Author: Thinking Horndog
Title: Strange Relationships
Part: 29
Universe: Second Best
Summary: A full-length novel that follows several young couples from Second
Best and their families.
Keywords: mf interr voy D/s toys MF oral FF oral

Keywords for full story:  rom, mf, MF, mmf, MFF, M+F, mm, F-solo, ir, D/s,
bdsm, mdom, spank, oral, anal, 1st, reluc, nc, voy

Strange Relationships

Copyright © Thinking Horndog, 2006 im_a_thinker@yahoo.com

Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyrighted with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. Reproduction for profit
is forbidden.  Any distribution must include this note and the author's
email address. Don’t be caught attempting to make a buck off me!

Warnings and disclaimers:

This is adult entertainment!  Be warned!  If you’re not into graphic
depictions of sex, this is the wrong story for you!  If you’re too young to
be legally reading this, move along!

This is a work of fiction.  It is not intended to reflect any particular
person or persons, and the incidents portrayed exist in their current form
solely in the writer’s imagination.  You get the idea.

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?"

	"Like... I'm... gonna..." she gritted before Charles snatched the
Wench's hand away.  "Noooooo!"

	"I just saved you from the cat!" Charles grated at the Wench.

	"Thank you, Sir!  I'm sorry, Sir!"

	"Hmmph.  Sorry isn't good enough.  Lick that thing off, and stick it
in your ass, then come over here and blow me."

	Damn him!  He was as bad as Armand!  He was going to make her watch
Felicia do that stuff...  Sharon had almost made it; she'd gone up the scale
really quickly; now, there was THIS added stimulation...

	The Wench did as she was told, licking off the vibe and then turning
and bending such that Sharon had a front row seat to her taking six inches
of vibrator in to her anus.  Then she knelt and released Charles' erection
while he scolded her, "What were you thinking?  Did you feel sorry for her?
Would it have been worth the strokes from the cat?  I ought to give you a
couple to remind you..."

	"No, Sir, please -- she sneaked up on me!"  The Wench gobbled
Charles' cock, and he turned the system made by the pair of them so that
Sharon could watch its length disappear and reappear between the Wench's
lips.  He held her deep, then released her, letting her lick and suck; the
Wench acted like the fleshy shaft was a favorite lollipop, making slurping
noises.  Finally, he grunted, "All right, jack me -- just the tongue..."
The Wench pumped his shaft with her fist while tonguing the tip for a few
seconds before Charles gave a grunt and began to spew, taking over the grip
on his cock to direct its delivery of semen to various points on her face.
"Ahhhh, good.  All right, then -- one with the cat to remind you.  Let's
cover her up..."  The pair did so, and then Charles killed the lamp and led
the Wench out the door.

	She was back in ten minutes, sniffling.  "What happened?" Sharon
asked.

	"I got two -- he said the first one wasn't hard enough..."

	"Let me see."  The Wench turned on the lamp and displayed her back
-- which had a pattern of stripes on it.  "I'm sorry, Hon."

	"It was my fault.  We'd better go to sleep."  The Wench killed the
light.

                         --------------------

	Jason awoke with a hard-on like blued steel; the time was
indeterminate, however, because there was a lot of fluffy black hair between
him and the alarm clock.  The reason for the hard-on was obvious, too -- the
crack of Inez's ass had provided a hothouse environment for its growth; was
the dampness there pre-cum from him or was it coming from her?  Questing
fingers found a damp slit, but that didn't really clarify things -- maybe
he'd started out between her legs...  Well, it was irrelevant now, because
that was where he was going!  Jason tugged on Inez's hips to coax her to
bend a bit more at the waist, then began working his hard rod between the
damp chubby lips of her sex.

	Inez was having this wonderful dream of a long tongue working along
her quim, then up the crack of her ass.  The owner of the tongue was
faceless, but she was pretty sure it was Master...  Suddenly, the tongue
stiffened and grew a head, like a cock, delving into her...  Pleasure awoke
her; strong hands held her hips while a cock drove into her center.  A hand
scratched her back, and a half-familiar voice murmured, "Are you awake?"

