Chapter 29: Sharon Gets Some Training

It was a bit after ten p.m.; the Wench moved quietly along the north hallway headed for her Mistress' rooms. Sharon as going to have to learn -- but she wouldn't, apparently; she'd had all the time in the world to, but she bucked Master at every turn. And he liked it that way, too, apparently... The Wench shook her head.

Passing Nora's rooms she picked up a set of sounds that were indistinct, but identifiable, nonetheless. Well, she was a few minutes early... The main door to the suite was open, or she'd have never heard anything in the first place; the Wench cautiously stuck her head through and swept the sitting room. The room was clear; the sounds echoed through the door to the bedroom, also open, if only partway. The Wench crept to the door to the soft exclamations of, "Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh!" that came intermixed with the slap, slap, slap, slap of flesh striking flesh. The Wench committed an eye, then two, and finally her whole head to the opening when it became apparent that the pair weren't exactly worrying about getting caught...

They were on the bed, going at it doggy-style, both of their faces turned up, eyes closed as they savored one another. The smacks were Nate's belly striking Nora's plush ass, which the narrow black boy had big handfuls of as he rocked her back to meet him, controlling the stroke and penetration. Nate had a nice cock -- the length of the stroke told the Wench that it was sizeable, and from what she could see, it had a nice girth to it, too -- no wonder Nora was so taken with him. As for Nora, she looked a lot like her mother, nude. Wide hips and that incongruously big ass, decent-sized breasts that swung below her with the rhythm of Nate's pounding strokes; doggy-style could make Twiggy look like she had udders, but Nora's had that firmness to their jiggle that bespoke youth and firmness. Both were sweating, and Nora shook her head to flick damp, dishwater-blonde curls back from her flushed face as she panted in rhythm to Nate's pounding. Nate was working like a metronome, his tightly-muscled ass flexing as he drove himself into her with a steady, urgent, driving rhythm like the heavy beat of a Donna Summer song.

As the Wench watched, Nora's face got even redder, and she hunkered down, dragging her nipples against the bedclothes while raising her ass to give young Nate an even better shot and increase his impacts on her clitoris. Her muffled grunts took on a rising note, beginning to sound inadvertently like a question, "Oh? Oh? Oh? Oh?..." Obviously, the sensations were intense; Nora's head began to swing back and forth as if she were listening for the rumble of her approaching orgasm.

Suddenly, the Wench could see definition to every muscle in Nora's body as she went "Oh! OHHH!! OH, GAWD!!!" and drove herself against Nate, her hands clenching wads of the bedclothes. Nate continued somehow to pound, his jaw clenched, his expression wildly intent while the Wench watched Nora's belly flutter and her ass clench in powerful contractions. The Wench chuckled to herself; if Nora wasn't good in bed, who was? "Oh, God, Honey, oh, God..." Nora moaned, and Nate uttered his first word since the Wench had begun watching: "Four..."

Nora was showing the effects of serious stress as she struggled to recover, moaning, "Cum, cum!"

Nate grinned tightly; the Wench could see his pleasure at having reduced his woman to a submissive vessel, begging for his seed. The Wench supplied THAT thought -- it wasn't exactly how Nate would have expressed it -- but it was true, nonetheless. "Where?" he grunted.

"In me..." Nora husked, "or I'll drink it -- but give it to me! I want you to cum like I have!" She took a breath. "Do my ass!"

"Can't! No time! AaaaaaAAAAAHHHHHH!!!" Obviously, the idea had triggered him; Nora had better lay in some lube... Nate dragged Nora against him like he was trying to get inside, and the Wench watched his balls pull up and drop four times in time to the first big pulses of his ejaculation. Then he stretched out, his upper torso on his lover, rubbing her back with his hard hands as he braced himself, then shifting them to collect her hanging melons when he was flat atop her. "Mmmmmmm... You gonna give me that ass?"

"Yes, Honey," Nora replied, her voice purring with satisfaction. "Let's just plan for it, though, please? I want to be... prepared..."

"Sure..." Nate busied himself kissing her neck and shoulders, "Don' want to hurt you..."

It was time to leave. The kids would start noticing their surroundings at any moment, and the Wench didn't need to be discovered as one of them. She backed out quietly and tiptoed through the main door and back into the hallway. After THAT a little cock would sure be nice... Well, nothing like looking forward a bit to the next item on the agenda...

