Chapter 10: San Francisco, Here I Cum

We took a 747 from New York to San Francisco, went directly to the Mark Hopkins hotel to rest and overcome jet lag. All right, we checked in early to fuck, if you must know everything. Andy was asleep on the bed, prettier than a centerfold, as I sat in the arm chair watching her, sipping on a Coke and thinking about my situation.

While I certainly was enjoying the two women and all the plans and activities Uncle Bert (as I continued to call my natural father) laid out for me, I was dissatisfied with my knowledge of how the programming had been done and the accumulation of information necessary to duplicate the formula.

And, I was missing Mary. I wanted to fuck her and I wanted to fuck her now. Strange, isn’t it? I had just finished fucking every man’s wet dream, my cock still damp with her juices, her fragrance still heavy in my nose. Already, I was thinking about another woman. Her mother, yet. But, I felt those stirrings between my legs. I decided not to dwell on the ethical and moral ramifications of that dilemma. Rather, I decided to call Mary and order her to the coast.

“Bert wants me to stay here, Davy. He wants this time to be just for Andy and you. I will be here, ready for you when you get back.”

“How do you know what Bert wants?”

“He told me before he died. He told me many things, Davy.”

“Tell me what he told you.”

“I cannot discuss it over the phone, Davy.”

“You know you are programmed?”

“Yes. I am not sure how much I know. I mean, I do not think I know everything, but I know some things, a lot, really.”

“I command you to come to San Francisco and tell me your programming.”

“I cannot. And, do not come home yet. Do it the way your father wants, Davy.”

“You know that, too?”

“Yes, Davy. I do. Please, ask me no more until we are together. I am programmed not to tell you and I am programmed to obey you. This is creating a great conflict for me. I...”

“Mary! Relax! It is okay. Forget about this until we return home.”

“Thank you,” she said gratefully.

“Now... “ Our conversation trailed off into mundane matters, but my mind was spinning. Apparently, the mind control formula was so strong, the subject could know she was programmed and happily obey anyway. Maybe, it was in the programming. Once again, I wished Uncle Bert had let me participate in programming before he died.

“Baby, please come back to bed.”

Andy was on her side, her long golden hair modestly covering her breasts, her top leg crossed to hide her pussy. Her big, blue eyes were sexy and sweet. Who could tell her no? Not me.

The next morning we contacted Madam Delilah.

While Diana in New York was fetish training, Delilah in San Francisco was mainline sex: flirting, sucking, fucking, caressing, massage, all the regular stuff. I was surprised how much fun it was and how much I learned. Andy learned even more than I did.

Madam Delilah ran a string of ten to fifteen women and five to eight men in a very high priced call girl (and guy) shop. While Heidi Fleiss in LA was getting a thousand a night for her girls, Delilah often got three to five thousand for hers. She assigned us Rebecca. If I did not have Andy and Mary, I would have pleaded with Rebecca to come be with me permanently.

Rebecca was beautiful. She was about thirty-five, six feet tall in her heels, 34C - 21 - 35 (I asked her), with the longest, most beautiful legs in the world (sorry, Andy, even better than yours) and a wonderful ass (here you beat her, Andy). Her face was impeccable: flawless skin, high cheekbones, marvelous lips, big green eyes huge and bright like emeralds under long black lashes. Her coal black hair fell to her shoulders.

Most important, Rebecca had a class ... an air ... about her. It was an aura which said, “I am the most perfect woman ever. I am unavailable, but I will coolly evaluate you, and ... and, if you are the man who lights my fire, I will be the wildest, hottest slut whoever lived.”

It was that classy, cool, princess-like demeanor with the promise of a hot, slutty wild woman underneath which made men quiver with desire. I know I quivered.

Rebecca, Andy and I went to dinner at San Francisco’s finest restaurant. Both of the women wore black, floor length, form fitting cocktail dresses. Andy’s dress had a high, square neck in front and was backless. Rebecca’s dress had spaghetti straps, a deep V to the navel in front and was backless. Both of them were tastefully adorned in jewelry and makeup. The restaurant had that noisy but pleasant sound of quality restaurants when we entered. I told the maitre d’ to escort the ladies to our table. I wanted to watch the room when they walked through it.

