Chapter 1: First Positions

25th Anniversary

Cindy:

"I would like to make a toast, to my parents." [giggles] "This is almost like my valedictorian speech: 'I would like to thank Principal Rogers, Mrs. Cotting, Mr. Wright, the list is too long to manage. Yatta. Yatta.' All the teachers and councilors contributed something. But, I wanted to talk about my parents: Sheila and Sean Richards. They are the ones that taught me that perfect is barely good enough, that nothing substitutes for work, and that while dreams are important, they need to change as we change. Most of all, they taught me that to protect and serve is the highest calling.

Many people think that it was love at first sight for my parents. That may be because both were older when they met, if 30-something is older; mom was 28. I think it is just that they were engaged before most people knew they were seeing each other.

As you may know, Mom had a bit of a name as a fitness instructor. A business associate of Dad's introduced him to Mom, as a possible client for her.

Sean:

It was a lunch date for business. I was meeting Chuck, a.k.a. Charles Blanding, at Cianfrani's. All that I needed were some approvals and a signature, which could have been done by messenger. Chuck had insisted on getting together for lunch. Considering with whom I was meeting, I should have expected something. I may be a bit gullible. However, not that many people are willing to try me, so it may have been complacency. Chuck always did have more balls than brains.

After the soup had been served, an attractive woman stopped by the table and greeted Chuck. I could see him nod in my direction. She turned to me and introduced herself as Cynthia, giving no last name. She was moderately tall, brown hair and dark eyes. The hair was done up with an attractive black comb. Her makeup was subtle and sufficiently understated that one had to look closely to see it. She had pearl studs and a simple pearl necklace as her only jewelry. No watch, which was interesting, though these days many people use their phones for that purpose. The suit was brown worsted wool, cut below the knee, and accurately tailored. The top was cream colored, and appeared to be linen. The heels were a shade or two lighter than the suit, and of a practical height. In short, she was every inch the understated professional that Chuck was not.

We shook hands and she offered me her card: "Cynthia" in 16 point Arial bold, and "Executive Performance Training" in 12 point standard. The card was like her tailoring, simple, clean, elegant without frills. Intriguing. The address on the card was not close to my business, but also not far, about 10 minutes away. I accepted the card, thanked her and she went to be seated. Chuck was desperately trying to look unconcerned. I decided to let him have his joke.

I asked, "What kind of training?"

He thought for a moment, "Mostly in the area of focus and concentration. It's amazing how she can get you to remember the slightest little detail."

At that Chuck looked decidedly pleased with himself, so I let it drop. He gave me the signature I needed, which was the point of the lunch after all. It wasn't till late that afternoon that I wondered what he could have considered amusing. I dialed the number on the card and made an appointment.

Sheila:

It was a lunch date for business. Charles promised to introduce me to a potential client. Considering with whom I was meeting, I should have expected something. I must be a bit gullible. Besides, not that many people are willing to try me. Charles always did leap before he looked.

I arrived just as they were receiving soup and salad. The soup was an aromatic butternut, which looked perfect. I would have to try some later. I looked over G. Sean Richards. About 40, middle tall, fair, dark haired, blue eyes. Not handsome, but dignified, self-assured. Charles suggested that he might be a candidate for my clientele. I had my doubts. Mr. Richards was almost everything Charles was not, confident, controlled, professional. Charles had his own virtues, but it was clear that Mr. Richards was only there for business, not for Charles' company.

Still, business is business, so I introduced myself and left a card. I gave it only a one in three chance, which was a pity. Mr. Richards came across as someone I would like to meet. His eyes did not seem to miss any detail, so I was glad my grooming was beyond reproach. In a way it was odd. I already thought of him as Mr. Richards. Charles had always been Charles.

Well, the bait was in the water. Time would tell. At least the soup looked promising. Cianfrani's soup and salad lunches are a staple for the business community. Over the last ten years, I had closed many deals there. Mentally toasting Mr. Richards, I wished for one more.

