Mixing Business with Pleasure

I was starting in on my second helping when I broached the subject of my problems at work. Carlo was a management consultant when he wasn't helping out Mirabelle at the popular burger joint they owned in town.

"So I have a new boss, Juliet Andrews, who doesn't seem to like me. I'm not sure how I can repair the relationship."

Carlo refilled my wine glass. "It's all a matter of communication Karen."

"Right."

"The more the better."

I thought about what he said while I took another forkful of the cheesy, soul satisfying pasta.

"So what would you suggest?"

"Have you ever seen her outside the office?"

I could rightfully say no. He wasn't surprised.

"Try meeting her for coffee before work starts. It's quick, casual, and in a non-threatening environment."

It made sense. I told him so. We finished the meal, then I helped Mirabelle with the dishes while Carlo set up the scene in the basement. We'd already done a number of them, with the naughty schoolgirl being one of their (and my) favorites. Carlo never told us in advance what we were going to do, only what to wear. We were told to wear something slutty.

I chose a t-shirt that was torn off at the midriff, with a micro mini-skirt that barely covered my privates, and platform heels. I changed in Carlo and Mirabelle's bedroom, watching Mirabelle put on a practically see through top and a similarly short skirt and thigh high boots. Neither of us were wearing a bra or panties. We looked at each other and giggled.

We went down the stairs together, wondering what devious scene Carlo had concocted.

I opened the door to the basement and saw that he had set up two chairs and a mock steering wheel in front of the left side chair. We figured we should sit in them, so we did.

Moments later Carlo came out from the bathroom wearing a policeman's uniform, complete with badge, billy club, and a holstered sidearm. I guessed it was a fake gun, but it looked real enough to me. His uniform was tight fitting to show off his hard upper body and he topped off his look with reflector aviator sunglasses and knee high black patent leather boots. I was sitting in the "driver's" seat so he came to my side.

"License and registration please." Carlo was a big man, and the uniform, his deep voice, and his dark hair and sharp features made me shiver at his words.

Of course I had neither of those. That's where the fun began.

"I'm sorry Sir, I think I forgot my driver's license." I looked at him doe eyed, hoping to elicit sympathy. He was unmoved.

"Then the registration please?"

I turned to Mirabelle. "Honey, can you look in the glove box to see if you can find the registration?"

Mirabelle pretended to shuffle through the glove compartment. "I can't seem to find it."

"Wait here."

He walked behind us for a minute to let us contemplate our dilemma. I was actually getting anxious. Mirabelle was nervously tapping her foot.

He came to my side of the "car" again. He took off his sunglasses and hooked one of the arms in his breast pocket. He placed his hand over his sidearm.

"I'm sorry, but you're both going to have to step out of the car now."

I decided to be sassy. "I'm not getting out of the car until you tell me what's going on." Then I turned to Mirabelle. "Honey, don't get out until I tell you." She nodded, her eyes widening.

"Ma'am, if you and your girlfriend don't get out of this car this instant I'm going to have to forcibly remove you. Do you want me to do that?"

I shrunk back into my chair. "No Sir."

"Then get out, you and your slutty girlfriend ... now."

"I'll have you know my girlfriend isn't ...".

He pulled my arm so I was standing upright on my impossibly high heels and wrestled me behind my chair. Seeing me forcibly stand up, Mirabelle stood up as well and got behind her chair, nervous as me.

"This car has been reported stolen. I'm going to place you both under arrest. But first I'm going to have to frisk you for weapons."

That was laughable. You couldn't fit a squirt gun in either of our outfits.

"You're not going to touch me or my friend," cried Mirabelle.

"Shut up you slut," said Carlo. "Now spread your legs."

We placed our hands on the back of the chairs and spread our legs. I was getting excited and I'm sure Mirabelle was as well.

Carlo came behind me first. He started by patting me down around my shoulders, but his hands went in front of me and cupped my breasts. He pinched both of my nipples at the same time. I sucked in a deep breath.

"Hey!" I complained.

"Do you want me to add resisting arrest to the charges?"

"No Sir."

"Then shut the fuck up."

His hands went lower. He slipped one under the waistband of my skirt. I was sure of what he'd find inside. He pulled his hand out and it was glistening with my excitement.

"Are you getting sexually excited by this?"

This role play was getting me rightfully excited. "No Sir."

"You're lying."

