Total Woman Trainers Ch. 03

Total Woman Academy graduates were ubiquitous in international commerce, national governments and advanced research institutions. The organization had placed graduates with countless organizations controlled by their extensive network of the world's elite. The peak recruiting seasons were spring-time, when TWA senior coeds graduated into the broader world, and again in the fall, when the weather changed and the post-graduates mused on changes in their own arrangements.

Sir Stephen, a wealthy British lord with vast holdings in the homelands and former colonies, was an old and favored TWA pledge contributor. Including his generous service at special academic events like Freewill Weekend, he employed recent graduates as special executive assistants for his businesses. The young women learned from Sir Stephen's unparalleled business skills; he benefitted from their unparalleled sensual skills. The exchanges were made during Sir Stephen's periodic inspection tours of his world-wide interests.

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Irene

Last year, TWA had provided a canine veterinarian for his pedigreed kennels in Scotland. The progress reports from the assigned lass, the pledge contributor lord and others involved in the breeding enterprise were all positive.

Irene adored Sir Stephen's doggies; Sir Stephen adored Irene's 'doggy's. As a TWA graduate, the Scots-Irish redhead was hyper-competent in all the other positions as well. She kept Sir Stephen cozy and content all night during his random visits, despite the drizzly highland climate. The sheepskin rug before the great room fireplace became their special cuddling place. They petted and brewed each other's sexual appetite before the fire and then devoured their mutual ecstatic banquet later in the bedroom.

Irene swooned in ecstasy every time they made love. Sir Stephen was a master at giving her and all his other fuck-mates fantastic orgasms. The young and vivacious Irene longed for Sir Stephen to visit more frequently. He tried to assuage her fervor by gifting her with a lifelike dildo of his manhood that she could use during his absences.

A specialty shop in London had made it to his precise dimensions using the latest in 3D printing technology. The shopkeeper's daughter had been instrumental in bringing Sir Stephen to a full erection for accurate measurements. Thereafter, while the craftsman performed his erotic artistry in the adjoining workshop, the daughter courteously attended to her customer's erectile discomfort. She insisted on a full service sale, deflating his overwrought monster with her pussy, to the mutual pleasure of both.

Irene liked the facsimile's fleshy color, the bold corona ridge and the prominent veins. She especially liked the way the mechanism's internal rollers and cams amplified the veiny bumps inside her vaginal tunnel much as Sir Stephen's real shaft did during their fucking. But she was a fan of real red meat, not pink plastic. She was not mollified by this substitute.

The ultimate compromise was already at hand. Sir Stephen gave the kennel-master, his bastard half-brother Ian, permission to keep Irene satiated during his absence. Ian agreed, with conditions. Ian wanted Irene to acknowledge that a family member, even a bastard without peerage, was superior to a courtesan. Irene must wear a decorative dog collar at all times, day and night: a gem encrusted thin leather band with an O-ring dangling at her throat. Nubile Irene reluctantly agreed; better the submissive symbol than a dismal loneliness in the Scottish Highlands.

During the days, Irene tended to her beloved puppies and hounds. When the workday ended, she attended Ian at dinner. The widowed housekeeper, Mrs. O'Leary, laid out their supper, then retreated for the night to her servants' cottage near the estate's gated entrance.

Irene's suggestive wardrobe for dinner varied: sometimes silky formal ball gowns, other times skimpy low cut club dresses, occasionally tit and cunt baring corset and stocking sets, whatever Ian demanded or that she thought would amuse him. Whatever she wore, it was always accessorized by the sparkling dog-collar on her neck. Over time, she came to know two very different sides of Ian.

One Ian was gentle, bragging of the day's successes, complimenting her beauty and fashionable style. After dinner, they retired to the great room, shedding clothes during extended foreplay and consummating mutually satisfying orgasms. Afterward, Ian would hook up her dog collar silver leash and lead her to bed, fastening the chain to the bedpost, symbolically reaffirming his hegemony over her status. Sleeping naked, warm and content, she might be woken before morning to perform some gentle sucking or fucking.

But Irene also learned of the second Ian, one that both thrilled her and frightened her. He would brood at dinner, muttering about slights and derisions perpetrated by the staff, clients or vendors. Feeling belittled by their neglect of respect, it aggravated the unspoken truth of his lesser status within the family.

