Chapter 10

Emily’s phone woke us too soon, though later than other class days, and we had time for showers, with Emily sharing with Hannah, and for breakfast at the diner near the mint.

There, Hannah finally asked, “Who are you really?” which froze us.

“Why would you ask that?” Emily asked.

“It’s pretty obvious you’re not from here or have lived here very long. Your license has your condo address and yet you seem to know little about your environs. I suppose I could understand you not knowing about the Mexican restaurant, but you seemed genuinely surprised about the converted old hotel, which everyone in Denver, especially anyone as sophisticated as you two, would know about.”

“Very observant, Hannah,” Emily smiled. “I apologize for any deception. Unfortunately it’s necessary. What Joe and I are involved in is at the highest level of secrecy. Just getting to know you has been against protocol, but you’re just too sexy and interesting to resist.”

“You’re safe,” I added. “But there really is nothing else we can say.”

“Can you at least tell me where you’re from?”

“New York,” I said.

“I knew it,” Hannah crowed.

“The upper Midwest originally,” Emily divulged, “And Joe actually was my teacher and I seduced him as soon as that relationship ended.”

“That house and the people I met?” Hannah continued.

Both Emily and I sighed. “More secrets,” I told her, “to which I’d appreciate you don’t divulge.”

“I told Jo about it,” Hannah admitted. “Not exactly where, and just first names.”

“Just keep it between you two,” I recommended.

“I will,” Hannah promised.

“Is it okay if we meet you Sunday?” Emily asked.

“Saturday would be better, though I’ll be there until closing. I need Sunday to catch up since you two have been a distraction,” she shrugged.

“Saturday it is,” I smiled.

After I paid for our meals, we hugged and kissed briefly outside the diner, and Emily and I watched Hannah disappear around the corner, giving a quick wave before she did. Not long after we crossed over to the hidden back entrance to the mint.

Not much more than two hours later, the last of the pairs completed their house and left, with Marie briefly visiting with Emily before the French woman departed with Heinrich. Pat came over to us and inspected our work, although no doubt it had been incorporated into his software all along. “The others have seen the layout of the ship,” he told us, “which you will do when you arrive at the mountain headquarters. There will be a conservatory which will house rooms for various artistic ventures including music. Each discipline will have smaller rooms available and a larger performance space such that, for instance, a person can do his or her art privately and have a gallery to present it to the public. Material and equipment will be available including canvas and stretchers, modeling clay, plaster and a limited amount of casting metals. The same is true for music. Many of the private rehearsal rooms will have pianos for instance and there will be a diverse group of instruments to choose, virtually any used in an orchestra along with those of a more regional origin. The list will be available at headquarters and can be amended.”

“In other words, a music room isn’t necessary,” I said.

“Exactly.”

“And why not inform us?” Emily asked.

“I just did. It is what I do when the house is ready according to the housemates and then it is my task to inspect it, question unusual choices, and after they make changes or choose not to, the house is completed at the virtual level. If you had asked I would have informed you.”

“Like Gary did at the beginning,” I remembered.

“That was a bit more like an order. Gary is perfectly aware he has a workshop, but he tends to tinker at all hours. My response let him know any physical work on his devices was necessarily to be done only in his workshop. In your case, though we prefer the social aspects of art, thus the shared area, if you prefer the private space or wish to tinker on your music at all hours, it would be acceptable.”

“I had a more social idea in mind,” I chuckled. “A salon of sorts in which soloist or some chamber group would play and people would socialize, but it sounds like there would be a more comfortable place for that.”

“Yes.”

“More room,” Emily grinned.

“Anything else before we finish?” I asked.

“No.”

“Okay then.”

A little over a half hour later we finished our house and saved it.

While we put away our laptops, Pat remarked, “Thank you for your assistance. You will be notified where and when to meet your ride leaving Monday morning.”

“Early?” Emily asked.

“Yes.”

Once across the road and heading to the condo, Emily let me know, “Marie wants to meet with us. Tex and Amira too, but I told him we’d have dinner with them and spend the evening together.”

“Just Marie?” I asked.

“Yep. Should I let her know to stop by our place?”

“Sure. I can fix up those sandwiches.”

“It’s early for lunch. Maybe after.”

“After what?”

“I think you should talk to her.”

“You mean shrink her head?”

“Yep. She trusts me, but if you think it should just be you two...”

“Let’s see how it goes. What about Heinrich?”

“I guess he’s hanging out with Thad. I think they’re actually friends.”

“Birds of a feather,” I commented.

“Peacocks!” Emily laughed.

Emily let Marie know we were heading home, and minutes after our arrival there we heard a shy knock on the door. Emily opened it for her.

