tagNovels and NovellasK&T, LLC Ch. 06

K&T, LLC Ch. 06


Author's note: This is the final installment of book two. There will be a wedding in book three. I promise.

Chapter 14 -- Shift Change

Interlude: 25th Anniversary


After the party, getting home was evidently not easy. I do not think anyone was drunk, but for some reason Mom was not up to driving. This was a problem, since she had early appointments on Wednesday. Nanny CC did not have a license yet and no sane person wants to ride with Aunt Francine. I can tell you this from personal experience. That left Aunt Jo and she had come in the family car.


The poor john was so scared he barely enjoyed it. Three strokes and poof—barely worth the effort. I went to check Christine's work. It was exemplary, though I had to give an assist to Siobhan. The girl was clearly reacting favorably to her brand of soft restraint. All I had to do was give a little prod and off she went.

It was all very well received. People were rushing to be helpful. Siobhan and Francine managed to get the hooker out of the crush and everyone else released the john. I was enough pleased that I decided to give Christine a gift. I would let her choose her flogger, warning her not to go overboard. Christine chose a nine tailed cat, which was right on the edge of me refusing outright.

Christine is a master of nonverbal communication. I could see that she was choosing in earnest and full understanding of my likely reaction. That required an explanation. I had them tie Christine up, then dropped to a knee and asked her what was up. Christine said, "Wedding present. Me."

I almost broke down and cried. If we had no audience, I might have. Instead, I pulled Cynthia around me and went to work. Fortunately, I had a small army of willing lackeys. They already had Christine naked and artfully trussed. That was the problem. They tied up Christine, not Tess. To be fair, I was having trouble being Cynthia. Sobeit. The show must go on. Cynthia may be the mistress of pain, but all her skills are mine. Using a cat, I would need them.

Pacing is so important in this sort of work. I took time to examine each bond and add a few extra touches, like an ass plug. The head of the anal spreader would protect the skin around it. It was a small thing, but important. They were all important, but the time it took to accomplish them mattered more. When I could not delay any longer, I took my place facing the crowd. I had to give a good show, without breaking Christine's skin. Even with a fairly light cat, this would be a serious test of my skill.

The first four lashes were easy, both in technique and in force. Almost certainly there were people watching that would understand this detail. It was alright, because it was foreplay. I built on it. The fifth and sixth lashes were serious in anyone's book. Not only were they barely pulled, I landed them on the tender areas behind the knees. As I suspected there were at least two in my audience commenting for the rest. I gave them a minute to do so, while I gathered my nerve. When I could wait no longer, I gave Christine permission to climax—followed immediately by my only full stroke of the evening.

I fully extended my arm. This was not just to lay the full weight of the whip. I was also trying to hit Christine's bump, which I could not see. Whether I did, or not, Christine's reaction was everything I could have hoped for. I had left her ungagged as both a test of Christine's will and to add force to this moment. Christine did cry out, briefly, but there was no mistaking the magnitude of her orgasm. Even I could see the puddle that was under her. All I cared was whether her tender flesh had parted, or not.

In any form of performance, the very best applause begins with none at all. That is what Christine and I received. I held my breath, waiting for the first response, fearing that Christine's sacrifice would be for nothing. Then it came, growing louder than seemed possible from the small numbers. I raised the lash in salute, then presented Christine for her bow, though possibly only Francine would understand the gesture. Suddenly I was exceedingly tired.

Post performance jitters were not new. I was a wreck after doing Jason, though I had been forced to march on for several more hours. Eventually Sean had carried me home. This was at least that bad and we were not even in the same state as home. I stumbled to the wall before I fell over.

The next few minutes were a blur, but clearly Siobhan and Francine took over. Siobhan came to collect me, while Francine cleared the room. I gave Siobhan a fierce hug, which she returned in Sean-like fashion. G_d I loved these people. Once the initial shock had passed, I was able to walk unassisted. I went to where they were treating Christine. The next thing I knew, I was kneeling on the floor hugging her like my sanity depended on it. Perhaps it did.

