Chapter 7: That's good. Print that.

Interlude: 25^th Anniversary

Cindy:

They got the students back to their hotel and checked in for the night. Evidently, Mom's idea was to let them run free, then have them working through hangovers. Mom can be pretty cold when she wants to be. What no one understands is that Mom turned them over to house security and Dad hires ex-military. The back lawn was boot camp.

In the mean time, Mom, Dad and Aunt Jo went to check out the gym where Mom was a trainer. While they were there, they swung by Mom's old photography studio. Even before Justin, Mom was doing editing. I am told that mostly stills from when she worked out a client. Aunt Jo saw the whole Jason shoot. It is one of the things that she says changed her life.

Siobhan:

Sheila looked at Sean. He did not even look back. He just turned back toward town. We went past downtown to the bad part, by the tracks. Sean asked, "Front or back?" Sheila said, "Back, first." It occurred to me that I was thinking "what the hell?" a lot tonight.

Sean parked the car behind an old warehouse. We were on the back side, but there was plenty of light and a clearly visible security camera. Even Sean's vintage Mercedes would be reasonably secure for a while. Sheila opened a blank metal door into the building. There was a long hallway, with side doors marked "Men" and "Women". They were locked, but I smelled moisture. Locker rooms? Further up the hall were a row of large storage cabinets. Sheila went to one and opened the padlock. Inside was ... Holy fucking shit.

Sheila had told me that she was a Dominatrix, but that did not prepare me for what I saw. The cabinet was a Dom's wet dream. Everything in it was some sort of whip or cane. Sheila reached in and pulled a short, multi-stranded whip. She weighed it in her hand, then turned to Sean and dropped to one knee. Sheila said, "In front of this witness, I offer this lash, in the hope it serves you as well as it has served me." What the fuck? Seriously, what the fuck? Sean took the handle. He said, "Rise. Your homage has found favor." That actually made some sense.

$300,000 worth of Yale education kicked in. Sean was all about role playing. When I was very young, I remember him constantly getting in trouble for using the good towels as a cape. He had a phase of comic book super heroes, but his favorite was Edmond Dantés, with a nod to Aramis of the Three Musketeers. If I recalled correctly, he studied fencing at Brown. Playing the Liege Lord was very much his style and taste.

I did not know Sheila like I knew Sean, but I had eyes and Sheila had gone out of her way to show me things. The tight clothes, that concealed instead of displayed, were a telling point. Sheila was adept at hiding in plain sight. Roles were not an avocation, they were a survival trait. That meant... "Show me the costumes."

I had not meant to speak aloud. It is something the whole family does. Sean is constantly speaking his thought process, though often it is only twitches of the lips. If you pay close attention, it is like reading his mind. In my case, I had been blurting things, and getting in trouble for it, for as long as I could remember. Occasionally, it can be useful.

Sean and Sheila looked up, their private moment broken. Still, it took only a moment for Sheila to rise and open a door further down the hallway. This was no cabinet. It was a three room walk-in closet. There were men's clothes, in many sizes. With the exception of a block of 1960's psychedelia, the bulk of them were suits or formals, mostly in a vintage style.

That was nice. The point to this exercise was the women's wear. Fashion has never been my thing, but some knowledge is almost required by my discipline. The short version is that Sheila could dress for almost any adult female role, in almost any social mileau of the last three hundred years. That said, there was a definite preference to variations on Mary Poppins: Medium length dark skirt or smock and a very conservative light colored top.

Then there were shoes. Nothing on that wall was vintage. There was a range from ballet slippers to kinky tall pumps, with a separate section for boots. Colors were all over, but they ran heavily to glossy black and ankle straps. Were those straps a tell tale, or did they just look sexier. I was betting on more symbolic self bondage. That said, these were functional shoes, with very few exceptions. Sheila might be a chameleon—this wardrobe certainly made that easy—but she was one who could move.

Movement. Sheila did not move, she flowed. She was wearing a skin tight, stiffened, full length foundation, yet she flowed. That made total sense, considering she was one of Herr Gruber's star students. Yet, Sean had said that Gruber had dumped her. Why? It was not for defiance or misbehavior. Gruber tolerated quite a lot of that from his other star, Francine Martel. It had to be something else. But what?

I looked up and saw Sean and Sheila staring at me. Stares are not unusual, but usually I am acting out of place. Ah. I was being quiet, which is out of place for me. I was about to drop my train of thought, when I caught Sheila's profile. Even with that tight foundation, her breasts were pronounced. I remember thinking how heavy they looked. Oh my God.