Sharon was working at her new desk in the room she'd taken as an office. "Oh, hi Felicia," she greeted, looking up.

"Hi." The Wench laid the mitts on the desktop. "Master sent me."

"Oh." Sharon's expression became wary. "How bad is it?"

"I think you're done working for the evening," the Wench hazarded, then assumed a formal stance. "Master bids that you remove all of your clothing and allow me to put these on you."

"Any idea why?"

"I think he intends that you be unable to masturbate."

"Oh." THAT would have been an idea, Sharon mused. She should have thought of THAT three hours ago! "And if I don't agree to do this?"

"Master will undoubtedly insist, Mistress. He may require me to obtain assistance... Um, if he should, he'll probably add things..."

"Yeah, yeah." Felicia was winging it, but she was probably correct, Sharon realized. She got up from the desk, resignation heavy on her shoulders.

"You could always do as he asks..."

"Demands, more like it. You're talking about the main thing, right?"

"Yes. It won't kill you or ruin you..."

"Maybe not, but this is our game, and he won't be satisfied unless it goes a couple of rounds. If I roll over on this, he'll find something else. Besides, I'm not ready to just let him have his way..." Besides, this didn't look like much... "Are you gonna be around to scratch my nose or whatever, afterward?" She began unbuttoning her blouse.

"Yes, Mistress. I'll be spending the night at the foot of the bed."

"Thinks of everything, doesn't he?" Sharon's voice was heavy with irony. She made her way into the bedroom and tossed the blouse in the hamper, following it with her bra. The Wench stood behind her, admiring her womanly curves; alongside Sharon, she might as well be a boy, with her model's figure. It seemed like everything that made a woman desirable, Sharon had a bit more of than most. The plush ass -- okay, it was too big, but too much was probably better than too little -- and the Wench would kill to have those big, round tits... Given the parameters of her basic build and the fact that she'd borne a child, Sharon should be HUGE, but she wasn't; her belly was just a bit rounder than Nora's (comparisons were easy, within ten minutes of seeing Sharon's daughter nude), her hips just a touch thicker, and the breasts showed a hint of sag that hadn't been apparent in Nora's, but that was age, not an indication that she was letting herself go in any way. The Wench didn't lust after Sharon, but she WAS oddly envious -- even Sharon's thin but untrimmed pubic bush differentiated them.

In the meantime, the skirt hit the floor, and Sharon knelt to recover it, then stepped to the closet to mount it on a hanger; a couple of hours of wear didn't make it dirty. She'd have to get more; obviously, Armand wasn't going to put up with pants again... Turning to Felicia, he murmured, "Now what?"

"These." The Wench extended the mitts.

Sharon took one in her right hand and suffered the application of the other. The things were basically bags for a fist, with a strap attached at the wrist that could be buckled down and locked with a cheap, tiny lock -- which was OBVIOUSLY more than sufficient, once your hand was inside the thing. Once the left was done, the Wench went to work on the right, and Sharon was left looking something like a boxer. "What's next?"

"Lie down on your back," Armand answered from the door, provoking a start from both of the women.

'Oh, shit!' went through Sharon's head -- but she had no choice, so she climbed on the bed without comment. Armand tossed a loop of rope to the Wench. "Run this under the head end, looping it once around each leg. Make it even." The Wench obeyed, hunkering down to insert her narrow body under the bed to get it wrapped around the leg of the headboard and awkwardly sweeping the long end out so it would reach the other. When she had the loops in place and arranged, Armand inspected, frowned, and reversed the loops so that the running ends were on the bottom and worked against the length extending between the two legs. "Okay, duplicate this at the foot," he directed, while he brought the end up at Sharon's right side. He said nothing, merely extended his hand; Sharon, knowing better that to argue at this point, gave him her arm.

The ropes had loops at the end, their flow controlled by a plastic item that resembled two connected tubes. Armand adjusted the length and tightened the loop around Sharon's wrist, then moved to the other side. Sharon proffered her left arm without comment, and Armand spent several moments adjusting the running length beyond the tightened loop, then going back to the right side to tune it and balance things. It took about three passes before he was satisfied; then he produced a pair of flat clips that, applied on the side of the tubes opposite the loop, locked the arrangement in place.

