A Parliament of Owls: Book 1 of the Veneries
Chapter 1: Saturday Morning Awakening

Copyright© 2017 by LughIldanach

Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 1: Saturday Morning Awakening - While a collecton of crows is a murder, a set of owls is a parliament. That seems most appropriate for a group of wise people who influence politics, and help Hal correct his unfortunate virginity. Getting rid of it, and nurturing him along with the other owls, makes for a happy band of brothers and sisters, moving the political stables in the best of directions.

Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Mult   Romantic   Lesbian   BiSexual   Heterosexual   CrossDressing   Workplace   Extra Sensory Perception   Polygamy/Polyamory   Politics   Prostitution  

Joan

My wakeup music started gently, but shifted to something far more energetic: “Nine to Five”.

Tumble outta bed
And I stumble to the kitchen
Pour myself a cup of ambition
And yawn and stretch
And try to come to life
Jump in the shower
And the blood starts pumpin’
Out on the street
The traffic starts jumpin’
The folks like me on the job from 9 to 5

Workin’ 9 to 5,
What a way to make a livin’
Barely gettin’ by
It’s all takin’ and no givin’
They just use your mind
And they never give you credit
It’s enough to drive you crazy
If you let it
9 to 5, for service and devotion
You would think that I
Would deserve a fat promotion
Want to move ahead
But the boss won’t seem to let me
I swear sometimes that man is out to get me

They let you dream
Just to watch ‘em shatter
You’re just a step
On the boss-man’s ladder
But you got dreams
He’ll never take away
You’re in the same boat
With a lotta your friends
Waitin’ for the day your ship’ll come in
‘N’ the tide’s gonna turn
And it’s all gonna roll your way

Workin’ 9 to 5
What a way to make a livin’
Barely gettin’ by
It’s all takin’ and no givin’
They just use your mind
And you never get the credit
It’s enough to drive you crazy
If you let it
9 to 5, yeah
They got you where they want you
There’s a better life
And you think about it, don’t you
It’s a rich man’s game
No matter what they call it
And you spend your life
Puttin’ money in his wallet

9 to 5, whoa
What a way to make a livin’
Barely gettin’ by
It’s all takin’ and no givin’
They just use your mind
And they never give you credit
It’s enough to drive you crazy
If you let it

9 to 5, yeah
They got you where they want you
There’s a better life
And you dream about it, don’t you
It’s a rich man’s game
No matter what they call it
And you spend your life
Puttin’ money in his wallet

Dolly Parton

Indeed, I stumbled to the kitchen, thankful that the coffeemaker was on a timer. My overall ambition, though, was potent enough without the coffee, but I’m just not a fast starter in the morning.

By myself, I sleep naked.

After coffee and juice, I slipped into one of the high-cut leotards, soft, worn, clinging, in which I liked to work out. I started on the elliptical trainer, and then did a brief resistance workout with a small machine and some dumbbells; my heavy workout would be later. From there, I moved to box the speed bag. ‘

Stripping, I moved to the shower, thinking about how I wanted to adjust its many sprays. I checked to be sure that my robe was on the towel warmer, and then put my light red hair into a cap. Oh, I’d need to tease and spray it, but there wasn’t any point to getting it soaked. I looked at my assortment of shower gels, and decided that chocolate mint was nice for a traveling day.

Starting with my loofah, I scrubbed all over. With a soft sponge, I continued sudsing my groin. Next, I folded down the shower bench, adjusted a couple of nozzles, and sat down, my feet on a small shower stool. Spreading my legs, it didn’t take much wiggling to get the pulsating water stream to caress my clit.

Hal

It’s appropriate that I like my coffee black, as I gazed into the dark fluid and wondered if my situation was also that black. I decided that it wasn’t that bad.

I had been working for a high-pressure government study, and had clashed with the Big Boss for being “irritable”. Given that my weeks usually were longer than 80 hours, much of which was in the dead of night, that really wasn’t surprising. One of the few redeeming things was his executive assistant, who, even in those days when miniskirts were acceptable at the office, had some of the longest legs, in the shortest skirts, that I had seen outside a club.

The civil service rules did require that I be paid for the rather large amount of overtime, and, indeed, at a premium rate unusual for my grade level, but triggered by the exceptional amount of overtime. So, I had several months of income and potential leisure.

Clubs hadn’t been that great a place for me. I just wasn’t having the social and sex life that I wanted. Maybe I needed some sexual relief. I had learned that sexual activity had mostly been decriminalized in New York City, under a reform mayor. I decided to take one of the new luxury buses to the city and find out.

First, though, I had responsibility. Sitting on my couch, a substantial orange tabby leaped to my lap, buzzed, and rubbed his face against mine. O’Reilly the Orange had, quite possibly, more emotional intelligence than any two- or four-legged creature whom I have ever met. He gave me a dirty look. “Yes, guy, I’m going to go away, not more than 48 hours. No, you aren’t going to have to wait to be fed. I’ve asked Lou, our neighbor, to drop in and give you fresh stuff. You like him and he’ll spend some time with you.”

