The Nightingale Agency Pt. 01

Eve leans back in her chair, tossing her balanced checkbook onto the desk. Tilting her head, she admires the ridiculously large balance in her savings account on the computer screen. Idly, she strokes her large bare breast, swirling her finger around her nipple. She can feel her skin beginning to tighten as she has just gotten out of the shower. Eve prefers to air dry before applying lotion, there being something so natural about the water evaporating from her skin.

Thinking she hears a car pull into the driveway, her suspicion is confirmed when the chimes of the doorbell echo throughout the house. Finding it odd as she rarely gets uninvited solicitors, Eve rises and grabs a black silk robe off of the hook on her office door, sliding the fabric over her freshly dried skin. Her nipples perk against it, making it very obvious that she is naked underneath. Hastily winding her long wet, black hair into a low off centered bun, she walks through her house towards the front. In the foyer, she sees two teenage boys on the other side of the large glass door. Recognizing them immediately as seniors from the local high school, a coy thought crosses her mind as she knows them to finally be eighteen. Eve readjusts her robe, making sure the boys see her tighten the belt. In hindsight, she thinks she should have grabbed her red one, as the black one cuts off about mid-thigh, making anything other than standing a potential disaster.

Unlocking the door, she puts a gentle smile on her face, "Good evening boys," her low, naturally sultry voice comes off seductively, even if she doesn't mean it.

"Hi Mrs. Harrison," they both say, uneasily. One of them tries to look her in the eye, while the other one tries to not look at her at all.

"What can I do for you two?"

"Uh, well, we are doing a fundraiser for the school," the blonde on the right manages to stutter out; he is the one who makes eye contact. Thick and muscular, he is taller than her and despite his age, he appears to be an adult.

"Is it that time all ready?" Eve purrs.

The brunette on the left clears his throat, "Perhaps there is a better time that we should come back?" His voice slightly squeaks. He's skinnier than his friend and a lot taller than both of them. Their pairing seems odd.

Her smile widens, as if she doesn't know exactly why they are uneasy, "Oh nonsense, I just got out of the shower. Now let me see, Jeremy," she points to the blonde, "And...Frankie, is that right?"

Both boys nod, perking up that she remembers their names. Stepping aside, she opens the door wider, "Won't you two come in?"

They hesitate, as they should, knowing that it isn't right to enter a strange house, but they know Mrs. Harrison—at least by name and appearance—from her late husband who used to teach horticulture at the high school. Finally, Jeremy nods, "Sure."

The boys follow her into the house, watching the sway of her hips and the movement of her perfectly round ass underneath the short robe. She leads them to the dining room, motioning to a few chairs while continuing on to the kitchen, "Can I get you something to drink? Coke, sprite, maybe some water?"

"Coke would be great," Frankie says, Jeremy nodding in agreement.

Eve opens the old 1950's refrigerator, pulling out two bottles of coke. Popping the caps off on the attached bottle opener, she returns and gives them their drinks. She sees the confusion on their faces at the glass bottles but she doesn't address it. Eve rarely drinks soda and never anything but diet, yet she keeps it around for the rare occasions that she entertains. Her and her late husband lived their lives as old souls; their house is outfitted with vintage appliances, furniture and art. He used to wear thick black framed glasses with his modern hipster clothing and at least a few times a week Eve would sport victory curls. Their house, though off of a main road, is more or less in the country just outside of a small town. They moved there roughly ten years ago when he was offered a teaching job right out of college.

Eve pulls the chair out next to Frankie, angling it so that she can face towards the boys. Delicately sitting down, she crosses her legs, causing the short robe to split dangerously high on her thigh. Pretending not to notice, she waits until both boys have glanced down at her newly exposed skin before she purses her lips and says, "Give it to me, boys."

Jeremy chokes on his coke, Frankie turns white, "Wh—what?"

Smiling, she clarifies, "The catalogue for your fundraiser."

Mortified, Frankie slides the booklet across the table. Jeremy clears his throat, "We're selling cookie dough this year, Mrs. Harrison."

