White Tie and Red Tail

Author's note:This story occurs near the end of "Little" Sister. There is no intercourse. I leave it to you whether there is any sex. FemDom and spanking.

White Tie and Red Tail

Patricia "Trish" Warner was elated when the call came. She knew her references were good, but the Roosevelt was decidedly middle class. The interview was for the Plaza—Central Park South and 5th Avenue, across the street from Central Park, Grand Army Plaza, and a block from Bergdorf Goodman. The interview itself was disillusioning. Though Trish wanted F. Scott Fitzgerald, she knew a prince in India owned the hotel. Still,Passage to Indiawould suffice. Mr. Patek, the assistant manager who conducted the interview was Indian, with a British accent, but the staff was mostly black or Puerto Rican.

The interview was successful. Trish was hired with a nice raise and more responsibility. One thing that was mentioned in the interview was the possibility of helping women dress. Trish loved that. She could see herself as a Victorian lady's maid. After a month, it had come up twice. Both occasions involved "drunken" performers. Trish was glad the police never asked about what she had seen. Cocaine was the simplest of it.

Still, a job was a job. She liked working under Mr. Rodger's. Mr. R knew what he wanted and would not accept anything less. Trish was hired to be his gofer and problem solver, and she was good at it. Months passed. Trish became used to the long commute and the longer hours. At first, she was excited when she saw a famous person or a news crew. Eventually, they all blurred together. Trish worked, saved money, and wished for something better. Someone better. Any sort of love life at all.

Mr. R was gay, period. Nothing there. Trish would love to fill time with Mr. Patek, or Mrs. Ortiz, her boss' boss. Both had the firm manner and demanding bearing Trish craved. Both were also conspicuously married. That left people close to her own level in the hotel.

The men, and boys, made too many advances. Trish quickly developed a reputation by shooting them down. Their mistake was sliding up sideways. A frontal assault could have born fruit. Trish was not averse to women in this role. The hotel definitely had a sisterhood. Others swung both ways. Still, no one made the first move. That was a deal breaker. When it came to sex, Trish wanted to be pushed. That meant someone unafraid to make the first move.

Months passed, then seasons. Spring was turning to summer when Trish received a call to work yet another Sunday reception. On the subway, Trish thought about the overtime and hoped for a decent tip. Her hopes were not high. Fully formal dances were usually too stodgy for good tipping. Things started to look up when she saw the orchestra's van at the service entrance. Russell Donovan had an excellent reputation.

Mr. R gave her the background. A Congresswoman married a businessman; the actual nuptials took place in New Jersey. The dance was one of the couple's receptions. As she had noticed, music was by Donovan's orchestra. His services were provided by powerful theatrical producer Pedro de la Garza. Even more interesting, Francine Martel would MC. Martel was a familiar name at the Plaza. She was a Broadway diva, which only scratched the surface of her connections. That was a lot, but Mr. R saved the big news for last.

The bride had organized the merry-go-round wedding. Wedding receptions had long been a staple of the Plaza, as witnessed by a list of movies. Mr. R subscribed to all the main bridal magazines and kept back issues. The wedding took place on an estate in north-central New Jersey, yet coverage was picked up by AP wire and the New York Times. Unique Bride used the bride on their June cover and again on the year-end expanded edition.

The reasons were obvious. It was the most unusual wedding anyone had done in years. In addition to a full sized carousel, the entire event was themed in the early 20th century, including corsets and horse-drawn buggies. Francine Martel was a bridesmaid. Standing with the groom was his sister, Dr. Siobhan Richards PhD, Congressman from New Hampshire. She was the current bride.

Mr. R pulled out the old issues of Unique Bride. In the June edition, there was a full page article on Dr. Richards. The article contained side by side photos of her in an English-style men's semi-formal suit and in a flowing lavender gown. Despite being actively unattractive, Dr. Richards made both of them work. Her towering height and military-straight carriage drew attention from the over-strong features. At this point, Mr. R brought out a garment bag. Inside was the same lavender gown. Something low in Trish's anatomy clenched in recognition.

Mr. R smiled at the reaction because more was coming. Next was a note from Sheila Schwartz-Richards. She was the bride on the cover of the magazine. To say the picture was famous understated things. It was also the cover shot of the New York Times Sunday magazine and reprinted worldwide. She seemed impossibly thin, famously due to a corset, in a simple green sleeveless gown overlaid with handmade Irish lace.

Unique Bride's year-end edition featured a cover shot of the newlywed couple in the swan chair of the merry-go-round. Mr. R pointed out Dr. Richards on a pony near the couple, then the tall blonde man next to her. This would be the new groom, Hans Gunter. Next came a framed enlargement of the same scene, centered on Richards and Gunter. Her mouth was open in shock and she was visibly blushing. His sideways glance was almost evil.