Even six weeks of failed dancing instruction taught me how much depended on balance. Speaking from personal experience, heavy breasts is not a figure of speech. Those massive tits would throw her off. It would not matter to 99% of the world, but Sheila had wanted to dance the big time. At a professional level, it simply would not have worked. No wonder I was getting vibes of sympathy from her. Sheila had major body image issues of her own. Who'd-a-thought?

They must have seen something in my face. Sean relaxed noticeably, while Sheila flowed over to me. We hugged like long separated twins. The thought made me smile. Which of us was Ahnold and which was DeVito? I had told Sheila that I would marry her, if she were not already engaged. That had been flip, but I could definitely see her as a life partner. It did not hurt that she was sexy as hell.

After that I got the five cent tour. We went into the studio proper. After the cabinet full of whips, it was not particularly shocking—big, well equipped, beyond anything I had seen—but not shocking. I could not help but see the stretching bar in the center of things. I looked at Sheila and she caught my glance.

Without a word, Sheila went to the bar, extended her foot over it and grasped the bar with both hands. My hamstrings twinged in sympathy. Sheila pressed her face to her knee, then began an evolution. Her off hand came off the bar, as her whole torso rotated 90°. She finished with the free arm gracefully arced over her head, nearly back to the bar. If I had not seen it, I would have said it was impossible. Then Sheila devolved to the first position, dismounted and repeated the entire process with the other foot on the bar.

I was thinking, "Do much yoga?" It must have been aloud, because Sheila laughed. She told me that her yoga instructor refused to even attempt lessons, contradictory as that seems. Sharon was, she said, "good people" and would be at the wedding. With that to chew on, we went into the offices. Sean and Sheila never said a word, but I could pick up subtle clues that Sean was guiding the procession. It led to a very upscale PC, surrounded by data disks. Sheila started up the computer, while Sean picked out a disk, titled Jason. In a day full of shocks and revelations, that disk was easily the biggest.

Sheila started with a selection of still shots. They showed a young man, boy really, gagged, harnessed, and hung from a wall by a stick under his armpits. That would have been enough, but the point was the boy's facial expression. Better yet, the images focused on the evolution of his expressions. The boy, Jason presumably, was watching something outside the shot. I would lay tall money that he was watching Sheila, in her full Dominatrix mode.

There were so many levels of this, I could not begin to sort it out. My first urge was to shove Sheila aside and camp at that computer for the next two days. Since that was not possible, I had to focus on why I was shown this spectacle. That led to who had shown me. The answer to that was Sean. Big brother wanted me to see—what?

It seemed big brother was not finished. He handed Sheila another disk. This one was dated a week ago, but had no name. Sheila spun it up and we saw the whole scene as a raw security recording. Sheila went through the first part at 8-1 speed. I watched as Jason came in, went to change, came back to be gagged then hung on the wall. I winced as a couple of hulks used that big stick to hoist Jason off his feet. Sheila was dressed in what I took as working clothes, basically bitch-on-the-town mode. Then she left.

Whatever camera was in use, it had a fantastic auto focus. I got a fleeting glimpse of Sheila's face as she moved out of the shot. The bitch act was exactly that—an act. There was a long pause, even at 8-1, then Sheila came back out, wearing only panties and a bra. Holy shit. Stacked does not begin to describe her. I was getting heated. Sheila spent a long moment rolling up stockings, then unrolling them onto her sculpted legs followed by garters. I was getting very turned on. So, obviously, was Jason. Yet, the main show had just started.

Once she had put on her stockings and pumps, Sheila handed one of the hulks a tray, then pulled out a corset. She wrapped a corset around and did up the busks. The hulk set the tray down and pulled the corset strings tight. I have some experience with fetish corsets. This corset was tightened well beyond that level. I would guess two full inches, maybe three. Once he was was finished, Sheila spent a moment checking everything, then did the same stretch-on-the-bar routine that I had just seen live. It was much more impressive when she was tightly laced. Under most circumstances, my mouth would have dropped open. On that day, it was just another rock on the pile.

We continued watching at 8-1. Sheila teased Jason with a riding crop, then raised her hand high and brought the crop down on Jason's straining erection. Jason spurted through an entire athletic supporter. Wow. Then the room cleared quickly. There was a brief shot of Sheila, still wearing the corset, heading toward the wardrobe. When she came back, she was fully dressed in one of her Mary Poppins from Hell outfits. Again, my hand itched for the mouse. I wanted to expand what her face was doing. Then it was over.

Sheila closed down the machine. Sean's hand was on her shoulder, protectively I thought. That would be Sean's normal mode. He was always fiercely protective of me, until I told him to back off and let me fight my own battles. It was another point of sympathy I had with Sheila. Perhaps that was the point, or one of them. There were many layers to what I had seen—and Sheila had re-experienced. The bitch was tough.