	"Mmmm hmmm..."

	"Bend forward some more, then, little puta, so I can get some
purchase here..."

	Puta?  That was 'whore' in Spanish!  "Master?  Puta?"

	She didn't have to see it to hear that death's head grin in his
voice, "I went online, looking for... endearments..."

	Puta lacked something as an endearment, but, well, it was Master,
all over.  Inez looked at the bright side -- he was learning Spanish...
Thrusts got more urgent, but they weren't satisfying.

	"This is too much work!" Jason complained.  "I'm gonna roll over on
my back; I want you to get your feet under you and ride me, understand?"
Without waiting, he grabbed her hips and rolled onto his back, dragging her
along by her hips and their connected sexual organs.  Immediately, it became
apparent that THAT was a mistake; the bitch was HEAVY.  "Jeezus, hurry up
and get organized!"

	"Dios mio!"  The change in position was a lot harder than Master
apparently planned for; just getting bolt upright was tough, and getting her
legs worked around under her...  "I'm not twenty any more, Master!  Let me
go so I can bend!"

	Jason did so, grumbling, but it was worth it; freed, she got her
legs under her pretty quickly. But kneeling astride him wasn't going to
work, either...  "Squat, you silly cow!  Here, let me help you with that big
ass..."  Jason waited while she shuffled her feet into position.  "Okay,
lean forward and brace on my legs, and let's get this thing in!"

	Inez reached down and grasped his hard shaft, directing it into her
tunnel, and Jason began providing impetus using his hands on her hips, "All
right, little puta, ride the pony!"

	"Uhhh, ummm..."  THIS worked!  Dios mio!  Master was DEEP!  Soon,
the impacts of her ass against his pubic mound were bone-jarring, under the
impetus of his hands and her urgency.  The position, known to Jason as
'reverse cowgirl', allowed for a long stroke, and both of them milked it for
all it was worth, Inez pivoting on her locked arms to raise and lower her
ass, Jason's hands urging her on.  Things went frantic quickly, causing her
to wonder if her own breasts were going to beat her up, they were flopping
around so -- then moved beyond, "AIIIIIEEEEEEE!!!!!"

	"Quiet, you silly cow!  Want to awaken the whole house?"  But he was
holding her down, crushing her to him as her spasms milked his climax from
him.  "Ahhhh, damn!  I'm addicted!  You're going nowhere, you silly cunt!
Understand?  Your ass is MINE!"

	Inez hung there, pinned by his hands against the resistance in her
legs.  It had been wonderful, but there was a cramp coming on...  Relief
flooded her when he announced, "All right, we're rolling back over.  Try to
stay connected, this time..."  She managed to roll with him, and listened
contentedly to minor complaints like, "Christ!  You're all sweaty!" while he
snuggled back up to her; the hand that curled around to possess her left
breast said that it was just noise...

                         --------------------

	"Oh, God!"  The light had flared again; Sharon had been so far gone
that she didn't hear Charles arrive and awaken the Wench.  Now the sheet was
being snatched away for -- what? -- the fifth time? -- and Charles voice
rumbled, "Well?"

	"Get on with it."

	Felicia seemed to have her responses down pat; despite the fact that
the vibrator was beginning to seriously irritate her poor clit, Sharon rose
rapidly toward orgasm.  She began to think maybe, just maybe...

	But the Wench, thoroughly vigilant due to her sore back, withdrew
the vibe before Sharon reached critical mass.  Charles nodded, glancing at
the clock, "Ten minutes, then release her.  It's time to get up, anyway..."

	"Auuugh!"  Sharon glanced at the clock -- six-twenty!  Had she been
allowed to sleep at all?

	Certainly, Felicia looked no better, "Mistress, let's NOT do this
again!  Please?"  Sharon lay mute in the face of the plea, but another night
like last night?  No...

	Felicia sat on the bed with her for the requisite ten minutes, then
released Sharon, who went to the bathroom to splash water on her face,
muttering, "I'll shower later."  Then it was off to Nora's room, where her
daughter slept soundly with her boyfriend's sinewy black arm draped over her
possessively.  "Time to get up, you two!"

