Chapter 10: They also Serve, who only Stand and Wait
Copyright© 2013 by PocketRocket
Drama Sex Story: Chapter 10: They also Serve, who only Stand and Wait - Sheila and Sean have become engaged and spent a night practicing for the honeymoon. This story begins in the morning light. Bondage and D/s play is an important elements. Be warned. The couple has come together. Now they need to make things work. This is about meeting, planning and doing, with some food and fun mixed in.
Caution: This Drama Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/ft Consensual Romantic Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual BDSM DomSub MaleDom FemaleDom Spanking Rough Light Bond Humiliation Petting Food Exhibitionism
Interlude: 25th Anniversary
If you get down to it, Mom, Aunt Frannie and Aunt Jo only had three days to pull the wedding together, unless you count Saturday morning, the day of the event. Friday was spent on the dresses and similar things. All that was done in the City. That leaves just Wednesday and Thursday. I know they are all good at getting things down, but damn. Excuse my language.
Dad claims he had nothing to do with it, because he was at work all week, getting ready to be gone. I have never quite accepted that.
About 10:00 I received word, from Russell, that my sister Jo had met up with Sheila and company, near downtown Elizabethtown. I mentally scolded myself for forgetting that the city had officially dropped the "town" before the Civil War, no matter what people call it. This, in turn, set me wondering where my head was at.
Business was odd. We had released the catalog to the printers on Friday. Harold Johnstead had done a special weekend press run. Monday had swamped the staff with mailing details. That was all done, but the response had not had time to filter in. Other than the new real estate project, the agenda was clear of new business. My staff had stacks of ongoing projects, but they were all handled below my level.
On a personal level, the invitations would come back from the printers before noon. Helen and her minions had a mailing list. Someone would have to approve the print work, but it would not be me. Most likely, Sheila would do it by phone.
I seriously considered taking time off to go home, but it is rarely a good idea to jog your manager's elbows. I had my best people on the job. There was nothing more I could do. Then I reconsidered. I had an important part of the plan scheduled for a meeting. If Elder Nuefeld was willing, I could take him to see the property, and get a good look myself. Management by walking around. That was a plan. I told Helen that she was on her own for the next few hours. If nothing else, I could go early to the meeting. Elder Nuefeld was arriving by train, and I might need some services from the railroad.
George dropped me at the new freight yard. I walked into the Conrail office and asked to speak to the manager. This caused the usual inquiry about my problem. CYA is a universal trait. I did my best sales smile and told them there was no problem, but potentially some new, time sensitive business. This brought me a man wearing a name tag: Howard Fitzpatrick, Shift Supervisor. He was about twenty five years old and did not introduce himself.
I said, "Howard, can we sit? I was planning to get some coffee. Do you want some?" That should get his salesman radar pinging loudly, which was exactly what I wanted. We took our cups into a break area. Howard sat first. Before I sat down, he asked, "What are you selling?" Bingo.
I smiled and spread my hands. "Nothing. However, I hope to be needing a special car or two, if a lunch meeting goes well. We are talking car rental and routing, each direction, later this week and early next. Are you the man?"
People call me the Bear. I never knew where it got started, but I think the look on Howard's face might have been involved. I had sandbagged Mr. Fitzpatrick, so now I had an opportunity to operate in an information vacuum. It is a tactic I have employed successfully on several occasions. In a way, it is a bit odd. The response, "I can put you in touch with the right person." is almost never wrong. However, it is also almost never used.
Howard Fitzgerald tried for a middle approach. "I see. I would need to know the details, but something might be managed." Poor kid. Anything but "No" is a green light.
I smiled and replied, "Excellent. I will forward your name to Helen. She is Mr. Richards Executive Secretary. Everything will be done on his personal account, not on the Richard's Enterprises corporate account. This will be one animal car for horses and one box car for carriages. That would be from northern Pennsylvania, Amish country, to this location on Thursday, with the return on Monday. I realize I do not have final approval to proceed, but how soon could you have a firm estimate?"
Oddly, that speech relaxed young Mr. Fitzgerald. Perhaps, shipping Amish carriages was not entirely new. He replied, "Given the time constraints, there may be extra charges. However, I can ballpark it now. If we assume a Thursday morning pickup in York, return the same, exclusive of the car rentals, we have..." Howard slid a calculator across the table. My eyes widened a bit, but I was prepared to go higher. Howard smiled. "It's the price you pay for doing business with them. I take it this your first time?"
I had to admit defeat. "Personally yes. Richards Enterprises is thirty companies. I am sure some of them have done so before. Auctions maybe. As I said, this is personal, for the wedding." This time Mr. Fitzpatrick's eye got wide, but he did not ask. I guess the dots were easy to connect. Instead, he pulled out a business card and wrote a pair of numbers on the back. One was labeled "Cell"; the other was "Expedite".