Marie was a stunningly lovely woman, perhaps even defining lovely. Her dark brunette hair, thick and long and wavy contrasted with her pale oval face featuring subtly high cheekbones beneath expressive eyes, a dash of green lightening their blue color. Her nose had some length to it, but softly rounded making it fit perfectly, and below it plump lips on a smallish mouth and a chin subtly rounded completing her loveliness. Despite herself, despite her often lowered gaze and the slumping of her shoulders and the loose unflattering clothes she wore, her loveliness prevailed as did the fullness of her breasts and perhaps less full ass. Despite her attempts she couldn’t quite hide her loveliness or her feminine attractiveness.

We spoke in French to make her comfortable. I knew enough to ask simple questions and could understand better than I could speak.

“Sit wherever you feel most comfortable,” I told her, which, unfortunately, didn’t give her a lot of choices. The condo was more like a hotel room, just a king size bed, an extended desk that could fit two, the separate kitchen probably its most incongruous part in the comparison. After looking around, Emily offered her her office chair, which actually was pretty comfortable. I sat on mine and Emily propped up pillows so she could sit on the bed.

“Tell me your first memory,” I started.

“The Bois de Boulogne,” Marie replied quietly. “My father helped me onto a bench and set the picnic basket beside me, handing me a sandwich of crusty bread and egg salad I think, and then a bottle of Orangina, you know the one that’s supposed to look like an orange? ‘Your favorite,’ he said. ‘So you be a good girl. You be a good girl for me, yes?’ He kept repeating it.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I didn’t want to be a good girl. I wanted to make a nuisance of myself. You see, I have always loved plants in whatever their form. Trees or grass or flowers or weeds, it doesn’t matter. To me a sprouting plant is much cuter than say a kitty or puppy. And here we are in a city full of bricks and concrete and rock, and he brings me to a place with gardens and grass and whatever and he plops me down on a bench? I told him I was cold, I think it was morning and the cool night lingered in the air, and he takes the blanket we were supposed to sit on and have our picnic and I could run around and look at beautiful growing things and maybe show them to him and he wraps me in it. ‘Be a good girl for your daddy,’ he says. ‘I’ll be just over there,’ he points to another bench across the plantless path from us and a woman’s sitting there looking at us.

“He sits with her and I watch them and their intimate conversation. Not quite touching but wanting to touch, yes? I think I could have walked away without him noticing, but I sat and ate and drank my Orangina and watched. That’s what I remember.”

“How old were you?” I asked.

“Maybe four? I was precocious even then. My mother said I started talking earlier than normal and would rarely shut up, mostly about plants,” she laughed. “But I think ... I think my father warned me ... not to say anything because it would ruin everything. My father whom I adored became my enemy. And I didn’t say anything, in fact I rarely talked after, a sort of punishment or maybe a way to tell my mother what he’d done without telling her. I don’t think I ever saw that woman again. Maybe she was one of his students who was stalking him, though they seemed quite friendly. Ironically it was my mother who ended up running off with one of her research assistants. Not really running off, my parents were devoutly Catholic except the part of being fruitful and multiplying since I was an only child. They lived together but separately, only sometimes they would each go off for a week or two while the other remained with me, and in the summer I would stay with my mother’s mother out in the provinces and most probably they were with their lovers.

“Grandmother kept me busy cleaning and working her little plot of land cultivating whatever whim struck her, though she had some permanent things, persimmon trees, and rose vines clung to the walls of the house. She was a taskmaster and I was her dutiful slave but I loved it. My best memories were there. My best friend too, but of course it was seasonal.”

“Did you have friends otherwise?” I asked.

“Not really, no. Aside from being quiet and shy, I felt no affinity towards the students, no common ground. My mother wanted me to play field hockey, to socialize, but it felt absurd, being aggressive about scoring a meaningless goal by whacking a ball with a stick and having others aggressive about preventing it. As far as exercise, I preferred my own company biking and swimming. And when I started skipping grades, I became the little freak girl.

“There was someone sort of like me, a timid boy who got bullied, and I probably should have befriended him, but he kind of smelled bad,” Marie shrugged.

“They were too childish,” I offered.

“But I was a child too, wasn’t I? Maybe I wanted to learn more than I wanted to play, but I still wanted to play. I would have preferred having a friend, but I was too smart for them, and it was as much keeping from insulting them as it was being frustrated by their lack of intelligence. I couldn’t find a way to be with my fellow children. And grown-ups...”

“What about them?” I asked.

She looked directly at me, her expression one of deep sadness and yet determination. “This is the crux of it Joe. This is why I need this.” She stood and began to undress.

“Marie?” I gasped. “This isn’t...”

“You don’t have to get naked Joe,” she told me. “But I prefer it if you did.”

I looked at Emily who shrugged and began removing her clothing, so I did too. “Will me getting hard be a problem?” I asked, watching her unveil a spectacular body, near c cup breasts that held firm, a waist curving sensually to moderately wide hips, and her ass, which she showed me while bending to remove her panties, was pale, sculpted perfection. Her dark brown bush had been trimmed at the edges, for swimming most likely, but was otherwise full, and, being French I guess, both her armpits and legs remained unshaven.