Slowly, elegantly, the two ladies floated toward the table, like goddesses visiting us mortals here on earth. The noise level lowered significantly as they progressed, heads, male and female, turning to observe them. At several tables, the women berated their male companions for obviously staring. As they sat, the room began to return to normal. I joined them. By the time I got there, and it was not a minute, two different men had sent champagne.

“May I join you ladies?” I asked.

“Certainly,” Rebecca said. That woman could have made millions doing voice overs on commercials.

So, you ask, what did you learn from Rebecca? I learned she had not been programmed by Uncle Bert. (See! He did screw up once in a while. Where was that damn formula when I needed it?) I learned there was another woman besides Mary and Andy in this world who made me hard the entire time I was with her. I was glad Uncle Bert programmed me. I finally told my prick “down boy” just so I could sit comfortably.

It was what Andy learned that was important. At eighteen, Andy was a magnificent diamond but a diamond in the rough. Rebecca polished her by letting Andy observe her. Andy learned to be a classy but sensual lady. And, Andy learned more about the subtle feminine art of sexual teasing and flirting from Rebecca than I could have believed possible. It is an art too few women know.

For example, one night, as part of our training, we met Rebecca at her home, which was in a high rise condo in an expensive part of town.

“We are going to play a game,” she said. “David, Andy, I want you to sit here (she indicated a love seat which allowed a clear view of her bedroom). I will be a woman coming home from a date. Do not speak or participate until it is time. Just watch.”

We made ourselves comfortable, sitting side by side, holding hands like two teenagers in our parent’s living room.

Rebecca left the room. In a moment, we heard the front door open and close. We heard her humming and the sound of the refrigerator opening. Then, the click clack of her high heels on the hall floor. Entering the room, she casually threw her wrap on a chair. She walked into the bathroom, leaving the door open so we could hear, but not see. We heard the distinct sound of a woman peeing and a toilet flush. She was setting the stage.

The evening was a long, slow, delicious strip tease, with her acting as though she were alone, letting us be the voyeurs watching her. Softly humming a romantic number, she began by observing herself in her mirror, turning, hands smoothing her dress, a small smile creeping across her lips.

“Not bad,” she whispered. It took a long time for her to remove her ear rings. All the time she was moving seductively, like dancing by herself in rhythm with the music she hummed. Then, she sat, pulling the skirt up to her thighs to remove her shoes. She did not just take her shoes off. That woman could remove a high heel more erotically than most women remove their panties.

Everything was done slowly. An actor will tell you timing is everything. It is in seduction also. The movements must be natural but slow, arousing but sensual, allowing the voyeur to build in desire. She started detaching her stockings from the garter belt she wore, each movement appearing to be only what was required to undress, but really designed to maximize our arousal. Andy shifted in her seat. Her eyes were hot. Since I was programmed to act naturally, you know what I was like.

Rebecca rolled her stockings down her legs, caressing those long, silky, limbs erotically as she did. Her panties were clearly visible as she moved. She lay the stockings on her dressing table. The stockings were rolled, reminding me of a nylon condom for a giant. She stretched and yawned which thrust her breasts against her dress and made us all think about getting in bed. She patted barefooted into the kitchen, swaying seductively as she walked. We heard the refrigerator open.

Rebecca returned with a glass of champagne and a bowl of strawberries. She would dip a strawberry in the champagne, slowly bring it to her lips to suck the champagne off and nibble at the berry.

After treating us to a slowly done play of a woman at her dressing table, suddenly, she stood, quickly unzipped her dress and dropped it to the floor. The motion was so quick, and smooth, it was a shock to us watching, from both the change of pace in her activities and the disrobing. Her garter belt was gone in a flash, leaving her in a bra and very sexy panties.