"I'm not Sir."

"Then why is my hand wet?"

"I don't know Sir."

"I do. It's because you're slut, aren't you?"

"No Sir, I'm not."

Without warning, he flipped up my skirt and pressed his body tightly against me. I could feel his belt buckle and his burgeoning erection. He was well hung, so I could feel his cock pushing between and spreading the cheeks of my ass.

His hot breath was in my ear. "You want me to fuck you, don't you? You want me to fuck you and to have your slut girlfriend lick your pussy after I fuck you. Tell me you want it ... slut."

"No Sir. I don't want that at all." In truth, that's exactly what I wanted. But this role play was making me even hotter. I could hear Mirabelle panting, and he wasn't even touching her.

"You do. And I'm going to make you beg for it."

"No Sir. I wasn't raised to be a slut." I thought this would get a good response.

"And yet you are." He reached under me and thrust two fingers inside me. I was so wet they went in all the way to the webbing of his fingers. It was as if I had stuck a screwdriver into an electric socket. My eyes got very wide.

"Oh God Sir, no ..." I pleaded. I was so hot and so wet he could have made me cum if he had just touched my clit.

"Beg for it." He added a finger. He was stretching me wide open. The floodgates were about to open.

"No Sir ... nooooo ...".

He pulled his fingers out. The void left me gasping for breath. I wanted him so badly, yet I wanted this delicious dance to continue.

"Tell me you want it slut."

His fingertip brushed against my clit. My thighs snapped shut, trapping his hand between my legs.

"Ohh Goddddd ..."

He flicked his finger against my clit again. The role play was forgotten. The need was too great.

"Please Sir ..."

"Please Sir what?"

"Please Sir ... your cock."

He pinched my clit between his fingers. I closed my eyes and saw stars.

"Please Sir, please fuck this worthless slut ... please fuck me now." I was in full submission. I loved it.

"That's better. Now that we know what you are." I'm sure Carlo loved it. His cock was rock hard.

He unzipped his pants and pressed his hardened tool against my oozing slit. Even though he was big, the finger fuck and the lubrication made him slide in easily. He stretched me to the point of nirvana.

"Yes Sir. That's it Sir. Fuck me Sir," I said over and over as he grunted, his muscular abs slapping against my ass, taking me higher and higher.

He stilled, with me impaled on his throbbing cock, his hot cum shooting deep inside me. I tipped over the edge, falling into that great abyss of pleasure. My knees gave way and I sunk to the floor, a warm sticky wetness trickling down my thighs.

I heard him speaking, though I didn't have an ounce of energy to move.

"Clean it up slut." He was speaking to his wife. My pulse quickened.

"No," she said.

"She's the driver. She's going to jail unless you do this. Do you want to see your girlfriend in jail?"

"No Sir," I heard her say meekly. I knew she would give in and I'd feel her tongue against my cum filled pussy.

"Well?"

I heard her move behind me. He repositioned me on my hands and knees, with me still being too weak to obey his commands. Then I felt her tongue, tentative at first, and then with vigor, digging inside my folds, then licking my thighs, until the sticky sweetness of my honey and his seed were safely in her mouth.

I shuddered with each lick, relishing both the sensations and the depravity of her act, both stirring the beginnings of yet another orgasm that I couldn't, and didn't want to stop. Our hot talk had heightened the level of excitement, and I wanted to stoke those flames.

"Yessss ... Mirabelle," I implored, the role play forgotten. "Lick your husband's cum out of my cunt."

My encouragement spurred her on. Her wet lips engulfed my pussy, soiled with Carlo's seed, and sucked, drawing him into her. I started to moan instead of talk, and she did too. I could imagine that she was fingering herself, merging her feelings with mine, to complete our submissive act with her husband.

I wanted to cum with her. Satisfied that she was done cleaning me, she moved to my clitoris, sucking it out of its protective hood, and lashing it until I was delirious with pleasure. Her moaning was more like a vibration on my clit, her deep throated growl taking me to a place not visited before ... a dark place ... a place holding my wicked visions, this one being a woman sucking the cum of her husband out of his lover's cunt. The thought of it ignited a wildfire, an uncontrollable climax, that took her with me as I rolled on my back, her hand a blur between her legs.

We came, gloriously, together, and then she crawled up and collapsed into my arms, us locked in a tight, sweaty embrace.

Carlo couldn't contain himself and clapped.

