Chapter 9: Broken Pieces

Interlude: 25^th Anniversary

Cindy: The thing to remember about mosaics, is that you start with a lot of broken pieces. Mom says she went dancing to blow off some steam. Dad claims he almost lost Mom, before they got to know each other. Mom does not say Dad is wrong.

Whatever Mom did, it was memorable. People still talk about it, though it is rare that anyone connects it to her.

Sheila:

The session with Mario was a quickly retreating memory. It was time to consider our date. Sean had promised me dinner and dancing. I was in a strange mood, and dancing seemed like just the way to deal with it. Then Sean told me to leave my panties behind.

"Sean!" I was not all that shocked, but two could play this game.

"Come, my dear, I want to show you off. Besides, I still have your reward to give you. Wear something casual. I don't have a change with me." Not so fast, Mister Bond.

I said, "You would be a 38 Long, 32 waist, 34 inseam."

I can size people in my sleep, and Sean was easy. I also had some ideas about where we would be going to dinner, but leading him was half the fun. Why have a wardrobe department, if you never use it? There were seven or eight outfits that could work, but I only gave him one real choice: white tie and tails. There were others, but they were protective coloring. Damn, it felt good to score one.

"Very well, my dear, I will attempt either of those – I did not care for my high school years – but you restrict my choice of restaurant." Ka-Ching.

I was the soul of sympathy. "Tough noogies."

"Ah. So. I will provide a suitable carriage." Sean pulled out his phone and called his driver, George. That meant it was time for us to change. I had the perfect outfit for an outing like this. It was a flapper style cocktail dress, all string and tassel. I would be going with no panties and no bottom. It was perfect for dancing: step, step, kick. Cyd Charise, eat your heart out.

Half an hour later, I was in an old Duesenberg limo. It was rather like the one in Sunset Blvd. I could not help wondering, how much money Sean had. As I planned, we were going to the Harderidge House, which has a distinct clientele, devoted to Jazz Age dress. This allowed me a flapper dress, which was shorter than the miniskirt I used for '60s scenes. What now, Mr. Boss? I felt lightheaded. Was I drunk?

I asked, "Do you want to go in together, or pick me up in the bar?"

"I think the clothes are a giveaway."

"Maybe a little. My costume is period, but yours is pretty timeless. We can play it by ear."

"That works for me. Now turn over. I need some access." Yes sir, Boss.

He lubed the two strings of beads and fed them in. The lube may have been wasted, because I was already primed. It was all I could do to hold still. He finished, and I rolled up in his lap and kissed him. He tasted good. I could go on kissing him for a while, but we had arrived.

Harderidge House is in an authentic Art Deco building, complete with a former speakeasy in the basement. The establishment played to its roots. A little Jazz Age theater was in keeping with the set. Sean went ahead, to the bar. I begged off, to go to the powder room. I think Sean understood that I wanted to make an entrance. I was playing a wanton flapper, and I intended to play it with it with enough ham to make a sandwich. To make my entrance, I splayed my body in the door way, with hands on both sides of the frame, while I looked over the room.

Then, I strutted to the bar and ordered a dry martini, with a cherry. I stared at the barkeeper, til he blushed, then did the old trick with the cherry stem. Sean seemed to like it. It was time to collect my man.

"Hello, Daahling." I said, in my cheesiest Tallulah Bankhead. I love the bitch.

Sean offered his arm with a nonchalant, "Shall we?" I took it and we went into the restaurant. Looking over my shoulder, I counted four open mouths. That was not bad, if I say so myself. We were shown to a nice table, close to the dance floor.

Unfortunately, the band was playing Gershwin.

Sean:

I did not really expect a reaction, when I showed Sheila the beads, so I was taken aback when she broke into gales of laughter. In retrospect, I could have taken it as a hint, but I was oblivious at the time. Sheila's control was something I expected and relied upon. In our sessions, it was something I peeled away with great care. I did not, yet, see it as something she was giving up, or at least setting aside.