	Nate flinched like he'd been burned, but Nora opened one eye,
"Already?"

	"Already.  You should have had MY night!  Hurry up -- I've asked
Velma not to fill you with cholesterol, but we DO agree that you should
eat."  Sharon rounded on Nate, "And that goes DOUBLE for YOU!"  She swept
out.

	"What the?"  Nate blinked.

	Nora tittered, "She thinks you're skinny."

	"Huh!"

	"Well, you saw that spread yesterday -- you CAN'T eat us out of
house and home, so you might as well not worry about it...  Race you to the
shower!"  She lost, but it didn't matter...

                         --------------------

	BUZZZZZZZZ!  "Jeezus!  Kill that thing!" Jason ranted.  Inez
struggled up and fought with the unfamiliar device, unseating his still
half-hard cock.  Jason rolled onto his back and rubbed his eyes.  "I have to
pee."

	Soft lips closed gently around his cock, and his eyes sprung open.
Inez's face was serene...  "Awright, just clean it up a bit and I'll use the
toilet."  Did the goddamn woman have to look so blasé?  Would it even be
worth it to try to shake that?  Arrrgh!

	Cleaning him up was bad enough; things had gotten dry and flaky at
the base of his cock overnight, despite the fact that somehow he'd remained
largely erect and inserted in Inez's vagina -- which was a vast surprise...
"Go get a washrag -- spit isn't going to cut it," Jason directed, and Inez
toddled off.  Jason came to life fairly quickly in the morning, but those
first few minutes before he got his legs under him were usually miserable;
even the feel of the wet washrag on his groin was refreshing.

	Inez looked up from her work, "I need to awaken Bianca..."

	Jason thought about it.  "Do you have a robe?"

	"Yes, Master."

	"Let's see it."  It was a thin, frilly thing in a yellow that
pointed up her dark complexion, and it amused him.  "Wear it, open.  I want
to see fur."  He grinned maliciously.  "Go!  Hurry back, I may want you to
wash my back!"

	"Yes, Master."  Inez dashed out, her hands in her pockets pinning
the edges of the housecoat in position to cover her nipples while continuing
to expose her pubes as instructed.  With any luck, it wouldn't matter...

                         --------------------

	"Wake up, Little Flower..."  Bianca opened an eye and groaned;
another school day...  Mama was bending over her in that ridiculous
housecoat she usually wore over her nightgown, smiling -- but there was no
nightgown, and the thing was wide open, framing her hanging breasts, belly
button, and a slick wet trail halfway down her right thigh...

	Bianca raised herself to bolt upright and murmured, "So you finally
went to see Mister Jason?"

	"Yes, Love."

	"You're not very well-dressed..."

	"You know how he is..."

	Bianca smiled -- so THAT explained it!  "Not as well as you do,
Mama!  You look better..."

	"I AM better, Love.  Whatever happened...  is not my fault.  It's
not Master's fault, either -- it's your father's fault.  I... can't let it
change things -- it wouldn't be fair to any of us."

	"You believe them?"

	"Si.  For a number of reasons.  Lord Armand was right; if he had
felt that Raoul needed to be disposed of, he'd have merely had him killed or
whatever, and our opinions wouldn't matter.  The fact that he went to any
lengths..."

	"The Wench says Miz Sharon is the proof; she insists that Miz Sharon
wouldn't lie for them, even though Mister Armand basically owns her..."

	"I think she's right -- there's too much evidence.  Besides, your
father...  He would have wanted to go alone to prove himself.  And he'd have
tried to kill the guard.  It all fits."  Inez drifted a bit.  "Master's
attentions are rough, and he's impatient, regularly angry, and a
perfectionist.  But I think he loves me..."

	"Yes, Mama."  Bianca drew her mother's face in and kissed her on the
cheek.  "I'm up, now."

	"Okay, I have to go.  I will probably get dragged around between
Master and the breakfast preparations..."

	"Good luck!  Don't flash anyone in the halls!"

	Her mother's face looked rueful.  "I'll have to..."

	Bianca giggled and shook her head.  Mama wasn't going to have any
modesty at all if Mister Jason had his way...