"Oh," she says, thumbing through the pages, "I don't allow myself to eat cookies. One bite and I run the risk of losing all control," she sees Frankie shifting uncomfortably, no doubt trying to readjust the growing dick in his pants, "however they do make great gifts. Let me grab my checkbook." Eve sets the booklet back onto the table. She uncrosses her legs, leaning forward to rise. She knows, by the wide eyed expression on their faces, that her breasts must have pushed her robe open pretty far. As she rounds the corner to the hallway, she looks down and confirms it. Though her robe is safely secured shut, the gaping v neck threatens to show her areolas. Smiling to herself, she decides to have a little fun and push the boys towards the edge.

Eve grabs her glass of wine off of the desk along with her checkbook before walking back and taking her seat at the table. Both boys have scooted their chairs all the way in, undoubtedly to hide their hard-ons. Thumbing through the pages, she randomly picks her selections, not really caring what they are before writing them down on the order sheet.

"So, how is school going for you, Frankie? Anything new happening?"

"Fine, ma'am," he says politely; she doubts he is normally this way, even to a former teacher's wife. "They ah...ah...hired a new hort teacher," he says quietly, wondering if he should have said it at all.

"Is that so?" She replies casually, leaning forward to write down a selection, causing her breasts to hang freely from her body. All of the motion against the silk robe has caused her nipples to become hard and rigid; they stand out at least a quarter inch and are very visible under the fabric in the bright lighting of the dining room, just begging for attention.

"Mr. Turner," Jeremy adds, wanting to share in the attention, "though none of us like him. He's horribly strict and no fun at all, not like—" he cuts himself off suddenly.

Eve looks up, her brow raised. Frankie finishes the sentence, "Not like Mr. Harrison. All of us miss him."

Allowing herself a sad smile, she says, "As do I, boys, as do I."

They continue on in silence for a while longer; Eve marks down over two dozen choices, racking up a tab of about $250. As she writes out the check, she decides to prolong her fun, "Isn't prom coming up soon? Have you two gotten dates yet?"

"Oh yes," Jeremy adds, "I asked Kelly Riley. But Frankie," he stifles a laugh.

She looks up before she signs, catching Frankie staring at her tits, "No date for you?"

Frankie's face starts to turn red, caught in the act, "Ah, well...no. There is this girl though, that everyone is trying to get me to ask out. I guess she has had a crush on me for a long time."

Eve winks, "I can see why. What is her name?"

Frankie's eyes grow wide, his face a darker shade of red, "Susan Smith."

She taps the pen against her lips, parting them slightly to nibble on the cap. Muffled, she can hear the click of the answering machine in her office, followed by the soft murmur of her voice before the beep. She thinks it odd but continues on anyways, "Susan Smith, hmm...I don't think that I know her...oh, wait, isn't her dad Michael? She's got dull brown hair, glasses, a bit mousy?"

Jeremy laughs, growing more comfortable around her despite his immature sexual arousal towards the older woman, "Yea that's her. Not a looker, that one."

Frankie hangs his head in shame, "I don't know what to do about it."

"I will let you boys in on a little secret but you have to promise not to tell," she says, leaning forward against her arm. The pressure causes her breasts to be pushed up, just barely exposing the edge of her areolas, "I was a Susan Smith when I was in high school. Never got asked out to the prom, not once. In fact, I didn't have a boyfriend until I was in college."

The boys think on it a bit, their eyes blatantly racing the path down her neck to her breasts. Getting cocky, Jeremy smiles, "I don't buy that for a second, Mrs. Harrison. There is no way that someone like you wouldn't be hooking up left and right."

Getting a coy little smile on her face, she keeps his eye contact without speaking. The tension causes him to turn red before he finally looks away, embarrassed. Eve rises, tipping her head down the hallway, "Come. I will show you."

The obedient boys follow her down the dark hallway, eyes lingering on her ass, each one of them no doubt exploring the thought of sliding her robe off to see what lies underneath; the brief idea makes them harder.

In the study, Eve walks over to a bookshelf. Folding over at the waist, she opens a cupboard to look for an old photo album; from the cool air against her skin, she knows that the bottom of her ass is fully exposed. In her profession, she wouldn't flinch at a swift smack or forceful grope; though she is half expecting it, both boys freeze in sheer awe. Pulling out the album, she turns back to them. Her eyes wander pass the obvious bulges in both of their pants but she ignores it, feigning complete ignorance to their discomfort. She thumbs through a few pages, landing on one of her from high school, all alone, in a prom dress. Eve did look much different with horrible permed black hair, her breasts hadn't filled in yet, she had a mouth full of braces and to top it off her acne was rather bad at that point. She shows the boys the photo.