Mr. Richards' call came in just before closing. Normally, I prefer to do introductory things early, before the regular clients start to populate the changing area. It is easier to make a good impression in their absence. Mr. Richards, however, received the last slot on Tuesday. I do not know why. Perhaps I wanted extra time if I needed it, as though I already knew that this client would be different. I was not certain why.

Sean:

The appointment was for 4:00 PM, so I closed early and drove over. The building was a converted warehouse, the front half of which was a franchise of a well known gym chain: XTreme Fitness. The address was on a side street, next to two apparently empty offices. Opening the door, I found a small, and rather sterile, waiting area. As I intended, I was precisely on time. It was a small, but agreeable, surprise that Cynthia was also.

She came right to the point. "Good afternoon, Mr. Richards. Did Charles tell you much about our business?"

"Almost nothing. He mentioned that you were good at getting him to remember details."

She laughed. "That is Charles. A number of my clients need help in that area. I have some sharp methods when required."

She handed me a contract and fee schedule. "This first interview is gratis. All I need is a waiver, and we can begin."

"Waiver?"

It was for unspecified mental and physical distress and not for medical or defamation. Waiving those would not be legal anyway. Cynthia expanded, "Some of my methods can be um ... uncomfortable. The waiver says that you agree in advance not to hold it against me. As with any waiver the real intent is never to use to it."

I didn't know what to think. I still had not agreed, or for that matter figured out exactly what she intended to do. But, it was clear she expected me to sign on the spot. Complicating things, I could not help but notice her physically.

She was about 5' 6", but seemed taller. Her heels were high, though not unreasonably so. The appearance of height came from her very erect posture and confident bearing. Her brown hair, was long, and done up. She had brown eyes, big brown eyes accented with only a touch of liner. Her figure was trim, athletic even, and she was obviously fit and healthy. Her gray suit was sharp but conservatively cut, just as in the restaurant.

There was one discordant element and it was understandable. While her manner was professional and attentive, there was an edge of unease. She appeared to be taking refuge in her prepared remarks, which is what I teach my sales people to do. No one is perfect, but preparation can cover a lot of weaknesses. Again, very professional, with just a touch of humanity. I was pleased

As I processed this, I realized that she had been subtly coming on to me the entire time. Her suit was conservative, but her shirt was silk and open just enough to reveal the lace beneath. Except for the handshake we had not touched, but her distance was intimate rather than formal. Her perfume was discrete, but definitely in the air. She scratched her leg with a foot, which brought attention to her well turned calves and elegant pumps. Those were not your usual business suit kind of shoe. One of my clients would be trying to kiss that black leather as we spoke.

It was impressive. My business requires me to deal with a lot of salespeople, my own and vendors. She was doing a first-rate selling job, and I still did not know what the product was. This was not a fitness trainer, obviously, especially not at these rates. What exactly she was, remained elusive.

I extemporized, "Could we have a tour first?"

Smiling, she responded, "Of course."

Was there a bit of shark in that grin? Hmmm. She led me to the changing rooms, and the canned sales pitch kicked into high gear. I would be expected to arrive early enough to change before the appointment time. There were two doors. Behind one she showed me a spotlessly clean sensory deprivation tank. This could be rented only on Tuesdays and Saturdays, and she would not personally monitor the sessions, just the in and out points. A number of other details rolled out, particularly concerning the security system. Finally, she paused dramatically and laid her hand on my elbow; then she opened the other door.

It was a gym of sorts, the latex and leather sorts. There was a vaulting horse, which had manacles dangling from each end. An entire wall was given over to hooks, rings and straps, up to 12 feet above the floor. There were benches and blocks, armed chairs and sofas, and everywhere were convenient restraints. I shook my head. I had not had a clear idea of what to expect, but this was not what I would have guessed. I walked up to an equipment cart and ran my fingers over a pair of handcuffs. They looked like police issue to me.