Then there was more jostling. Robes appeared from somewhere and I was maneuvered into the passenger seat of Sean's Mercedes. Christine was on the floor in front of me, with her head in my lap. That was nice. We were able to hold each other and Christine did not have to sit on her fresh bruises. We were across the bridge to Staten Island, on the way to New Jersey when I finally wondered what had happened to my car.

I asked Russell to find an ice cream vendor. I was soon enjoying a rum raisin double dip, letting Christine have alternate licks. As I had hoped, Siobhan pulled up in my car. We were able to talk while Francine went in search of another thousand calories. To Siobhan's reaction I offered a word of hard learned wisdom. Francine could eat whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, because she went through life constantly hungry. What was a mere diet compared to that? I had my bustier to keep me trim.

Then I realized I did not have my bustier. Julian did. It was one of the most naked sensations of my life. Even dancing bottomless in a short dress did not compare. Christine took the opportunity to stroke my belly. I took her meaning. Even early in a pregnancy, I would not be able to wear my foundations. I laid my hand on Christine's face. "That's right. You are my support now." Christine smiled like the sun after a storm. Then the smile changed and her had slipped under my panties.

Russell got us home. I will need to ask him about that someday. Sean said the car smelled of sex for weeks.


We came out of the club and I stopped cold. Sheila was done out, CC was a medical casualty and I was not about to entrust both of them to Francine's driving. There was a bit of a confrontation over who was driving whom, but putting Sheila and CC in the Mercedes made too much sense. It also became clear that Francine had heard commentary about her driving—from police and judges.

Loading Sheila into the front seat was easy enough, but CC was a problem. There was no way she should be sitting. Eventually, we moved some packages to the other car, so we could slide the seat all the way back. Then CC could kneel on the floor at Sheila's feet. Ironically, the symbolism escaped me at the time. Everyone understood it was the way things had to be.

The drive was excruciating. If she were not so obviously intelligent, I would write Francine off as an airhead blonde. Ye gods that woman talked. About halfway across Staten Island, Russell signaled a pullover. We were concerned. Francine even stopped yakking until the car turned into an ice cream chain. Ice cream evidently had some special significance for Sheila. So, Francine started talking about getting a snack.

As Francine had deduced, Sheila was looking much better. I would have been tempted to offer her keys back, except for the possessive way she was stroking CC's hair. I had called CC "Pet" more than once, but clearly the relationship went deeper for the two of them. I had little doubt that CC would be sleeping with me that night, but even less that she would go back to Sheila. Whatever I was to CC, Sheila was her mistress and likely always would be.

After that, I had a few minutes of silence while Francine absorbed her family sized order. Sheila told me that eternal hunger was the price Francine paid for her metabolism. I found this more than a philosophical comfort. It also gave me time to formulate some questions. Francine is much more helpful when there is a question posed. Only about 75% of the commentary is disposable.

Francine told me about the evening she and CC had spent. I knew from experience that Francine was an excellent teacher. This helped me connect some dots. I asked Francine about plans for the wedding preparations. Much to my surprise, she was well informed with the progress, including what Sean had done that day. Having Amish in the picture raised some interesting questions, though Evaine would love it. The Amish could provide a great deal of expertise for what sounded like a circus side show, complete with clowns and rides.

The house itself was getting a major cleaning, obviously, but it did not sound as though many actual changes were under way. As an anthropologist recreating a period affair, this was quite hopeful. The more kerosene light we could manage, the better my students and I would like it. On a personal level, it sounded like a great deal of fun.

There would be a skill booths, where one could win stuffed animals, makeup booths, canoes and paddle boats, horseshoes, volleyball and badminton, races of several kinds and a variety of finger food. I particularly liked Sean's idea of having an ice cream freezer on site. Tea, lemonade, beer and soda all went back 100 years or more. It was going to be quite a party.

One of our companies had most of the booths on hand, as well as a large stock of tents and, of all things, a merry-go-round. This was in addition to things like rope, fencing, tables and chairs. Francine's production company was providing all the signs and most of the decorations, in addition to a couple of professional makeup artists, the clowns, jugglers and a magician.