	Inez failed to return undetected; Phillippe appeared in the hall as
she hurried back.  Instinct made her draw her fists together in the pockets,
closing the robe -- but she knew better, so she slowed down and re-opened
them.  Phillippe grinned and grunted, "You need a trim..." -- and he goosed
her, laughing, as she passed, but that was it...

                         --------------------

	Breakfast was almost 'normal' for most of the participants.  Armand
sat reading his various reports at the head of the table, eating slowly;
Jason did similar to his left.  The kids came in quickly and bolted cereal
and fruit under Sharon's watchful eye, and the Wench knelt off-side,
awaiting instructions while Inez and Consuelo went back and forth to the
kitchen.  Aside from the Wench, no one was dressed unusually; Jason had
instructed Inez to dress normally and to forego baring her breasts in
public, for now...

	As the younger set rose to leave, Jason did, too.  "Nate?  A
moment?"

	Nate nodded and stepped aside with him in the hallway, and Jason
continued, "Do you two have plans for this evening?"

	Nate flashed a glance at Nora, "No..."

	"Earning a few bucks seem like a good idea?"

	"Yeh."  Nate nodded.  After kicking George's ass, he and Momma might
need it for a new place, for one thing, not to mention the fact that she was
out of work...

	Jason gave him an address.  "It's our distribution center on the
east side.  Show up at four, and pull a half-shift.  Tell Mr. DiAngelo I
sent you.  To start, it's twelve-fifty an hour, Tuesday, Thursday, and
Saturday -- tonight's kind of a one-off.  Make an impression, and things
will get better, no doubt -- there's some turnover.  Who knows?  Maybe you
can tell us why..."  He glanced at Nora, then back at Nate.  "Going to see
your mother, after?"

	"Yeh, probably."

	"Velma will hold something, then, for dinner."

	"We'll eat together," Nora insisted.  Jason merely nodded.

	The pair hit the door, Nora agitated.  "He's up to something."

	"Nah.  Your Daddy said he was going to point me at work, two days
ago.  It's not all jus' about cuddling, you know.  People got to eat, too.
I can't live here, and Momma ain't workin'...  Your folks been more than
decent, but your Daddy likes to see folk stand on their own; time I stopped
livin' the high life and did some payback."

	"Well, maybe..."

	The pair got into Nate's rattletrap, Jorge having brought it around.
It was warmed up, too, Nate noticed.  "Thanks, Man."

	"No problem."  Jorge flicked a two-finger salute past the bill of
his cap.  "My job."

	Once in the car, Nate continued, "You think after all he's done,
your Daddy would fuck me over?"

	"Maybe not.  But Jason might."

	"He's got better shit to do."

	"Well, okay -- but you keep an eye out.  Too much has happened
around here, lately."  Nora leaned her head on Nate's shoulder.

                         --------------------

	Armand was voicing the same sentiment to Jason, "Things are out of
hand.  We need to consolidate things, stabilize.  Lower the stress levels."
He sipped his coffee.  "I have the current project with Sharon, but I wish I
hadn't bothered -- it's a bit close on the heels of Sunday's little
escapade..."

	"There is the matter of Mr. Pinkham, too..." Jason pointed out.

	"Mmmm, yes.  I believe we have everything we need to prove his
culpability in Ms. Adams' attack.  The question is, what do we do about it?
I have no plans to become a pimp..."

	"Pinkham is talented," Jason pointed out, "a cut above.  But
monopoly might not be good for business.  Maybe we should convince him that
the carrot is better than the stick..."

	"Prostitution as a criminal activity offends me," Armand quipped.
"Laws of this nature are the product of small minds.  There are highly
civilized countries in Europe where prostitution is a legitimate business --
America's Puritanism is backward, and reflects poorly on us."

	"The man still needs a lesson."

	"True enough.  We'll instill some respect at lunch, and decide how
to follow up later..." Armand sighed.  "In the meantime, on with the next
phase of breaking Sharon in..."

	"So, why?" Jason wondered aloud.

	"I want her to experience a few things, and be grateful for what she
has."