She gave me a heartbeat to take it in, and then asked "Want to give it a try?"

I jolted back to reality. Many things were suddenly clear. The only remaining question was what I would do about it. I picked up the handcuffs and clapped one ring onto her left wrist.

"I surely do."

She was surprised of course, but the next reaction was telling. She blushed. Cynthia clearly could play both sides of the street. The flush stood out against the sober colors of her suit, and I suddenly wanted to see if she blushed all the way down.

Caught off-balance, she spluttered "But I didn't ... I mean..."

This was not a time to relent, "Come. Come. You offered me the use of the room, and your services. Were you serious, or being rude?"

She looked aghast. Rudeness was clearly a hot issue for her. "Serious, of course. But..."

I pressed on, "Very well. We may begin." I turned away, to prevent her from answering directly. Almost to my myself, I continued "Now, let us choose a place."

I led her by the cuffed wrist over to the wall of rings, and decided to have her facing toward me. I fed the loose cuff through a leather strap and motioned for her to turn around. I clipped the other wrist and took up the slack in the strap. Then I stepped back and took a good look.

The transformation was amazing.

Sheila:

Tuesday 3:45 PM. I cut John short to make sure that he was gone before 4:00. My behavior was irregular, for no reason I could identify. It felt like an audition day, but I had not tried out for a role in years.

I pulled my look together and went to the reception area precisely on time. Mr. Richards was already there, but the door was still closing behind him. That scored points for punctuality on both sides. The internal butterflies were out in force, but years of habit came to my rescue. My greeting was pure rote, but nonetheless perfectly correct. I stepped into the pitch almost like stepping into a costume. Without a conscious thought, the pitch rolled out, which was a good thing. He was so very there.

With weak knees, I asked about his expectations. Charles might have told him almost anything. Fortunately, Charles had not. I almost laughed in relief, since I make a much better first impression than Charles. All the while, my pitch rolled on, but the butterflies began to settle. Soon, I was showing Mr. Richards around.

The first places are always boring, so I started to relax. By the time we reached the main room, I was confident enough to take his arm. I opened the door and led him into my world. His eyes widened as he took it in. Everyone does that the first time, even those who know what to expect.

I was smiling to myself as he fingered a pair of handcuffs. This is where I set the hook, "Want to give it a try?"

He turned to me and smiled, "I surely do." That was unexpected. Having him clasp the cuff on my wrist came as a total shock.

"But I didn't ... I mean..." I could feel my blood pound. I hadn't been this far out of my depth since age 17, when I left Herr Gruber's studio in disgrace. Herr Gruber had only music and step, not handcuffs and ... I shuddered as I thought of my inventory of tools.

"Come. Come." he chided. "You offered me the use of the room, and your services. Were you serious, or being rude?"

"Serious of course. But..." What else could I say?

"Very well. We may begin." he continued, "Now, let us choose a place." Quietly, simply, but fully realizing that I was doing it, I released my grip. In a moment, I put myself fully in his hands, just as he required. Waves of peace floated down on me. The Maestro was setting the beat and I had only to follow it. It was not hard to figure what was required, just as I had required it of so many others. It was, under it all, a dance of sorts. I knew dance if nothing else.

He led me to the restraint wall. Muttering something about facing forward, he bound my hands to the wall. My heart began to race. I thought of what might come next, as he stepped back to look me over. I must have been a sight. I did not wait long.

He stepped close and breathed deeply. One thing was becoming very clear, Mr. Richards could make decisions quickly. Feeling his close presence, I flushed again. It was as if he could smell my lack of control. Suddenly, the room seemed very warm. A part of my mind made a note to lower the thermostat during sessions and it hoped my outfit would not be ruined. Silk stains.

He noticed. "We can't have you perspiring all over that fine silk shirt." Was he also a mind reader?