The orchestra had been hired from the junior college. I had my doubts about that, but it turned out they had a national reputation. One of the instructors would be doing a John Phillip Sousa impression, in full costume. Naturally, we had the Gilbert brothers to ride heard on it all. I was beginning to think I would have nothing to do. Ha!

Thinking about my grad students started me thinking about Sheila's scene. At least two of my girls had some of that wide eyed innocence. What struck me was just how not-innocent CC was at times. I thought of having CC stretch out on the bed, legs fully spread, so that I could rub aloe gel into the the whip burns. In spite of everything, I expected that exact scene to occur in a couple of hours. It was making me hot.

Suddenly, I realized that Francine had stopped talking and was watching me. A couple of datums clicked in my head. Francine chattered as a defense mechanism and she was seriously affected by the scene. Without taking my eyes off the road, I said, "Tell me."

There was a significant pause, then Francine said, "I had to admire the art of the rope tying. CC's legs were fully spread across the length of the crossbar. Her weight was supported by the soft tissue of the midriff, but with a lot of pressure on the pubic bones. Dancers know that area. It will support your weight, but there is a connection to the genitalia. Getting lifted there a lot can make you horny as hell. Of course Sheila left her in that position while she fussed around, killing time. You saw how she played with the john, right? That was nothing compared to the artistry she used on CC. The anticipation was killer."

I said, "That fits with what I was thinking. My focus was on CC, though I am beginning to think of her as Christine, like Sheila does. No one calls me by my proper name, but from her it is a profound gesture. Anyway, Sheila said Christine wanted to give herself as a gift. That makes perfect sense, given their relationship. Think about it. Which of us is the Maid of Honor?"

Francine literally hit her forehead. "Doh. I missed that completely. Schwartz always was loyal as hell. She found—well Ricky found—someone that would return it. I must admit, CC found the perfect gift. For someone with no experience and no education, she reads Sheila perfectly. Naturally, Sheila made a special effort. She had to push the edges, because it would improve the quality of the gift. You got that, right?" I had, sort of.

"Not exactly, but that sums up several things I had been thinking about. For one thing, Christine may be passive and biddable as hell, but she's sharp and observant. Damn, she is almost like the perfect spy, since no one will pay any attention to her. You and I stand out like dykes in the Tea Party." That got me a laugh. "Tell me more about Sheila. Like, why is she so torn up?"

Francine shrugged that off. "It's performance anxiety. You saw her at the ice cream stand—much recovered. What she was doing required exacting control. There was the real possibility of scarring injury. On top of that, it was someone Sheila cares deeply about. For a perfectionist like Schwartz, it does not get any more nerve wracking. For comparison, look at the way she blew off the john. That was Sheila sleepwalking through a performance. Let me tell you about a little scene she did on me."

Francine went on to tell, in great and loving detail, about the night they spent together. I had noted it before, but Francine could really make a story work. I shivered when the ice came out. I ached through the long wait in the dark. I damn near lost control of the car when she described turning the tables. Ye gods that was funny. Then I realized that Francine was hitting on me. I was tempted, but I had a raft of students to put to bed. I also realized that Lars Gunter was the one I itched for. Who'd'a thunk it?

It was a day of firsts. What would tomorrow bring?


You have to love GPS trackers. Both the Mercedes and Sheila's Volvo were equipped. As expected, our giggle of girls had gone to Elizabeth for their fitting. Sheila's car stayed parked, but Russell moved the Mercedes a couple of times. Russell updated us that the girls were shopping, while they waited for the tailoring to be done. Then the cars moved through rush hour traffic at speeds topping 70 MPH. That had to be Francine. They stopped in Brooklyn for a while, then moved a short distance. Russell updated us that they went to some sort of warehouse, followed by dinner near the bay. Dinner lasted a while.

Russell did not update us when they started moving again. That came when they stopped for ice cream on Staten Island. I could hear Sheila in the car and almost asked to speak with her. Judging from the way Sheila got along with Gerald, I thought she might not mind me keeping tabs, but I did not press my luck. Once they started moving again, at a reasonably safe speed, I forced myself out of the command center.