The first time she encountered this dark Ian, she wore a silky gown to dinner, the neck strap holding the top across her loose full breasts, hints of pokies pockmarking the shear fabric. All through dinner, Ian sulked, staring at her teasing chest as his mood fell.

"Show me your tits, bitch..." he growled.

Startled by the rudeness but compliant, Irene resentfully loosened the neck band and let the top fall away to pool in her lap. Ian leaned back in his chair, contemplating the rosy perfections topping the ample plush orbs. Irene looked down from his stare, intimidated by his cross tone of voice and a bit unnerved by Ian's quiet brooding.

"Pluck the nipples; get 'em harder..."

Irene's right thumb and finger rolled and pinched her left nub. The manipulation brought on the commanded stiffness. Abhorring asymmetry, she worked the right one to equal erection. She glanced up cautiously at Ian, who slightly shrugged his shoulders in acceptance of her efforts. He pointed to the floor beside his chair. Irene rose and stood next to him. Her pert nipples were eye level to her seated master.

Ian cupped one breast, a grip that indented the pliant flesh. He angled the captured mass and examined the swollen point. He checked the other for equal preparation, contemplating their imminent sexual service. He drew her in and suckled the womanly orb, tonguing roughly around the areola. He rose and stood over her, his masculine dark eyes squinting into her feminine crystal bright irises.

Ian pulled the silver leash from his pocket, attached it to her collar and towed her roughly to the great room. Her tits bobbed loosely as she navigated the hallway in her heels, her hands hiking up the long dress, fearful of tumbling on a tangled hem. He parked her in front of the fireplace and sat in a facing upholstered easy chair.

"Come on, drop the duds, girlie... we don't have all night!"

'On the contrary' thought Irene, 'Yes, we do.'

Complying with his orders, Irene dexterously pushed the dress over her ass, wiggling her hips, unavoidably waggling her tits, as she dropped the dress to the floor. Her exposed pussy was shaved saved for a narrow russet strip above, trothing her claim to be a natural redhead. She returned to standing tall and stoic, awaiting his next commands.

"Sit here..." murmured Ian as he patted the deep upholstered arm of his chair.

Irene stepped slowly and eased herself above his seated bulk. She sat sidesaddle, her lush ass plopped on one upholstered arm, her spike heels braced against the other. Her lithe legs arched over her seated kennel-master. He pushed her knees wider, opening her bare cunt to fuller access. The pose was unbalancing and her hand grabbed his shoulder for support, the other braced on the chair's arm near her butt. The leash hung between her breasts and thighs; Ian tossed it over her shoulder, getting out of the way. He wrapped his arm completely around her back and clutched the far bare boob, pressing her nearer free boob against his body.

From his pocket Ian removed the mechanical probe replicating Sir Stephen and held it up for her to see. The mechanism came alive and she watched the tip vibrate as the internal cams rippled the veins and knob.

Ian lowered the writhing rod and pressed the vibrating tip to her clitoris. Her eyes flew wide before she closed them, laying her cheek on Ian's shoulder, her arm hugging his neck, her throat expressing a note somewhere between a whimper and a sigh.

Ian touched, poked, probed and retreated on her moistening pussy. Irene nuzzled his neck, suckled his earlobe, and probed his ear canal with her tongue, all the while mewing her growing pleasure. She peaked and screamed when Ian worked the dildo full depth, vibrating her cervix with the tip. The cam-operated nubbins undulated on her G-spot in the spongy dell of her vagina. She shuddered in his grasp, feeling her gripped tit crushed by his strong hand. When she settled to sanity, Ian held the rod at face level. She leaned her head forward, licking clean the object of her affection.

With some calm restored, it was time for quid pro quo. He grabbed her collar and tossed her to the floor, hauling her neck back by the silver leash until she was kneeling between his legs. She hurriedly opened his jog spurs and passionately kissed his heavy meat. Her head bobbed in a smooth rhythm as her lips glided up and down the fat shaft, tongue whipping on the knob during occasional pauses. Ian sensed his oncoming ejaculation and he crushed her face against his groin as he poured his spunk into her mouth. She flat tongued the underside of his embedded rod, swallowing his gooey pearls.