He moved very close and pushed my jacket back. I pressed forward to feel his strength. He tolerated it for a moment, then stepped back. Almost absently he removed my tie and patiently unbuttoned my shirt. Whatever else, he was in no hurry. It was too late in any event. The shirt was spotted with my perspiration.

He did not miss that either. "Ah, well. I suppose we must have it off to get it cleaned."

He was cool and fully in control. His calm was inspiring—of terror.

Sean:

Cynthia was transformed. Gone was the cool trainer and business woman. In her place was a vulnerable beauty, watching me through wide eyes. She was breathing rapidly, almost panting. To say her breasts were heaving would be inaccurate, but it should not have been. Having her arms behind her ought to display her proud breasts to advantage, but they were not. It was something to investigate. A few strands of her dark hair had come loose. More importantly, her natural scent filled the air. I stepped close and inhaled deeply. She blushed even more fully.

It was obvious what came first. "We can't have you perspiring all over that fine silk shirt."

I stepped forward and opened her jacket. She trembled, but did not move or speak. As I pushed the sleeves down to her bound wrists I touched her body to body for the first time. She pressed against me. I stepped back and loosened her tie and then slowly opened the buttons of the shirt. Before I was finished, the silk shirt had become spotted with telltale dots.

I had intended to remove it anyway. This gave me an excuse. "Ah, well. I suppose we must have it off to get it cleaned."

I needed the key to the handcuffs. While I looked for the key, which turned out to be exactly where I had picked up the cuffs, I was able to look at her to better advantage. She wore a strapless corset-like piece, rather than a bra. That explained why her breasts were not thrust forward. The cups were trimmed in black lace, but the body was smooth flesh tone. To say it fit her like a glove would be insulting. It was much better tailored than that. I was dying to see if it was hooked or zippered. My money was on lots of little hooks. However, it was time to get back to business.

I walked over to her holding the key aloft. "We will have to get this suit off before it wrinkles, my dear. Hold still."

This last was entirely redundant. She had been almost a statue for nearly five minutes. I would be willing to place a sizable wager that she had never been topped before, at least not in her own studio, but she was playing her part like a seasoned professional. I was rather proud for her.

Reflecting on this for a moment, I decided to test her. Rather than release one hand and pull the coat over the cuffs, I unlocked both. Once I had both hands free, I instructed her to "Step forward. Remove your arms. Step back." She performed perfectly. Off came the shirt and jacket, and the situation presented a new opportunity, which I was quick to exploit.

Rather than returning the cuffs to her wrists, I recuffed her at the elbows, and was rewarded. She let out her first sound, a small gasp. "Tsk, tsk my dear. And you were doing so well. We will have to see about that in a moment."

I carefully removed the sleeves of the shirt from the jacket and laid them on a horizontal bar. Odd. It was like something out of a dance studio, but I would have to puzzle that out later. "Let's get the rest of this."

The skirt was a simple wrap-around. Her foundation garment, call it a corset for lack of a proper term, was another matter. It was a piece of fine craftsmanship. At first glance, it had appeared natural skin. The design was step through, though with removable panties. When worn, it controlled and supported the breasts, but left the arms and shoulders clear, while showing a generous expanse of back. It could be worn with a strapless formal gown, but just as easily as outer wear in a dance venue. The composition was many layered silk and some kind of quilting. I could now see that it was stiffened, yet it was surprisingly pliant. She could get downright athletic without giving up any range of motion. It was marvelous work, with, as I expected, tiny little hooks.

I stood closely in front of her and reached around with both hands to undo the hooks. I almost, but not quite, was taking her in my arms. By default, she had full access to my scent and she took advantage. This made me smile. Access to my odor is one thing I would permit freely.

Sheila:

Without hurrying, he turned to look for something. It turned out to be the key to the handcuffs. So soon? Normally, I would not release a client until the end of the session. Only very experienced clients can be trusted free of the restraints.