Then I heard him zipping up his pants.

"I lied to you about the car being stolen. Now get the fuck out of here."

It was my best encounter with a policeman ... ever.

* * *

I took Carlo's advice to heart. I surprised Juliet by inviting her to coffee at a local roastery that I frequented. Being new to town, Juliet wasn't familiar with it.

She was dress smartly, as usual, not a hair out of place and not a crease in her clothes. Her red hair was straightened and rolled up in a French twist. Her make-up was businesswoman, understated but conveying strength, not sexuality. The cut of her clothes was sharp, but again not to be attractive but to convey wealth ... and power. There was little color in her wardrobe.

But underneath that business armor was a tall woman, slender in build, but blessed with the breasts of a much larger woman. No clothes could hide that. She wasn't there to attract me. She was there to control me.

She approached my table. I was sitting and about to enjoy first sip of piping hot coffee. I wanted to be a few minutes early so I wouldn't be late. Juliet showed up precisely on time.

"Good morning Ms. Barnett." Her greeting was as crisp and businesslike as her clothes.

"Good morning Juliet," I replied. I decided I was going to be on a first name basis with her. She made no effort to sit down across from me, in the chair that was obviously for her. She stood there and waited, saying nothing.

I relented. "Good morning Ms. Andrews." We were clearly not on a first name basis.

She was holding a cup of coffee and put it on the table. She smoothed her skirt under herself as she sat down. "So tell me Ms. Barnett, why did you invite me to coffee this morning?"

This had become a business meeting, not a social gathering. I wondered how I could save it.

"I thought it was a good idea for us to get together. I know we haven't gotten off on the right foot. I really want it ...".

"Just tell me Karen." She shifted to the personal. It was noticeable, and hurt, like a fine paper cut.

I didn't dare do the same and call her Juliet again. "Ms. Andrews, I really need my job. I really want to do a good job for you."

"Is that it?" she asked. Her tone was brusque.

She hadn't touched her coffee and I hadn't either.

I was dumbfounded. This was the coldest bitch I'd ever encountered.

"Well ... yes."

"I'm all about performance, Ms. Barnett. I'm not here to be your friend. If you do what I say, everything will be good. Do we have an understanding?"

Oh fuck. I felt like Carlo was talking to me.

"Yes Ms. Andrews. We have an understanding."

She got up and left, leaving her untouched coffee on the table.

I picked up hers, as well as mine, and threw them both in the trash.

* * *

Two Weeks Later

It didn't matter what I was going to wear. I was going to have to take it off anyway. But everybody else who was going to the club was going to be dressed up, at least with headwear, so I put on rabbit ears that were mounted on a headband. I brought along a fluffy bunny tail that I glued on the end of a butt plug. That was going to be my costume, at least until I had to wear my assigned one as a slave. I put on a pair of jeans and a baggy sweatshirt and tucked the butt plug into my purse.

Ally was going to pick me up in her Mustang. That girl loved cars, and her fully restored 1964 Mustang was her pride and joy. She stored it at a local garage, and took it out on special occasions, like this one. Her car rumbled up my driveway. Fortunately my two high school kids went to their school's football game, and then the post-game party, so they wouldn't be back until very late.

The car was idling in the driveway when I came out. Ally was leaning out the window, leering at me in my bunny ears, ill-fitting sweatshirt, scruffy jeans and tennis shoes.

"That won't fucking do," she said disgustedly. "If you're going to be a slut, you need to dress like one."

She shut off the engine and got out of the car. She pulled me by the sweatshirt, dragging me back to the house.

"Open," she said.

I fumbled through my purse to find the keys. Ally looked over my shoulder and could see the butt plug.

"Ahhh ... you did bring something to wear," she chuckled.

"It's for later."

"I can't wait."

We went into my bedroom. She turned on the lights and went straight to my closet with me in tow. She pulled off my ridiculous bunny ears and tossed them in the wastebasket. She pulled out a sheer white blouse, skinny jeans, and my Christian Louboutin's. Sam bought them for me. It was a pair of red pumps with four inch heels. Definitely of the "fuck me" variety. The one (and only) time I wore them was at the club the first time I went there. It brought back good memories. She held them up for us to admire.

"Ohhhh, girlfriend. You've got to wear these heels. You look so good in them, especially when you're naked."