Something occurred to me. There had not been a word spoken in at least 15 minutes. Forget a thousand words. That video was worth a couple of books.

Sheila:

The situation at the airport was an unfolding disaster. Supposedly, Siobhan was in charge, but that quickly proved an illusion. Sean took over, sort of, and things eventually moved to the vehicles. There were cabs following, but they did not follow far. We made it to the motel with only half the students. Siobhan made an attempt to stamp on the mutiny, but it was far short of what was needed.

When both Sean and Sheila shrugged their shoulders, I pulled out my phone and dialed Gerald directly. One of the keys to handling high level access is to not overuse it. Less well understood is the need to use it when necessary. What we needed was a little military style discipline, and I was certain Gerald knew where to find it. I was very conscious of Siobhan's eyes on me.

"Gerald, Sheila. How are you set for NCOs? Any Drill instructors would be excellent. We have a dozen grad students to herd and I am not available. Six came with us. Six are following in taxis. Do the math."

Phone: Good evening Ma'am. I would ask how your day has been, but I expect I know. Somehow your calls always make my day more complicated. When and where?

"Oh-eight-hundred. Give them to the Gilberts and sit on them. They can leave on their own dime, but not come back. Siobhan will deal with them back at school."

Phone: Will I need to wash the diapers after they leave? I thought Miss Jo was playing momma.

"Gerald be nice. She is going to be my family and I like her."

Phone: No accounting for taste, Ma'am.

"Tell you what. I have $20 that says she not only dances with you at the ball, but that you will want her to." Sean yelled from the front seat, "Sucker bet, Gerald." Much as I like the support, shut the hell up Sean.

Phone: At $20 I might get arrested for vagrancy, Ma'am.

"Fine. Make it $50. Just get our kids dirty tomorrow. All I want is eight hours of hard, dirty work. Hooyah?"

Phone: Ma'am, you should leave the hooyahs to us grunts. Will my guys be allowed to attend your bash. Some of them still fit their greens or whites.

"Absolutely. Anyone in military dress will be welcome. They could not fit in better. Good?"

Phone: Much better Ma'am. Hooyah. If I want to dance with Miss Jo, will she want to dance with me?

"No promises, but I can introduce you to a genuine Broadway star. She can dance a bit. Night."

Phone: [laughter] Night, Ma'am.

I hung up and caught Siobhan staring at me, as if I had a second head. What? Oh, Gerald. I could see how they would not get along. That did not mean I intended to lose $50. Siobhan did not know it yet, but she was getting a makeover.

We pulled out of the motel and headed toward the Residence. Sean explained to Siobhan, "That counts as leisurely. Gerald said Sheila can deliver a 30 minute brief in 15 seconds. I pity the ones that are hung over. Tomorrow will be a forced march. Some will run. After all, what is a couple thousand bucks you never had to earn. The ones that are left will be worth the whole dozen. Watch."

Siobhan asked me, "Did you make that up on the fly?" What could I say? I nodded. Then, Siobhan wanted to know, "What the hell do you do for a living?" Before I could respond, Sean was turning the car around.

We went to the rear parking. It is a tough neighborhood, but I have taught the locals that my block is protected. Sean parked the car and I let us in. Sean was calling this tune, so I started with the whip locker. It is generally makes the biggest impression. It also gave me the chance to do something I had wanted to do for several days.

I picked out my favorite lash, dropped to one knee and presented it to Sean, "In front of this witness, I offer this lash, in the hope it serves you as well as it has served me." Sean responded in kind. "Rise. Your homage has found favor."

Siobhan looked surprised, then thoughtful. I have mentioned how nervous Francine makes me, when she gets quiet. A quiet Siobhan was terrifying. The first thing she said was, "Show me the costumes." I had tried to show her some things, but that was seeing a lot.

Once we were in the wardrobe, Siobhan stood silently, scanning the whole inventory. It took a while. Sean and I waited, while Siobhan processed. Eventually, she noticed us watching. Her face was a study of conflicting emotions, easily as complex as our cover shot of Jason. I moved over to her and we hugged, like it was the most natural thing in the world. In my ear, Siobhan said "twins" then snorted. Was she thinking of the Schwarzenegger movie of that name? Arnold was always a favorite of mine, partly because of our last names. I wondered, which of us was which brother?

We went the studio. Siobhan's eyes went straight to the bar. Sheol, I had not done my First Position for the day. So, I did the full, dual evolution for Siobhan. She was a little wide eyed. That look bothered me. I had seen it before, but I could not place it. Siobhan also asked, "Do much yoga?" I think that was another thought that got away from her, like Sean does frequently. I responded, "My yoga instructor, Sharon, refuses to even try." For some reason that was puzzling. I was still pondering it when I realized Sean was steering me toward the video room. Yikes.