They look in disbelief at the picture, then back to her, their eyes passing her breasts in the progress. Standing uncomfortably close to Frankie, she can smell the sweat gathering on his skin, "See? Pretty bad, huh? Well...just keep that in mind when you talk to Susan next time. Might be worth the investment now because it could pay off in the future."

Back in the dining room, Eve doesn't sit down—instead, she leans over the table to sign the check. Her robe lingers high on her thighs, the curves of her ass peaking out while her breasts hang freely down yet still within the confines of the fabric, making her tits plainly visible. From the corner of her eye, she can see Jeremy trying to casually adjust himself to make his erection less obvious.

Tearing off the check she hands it to Frankie, along with the booklet and order form. As she walks the boys out, they tell her that it will be six weeks before the cookie dough comes in. Eagerly they promise her that they will pick it up and drop it off at her house, since it is such a large order. Smiling, she is just barely able to suppress the wicked grin that forms, knowing that isn't the true reason for their courtesy. Eve bids them a farewell, shutting the door behind them; just as they reach the edge of her deck, she lets the robe slide from her shoulders and walks back through her house, completely naked again.

Grabbing the bottle of lotion off of her vanity, she starts slathering it on, rubbing it carefully into her skin. Through the doorframe leading into her office, the blinking red light of the machine catches her eye; she walks over and looks down at the button curiously. Caressing the lotion into her breasts she can't help but play with them a little. No one has used that number in at least a year; it is only printed on twelve business cards. It had cost her a bit but each card was a hard black plastic, more resembling a credit card than a paper one; all they say are "Nightingale Agency" and a phone number. Two of the cards still remain in her purse; six are with current clients of hers and the remaining four she assumed were still held by her former clients. Eve pinches her nipples, pulling on them slightly before letting them go, reaching down to the machine to press the button.

"Um, yes, hi, my name is Jonathan Kellison. I am...thirty-seven. I got your card from an acquaintance of mine, Luke Green. He thought that...that perhaps your agency would be able to help me," there is a pause as Jonathan sighs, mumbling to himself, "though I highly doubt that. I'd appreciate it, if you have the time, if you'd be willing to return my call. My phone number is four one eight..."

Eve jots down the number, scribbling his name right after it. The man's voice is deep, with a pleasant professional tone however the sheer depression and loss of hope is obvious. Something about the way he speaks, so desperately, causes Eve to pause before deleting the message.

Luke Green. A smile forms on her lips as she remembers him. He was one of her first clients; their business relationship ended when he finally grew some balls and moved away to New York. Lying back on her bed, she stares up at the ceiling, dredging up the lines of Luke's glorious, Greek god of a body, his perfectly groomed hair, his thick, seven inch cock. Oh how she wanted to break her own rules and ride that dick until she passed out from bliss—but she didn't. She never does. Though it is in the contract that she has all of her clients sign, it is more of a personal rule—no submissive ever penetrates her, not with a dick, fingers, dildo, nothing. Her mouth, now that was something else, she considered that a torture device but her cunt and ass were positively off limits for probing. She has found that it raises the level of power she has over them and though she never says it, they all think that it is because they aren't worth the glorious warm folds of her pussy.

But with Luke she came close. She knew from the moment she met him that he was gay. He lived a hard and fast straight life with his first girlfriend turned wife, in a perfect house with a perfect yard. There was something lacking, something deep within him that could barely allow him an occasional orgasm with his wife. A mutual dom acquaintance recommended Luke to Eve; her style of domination is vastly different than most as a majority of her clients are people who don't know or even realize that what they want is to be tied down, whipped and fucked senseless. She is patient, always easing into it, making it seem as casual as a doctor telling a patient to go on a diet. Her slow teaching pace causes her clients to form a deep, deep connection with her, willingly giving her total control over any aspect of her life that she wishes—yet Eve never takes advantage.

...

It was about six months into her business relationship with Luke that she had him on his knees. He obeyed willingly, hands tied behind his back and chest braced on the edge of the couch in his basement. His wife, per usual, was out of town for work and had no idea of what Luke did when she was gone. Eve leaned over Luke's back, her tits stinging from the salty sweat on his skin. She whispered gently in his ear, "Tonight I will show you just what kind of man you truly are."

