you and Rob inspect every inch of me. If he decides I'm the better sister it'll be the fault of your overactive imagination."

"Crap, look at you now Clara, it's like 95 degrees outside and it's like you've got a wetsuit on. A sweatshirt in August! Let's see your arms."

"Bye, Danielle," Clara said firmly and went out into the hall to the elevator.

"Clara when are you coming back? We have to talk! I really am worried about you!" her sister called to her as the elevator door slid shut.

Clara sat a moment in her car in the parking lot behind the apartment building. Heat built around her. The facade she'd maintained with her sister crumbled. "I should stop this," she told herself unhappily. "I should turn back the clock. Dennis at work wants to go out with me. I bet he's nice."

She started the car. Cold air blasted out of the vents. She felt no cooler for it.

Clara drove the now familiar route on autopilot. With her car's sound system silent she was lost in her thoughts. She did not notice 495 or 66. For the umpteenth time, she worked on a speech to her sister, speaking out loud in the empty car, trying to keep her voice calm and detached and a bit amused at itself, "Danielle, it would be so much easier if I were gay. How can I explain things without making you sick and shocked and disgusted?

"Perhaps because you're the younger, you've always been the rebellious one. You know I always liked doing chores, well, not so much doing them, rather I liked being told to do them and obeying, you always fought. You remember the fights about your room and when it was your turn to help with dinner or to clean the family room? I was the one who studied hard and was top of her class. You ran wild with boys and barely passed. You refused to go to college because you didn't know what you wanted. We are different. Do I like the pain? Of course not, that would be perverse. I like being with him, knowing that I give him pleasure no matter how, that I'm doing what he tells me, no matter what, and not for reward, though he is a good lover, kind and attentive when he chooses." And so on. I won't trouble you with the rest of the rambling speech.

Her consciousness focused and she found she had reached the long drive that led to David's house. A hilly pasture spread to the left with a couple horses grazing in the hot sun. A pond and woods were on the right, his large brick house loomed just ahead.

Clara stopped in front of the left most garage door. She took her phone from her purse and sent a text and waited in the quickly warming car.

After ten minutes, the garage door rumbled into motion. She restarted the car and drove in. Her somewhat battered Civic looked odd next to David's large BMW. Next to the BMW was the Ford F150 pickup he used to trailer his daughter's horses. Beyond that, looking like some dirty green prehistoric beast, slept the John Deere tractor he used to mow the fields and move the bales of hay to the horses in winter.

Clara climbed out of her car and stood a moment. She took a deep breath. On the wall before her, on pegs were arrayed an assortment of tools. On a work bench sat a chain saw and a leaf blower and a clutter of containers filled with nuts and bolts and oily metal bits. A snow blower and a rototiller stood to one side with a confusion of rakes and hoes and shovels.

She pulled the well worn Cornell sweat shirt over her head. She folded it neatly and laid it on the car seat. Her long sleeve blouse came off next. She wore no bra. She had reason to keep herself well covered. Her breasts were like two small scoops of vanilla ice cream decorated with splashes of pale strawberry sauce. Similar reddish patches showed under her throat and on her flat stomach. David was fond of candles and wax.

As she moved, bending to pull off her shoes, the red lines left by David's applications of the cane slid over the bones of her shoulders. Her wrists, now in plain view as she unbuttoned her jeans, had red bands where she'd yanked against rope and cuff. Sympathetic bands revealed themselves around her ankles when she took off her pale green tennis shoes and white socks. She pulled off her jeans and underpants. Her bottom looked like a child's globe. The bruises marked the continents. The red lines were the boundaries of countries. The butt plug which vanished rudely into her interior was the peg which let the toy spin on its axis. The plug was held in place by a chain that ran down behind and then up between her delicate cunt lips. The chain connected fore and aft to a black belt that was cinched tight about her waist.

She undid the belt and pulled the plug out, wriggling her bottom a bit with a sigh of relief. She cleaned the black thing with a disinfectant wipe, dropped it in a plastic Food Lion Supermarket shopping bag and laid it neatly on top of the pile of folded clothes on the car seat.

She left her purse and phone sitting on the passenger seat. From the back she took her laptop and then walked the path between the tools and the vehicles to the door into the house. The cement felt cold and gritty. The air was hot and still.

She climbed the steps to the door, pressed the door bell and waited.

It felt an eternity. She resisted the urge to ring again. She shifted from foot to foot. Twice, three times, she bent and brushed the soles of her feet to knock off any grit.

The door clicked and she stepped in. She stood in the entryway to a large kitchen. A small half bath opened on her left. On the wall on her right were pegs for coats. The only thing hanging from them was a slim blue velvet collar. She took it and put it round her neck.

She sank to her knees on the gray kitchen tiles. She shifted so her legs were spread. She could see herself vaguely reflected by the tile's polish. She blushed in embarrassment.

What a sweet sight she made! If you compare her to young Janetta here, she has the same small breasts, the aureoles perhaps a tad wider. Her stomach is just as flat and toned, her legs as slim, her sex perhaps more delicate, its lips more pursed together, shyer. Her eyes are hazel instead of blue, her hair a darker brown, [Here the richest member rustled the incomparable Janetta's dusty locks], her lips are as soft, her nose perhaps a trifle longer. Her cheeks are as smooth and as quick to color.

[The richest member paused and sipped his whiskey and soda. He sighed then continued.]

From some way off Clara could hear David's voice, the only sound in the house. She listened carefully. Her lips were parted. She was clearly nervous.

His seemed the only voice. It had the slightly hard tones a person uses when on the phone. She heard him say, "The number of bug reports that came in last night is simply unacceptable. Your team has to do better..." She relaxed slightly. He was talking to an overseas group.

She set her laptop on the floor between her thighs. She shivered from the air conditioning.

Normally she worked while waiting. She thought of her sister and her parents. Those thoughts were uncomfortable. Equally bad was imagining the afternoon to come. She thought, "I should leave. This is so crazy. So completely messed up. I should leave. Drive back the way I came. This so bad." She felt tears well in her eyes.

She shivered in the chill and wished he would come, even if he punished her for being idle, even if it meant what was to happen was about to start.

She looked at the list of tasks that'd appeared in her instant messenger. She shook her head. The first was documentation for a project at work, boring but it would keep her busy. She brought up Word and began to type.

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"So you see," put in the oldest member, speaking to the most melancholy, "That their situation is much like yours. She's hiding her relationship with David from her family and, being a good girl, she's unhappy about it herself."

"She's not living with him," pointed out the most melancholy.

"Ah," said the richest, "The reason for that is that David didn't want his daughter to know. In the summer, his daughter came out most mornings to ride. Even if there'd been nothing else, he wouldn't've wanted her to know he was involved with a woman little older than herself."

"Why doesn't she move out then? Get her own place?" asked the most melancholy.

"Janetta?" said the richest member.

"Clara says she thought of looking for an apartment of her own," Janetta spoke in her soft heart stopping alto voice, "But never did anything about it. She says she really wanted to be found out. She figured if her sister told her to stop or, even more shameful, if her father told her to stop, then she would. On the other hand, if it stopped, it would stop and she didn't want that so she did her best to hide the signs."