Having finished securing her wrists, Armand moved on to Sharon's ankles, making quicker work of them now that he knew how much slack to run. It was all quickly done; Sharon lay there, waiting, wondering what would come next... At this point, if she said something, he'd add to whatever he was up to -- and she was thoroughly unable to do anything about it, so it was foolish to provoke him. Armand stood at the foot of the bed, watching her for a full minute, waiting -- and Sharon held her mouth shut, resisting the impulse to allow fear to let her babble.

At the end of it, he nodded, and handed the Wench a vibrator. "You have your instructions. Bring her to the edge, but no further; if she orgasms, it's ten with the cat -- understood?"

"Yes, Master."

"We'll continue with this per the schedule. The only time Sharon is allowed to acquiesce is at the beginning -- if she lets up during her extremity, it doesn't count." Turning his attention to Sharon, he clarified the situation for her, "The Wench will be using that on you at intervals all night. You can end the activity and obtain undisturbed sleep by acquiescing to her oral attentions at the beginning of any episode. There will be other entertainments, too -- and I warn you, I'll be upping the ante if you're fool enough to continue to resist until the morning! Do you understand?"

"Yes, Armand."

"Do you want to stop being foolish now?" Sharon pursed her lips and shook her head. "Begin."

The Wench settled onto the bed and fired up the vibrator. The initial application told Sharon that this would be a long night; her earlier frustration, the inescapable stimulation of the device, and Armand's hypnotic gaze had her squirming almost immediately. It took only two and a half minutes before Sharon's knees started jumping in a pattern the Wench had recently seen in Nora, and she lifted the vibrator away. Armand, who had watched the whole thing, nodded at the Wench, "Very good. You may compose yourself for bed and await the next scheduled treatment."

Sharon, frustrated beyond belief, groaned, "Armand! How many times?"

Armand grinned, eyes flashing. "That would be telling!" He swept out, flicking the light switch.

The Wench got up and went to the bathroom to wash Sharon's secretions off of the vibrator. Sharon lay there, listening, her nerves raw. This was going to be awful! It was pure, distilled Armand... "Felicia?"

"Mistress?" The Wench stuck her head out of the bathroom door.

"Could I have some water?"

"Sure." The Wench filled a glass and brought it to her, cradling Sharon's head so she could sip. "I don't suppose asking YOU how many times will help..."

"No." The bathroom light reflected off the Wench's teeth as she grinned. "I'll give you a hint -- it'll be more than once..."

"Any idea what he has planned?"

"No. But you have that threat. Somewhere in between, I bet he decides that you have to lick me back..."

"Oh, Lord..."

"I understand what you're up to, but you KNOW he's going to steamroller you..." The Wench shook her head.

"I'm trying to hold a line, here..."

"You won't."

"It's the..."

"... Principle of the thing," the Wench finished, "I know. Okay, we'll just deal with it. You know, though, you COULD fight the thing in increments, rather than losing it all in one fell swoop..." She put the glass on the night table and moved to stand at the foot of the bed, examining the floor. "Well, at least there's a rug..."

"Felicia?"

"Mistress?"

"Think I could cover up?"

"Hmmmm. In between, I guess it's probably okay. Gonna be a pain getting that stuff out from under you..."

"I'd appreciate it."

"Your wish is my command," the Wench chuckled, pulling pillows and working at the bedspread. "EXCEPT where it contradicts Master or Sir..."

Moving things around took a good five minutes of uncomfortable wriggling and tugging, but in the end, Sharon was lying on a pillow and covered by the top sheet and a blanket. "That okay?" the Wench asked.

"Fine." Sharon settled herself. Hopefully, the ropes wouldn't cut off her circulation. There was a bit of a draft at her feet, but... "Felicia?"

"Mistress?" The Wench's undertone was just the slightest touch long-suffering.

"Take a pillow. And the bedspread."

"Why thank you, Mistress!" the Wench dimpled, collecting a pillow. "I'm sure Master or Sir would never have been so thoughtful..."

"Well, it's okay, because neither of them denied you the right to comfort," Sharon replied. "Sleep well..."

"You, too."