He rose from his seat and extended his hand. "Pleased to do business with you, Mr., ah..." I shook the hand. "Clarence Richards, and yes, I am one of the lesser family scions. But, whatever you do, do not cross the bride. I have heard stories." Howard merely nodded and walked away. Sorry Sheila, my devil made me do it.
As I walked back to the car, I called the house. After a couple of holds, I was finally put through to Michael Gilbert. I asked what we had available for stabling horses. Fortunately, Sheila had given him a heads up. Provided we had a suitable tent, arrangements could be made for hay, feed and water. He then flipped the question back to me. Would we need to house personnel, and if so, how many. I promised to raise the issue at my meeting.
At the Amtrak station, Elder Nuefeld was, to me at least, surprisingly young. Perhaps 40 - 45. He was a big man, at least 6'2" and 275 pounds. He wore the expected black suit and straw hat. What was less expected was an antique meerschaum pipe, which he was not smoking. I asked him if he would like to step outside and smoke during our conversation, he nodded graciously, and perhaps gratefully. If this went well, I would have some good quality pipe tobacco sent his way.
The negotiations went slowly. What I was asking was easily doable, if he chose to authorize it. However, Elder Nuefeld wanted more in depth reasons. Rather than reply, I asked if he would be willing to accept a ride in my car. This he accepted, with a patently false show of reluctance.
Once we reached the house, I had George pull to the front entrance. Normally, this would be useless, since the door is kept locked, but clean up was in full swing. He took in the activity without comment. Once again I was reminded that a simple lifestyle is not a sign of stupidity. Usually, this reflection applies to some third world country, but we also have odd communities in the USA.
As we walked through the house, I pointed out things that had come down through generations. I could tell that Elder Nuefeld was quite comfortable with many of our old pieces. In particular, he seemed impressed with the quarter sawn, tiger eye maple paneling. I asked if he had a family history in woodwork. It turned out he did not, but recognized the wood from the home of a family named Yoder, who were woodworkers.
As we progressed, I explained Sheila's concept. The Amish are non-electrical by choice. This would fit well with a turn of the 20th century theme. I never did explain why I wanted the horses and carriages. As I said, the man was not stupid.
When we went through the ballroom, I explained that there was to be a formal dance. It would not be one suitable for Amish to attend, but the concept would be very familiar. Dances are a principle way young Amish men meet marriageable Amish women. I apologized that the dance floor would be unavailable, except on Sunday. On the spur of the moment, I offered it as a temporary meeting hall for their services and family time afterward.
Elder Neufeld stopped and looked at me shrewdly. At that point I knew we had an agreement in principle and only needed to work out the details. He asked how many men I expected to need. To answer this, I led him outside.
Mitchell had several crews working. My events people had delivered the side show booths, and crews were busily unpacking them. Again, these were vintage items, of a sort he would recognize. I told him that I hoped to have whole families. One man for each carriage of course, but boys to attend the horses, girls to run errands and women to run the food booths. I stated that, should the church deem it suitable, and subject to other uses, the families could make use of the preparations. Then the dickering got serious.
In essence, the deal was for twelve carriages, with horses and drivers. In addition, a block of money would be provided to the church for services rendered by dependents of the drivers. I was responsible to arrange three train cars and minimal accommodations, meaning tents, water and portable toilets. Since I was already planning to rent two train cars, an additional passenger car was probably cheaper than the dozen round trip fares. I allowed the Elder use of any additional space in the train cars.
What the Elder was getting was a paid vacation for at least a dozen of his families. They would have to bring food, though I promised certain staples like beans and potatoes. In addition, they would need bedding and all the other things you need camping. Provided the setup was finished, the Amish could hold a dance in the ballroom on Friday night. Likewise, the midway and paddle boats would be available, if ready. There was no limit on the number of people they could bring, but only the basic twelve would get paid.
I did not tell Elder Neufeld that I felt like a manor Lord authorizing a gypsy camp, in exchange for entertainment. He would not have been amused. He was amused by the houseboat. Like Sheila, he thought the name was too grand. The yacht he plainly admired. I mentioned that there was going to be skilled woodworking jobs in the near future. Elder Neufeld promised to tell the appropriate people.
I had George deliver Elder Neufeld back to the station. Then I found the Gilbert brothers and we exchanged updates. This done, I asked to assemble Jo's grad students. One of the boys had refused to get out of bed. Most likely, he had arrived in Portland already. Two of the girls had simply taken their bags and left. The remaining nine were, per Sheila's directions, dirty. I thanked them for sticking it out, which brought a laugh.