	"That could backfire," Jason observed.

	"Mmmm, yes.  Do you think Inez would pass up what she has with you
for some vanilla character?" Armand asked.

	"Well, no..."

	"Same principle applies.  If Sharon were capable of being cured of
me, it would have happened years ago."  Armand punched a button, "Wench!"

                         --------------------

	Fifteen minutes later, a somewhat haggard Wench planted herself in
front of an equally haggard Sharon.  "My Master bids you to permit me to
apply his latest motivational torture."

	"Oh?  What is it?"

	"I'm not allowed to say.  You're to lift your skirt and close your
eyes.  It's NOT tongue..."

	"Is it gonna hurt?"

	"I'm not allowed..."

	"... to say.  I get it.  And if I refuse?"

	"I go get Sir and Master."  The Wench's eyes implored.

	"Very well.  Here?"  They were in the middle of the north hallway.

	"Might as well -- it's quick..."

	Sharon looked around.  "Oh, all right."  She lifted her knee-length
skirt, gathering it in the process, then stood there, eyes closed,
expression reflecting martyred patience.

	"Could you, uhhh, spread your legs?"  Sharon, sighing, did so.  The
Wench licked her middle finger to moisten it and swiped it in the vicinity
of Sharon's clitoris.

	"Hey!"

	"It's only once -- and it was my finger.  You need to be damp."  Un-
palming a small case, the Wench extracted a small sheet with her forefinger
and pressed it against Sharon's clitoris, where the moisture immediately
sublimed it.

	"WOO HOO!" Sharon screeched, "Good Lord!  What was THAT?"

	"Breath strip," the Wench chuckled.  "It won't hurt you, but your
clit will feel like it's swinging in the breeze for a while."

	Shit!  It was like menthol!  Cold, yet burning...  The heat just
kept climbing while Sharon danced from foot to foot.  "How often are we
gonna do this?" she gritted, panting.

	"Every two hours..."

	"No!"  Sharon grabbed her upper arm and propelled her forward.  "Get
going!  My room!  You're gonna lick that off!  And then we're BOTH gonna
take a nap!"  Sharon followed the grinning Wench up the hall, walking
spraddle-legged.

	Once in the room, Sharon started shucking clothing, "Help me out of
this stuff -- the sooner, the better..."  The Wench went to work on skirt
buttons while Sharon got out of her blouse and bra.  Everything went in a
heap on the floor, while Sharon stalked toward the bed.  In an instant, she
was reclining on it, knees up, fanning, "Oooh, shit -- that doesn't help!
Don't just stand there, get your tongue out!"

	The Wench grinned and climbed up between Sharon's legs.  "Oh, no you
don't!  Flip around here -- and give me one of those damned things!  What's
good for the goose is good for the gander!"

	"Aww, c'mon, Mistress -- it's not MY fault!"

	"If I have to suffer, YOU'RE not going to get away with anything!
Now give me those things and bring your butt around here!"

	Seeing that Sharon was adamant, the Wench crawled off the bed and
collected the pack of breath strips.  "Who's gonna put out MY fire?" she
whined.

	Sharon sighed.  "Maybe I will -- it'll give me a jump on Armand's
next game...  Hurry up!"

	The Wench gingerly handed Sharon the pack, "One's plenty."

	"Get down there, and lick it off!" Sharon pushed her.  "And get into
position!"  The Wench moved into position over Sharon and began delving in
the folds of her labia with her tongue, "Oh, thank God!"  Sharon found
herself staring up at the loose inner lips of the Wench's vagina.  Well,
she'd been in there before...  She opened the packet of breath strips and
retrieved one; the Wench was already damp enough.  She pressed it into
place...

	"Oooogh!" the Wench wailed.  "God, that burns!"

	"You're damned right it does!" Sharon huffed.  "Get it out of
there!"

	"Do me, too, PLEEEEZE!!!"

	"Whatever.  You're gonna have to take it for a bit, though, to make
up for all the goofing around you did!"

	"Awwwww!"

	"Suck!  I'm still burning!"