When Ian had descended to a tickling afterglow, he pushed her face away to let her kneel up. He fastened her specialized dildo as a handle to the end of the leash and led her off to bed. He dangled the lifelike replica of Sir Stephen's penis from the shiny chain high above her pillow. It was Irene's clue that more rough sex would occur before dawn. She slept fitfully next to a more mollified but still unsettling Ian, ready to meet his demands for further gratification.

During Sir Stephen's periodic visits, Ian stayed away from the mansion and let Irene have full access to her employer's real thing. On those evenings, Ian went to the pub in the nearby village, drinking until closing time. Then he escorted the somewhat pudgy, but very curvy, barmaid, Maggie O'Leary, back to her mother's servant quarters. Uncaring that Mrs. O'Leary overheard them in the next room, he noisily fucked Maggie, thereby flaunting his clout, even as the bastard son, over both the mother and daughter, and all others, on his family's estate.

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Valea

The skyline outside was casting long shadows in the late afternoon sun. Valea sat in perfect posture in the waiting room atop the high tech headquarters. Her long legs protruded from a short grey wool pencil skirt, angles crossed in classic news anchor pose. The pin-striped woman's business suit clinched her waist, accenting modest breasts covered with a crisp white silk blouse. She was the spitting image of glamourous female business reporters gracing TV screens everywhere in the world.

"Sir Stephen will see you now" said the receptionist.

Valea rose to her full stature. Her long platinum blonde hair hung behind her as she approached the CEO's inner door. It glided open automatically.

Sir Stephen rarely gave interviews, even sound-bites, preferring to remain behind the scenes and allow his subordinates to deal with publicity and marketing. He was more attuned to operations and quality control. But Valea had been persistent enough to perk Sir Stephen's curiosity.

His personal research convinced him quickly to take the meeting when he easily found her bikini model spreads on the internet. Deeper research by his security team ascertained her rumored serial dalliances with subsequently disgraced corporate tycoons. Scandals and resignations followed in her wake but her presence or involvement was never confirmed. Something profounder was amiss. Expecting more than a simple news network interview, Sir Stephen had granted her request.

Sir Stephen sat behind his desk. Valea recognized him from her research dossier. He was dressed impeccably for the office. His longish wavy hair covered his ears. He laid aside the papers he had been fiddling with and gave the approaching beauty his undivided attention.

Valea moved across the room with the subtle grace of a jungle cat stalking her prey. Her stately model step put just the right swing to her wool wrapped hips, wavering her long blonde hair. The closer she got to Sir Stephen, the brighter her smile. At the side of his desk, she offered her handshake.

"Pleased to finally meet you, sir."

Her hand was warm in his firm clasp. He nodded acknowledgement to her greeting.

"I don't usually meet with reporters. I have people for that. Please have a seat and we will get down to business, so to speak."

"Thank you, sir."

"So, how can I help you?"

Valea resumed her leggy pose for the benefit of Sir Stephen. The guest chair was set back far enough from the desk so that Sir Stephan could view her entirety. Her long shapely legs stretched towards him. Her platinum blonde hair hung everywhere over her upper body, a transparent veil of sorts. She retrieved a notebook from her portfolio case. Prepared for journalistic battle, she began her line of inquiry.

"I've studied your companies through online research and won't waste your time confirming public knowledge. I noticed that each of your investments and properties are unique; there's no one industry or region that you concentrate in. Is that by design or just happenstance?"

"My companies are distinct investments in under-appreciated opportunities. Each one is thoroughly researched and selected for profitability. We don't expect past successes to replica themselves in other places."

"There are rumors that you have found a property in the Pacific where you intend to create a self-sustaining community. Have you chosen a location for that yet?"

"That project is very confidential. I am surprised you have even heard of it. We may have identified a location but it is still being vetted by our environmentalists and engineers to see if the island's volcanism and nearby ocean waters can provide enough food and energy for the residents."

Valea fidgeted a bit at his admission. That was easier than she anticipated. A real estate rival of Sir Stephen's was paying her corporate intelligence broker well for the location of Sir Stephen's latest investment interest. The land raider would buy-up the real estate and turn a profit by reselling it to Sir Stephen. Valea needed to discover the island's location.

The interview touched on other topics as sundown darkened the world outside Sir Stephen's power view of the city. The metropolis twinkled its call to sample its night life. Valea's scheduled hour of interview time was up and she rose to leave. Sir Stephen stood over her, held her handshake and locked her pale blue eyes a bit longer than comfortable, making his next words more a statement than a question.