He was terrified but only whispered, "Yes, Mistress."

Eve went slow. Lying on her back beneath him, she flicked the tip of his cock with her tongue, lubing up her gloved hand. Sucking the head into her mouth, she reached her cold gelled finger up to his tightly puckered virgin ass and swirled it around the opening. A soft whimper and an involuntary jerk of his cock only confirmed what she already knew. Carefully, she worked her finger into his ass, mirroring the progress with her mouth on his glorious dick; removing both, she repeated the process, using two fingers, his soft whimpers grew louder when she curved them and teased his prostate. When her touch vanished from his body, she was met with a desperate whine.

This time when she wrapped her lips around the pulsing head of his cock, it was the tip of a plug that entered his ass. She moved frustratingly slow, allowing his ass time to adjust to the girth of the two inch plug, her warm mouth teasing his thick cock. Minutes ticked by until finally Luke begged her.

"Please, Mistress," his voice was husky and desperate, "please fuck my ass. Please."

It was all she needed to hear. Wiggling out from under him, she pulled on a strap on, sporting a long plastic cock, relatively the size of Luke's. Playfully, she smacked the replica on his ass cheeks before lubing up the entire length. When she pressed the tip against his asshole, his tight anus puckered, trying to deny her entry. Eve leaned forward and wrapped her lubed hand around his dick, slowly stroking it up and down, "Be a good boy now and let your Mistress in," she purred at him.

When his anus finally gave way, she slipped the tip in. She made sure she was careful, gentle, even though Luke mistook it as teasing. Inch by inch she thrust the cock in, pulling it back out only to push it in just a little further until with one last firm push she was all the way in. Luke moaned incoherently as Eve began to draw almost entirely out, before quickly thrusting forward. Steadily, she pounded his ass until the pitch of his mewls grew a little higher—he was getting close and Eve knew it. Assured that he was well lubed and ready to go, she relentlessly began to fuck him, harshly pounding so that her thighs slapped the backs of his. She watched the sweat drip down his back, his skin flushing.

"Please, Mistress...can I cum?" He whimpered desperately into the couch cushions.

"Yes you may," Eve said breathlessly, tired from the exertion herself. When he let out a loud groan, Eve shoved all the way inside, holding it there as his ass tightened around the fake cock, not wanting to let go. Pulsing ever so slightly forward, she felt his body shake underneath her when he exploded, sending thick, white streams of syrup all over the side of the couch and the carpet.

Eve held there, waiting until his dick began to grow soft before she carefully pulled the strap on out of his ass. Sliding out of it, she unlatched his binds and helped him to the couch, pulling him close to her, lying back so that his head rested between her breasts. Luke clung to her, desperate to regain control of his body after the mind shattering orgasm.

"Mistress...?" He queried softly.

"Yes?"

"I...I never thought that I would ever...I mean, it felt like nothing I've ever felt before..." he was struggling with his words, trying to come to terms with his identity in his own head.

Eve ran her fingers through his hair, "Just think of how better it would feel with a real cock."

Luke didn't say anything for a long time after that. It wasn't until she had just about forgot their conversation, when he replied, "I think I'd like that."

She arranged for a close dom friend of hers, Octavian, to participate in one of their sessions. Eve stayed back, merely an observer and there in case she needed to intervene on Luke's behalf, but after Octavian whipped him and stuffed his cock into Luke's mouth before finally planting a passionate kiss on his lips, it was obvious to Eve that she had nothing more to do but enjoy the show. Octavian joined them a few more times, until one night Luke called her on the phone. She was concerned—they never communicated with each other aside from texting. He sounded happy—he apologized that it was out of the blue and not in accordance with their schedule but he asked her if they could meet for dinner somewhere. Curious, she accepted.

Luke was on edge, clearly distraught about something but terrified of breaking his submissive role around her. He kissed her hand as he was unable to greet her properly since they were in public and pulled out her chair for her when they were at the table. Nervously, he kept looking up from his menu at her, quickly looking away when she glanced at them. When the waitress came back, Eve ordered two tequila sours and told her it would be a while yet. Then, she grabbed his menu out of his hands. Submissively, Luke's shoulders slumped forward and he stared at the table top.