	In a few moments, things began to settle down for Sharon; Felicia's
tongue-lashing made all the difference.  She was jouncing around quite a bit
from the application to her vulva, though, so Sharon nerved herself to
return the favor.  It took some effort -- in Sharon's book, this just wasn't
something you did -- but she went ahead and pulled Felicia's... pussy...
down to her face, getting a noseful of her aroma.  The initial tongue
application was pretty gingerly, which wasn't fair, really, since Felicia
was giving HER a serious lashing -- but Felicia broke contact and moaned,
"Oh, God, PLEEEEZE put the fire out!" so Sharon settled in.  After all, it
was self-imposed; she could have NOT used a strip on the poor girl, and
wouldn't have been obligated...  What had she been thinking, anyway?

	But the burning had settled out, leaving coolness behind, and
pleasure began to suffuse Sharon.  This made her work easier, as things
Felicia did to her were indications that a return of the favor would be good
for the younger woman.  Sharon tried to concentrate on what she was doing,
but bursts of pleasure distracted her, causing her to drift back and forth,
remembering at odd intervals that she was supposed to be licking...

	Charles stood, unnoticed, in the open door.  When the Wench hadn't
returned immediately from her current mission, he'd decided to go check on
things...  He stepped away, and activated the intercom in the sitting room,
announcing quietly, "I'm watching a sixty-nine..."

	"Oh?"  Armand adjusted his monitoring gear.  "All we needed was
breath strips?"

	"I don't think so, Sir.  I think Sharon figured she'd pushed things
as far as she could before you would get impatient and add a new
requirement."

	"Perhaps.  Looks good from here.  I'll play back the last few
minutes' surveillance and make sure the silly bitches aren't in cahoots,
but..."

	"Yes Sir.  Should I hang around?"

	"Seems like a waste of time.  Thanks for keeping me informed..."
Armand disconnected.

	Charles lingered anyway, watching.  If pressed, he could justify the
monitoring by pointing out that this was a skill set that the Wench needed
to practice, and he needed to evaluate, but it was more for pleasure than
anything else.  Charles was tired from the overnight, and had recently had
sex, but watching Sharon's generous hips roll and listening to her muffled
moans elicited a pleasant tingle.

	By now, both women had moved on to directly servicing each other's
pleasure.  The residue of several denied orgasms made Sharon hair-trigger,
and the Wench's tongue was well-educated in clit-worship.  Sharon really,
really wanted a cock, but this... this was going to make it...  The Wench
licked a finger briefly and began working it around Sharon's vaginal
opening, and the dam burst, Sharon rocking her pelvis up and screeching into
the Wench's tunnel as her legs locked and the fireworks display went off.
Positive reinforcement from her success pushed the Wench up the slope,
allowing Sharon's more clumsy efforts to set her hips to dancing to her own
sympathetic detonation.  Watching Felicia's pussy pulse in orgasm from up
close was an education to Sharon, who got the whole show from the rhythmic
winking of her anus to the fluttering of her inner labia as her vagina
pulsed and the clenching and unclenching of her taut belly.  "Wow!  Do I do
that?"

	"What?" the Wench asked breathlessly as she flopped over on her
side.

	"When you cum, your whole underside pulses!"

	"Oh, yeah, you do it.  You get this hip roll, too, when you're
finishing -- it's hard to keep up..."

	Sharon made to rise up, but she was leaden.  The night, the almost-
orgasms, and finally this completion had her wasted.  Rolling over, she
picked up the phone.

	"Mistress?" Leticia answered.

	"Felicia and I had a hard night.  We're going to nap for a while.
Wake us up around eleven-thirty, will you?"

	"Sure.  No problem.  Nighty-night!"  Somewhere in there was a
suppressed chuckle, but Sharon was too tired to follow up.

	The Wench began dragging herself off the bed.  "Where are you
going?" Sharon asked.

	"Back to my kennel..."

	"Don't bother.  Bring the blankets up with you will you?"

	"Okay."  The Wench settled herself carefully out of direct contact
and began pummeling a pillow into a comfortable shape.  Best not try to
cuddle; Sharon was homophobic enough, already...  Exhaustion claimed them
both almost immediately.