“I expect you to get hard,” she replied with complete seriousness.

“May I ask about you being unshaven?” Emily requested.

“Heinrich doesn’t mind,” she replied, pulling the covers down, Emily shifting to help.

“And Thad?” I asked.

“He hates it,” Marie muttered. “Another thing to hate,” she sobbed.

I followed her into bed and she turned and hugged me. I felt her tears dampen my shoulder.

“When you’re ready,” I said.

She pulled away from me on her side and I faced her. Her hand reached down and took my cock, already hard from her presence, which she would have felt when we embraced. “Have you ever had a Sadomasochist relationship?”

“Uhm, yes,” I answered her.

“Really?” Emily exclaimed.

“I was very young, seventeen or eighteen,” I remembered. “I went to this club, this sort of underground rave with some friends, really acquaintances, students, one of which was a girl I was interested in and when I sat with her in the cafeteria these friends of hers joined us, one of them her boyfriend. Anyway, we got along and they invited me to this rave. Ecstasy was distributed and I was feeling no pain when this woman much older than me, around thirty I think, New York tough, muscular with short black hair, starts dancing with me, getting closer to me until she’s rubbing against me and she whisper/yells into my ear we should go. So I follow her out and we walk a couple blocks to catch a cab and end up at a loft on Bowery where through a partitioned room a blonde slim woman not much older than me lay spread wide, naked, padded cuffs on her wrists and bungee cords around her ankles, her eyes covered by a mask. She mutters the woman’s name, and the woman tells me to fuck her, that she prefers cock after all, and hands me a wrapped condom.

“I move over to the restrained blonde and crawl between her legs, my fingers moving up her thighs to her vagina and I find her slippery, lubricant I find out, KY probably, so I start fingering her and move over her to suckle her nipples. A crop strikes the nipple I’m not sucking, which hardens immediately and the blonde moans. The woman growls about me not fucking the blonde, and I notice some natural lubricant added to the KY in the vagina, so I kneel and pull down my pants and underpants and open the condom packet, and it’s the kind with lubricant and I roll it on and push it inside the blonde. Immediately the crop strikes my ass. It freaks me out, although not at all unexpected and I chalk it up to experience, a particularly weird one, but ... So I am fucking the blonde and the crop keeps spanking me and the blonde’s tits until the woman has the blonde suck the handle and ends up shoving it into my ass. More weirdness and kind of stimulating. A small whip starts being wielded, and it’s starting to hurt, actually distracting from the pleasure of the tight pussy, but the blonde gets really excited. The woman tells me to bite her nipple, and when I do the blonde cums intensely. I immediately back out of her.

“I think the woman realizes I’m not the masochist type and offers me the crop and the whip and has the woman turn over and puts the restraints back on. I experiment, striking the blonde on her ass, moving closer to her cunt and hitting her harder because of how she responds. The woman, wearing a leather bustier and nothing else, crawls in front of the blonde and has her give her head while brandishing a whip on her back. I finally slap the crop against the blonde’s cunt and she seems to be approaching climax because of it, so I slip back into her and fuck her and moisten the tip of the crop with her secretions and fuck her ass with it and just keep fucking her, her cumming again and again, until I finally cum. After that I was pretty much dismissed,” I chuckled.

Marie smiled and nodded and moved her head down to my crotch, taking in my cock, sucking it, letting it go gradually deeper until it penetrated her throat. She pulled off, took my hand and placed it on her head. “Force me,” she insisted.

“Marie?”

“I showed you I can take it. Make me fuck your cock with my throat. Please.”

I did as asked, taking hold of her hair so that I could pull her up before pushing her down, but my experience with deep throat kept me too tentative for her, knowing a girl has to breath when a cock stuffs up her throat.

“Joe,” Marie informed me. “I can take it. If I can’t I’ll scratch your thigh. See, no nails.”

Somehow I wasn’t surprised, she had the nervous tic of nibbling on her nails.

I kept my cock fucking her throat longer than I thought would be comfortable for her, so, though it felt intense, I couldn’t quite crest. Then Emily moved behind her wearing a strap on, masturbating it, and shoved fingers into Marie’s ass, and then, not long after, shoved the fake cock in while spanking Marie hard.

The intense moment sent me over still embedded deep inside Marie, and I felt Marie’s throat muscles roll across my cock as if milking it until she pulled off quickly and groaned with her own orgasm, the last of my ejaculations landing on her face. I’d seen it in porno, part of the proverbial money shot, but it never interested me or I thought the woman I was with, but it added to Marie’s pleasure. Her shut eyes opened, probably feeling the shots against her cheek and lower so it wouldn’t effect that most sensitive area, and her mouth widened, catching the last of the actual shots of ejaculate before closing her lips on my dwindling penis and taking the last, oozing cum.