I asked if any of them were specializing in the Amish. None were, but it happened that one of the girls, Evaine, was from a neighboring county in Pennsylvania. I asked her if she had any experience working side by side with them. She did. The Amish support Mennonite Disaster Services, which had sent a crew to a tornado clean up in her home town. I told everyone that Evaine was designated the liaison to the Amish women. I then explained the plan Elder Neufeld and I had roughed out that afternoon. Evaine promised to handle the details. I crossed my fingers and went on.
The day of grime had acquainted them with the effort we needed. Evaine told everyone to expect the Amish to work very hard, especially to prepare the dance floor. She wanted to attend that herself. One of the boys, I had not caught the name, asked where they would be staying. I told him that I had arranged for some big tents in one corner. One of the girls asked why they could not use the rooms upstairs. To which several heads nodded.
Michael said that there were both old family bedrooms and servants quarters, all unused. It would be enough for a sizable chunk of the expected crew. Naturally, they had been closed for years, so extensive cleaning would be necessary. I pulled out my phone and called George on his Bluetooth. He passed this on to Elder Neufeld. I suspected, we would be getting a free housecleaning in exchange for indoor quarters.
Then, it was on to practical issues. Which power sources were usable and at what load? How would the room occupancy levels be monitored? Where would food be prepared? Michael vouched for the gas stoves in the big kitchen, but there was no refrigeration and the lighting was not up to code. One boy suggested a bottled gas walk in refrigerator. I had been thinking refrigerated box truck, but his idea suited me fine.
That led to a string of suggestions, which was why Jo brought them in the first place. It was after 3:30 PM. I told them to go wrap up their current projects and break for a meal at 5:00 PM. They could rough out some proposals over beer and pizza. That brought cheers, except from one girl. Since she appeared Indian, I guessed either no pork or strict vegetarian. I told Michael to be sure to make kosher and veggie part of the order. The girl's quick smile told me I was correct.
Next on the schedule was Gerald and how he was doing with Sheila's cameras. Oh joy.
I looked different dressed in a suit and standing so it hung properly. While we were still at the warehouse store, I spent a couple of minutes in front of the mirror, playing with the differences that heels and posture made. I could, easily, make a nice outfit look like ill fitted bags. My companion/coach in this was CC, who rarely said a word, was deferential to a fault and completely helpful. I began to understand the relationship CC had with Sheila. I was also getting turned on—again.
Getting to Julian's parlor proved challenging. There was only the one car. We filled the trunk and back seat with clothes and shoes, then crammed five people into one front seat. Fortunately it was only for a few blocks. When we reached Sheila's car, the other women climbed out and Russell drove me to the Parlor. This late in the afternoon, parking was looser.
I was wearing tall heels for the first time in my adult life. I managed to climb out of the car and up to the stairps, but there I stopped. Julian's steps were crumbled and slick. I did not want to risk them alone. It was not a long wait. When the others arrived, inevitably CC was the one who helped me up. Sheila and Francine waited so we all entered together. When we stepped through the door, an animated conversation stopped dead. Maggie and Millie both stared; Maggie went slack jawed.
Still, she found her voice first. "Sure it is, Miss Siobhan, that ye are a fine looking woman. Right handsome, I say. I did nae think these two were wee fairies, but perhaps I'm bein' mistaken. Wait there. Mr. Julian will be seeing you first." Fine looking woman? The Dean of my college would have a heart attack to hear it.
Maggie bustled over. She and CC helped me down the stairs. Descending turned out to be more dangerous than climbing. Julian's studio, if it deserved the title, was almost homelike. Change the fabric to books and paper and it could be any of a dozen TA group offices on campus. Julian, in this context, was exactly what I expected—a specialty absorbed genius, with ego to match. We got on fine.
The first order was stripping to my panties. I had expected no issues with that, but having Maggie watching made me shy. Oddly, CC had also stayed, but I was completely ready to get naked with her.
Julian had me raise my hands. He thrust the sides of the corset past me, but scolded me when I sought to fasten it. I had done research on corsets. This was a simple underbust training corset. Contrary to most uses, the term "training" is reserved for serious corsets. It means that garment is suitable for figure training, not merely occasional use. They also cost three times as much. The underbust part meant that my tits were in the open, so I would be wearing a bra.
Julian stood behind me, pulling and poking. To my front, Maggie was paying close attention, while she hung my new suit on hangers. She was almost old enough to be my grandmother, but she found my tits fascinating. I wonder if this was the usual service, or if she preferred Raphaelian women. CC, standing to her side, was smiling faintly. I could not tell if she was laughing at me or at Maggie.
Presently, Julian finished his ministrations and came around to close up the front. This was not easy, even though the laces were still loose. I suspected that was a good thing. There was a bit more fussing with the front, then Julian directed me to a heavy iron pipe near a corner. I grabbed it and Julian started to pull. There was a talk as he did this, but I did not listen. I was to involved with the pressure on my middle.