Trish was blushing in sympathy. Mr. R had to say her name twice before Trish could tear her eyes from the picture. Contrary to usual, Mr. R indulged Trish a moment before bringing a note to her attention. Trish read and re-read the note. When her eyes came back to Mr. R, he pulled out another, much shorter garment bag. This was a daringly short dance formal in sparkly midnight blue.

Finally, Trish understood Mr. R's good humor. The note indicated that the bride would have a choice of gowns. The lavender full-length gown was famous. Mrs. Gunter-Richards could wear it as a gesture to her past. It would play well enough with the sort of ladies that attended formal balls at the Plaza. The short dress was a challenge. Dr. Richards' carriage spoke of discipline and power. The photo spoke of vulnerability, even shyness.

Even so, Trish had no doubt which dress the bride would choose. That thought brought Trish back into the present. No wonder Mr. R was being patient and amused. The bride was going to need a dresser. This sort of possibility was why Trish had applied to the Plaza. It was as close to a lady's maid as she was likely to come.

Trish tried to thank Mr. R but she had reached the limit of his tolerance. Work waited for no one, least of all her. Trish was almost physically evicted from the office. She missed the knowing grin on Johnathan Rodger's face. This was not the first time Dr. Richards had come to Manhattan. Two previous occasions had both been notable in certain circles. Though Dr. Richards was in a supporting role for both, her presence had spread ripples.

The first had been the night before the first wedding. In something of a bachelorette party, Francine Martel invited all of New York's dance and theater people to meet Sheila Schwartz. The list of attendees read like Who's Who—Angela Molinari and Edith Dryden, Susan Farwell and the staff of City Ballet, Giesla Kirtland, Lisl Rhinehardt, Rudolph Nerovski, George Blanchard. Lincoln Center must have emptied for an hour. Soon after came the Broadway crowd and the press. Siobhan Richards had organized the lot and done so with distinction.

The second occasion was just three weeks past. Dr. Richards was on break from her first term in Congress. Her fiancé, Lars Gunter, was newly transferred to Siemens' New York offices. Donald Trump, then still hostingThe Apprentice, took the couple to India House. He wanted to show them New York's upper crust. It happened that Dr. Richards was meeting many of them for the second time. Rather than the Donald playing host to a rookie Congressman, Dr. Richards was introducing her fiancé to the movers and shakers around town.

It told stories to those who paid attention. Johnathan Rodgers had become an important events manager by keeping his finger on the pulse of social life and business in the city. His contacts told him that the Honorable Siobhan Gunter-Richards, PhD was not one to trifle or be trifled. Accordingly, Mr. R was using his best young asset, in the hopes that she would thrive in the situation. It did not hurt that Trish was clearly a closet submissive. If things worked well, there would be expanded opportunities in her future.

Trish knew little of this. Instead, she immersed herself in the familiar routine of a formal dance event. The call came while Trish was directing guests to their designated tables. As Mr. R expected, and Trish had hoped, the bride wished assistance with the gown. A small room had been set aside for their use. Trish knocked, then entered. Mrs. Gunter-Richards was reading the note. Lying on a table was the framed picture and both garment bags, open.

In person, the bride was imposing. Already nearly six feet tall, she wore three-inch dance heels. That put her eight inches above Trish's five foot six. It seemed like more. Mrs. GR radiated strength and control. After reading the note, possibly for the second or third time, she nodded her head and picked up the photo. This she gave to her husband who was standing in the hall outside the room. To Trish she gave the note, requesting the indicated package.

Trish hurried to Mr. R's office and delivered the message. Mr. R indicated he had anticipated the request. The package was in the hotel safe and would be down in five to ten minutes. Trish hurried back to the changing room, knocking before she entered. It did no good. Mrs. GR had already removed her dress and was in the process of removing her bra. She indicated that Trish should take the short blue dress from the bag.

Trish felt very warm and short of breath as she complied. Telling herself it was from nearly running through the hotel, she struggled for calm. Mrs. GR did not seem to notice. Shortly the two were struggling to get the dress in place. Even unzipped, it was very snug on the hips, though it flared below them. The zipper itself was another tricky issue. Even using pliers, it took several long exhales to get it fastened. The dress was strapless but in no danger of slipping.

While Mrs. GR checked the fit in a mirror, Trish checked the garment bag. Sure enough, there were pattern stockings and a garter belt. Mrs. GR groaned when she saw them, then sat to remove her heels and hose. Trish tried not to watch but could not look away. When Mrs. GR removed her black lace panties, her eyes found Trish's. Never looking away, Mrs. GR ran her fingers over her labia, then two fingers between the lips and back over the hood of the clitoris.

With a small smile, she ran the fingers back down, then into her vagina. Taking the slightly moist fingers out, Mrs. GR held them to her nose, then extended them toward Trish. In an act that surprised herself, Trish took the fingers into her mouth and sucked on them. Mrs. GR smiled wider. Stepping back a pace, she looked Trish in the eye and held out her hand.