Bianca had a difficult time getting to sleep, largely because her mother's pacing the floors mumbling to herself kept sleep at bay. Most of it was in Spanish, and too quiet to actually understand, but the gist of it was a back-and-forth between the loss of her old circumstances and way of life (not exactly grief over Raoul, although it drifted there, occasionally) and guilty recognition of how convenient it was. Widowhood, in the old country, meant poverty, and relying upon the charity of others; ultimately, it meant death, sooner or later, if you couldn't attract another provider -- but that didn't apply here in the Estatos Unidos, did it? And, on the flip side, widowhood meant no messy divorce, no sordid explanations of why Raoul had left her, no excommunication -- well, at least until the birth of the child... That the baby inside her (undoubtedly a boy, although instinct was all she had to go on) was half gringo was going to lead to obvious questions; widows sometimes had to pay with this coin, but the timing was wrong, and anyone who could do the math would realize that she had fallen from grace. In fact, the ONLY way she stood ANY chance of avoiding the social implications of the child in the old country was to somehow convince Master to marry her -- and soon. On the other hand, Master was an infidel, not Catholic -- how much would it help? Besides, could she ever really return to the old country? Chattel slavery HERE was better than widowhood THERE -- and Bianca just wasn't raised to the deprivations...

Mama went to her room and lay down a couple of times, but she was up in less than ten minutes... The thing went on and on until some time after midnight, when it finally stopped...

Jason had gone to bed of two minds -- he was alone for the first time in days, a comfortably familiar situation, but there was something about spooning to something warm and soft... Of course, it was bad for discipline to have the damned woman in bed with you EVERY night; the silly cunt (especially THIS silly cunt) would get ideas, and would have to be punished, (well, that wasn't exactly awful, either... ) This thought process didn't keep him awake -- it merely provided a final conscious background on which to drift off...

But he came wide awake at one twelve in the morning, to the sound of a small clatter in the main room of his quarters. He listened intently, his eyes slitted in the glow the luminous numerals of the alarm clock, reflexively ready for combat. Whoever it was was moving very quietly -- he couldn't hear their step, but there was a quiet rustle of clothing. Actually, there was quite a bit of rustling...

Whoever it was entered the room, and Jason went tense -- never before had he required a weapon in his quarters; if this skulker meant him harm and was armed, he was probably done for. He started surreptitiously preparing for a confrontation, moving his legs into a position which would allow him rapid movement. The skulker stopped, and a LOT of rustling ensued -- what the fuck? Oh! Maybe... Silence again -- but the top sheet and blankets were being slowly lifted behind him. He was either going to get six inches of knife blade in the back, or...

A warm body with cold feet slid between the sheets and slowly cuddled up to him. Jason sighed. "Come around front. And next time, announce yourself, quietly, at the door -- I nearly killed you."

"Yes, Master." Inez got up and came around to wedge herself in front of him. Jason wrapped his arm around his bed warmer and drifted back to sleep, Inez following only moments behind him.

"Wench," a half-familiar voice murmured, and a heavy hand shook her.

"Mmmm?"

"It's time for Sharon's next treatment."

"Yes, Sir." The Wench stood and stretched. Charles went around and turned on a small lamp, then motioned with a jerk of his chin for the Wench to assume a position opposite him. Together, the pair removed the top sheet and blanket from Sharon while she grimaced under the light and draft.

"Ugh! Gawd, that's bright! Can you turn it down?" Sharon complained.

"No. Is there a better lamp in this room?" Charles replied.

"Eeek!" Sharon thrashed, trying to cover herself instinctively. A man! Omigawd!

"Relax!" Charles directed, "I'm merely here to supervise the Wench in the performance of her duties."

"But I'm..."

"Naked? Defenseless?" Charles smiled grimly. "Mr. Wilson felt that my appearance might up the ante... Slave training IS my job, you know."

"I'm not a slave!" Sharon ranted.

"You just keep telling yourself that," Charles replied, amused. "At this moment, from a training standpoint, however, your state isn't functionally any different from hers," he jerked his head at the Wench, "and maybe it's even worse, considering..." Once again, the head jerk -- this time at her bindings. Turning to the Wench, he directed, "Begin."

This time, it took almost ten minutes for Sharon to reach the point where lust overcame embarrassment and took it as an ally, marching her toward her peak. Charles made it all the more difficult by wandering around the bed, assessing her state. He never touched her, but his eyes were bird- bright as he examined her rising color, elongating nipples, the flow of lubricant at her vagina brought on by the buzzing vibrator. Sharon had never been so embarrassed and humiliated in her life; despite any number of incidents in Armand's office under the eyes of other women, to be WATCHED like this, by a MAN...