“No, guy. I’m not leaving this second.” I moved to my couch, a wonderfully comfortable leather piece that I had found at a thrift store. It was most conducive to meditation, as was O’Reilly.

Joan

Out of the water stream, I still tingled, and was ready for the next parts of my morning ritual. Drying off, I slipped into a plush, emerald green robe, sensually heated by my towel warmer. I looked at my collection of bedroom slippers, selecting a pair of mules with five-inch heels. No, I wasn’t awake enough for the six-inch. Anyway, I have sufficiently great legs that super-high heels are accents rather than requirements. Yes, I have the sufficiently great modesty to boast about them, and other great attributes of mine, the greatest probably being humility. That sequence of thoughts always leaves me giggling.

I settled into my recliner, in front of a large television screen. There was a little control panel next to the arm of my chair, which allowed me to control the video library, but also the camera next to the screen. That camera provided me with a mirror in which I could assess my building lust. I was still looking for a tech wizard that could rig split screens.

My clit still wanted attention. I thought about what porn was desirable this morning, and found one in which a streetwalker found a most enjoyable client.

Starting the video, I applied my vibrator, watching as the girl on the screen strutted. It did a very nice job showing women flaunting themselves at passing cars.

I knew that I was better-looking than most of the women in the video, and certainly almost all that I have seen on the street. Nevertheless, I reveled in their naughtiness.

When I thought of one bringing me along, to join in a scene with a client, I exploded in pleasure. Switching to the camera, I enjoyed looking at my aroused body. I hit a button that set an alarm, and let myself drift into a brief sleep.

Awakening, I got dressed for travel, grateful for the private, secure, transportation. First, I sat at my makeup table, and put on my ... ahem ... war paint. My green eyes get enhancement, but I like to think that they’re striking by themselves. I applied lip liner, then lipstick, then lip gloss. Yes, my preference is a brilliant red.

Going back to my recliner and still watching the camera, I rolled on my stockings, something I always found sensual. It had taken a while to find the right shade. The brand that I usually wore called the color “champagne and red”, which puzzled me a bit. “Cinnamon” was a different name. My desire, though, was to have something dark enough that people could see that I was wearing tan hose, with enough red in it to pick up my hair.

My garter belt definitely was red. I clipped it to my stockings. If there’s no requirement to be conservative, I like leather clothing for travel. It doesn’t wrinkle, and, if thin enough, is very comfortable. Today, I decided to vary from my usual warm shades, and slipped into a black leather mini. My top was a soft cashmere white sweater, over which I put on a lightweight black bar vest. I completed the leather look with high-heeled black leather knee boots. Checking myself in the mirror, I definitely approved.

Hal

With a final head bump, O’Reilly jumped down and headed for his bowl. That freed me for some personal play. I had vivid enough images in mind that I didn’t need porn, but I did leaf through a collection of pages from fashion magazines, enjoying ever-more provocative minis in situations ideally including offices. I also thought of clubs.

Still, my mind kept wandering back to Diane, and some other office workers. In the winter, she often wore boots, but changed to low heels at her desk. If I happened to walk by, I got an even better show of her legs. I did regret that she didn’t keep the boots on, which I thought were more flattering.

In my imagination, I thought of the two of us moving into a private office. She sat on the executive desk, and I was in a very comfortable chair in front of her. Diane giggled, reached into a large purse, removed some party-style high heels, and slipped into them. “These are bedroom shoes. They are very clean.” With that, she placed her feet on my shoulders. I kissed at the heels, and then worked my way up her legs, rubbing my face against her stockinged legs. Somewhere in the fantasy, I reached orgasm. No, it wasn’t detailed as far as the act, but it was what I needed.

I showered, shaved, and dressed in a comfortable preppy-inspired way -- a soft blue denim shirt rather than oxford, khaki slacks, and moccasins, topped with a light jacket.

O’Reilly looked victimized as I packed up a small gym bag. “Guy, you’ll be fine. Not a huge chance, but maybe I’ll bring back a playmate. Hope I do.”

The Orange One understands a lot. He cocked his head and mate what I’ll call an approving sound of “good luck.”

I caught a cab to the bus station, going to the deluxe coach check-in. The cashier was quite lovely, but I was too inhibited to flirt.

Joan

The phone rang, reminding me that the van would be ready in a few minutes. I grabbed my small suitcase and headed to it. Aboard were Elizabeth, Carol, and Gerri. Melissa was driving. Elizabeth and I exchanged a grin when we both realized that we picked black and white looks.

“Angus, Barbie, and Martin are already in New York.” Melissa pulled from the curb and drove to the General Aviation terminal at Washington National. She dropped off the luggage and went to park.

We went to the executive jet. Our flight attendant today was Lester, a delightful gay man who was a sophisticated judge of our looks. I did wonder, at times, if he developed his knowledge from personal drag experience. Oh well – I make a point of being accepting. At some point, if he wanted, he could tell me about it.

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