It was a good call. Carlo complimented me on those shoes, and Mirabelle licked and sucked on them, so they were clearly club worthy.

"Fine ... fine ..." I said. It was a bitch wearing them. I almost fell over a dozen times the one time I wore them. I was worried my luck might run out.

I changed my clothes and put on the shoes. Ally helped me freshen up my make-up.

We got into her Motor City pony car. She zipped effortlessly through traffic. We didn't talk. I was thinking about what was going to happen at the club. I volunteered to be a slave. That meant servicing the members of the club as they saw fit, which could include punishment if I didn't meet their expectations, or if they just felt like it. I was convinced I was a submissive, but it had only been for a select few people, and I always wondered if my submissiveness would apply to a steady stream of strangers.

We pulled into the parking lot of the nondescript white cinder block building and met Rupert, the same gentleman that had manned the front door every time I visited. He recognized Ally first, and then me, and broke into a broad smile.

"You girls coming to this party?" he asked. I'm not sure why it was phrased as a question since our names were on the paper list held by the clipboard he was holding.

"Wouldn't miss it," said Ally.

"Either of you girls ... uhhh ... volunteers for tonight?"

I meekly raised my hand.

"You look good Miss Karen. Club's waiving your entrance fee. Ally, you're all set."

Rupert hefted his body out of his padded folding chair and opened the door for us. Inside was Doris (I never knew her last name).

"You're back," said Doris, the owner of the club. Doris hailed from Brooklyn, and brought her accent and her New York sensibilities to the South. As usual, she was wearing a leather vest (with nothing on underneath) and a thong. I was still captivated by her erotic tattoos. I imagined she tried every position depicted on her arms.

"I am," I answered. This time I was a bit steadier on my feet and didn't have to lean on her for support.

"You're welcome to change in my office. I think the changing area is full up right now."

The club did have a unisex changing room, but with the event that day the room was certain to be packed. I took Doris up on her offer so she unlocked her office door and let me in. It was clear Doris didn't have any inhibitions. There were pictures on the wall, some faded, of her as a much younger woman. They weren't the kind you'd ever see in a family album. Most were of her having sex with a woman, there were a few group shots (everyone was nude), and one taken on a nude beach, with her in the arms of an older man with graying hair.

I almost jumped when she came up behind me. "It's my late husband."

"He's handsome."

"He was my Dom," she said, almost reverently.

"Oh," I answered. There wasn't much more I could say.

"I kind of went toward women after he passed away. It was an acquired taste at first, but now I know I'm a lesbian. I see a lot of myself in you."

I started peeling off my clothes. I was stepping out of my underwear when she explained.

"I was about your age ... you're about thirty-five? ... when I met Sandino. He was married at the time ... his wife was one of his submissives. You look like you've taken up with Carlo and Mirabelle, kind of like I did. They're a really nice couple."

I stopped listening after Doris said I was thirty-five. I kissed her on the cheek. "Thirty-five?" I said. "Bless you."

"Anyway, I started this club because of people like you. That want to explore. Who want to find themselves ... sexually I mean. Look at you. When you first came here you didn't even know if you liked it. Now you're going to be one of my party sluts. How does that make you feel?"

"It makes me feel pretty good. I really like the idea of the hood. Now I can really be who I want to be."

"That's the idea." She handed me a black leather hood and a matching harness, as well as a dog collar. There were cutouts for the eyes and mouth in the hood. The harness didn't cover much, but had rings that would accommodate a carabiner if someone wanted to restrain me.

"I'll leave you to it," said Doris. She closed the door behind her.

I was really going to do this. I struggled to put on the harness and hood.

I looked in the mirror. The image I was seeing scared me ... it was almost sinister. A glossy black leather hood. My hair was tucked in so you couldn't even tell my hair color. Brown eyes, peering out of round holes, full red painted lips, the hood fully covering my head and neck. A metal studded dog collar. My breasts, exposed and held up by strategically placed straps of my harness. The look was topped off with my slutty red heels.

Doris was patiently waiting for me while I changed in her office. I opened it a crack and invited her in to look at me. She took a careful look, having me do a spin for her.

"You look incredibly sexy Karen. And those shoes ... they make your outfit."

"Oh," she said. "There's one more thing. Stay still."

She reached around my neck and fastened a metal disc to my dog collar. There was a white number imprinted on a black metal disc that was the size of a hockey puck. It said simply "8."