But the vibrator was relentless, the Wench was talented in its use, and Sharon was bound and COULDN'T escape (which added to the whole thing, rather than acting as a distraction); slowly, Sharon made the climb. It was wonderful, and it was awful -- but the worst part was, just as she could see the crest...

... The Wench, detecting her tension and the tremors in her thighs, removed the vibrator, just as Charles was opening his mouth to admonish her to do so. Sharon wanted to SCREAM! It was RIGHT THERE, but it was unattainable -- and the misery of the itch it left behind... Charles and the Wench were even careful in how they replaced the blankets, in order to deny her any excessive friction on her nipples from the bedclothes. The Wench made to head for the bathroom to wash the vibrator, but Charles forestalled her, with, "Lick it." The Wench did as she was bid, understanding the purpose of the instruction; she worked it lovingly, at close range, so that Sharon couldn't miss it -- even deep throating the plastic shaft. After a bit of this, Charles nodded; the Wench took the vibe to the bathroom to wash quickly, then returned. Charles placed her at the foot of the bed with his eyes, and instructed, "Call me if she needs to urinate, or anything. Do not attempt to attend to her alone."

"Yes, Sir." The Wench settled to the floor. Charles turned off the lamp and stalked out.

It took Sharon a couple of centuries to fall into a fitful sleep punctuated by odd dreams in which she was looking for something or other, buck naked and embarrassed -- but the whole thing was too short, anyway...

The light flared, and Charles and the Wench were uncovering her again. Charles eyed her archly, "Well?"

"Well what?"

Charles didn't reply directly, despite the fact that Sharon was disoriented -- he merely waved at the Wench, who climbed on the bed with the infernal device in her hand. "Oh, God, not again!" Sharon wailed. The buzzing came up, and Sharon's clitoris started taking another round of high- speed abuse, varied with runs up and down her labia and the occasional dip into her vaginal canal.

Charles watched this for a couple of minutes, watching Sharon's head flash back and forth as she tried to escape the intense sensations before the urge became insurmountable. Swatting the Wench on the ass, he grunted, "Kneel up!"

Sharon, offered distraction, looked over at him, to discover that he was wearing black pajamas, the bottoms of which were easily removed by pulling a couple of snaps. The exposed erection wasn't the size of Armand's, but it was quite possibly a bit thicker. The Wench had knelt up immediately, but held herself semi-vertical until she glanced behind herself, at which point she grinned hugely and dropped forward, eyes sparkling. "Oh, thank God!"

The Wench spread her stance and Charles stepped up behind her, and while Sharon was in a poor position to see the actual penetration, the looks on their faces was plenty revealing; besides, Charles put his hands on the Wench's narrow hips and began a movement that was unmistakable. While Sharon couldn't see the actual junction as the Wench was turned slightly toward her, she could see a bit of Charles' shaft at the far end of every backstroke. "Pay attention to what you're doing," he grunted while pounding away, his belly smacking the Wench's ass twice a second. The Wench applied herself, but kept getting lost...

It didn't REALLY matter, though, as Sharon was hypnotized by the sex act before her, the visual stimulation more than making up for the Wench's intermittent attention. This time, Charles had to slap the vibe away when Sharon got close, because the Wench's mind was clearly on other things; freed of the distraction, the Wench went almost immediately into climax, dragging Charles along with her.

Charles backed off almost immediately upon finishing his ejaculation, demanding, "Clean me!" The Wench whirled and took him into her mouth. "Easy, just get me clean!" he grunted, obviously over-stimulated, and the Wench backed off. In a few moments, he directed, "Okay, that's enough. Go find that damned thing and clean it off."

The Wench did so without a word, and Charles came to regard Sharon. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"I think I've found Hell," she croaked.

"Want some water? Wench! Water!"

The Wench dashed in to collect the glass on the night table and made to offer it to Sharon, then thought better of it. "I'll go freshen this," she mumbled, with a slight grimace.

"Water's only part of it," Sharon rasped. "This other thing..."

"Getting to you, is it?" Charles grinned.

"It's hard... Do you do that often?"

"We're... getting used to one another. Your husband..."

"Ex-husband!"