However, I soon received another big hint. We had already planned on going to dinner. I had presented two strings of vaginal beads, as my part of the plan. My next contribution was unsubtle. "Let's discuss it over dinner. Leave your underwear here."

"Sean!"

"Come, my dear, I want to show you off. Besides, I still have your reward to give you. Wear something casual. I don't have a change with me."

She surprised me, again. "You would be a 38 Long, 32 waist, 34 inseam." I do not know why I was surprised. Sheila did role playing for a living, and I am not a difficult fit. She led me to her costume storage. In short order, there were several suits for me to choose from. Realistically, it came down to two formals: white tie and tails or black tie and ruffles. The other choices were formals in blue, green and maroon and three uniforms.

Accepting that I must choose something, I sighed. "Very well, my dear, I will attempt either of those – I did not care for my high school years – but you restrict my choice of restaurant."

"Tough noogies."

"Ah. So. I will provide a suitable carriage." I called George and told him to bring the limo. The tux I had chosen was distinctly vintage, so I wanted vintage wheels to go with it. Besides, there is a lot of play room in the Duesenberg. I stepped into the office to change. Naturally, my date did likewise.

Sheila's outfit almost was not an outfit. It was a flapper-style cocktail dress, all tassels and glitter. Her hair was up, in keeping with the look, but that was the only thing under control. Other than 3" dancing heels, and some heavier than usual makeup, she wore nothing else. For the first time, I genuinely understood she was letting things go.

I had asked George to bring the big limo. It would give us plenty of room, to do anything we wished. Right then, I wished to slide in the strings of vaginal beads, along with my little secret. I had tied both strings to pieces of fishing line. I hoped to be able to snag a line during the course of our dinner. In retrospect, it was not one of my best ideas.

Once that task was complete, Sheila rolled up to kiss me. It was nice. I was struck by the fact that so much of our intimacy was extreme. We had found time for little of the usual kissing and petting. Even then, we had no time. The limo had already pulled up to the restaurant. George opened the door, and I helped Sheila from the car, taking care that the doorman did not get flashed.

This was going to be an interesting experience. Harderidge House was a genuine 1920s speakeasy, which undoubtedly influenced Sheila's choice of costume. Such dress-up was not uncommon. However, every significant businessman in town frequented the Harderidge House. We were both likely to see business associates and/or clients. Few would recognize Sheila, in her chosen guise, but I was certain to be pegged.

We had a short wait for our table, so I went toward the bar. Sheila begged off, claiming she wanted to powder her nose. It was really a transparent excuse, to do a big entrance. I order a whiskey sour and sat down at one of the tables. As expected, I knew some of the men there, and exchanged nods with a couple. Things went no further, since Sheila stopped all the conversations.

It was quite an entrance. She stepped into the doorway and leaned against one door jam, crossed her legs, and draped the other hand across the other post. It was a classic Betty Boop pose, and I doubt anyone in the room missed the connection. Without turning I could see two jaws drop, including the bartender.

Sheila sashayed up to him, without ever breaking eye contact. She ordered a martini, with a cherry. Then she did the tongue trick, where the stem comes out knotted. This caused a man to my left to groan aloud. I was trying hard not to grin like the Cheshire Cat, and probably not succeeding. Having boiled the barkeep, Sheila strutted over to my little table.

She drawled, "Hello, Daahling."

The greeting was delivered in a deadpan imitation of an old Broadway actress, Tallulah Bankhead. Everyone recognized it. One of the men I knew was staring, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. I gave him a wink. Then I rose and offered Sheila my elbow. If she could make an entrance, we could both make an exit.

We were escorted to a good table, near the dance floor, without being next to it. I was fortunate in a several ways: the band was oriented more to jazz than dance; they were playing from Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue, which is not, typically, a dance number; Sheila had not noticed the threads dangling from her vagina. I would be willing to lose the first two, if the last one stayed unchanged.