Trish conflicted. For a moment, she pretended not to understand both the command and the offer. It did not last. Lowering her eyes, Trish began to follow the orders. Since she wore pants, this was not as simple as for a dress. Trish kicked off her shoes, then stepped out of her pants. The panties she took slower, pushing them down without bending her knees. Mrs. GR was not impressed. She sat in a chair and indicated her lap with an open hand.

By this point, Trish felt like a marionette. Her strings were Mrs. GR's desires. Still aghast at what she was doing, Trish lay on Mrs. GR's lap, bare ass within easy reach. Even then, the first blow was a shock. Mrs. GR gave a firm swat, then grabbed the globe of Trish's ass, rubbing the blow in. The second swat was like the first but on the other side. The third was back on the near side and also flicked the labia. Trish trembled with a small orgasm. Mrs. GR continued.

As the swats mounted, Trish's cunt became damp, then sodden. Juices began to seep out and run down her legs. The blows became sharper but continued to alternate sides and occasionally caught the exposed sex. By swat nine, Trish was willing herself not to cum. At swat ten, she released everything in a big climax. Swat eleven came as a surprise, as did twelve and thirteen.

By swat fifteen, Trish was back in the game, but at a disadvantage. Her ass was becoming very sore. Gone were the quick swat and rubs. Mrs. GR was using a full windup and snapping the fingertips on impact. It hurt, a lot. Tears were pouring down Trish's face when the count reached twenty. Suddenly, Trish feared it might be over. Mrs. GR hesitated a heartbeat longer than before. Twenty-one fell and with it came an orgasm that dwarfed the other two.

The final four swats were a formality. Once they were done, Mrs. GR helped Trish stand. The spanking hand was quite wet. Trish grasped it and licked the moisture off. She then tried to give Mrs. GR the underwear she had just removed. Mrs. GR declined. Instead, she spoke words that would change Trish's life.

She said, "Keep them. You won't wear any panties until you find someone to put those back on for you."

Once Trish had pulled on her pants and put on her shoes, she had plenty of time to consider the implications. First, she helped Mrs. GR put on the garter belt, the stockings, and attach the stays. Leaving the shoes for later, Trish had Mrs. GR sit so she cold touch up the makeup. She was applying mascara when there was a knock on the door. Mrs. GR called that they were decent, causing Trish to flush.

MR. R entered with a Tiffany jewelry box. Trish gasped when she saw the diamond and ruby set inside. Trish held Mrs. GR's long black hair while Mr. R fastened the clasp of the necklace. He gave the earrings to Trish then left the room. Trish held the box while Mrs. GR changed two simple studs with the pendant ruby earrings. Against Mrs. GR's pale skin and long black hair the rubies made a real statement.

The only thing left was hair and shoes. As Trish coiled the hair for pinning, Mrs. GR inquired about Trish's full name. Again, it seemed like another person answered.

Trish said, "My name is Patricia Warner. Most people call me Trish, but you can call me Pet."

Mrs. GR did not respond immediately. Instead, she donned her shoes and stood in front of the full-length mirror, checking minute details. Finally, she turned to Trish.,

She said, "I would love to call you, but we both know it will not happen. There is a very tall German I intend to fuck senseless tonight. You may think of me when you get off, if you like. Pet."

She could say no more because Trish threw both arms around her in a crushing embrace. Mrs. GR stroked Trish's hair and told her she was lovely and desirable. Presently they parted and once again repaired makeup. Trish allowed herself to see the whole outfit. It was stunning. Mrs. GR's long legs were accented by the smoke gray stockings. The tight fitted dress acted as a bustier, showing impressive cleavage tickled by the pendant ruby of the necklace. The red of the lipstick and the rubies played perfectly against the black hair, dark blue dress, and pale skin.

Mrs. GR took one last look in the mirror, smiled and nodded to Trish. With that, she turned and walked out of Trish's life. To be sure, Trish saw her at the dance. Indeed, Mrs. GR never seemed to leave the floor. There were comings and goings over the next day and a half but the two never were face to face, never spoke another word. However, as Mrs. GR checked out, she caught Trish's eye and winked. Trish watched her go with longing, then went to find Mr. R.

Trish was not Catholic, but the meeting was how she imagined confession to be. Mr. R listened to the whole story, never reaching to touch the offered panties. Instead, he picked up the phone, "Maria? Yes. John Rodgers. I have a young woman with a problem in your area of expertise. Please assist her. Yes, she may be of assistance to you in the future. Certainly. I shall hurry her along. Kisses."

To Trish, he said, "Go to Maria Rodriguez on the 4th floor. She has expertise in this sort of thing. In the future, you may be able to assist her with certain of our special clients. Now, go. You don't want to keep the Mistress waiting." Trish ran for the elevator.