"... Has made it very clear that for us to develop a relationship would be unwise, but she requires regular... exercise... and I can't say that I don't enjoy it." Charles was amused at the spirit evinced by the interjection.

"That's the first time I've watched... someone else..."

The Wench arrived with fresh water, cradling Sharon's head to allow her to drink. In a moment, Sharon waved her off, taking a bit of spillage. Charles waited until she finished before asking, "And did you enjoy it?"

"Yeah." Sharon looked away, embarrassed.

"Well, it probably won't be the last time..." He picked up the Wench with his eyes, "Let's cover her." They did so, again minimizing any friction with the blankets, and Charles turned to leave. "I'll see you again in a bit."

The Wench turned out the light and Sharon listened to her settling again at the foot of the bed, while her mind replayed the vision of Charles pounding into her again and again... After a bit, she whispered, "Felicia?"

"Mistress?" There was a stirring.

"Don't get up. I just had a question... Charles isn't..."

"Superman?" The Wench tittered. "No, he's quite average, and a little bit portly -- but there is more muscle there than is immediately apparent. Big men just tend to get rounder as they age... His equipment isn't impressive, maybe, but depth is for THEM, not US; he's plenty good enough to scratch MY itch!" She tittered again.

"You had a good time, then?"

"Very. This thing we're doing is almost as hard on me as it is on you -- I needed the relief..."

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't be. And don't think when the time finally comes that you're degrading me, or anything. I suck pussy because Master tells me to -- but I'd do it for fun, anyway, because I know it's not going to keep me from enjoying things like what Sir did to me. You worry too much about silly things..." The Wench yawned. "Anything else?"

"No, let's try to get a minute's sleep..." It was rapidly apparent that the Wench's tension had been relieved; mere moments later, a soft snore began to sound from the foot of the bed. Sharon took a good deal longer to wind down, but it was late...

It was even later when the lamp blinded her again. "Oh, Gawd!"

"Sharon?" Charles asked perfunctorily, as they removed the blankets.

"Hold it! I, uh, need to pee..."

"Ah. Feet first," he directed the Wench. The pair undid her legs, then moved to Sharon's arms. Sharon found herself to be incredibly stiff as Charles helped support her into a vertical position. It was all highly embarrassing, too, having a stranger help haul her naked body to the bathroom. Charles waved the Wench in behind her as she settled on the toilet. "You'll need to wipe her. I'll be here, but I'll be checking to ensure the two of you don't conspire to do anything stupid..."

Given the circumstances, Sharon was uncertain she could pee at all! The Wench understood, murmuring, "Shhhh, it's okay. Go ahead, I won't watch..." But Charles kept sticking his head through the door at odd intervals... Finally, she unclenched, and a little trickle began. The trickle became a flood, and even Charles peering in couldn't stop it. "Ohh, thank God," she sighed.

"Ready?" the Wench asked, when it appeared to be over.

"Uh huh."

"Okay, spread a bit. Here we go!" The Wench dabbed at her with a huge wad of toilet paper. Sharon was so super-sensitive that the wad of paper buzzed her clit. "Ready?"

"I guess."

Sharon managed to get up on her own and head out while the Wench dropped the lid and flushed. Then she stuck her head out of the bathroom door, "I need to wash my hands, okay?"

Sharon and Charles stood regarding one another; he nodded confirmation to the Wench, then indicated that Sharon should resume her position on the bed. Sensing Sharon's reluctance, he smiled grimly. "You know how to end this."

Sharon's shoulders drooped, and she climbed onto the bed. By the time the Wench re-entered the room, both arms and one leg were secured, "Sir?"

Charles sighed, "Begin." As the buzzing torture device began dancing on Sharon's clit, he added, "At some point -- and I'm not allowed to tell you when -- there will be additional requirements..."

"Like what?" Sharon tried to concentrate, but the contact was fresh...

"Reciprocation..."

"Oooooh, boy..." God, why did she pulse like that? Did anyone notice? "Not yet, right?"

"Not this time..."

This was -- how many? Four? Sharon's mind was awash. How many before Armand stuck her face in Felicia's... Sharon's mind veered away from several terms before settling on 'vagina'. Not many, she imagined. The buzzing beast at her clit was irritating it -- but she was also increasingly sensitive and carrying the accumulated frustration of several missed orgasms... Charles noticed it first, "Sharon, are you close?"