I went down to look over the work. TempWorks had a crew down to wax floors and polish brass. This was the second overnight session. Monday night they had done the Foyer, the Parlors and the main hall. Mitchell had elected to do the Library during the day, because of the amount of moving involved. When I arrived, they were moving the last of the rugs and furniture into the Foyer. Mitchell would be positioning those in the morning. That night was for the dance floor.

Still nervous as a cat by a rocking chair, I went out to the garage. As I had been told to expect, the single piston engine was spread out on the maintenance bench. From the look of the piston rings, the eighty year old diesel had another eighty years to go. Near the door sat an old White Mountain twenty quart ice cream maker. The thing was fitted with a hand crank. Oh my back. It would need to be mounted on a base and a new flywheel attached, but we would have fresh cranked ice cream for the reception. Two of my mechanics were arguing recipes—at least til they saw me. I gave them a wink and passed on.

Out on the main floor, there was a team looking at the Bentley. Since we almost never used the big Rolls, that stopped me for a moment. Then, I realized that Sheila had laid claim to it for the post-ceremony exit. It was certainly fitting, even though we would only be driving to the airport. Naturally, it would be decorated for the event, but these things needed to be done correctly.

"Nice. I should have mentioned it, but you anticipated the need. Make sure everything works well and don't overdo the decorations. I would not want you to deal with Sheila after a problem." Sheila's name brought me four variations of red and white. The only one to do neither was George. He wore a self-satisfied smirk. I suspect some money changed hands after I left. Once again I was heartened by the way Sheila was seen by the staff. For a while—a short while, granted—I had been worried. Sheila was merging easily into the flow of things.

Then it hit me. Sheila and I had been talking of mergers for several days, but we were not talking about the same merger.


I had promised Christine to Siobhan for the night. Even if I had not, Christine was in no condition to be alone. That said, I was not about to enter the house in a bathrobe. So, I told Russell to take us to the studio. On the way I text our destination to Gerald, Sean, Siobhan and Francine.

Once in my wardrobe, I had to pause and consider. I acutely felt the lack of pressure on my ribs. Maybe Sean was right—that I used my foundations as emotional support. In any event, many of my outfits would not work without one. My problem is that it was a wardrobe for a dominatrix and I wanted something feminine. Christine was not a problem. She needed something loose and full length, but a workout suit does that nicely.

I was saved, for a moment, by the arrival of Siobhan and Francine. As before, Francine looked at my collection with outright lust. On the spur of the moment, I said. "Pick one Frannie. I'll have it made for you." Francine completely shocked me be coming over and crushing me with a hug. I looked up and both Christine and Siobhan were misty eyed. What the hell?

Francine did not exactly explain herself. "Shut up, you idiot. This was all supposed to be about you. Miss Ivy League and I get upstaged by Miss Cums-a-lot and her zebra thighs. Then you come here and think about me. Why don't you take a God Damned minute for yourself." Huh?

Siobhan was just as bad. "You know that Bridezilla's are focused on making themselves look good, right? This going an extra mile, because your pet submissive wants to make a gesture, is not in keeping with a selfish attitude. Suck it up and do what you want for yourself—for once. Take the car. I will drop of Francine, then I am going to take Christine to my room and rub aloe into her tender places. Grab something that will get you through traffic and go fuck my brother to unconsciousness." Francine snorted.

Siobhan looked at Francine and said, "Really? I was just using it as a figure of speech." Francine retorted, "I don't know about Ricky, but Miss Proper here has a thing about Sean's dick bumping her cervix—hard. She claims to have passed out in the middle of a quickie, in Ballerina position, damn it." Siobhan said, "I always wanted to do a girl in Ballerina, but none of them were flexible enough. Sheila, get the fuck out. Christine and I will show Miss Broadway how the other half lives. I'll see that your car gets home."

It was so contrived that I had to laugh. Too bad my recording equipment was being moved. I had a feeling that Francine had bit off more than she could chew. Siobhan would tie Francine up and gag her before Francine realized that she was serious. Dancers deal with a lot of pain, but Francine was not ready for what was coming.

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