Sheila was disappointed that the band was not playing dance music, but I welcomed the chance to sit for a moment. We were seated and I ordered a dozen oysters on the half shell. We were soon chatting, over shellfish and white wine, at least I had some of the wine. Sheila was already in a state, which most people require half a bottle to reach. While we waited for the meal, a new band came in. Sheila stuck her foot in my crotch, possibly to bring this fact to my attention. It was time to try my steps, with a dancing instructor. Oh joy.

I covered my dismay by dropping my napkin. It was transparent, but I had another purpose. While I was retrieving it, I picked up a thread, while giving her a goose. She fell for it. We got up to dance, and I held a line in my hand, that went straight into her vagina.

Showtime.

Sheila:

I was very bummed that the band was playing Gershwin and not tango, but it gave us time to get settled at our table. In addition to our meals, Sean ordered raw oysters and wine. This was a cute Freudian slip, if it was a slip, which I doubted. For some reason, this logic seemed so hilarious, that I had trouble restraining loud laughter. Some place in the back of my head found this odd, so I realized that I was not acting normally. It was probably a good thing that we were sitting quietly.

We ate the oysters and talked about the job. Talk of the job led to talk of the people involved. I came to understand, a little, how Sean went about acquiring his army of people. It was not a skill I had developed, but it was one I could use. This sobered me considerably. Sean had some wine, but he seemed level headed, so that was all right. I did not dare upset what little control I still had.

Meanwhile, the band wrapped up the set, and filed out, much to my disappointment. I kicked off the heels and got more comfortable. The conversation had worked its way back to Jason and how best to use the images of him. There was enough material to literally use a different shot for every page. Sean was already using the best quality print available, so this would not significantly increase the costs. It gave me something to discuss later, with Peter and Justin. About then our food arrived, but so did the new band.

I was going to tap Sean's knee to point this out, but I missed. Instead, my foot extended all the way to his crotch. I could claim an accident, in all seriousness. However, I would also admit to being somewhat unsure if it was true. My state of mind was like that. It seemed like part of me was watching from another place inside my head. The one thing I was certain of, was that I wanted to dance.

Sean tossed his napkin. This gave him an excuse to dive under the table. While there, he gave me a goose before surfacing. Tit for tat. That other part of my brain said that I had just missed something, but I wanted to rumba.

They started with Frank Sinatra. Sean could easily handle a slow one, even if he had no training. Sure enough he stepped right in. We danced cheek to cheek, which is OK when you happen to be in the mood, but I wanted something fast. Let's Cha Cha, baby.

The next piece was a Tango, which was good too. I slid into place and felt a tug where I least expected it. That son of a bitch had put a string on the beads in my cunt. I worked out a ways to see how long the string was: Step; Step; Turn; Ooooh. One of the beads pulled out, so the string was rather short. Wow. There went another one. I played with it for a while, but the song was starting to wind down. I decided to see how far I could take things: Step; Step; Stretch. There went a bunch more of the beads. What an interesting sensation; Momma had raised a slut.

Sean pulled me back in. I think he wanted off the floor. I would fix that: Turn; Turn; Twist; Kick. I could feel air blowing on my cunt. I was so wet I could smell myself. If Sean wanted off the floor, he would have to make some choices. My guess was that standing there with a string of beads dangling from his hand was not his first choice.

That made it time for me to push the envelope. I kicked high and stuck my ankle behind his head. That meant that the only reason everyone could not see my dripping cunt, was because Sean's body was in the way. Let's see you get out of this one, without being left holding the string.

He did, the low life. Just as the final notes played, he whipped me off my feet. He was holding the beads all right, but they were under my ass. As he carried me back to the table, he had to rub it in."Beautifully danced, my Dear. Shall we dine?"

I laughed. It was a mistake, because I had trouble stopping. So, I kissed Sean. As we kissed, I was reminded how little of this we had done, and how much I wanted to do more. Sean squeezed my ass, as he put me down. The smart money said that that was not all he did.