We went through the still shots of Jason. Siobhan drew the occasional gasping breath, but she took them in stride. Next Sean gave me the raw take from camera three. I cranked it up to 8x and hoped for the best. Whatever else Siobhan was, she was not one to waste words while she was working. Since, I was the subject of her work, I found this a bit unnerving. Sean must have thought so too, since he put a comforting hand on my shoulder. I loved my Teddy Bear.

Then it was over. I had bared my soul, albeit at eight times normal speed. I could tell it had Siobhan's undivided attention, because she had not said a word in many minutes. It was time to lighten the mood, but I am not good with jokes. Fortunately, Sean had an excellent sense of timing. He stepped back from the monitor and stretched loudly. I decided to demand a back rub before bed. Siobhan was still not talking as I led us through the rabbit hole.

On the far side, I took a moment to put on my trainer persona. Then, I checked the hall. Once the coast was clear, we stepped out into my other world. Sean took up the task of explaining the gym itself. I had to give Claudia credit. Sean knew his way around XTreme Fitness as well as most of my clients.

Claudia was not working that night, but I did see Sharon. I introduced Sean as my fiancée and Siobhan as his sister. Sharon was graciousness personified. I informally invited her to the wedding, which earned me a smile. Then I dropped my bomb. I asked Sharon to take my client book for two weeks.

As both an employee and as a manager, I had a good idea how office politics worked. My status, as the only trainer with a closed book, was very high. Sharon's was less lofty. Her specialty was not as respected as it would be some places, plus Sharon is not a forceful personality. Naturally, her first response was to refuse on the grounds of inadequacy.

I expected that and told her that I was the best judge of what my clients needed. Then, Sharon protested lack of time. She may not have realized it, but that was an acceptance. I told her that there were three trainers she could use as back up, but that my clients would expect her insight and compassion. That stumped Sharon for a moment. I used it to thank her for accepting and told her that there would be a formal dance after the wedding. I hoped she could attend that as well.

As we went on to the main gym, Siobhan looked a bit surprised, but not as much as Sean. I wondered what he had to be surprised about. It seemed a simple enough negotiation.

After that, we did a quick tour of the gym and bought a couple of bottled waters on our way out. I hoped we would be able to put in a proper juice and smoothie bar soon. It was the one thing I felt the gym lacked. Siobhan was still uncharacteristically quiet. As we walked around to the car, Sean pointed out places he hoped to acquire or that others in our group might upgrade. Siobhan took it all in, in silence.

We were back at the car before Siobhan said anything. First she pulled mr into a smothering hug, which went on and on. Then she said, "God I've missed you, and I don't even know you yet." I totally understood what she meant.

Sean:

I need not have worried about Sheila and Jo being gone for a day. Sheila dumped it on Gerald's shoulders, quite smoothly. In the process, Sheila and Gerald made a bet about Jo and the ball. Since I would wager serious money against seeing Jo at the ball, I was quite taken with Sheila's position. Obviously a makeover was in the works. That would be interesting.

I told Jo that this interaction, between Sheila and Gerald, counted as leisurely. I went on to say that Jo might lose some of her people, but the others would be worth it. It was the old Junction Boys approach, not that either of them would understand a football reference. Then, Jo asked what Sheila did for a living. We were not that far off the track, so I turned back toward Sheila's studio.

Sheila directed me to the back of the warehouse. I parked and Sheila opened the building. I flashed back my first time, when I did not even know it was a BDSM studio. Jo had a least a warning, but the full impact something else. Sheila did not start small. The first thing was the pain locker, i.e. whips and such. Sheila reached in and pulled out a lash. I recognized it as the one I had used on her that first day.

With full formality, Sheila dropped to one knee and presented the lash to me. "In front of this witness, I offer this lash, in the hope it serves you as well as it has served me." It was very like my wedding proposal. In a sense, this was the same thing, but for a different bonding. I could not refuse. "Rise. Your homage has found favor."

Jo had been wide eyed when Sheila unlocked the cabinet. Our little ceremony changed that. I knew Jo's analytical mode when I saw it. That was good. She just needed raw data to analyze. Easy enough and Jo tipped the first stop herself. "Show me the costumes."

Sheila does not have a costume closet, though she tends to refer to it that way. Ten years of dedicated purchasing had developed a full blown wardrobe department. There were three rooms for clothes and shoes, which just included her working clothes. I had not seen her street clothes storage, but Sheila kept them separately. I noticed that the little black flapper dress was out, almost on display. I hoped that night was not repeated soon.