"Staying in town tonight?"

Valea replied that her return flight was the red-eye, so she planned to travel late to the airport.

"Then you have time for dinner. I know the perfect place. My driver will drop you at the airport after we dine and chat some more."

Not caring her reply, he snagged her portfolio from the floor and clasped her elbow, guiding her out of his office and down the elevator to the waiting limo. The driver tucked them into the backseat. It was a short ride to a swanky but cozy bistro on the ground floor of a high rise residential tower.

The screened private table allowed the industrialist and journalist to continue their dialogue. The food and drink were superb; the wait staff attentive but respectful of their privacy. The wine affected them both.

Valea talked of her struggles to be taken seriously, working her charm and wit hard to overcome the first impression of her striking good looks. Sir Stephen admitted he struggled in business at first, investing cautiously before hitting his stride. One of his first big deals had been this particular building they were in now.

Valea needed to discover the fabled island's location. She pursued an unfair method, spiking his drink with the first component of a date rape drug mixture. Sir Stephen felt uncommonly tipsy from the wine. His hands brushed her body when he made bold hand gestures to illustrate a point. Valea subtlety encouraged more contact. The bold gestures became bold touches, turning to caresses when she palmed his chin, seeking a kiss. He dove in for a long, hard smooch. Valea couldn't have been happier with his capitulation. It was all in a day's work, even though it was evening with more work to come.

The meal ended but not the soiree. Sir Stephen took her hand and helped her up from the booth. Valea wobbled on her heels, feigning a hit of the wine's influence. She followed a woozy Sir Stephen into the lobby elevator. It rose to Sir Stephen's penthouse suite.

Inside, they left a trail of discarded clothing as they sniggled and giggled from entryway to bedroom. They tottered in lip-lock briefly before tumbling mostly unclothed onto the bed. Uncoordinated frantic clawing removed the remaining frayed fabrics. Neither resisted the uninhibited clutching of toned ass, soft boob and firming cock. The rumpled bedcovers were a fluffy garland surrounding the twin bodies squirming to achieve an initial penetration position. Sir Stephen trapped the warm excited Valea beneath him, wedging his hips between hers, their lips never lapsing the wet smooches.

Valea spread her loins; Sir Stephen pressed his cock to her cunt and slipped the head in. Valea lessened her full-body writhing, slowing just enough to massage his prick's corona with her rosy genital lips. She was practiced at changing tempo to meet her man's needs. She hugged his torso tight to her resilient breasts as she lovingly orbited her hips. Sir Stephen held his braced body still, letting her control the caresses on his knob, drawn to her evolving techniques that were matched to his unspoken desires.

Valea was untiring in her efforts to please. On the contrary, Sir Stephen's rigid pose was slackening from the effects of the alcohol. His hips sagged and Valea increased her rotary charms, corkscrewing his erection into her vagina. The revolutions massaged the knob, corona and shaft, earning her a long lingering moan as Sir Stephen bottomed out deep inside her. She switched from circles to shuttles, drawing his V along her plush tunnel, eliciting 'ughs' from her man at each stroke.

She wanted this session to last, letting the covertly ingested second drug component course through his bloodstream. When Sir Stephen's breathing quickened, she slowed her pace, even pausing momentarily as necessary to slacken off his ardor. But she didn't want him slipping entirely away. Besides, despite her total dedication to the mission, she was gaining a deep arousal of her own. Sir Stephen was a skilled sex-mate, even intoxicated, and she could not attest to the whispered legends of his large manhood.

Each repetition gained a higher peak but before it fell back completely, she started the rhythm again. Valea built the lust pyramid tier by tier until even she could not control it; Sir Stephen roared to his pinnacle, flooding her deepest womb with his milky treasure. That sent her over the peak as well and she shuddered through a balmy orgasm, pinned beneath her trembling man. She hugged him, rubbing his back as he collapsed on top of her.

Valea gentled the weary Sir Stephen sideways beside her. She eased him onto his back, touching his sweaty skin, kissing his cheek, neck, nipples, helping him drift off into a blissful drugged slumber. She waited, watching his closed eyes, finally seeing the rapid eye movements beneath his lids that signaled deep sleep.