You Can Always Say No -- Chapter 07 (re-edited) free porn video

You Can Always Say No, Chapter 07 by Cherysse St. Claire © 2007 She awoke slowly, just as I had that morning. I gazed down longingly at her figure, still seductively attired in corset, stockings and heels, as she knelt before me on the coffee table. Her face rested to one side on the tabletop. I strolled slowly around the table, allowing her to drink in the sight of my body, tightly corseted in black calfskin with my breasts riding high and pushed together by the corset's demi-cups. The matching custom-made boots laced up the front, all the way to my bare pussy. Their five-inch stiletto heels lent the right air of authority to the image, as did the black kidskin gloves that clung to my upper limbs like wet tissue from fingertip to armpit. My makeup was provocative without excess and my hair was done up in a chignon, not a strand out of place. As I circled her, I noted with satisfaction the cuffed-together ankles and wrists cuffed behind her thighs. I gently caressed her shapely, upturned ass with the tip of my crop. "Angie, Angie, Angie," I crooned softly. "What am I going to do with you? On the one hand, you are making magnificent progress towards becoming the sexy sissy I want you to be. When you walked in my door this afternoon and proudly proclaimed you had gone into work today, looking the way you did, I thought I had died and gone to Heaven. I don't think there is any question you are enjoying it, too - perhaps too much. That brings us to the other hand...." THWACK! Her whole body flinched, even as she emitted a muffled shriek. "WHAT RIGHT DO YOU HAVE TO CHEAT ON ME, BITCH?" I screamed in her ear. THWACK! Another flinch. Another stifled scream. "We are married you and I. 'Love, honor and cherish, forsaking all others,' remember? Doesn't that mean anything to you? THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! She was crying and whimpering now. "What's the matter, Baby?" I purred in her other ear. "Cat got your tongue? Ball gag got your tongue?" She glared at me through her tears, unable to reply. "I wouldn't have minded so much if it was just the man," I hissed. "I was okay with my little sissy taking her first real cock - although I would have preferred to see it for myself. No, my problem is with that little redheaded slut who obviously decided to keep you for herself for a couple of nights - and you went right along for the ride, didn't you?" THWACKTHWACKTHWACKTHWACKTHWACK! Continuing my circuit of the table, I passed out of her line of sight, allowing her to digest that last part. I stopped at the end of the sofa to once again smell those magnificent roses. I had placed them on the end table to make room on the coffee table for our fun and games. The thought occurred to me to transfer the spectacular bouquet to my heavy, more formal Baccarat crystal vase later on. I resumed my prowl up the opposite side, stopping to place my lips right at her ear. "Did you think I would be okay with that? Hmmmm? Did you think I wouldn't have a problem with some other girl seeing you, meeting you, dancing and chatting with you, then deciding 'hey, this little chippie is a really good catch' and stealing you away from me? WELL, I DO!!!!!!!!" THWACKTHWACKTHWACKTHWACKTHWACKTHWACKTHWACKTHWACK... THWACK! Angie was quietly sobbing now. Tears streamed from her closed eyes and her body was quivering. I noted the savage whipping had loosened one edge of her buttock prosthetics. The stripes on the lower, unpadded portions of her flesh where I had been carefully directing my blows were turning a livid purple. With Deidre and the others, I would have been feeling supreme satisfaction, even arousal at that moment. A session might have lasted hours. I would have cum more than once from the intense emotion alone, if not the sensation caused by the rims of my boots rubbing against my pussy. Now, after only a couple of dozen vicious swats on Angie's upturned tush, I felt... empty and unsettled. The intense emotion had been there, but this time it had been the suppressed rage of betrayal, of which I had already purged myself. That was the difference. With the hopelessly submissive, masochistic Deidre and the others, it had been consensual; an act of admittedly perverse pleasure for both. I had made love to them with my whip; light, caring flicks and caresses, building slowly, passionately in intensity, in tune with our emotions. 'Release' had not been about the eventual soft, sensual unbuckling of a buckle or flick of a strap; those were mere afterthoughts. There was none of that romance here. This had been a unilateral act of petty vengeance, with no pleasure for either of us. The sight of my Angie's bruised, battered rear end, knowing I had done this to her, was making me sick. I wanted to end this farce. Still, I had started this; I had to play it out.... "Look at you," I sneered loudly, stifling the sob that threatened to creep into my voice. "Little Miss Sweet Cheeks; just shake that luscious tush of yours and all the big, strong boys and foxy girls come running, don't they? Not so hot to trot now, are you? I wonder what your little redheaded girlfriend would say if she were here right now?" "How about, 'Nitie-nite, Bitch'?" came the malevolent growl from behind me. My peripheral vision caught a swirl of red hair, then a blur of motion. I felt, as much as heard the crash; then oblivion.... I regained consciousness sometime in the gloom of night - and immediately wished I hadn't. My head throbbed, pounded. There was a huge, hyper- sensitive knot on the back of it. The room was dimly illuminated by a flickering light. There were voices in the background, two of them; one male, the other female. I shook my head to clear it, instantly regretting the effort as the wave of pain washed over me. As my vision came into focus, I noted the roses and shards of thin, glazed ceramic scattered about me on the floor, in near-perfect symmetry to the point of impact. Thank God for that cheap florist's throw-away. If I had already transferred the blooms to my heavy crystal vase as intended, I might have been killed; my skull crushed. I summoned my righteous indignation, resolving to follow those voices to their source, confront the lovers and vent my spleen on them. They had callously left me lying there on the floor while they left to do... whatever they pleased. How dare they? Then I realized the voices, like the flickering light, originated from our wide-screen plasma television. Two figures cavorted in bed; our bed, Angie's and mine. The sex was graphic, raw, and intense. So were her lustful screams. The red mist of my rage blotted out vision and reason itself. I cast my eyes about, looking for something I could hurl at the screen, at the lovers who taunted me with their passion. Then I took a good look at those figures again. My heart sank when I realized this was no 'revenge fuck' staged for my benefit. The girl on the screen was me; the man was Jason. The recording captured us in all our glory - or infamy. How... I started to ask myself, then just as quickly realized the horrifying answer. The ultra-sophisticated surveillance system I had had installed, at hideous expense, to capture Alan's cross-dressing peccadilloes had never been removed. I hadn't even given thought to it after it had done what I had intended it to do. Obviously my spouse had - and gone looking for the source of the recording I had used against him. Alan may have been a de facto administrator when our adventure began, but Jason had originally hired him for his expertise in electronic engineering. That, plus the army of geeks at his disposal at the time would have made short work of uncovering the system and unlocking its complexities. I had paid for the best and gotten it. Now I tried to remember the buzz phrases the installers had bandied about after completion of their task. DVD burner. That was an easy one; it had created the disc I had flaunted in Alan's face - and most likely the video I was now watching. Motion- and sound-activated cameras. That was also easy to understand; efficient, unattended, around-the-clock surveillance, for which I had paid a premium. What were the other features they had enumerated? RAID tower storage. Removable hard drives. One Terabyte capacity. I hadn't paid attention to such technical jargon, but now fully appreciated a frightening statistic the installers had quoted me; when activated, my in-house spy system would record up to three months of activity before it began overwriting old information with new. Worse, the automatic backup- to-disc software would ensure nothing was ever lost, as long as fresh discs were inserted regularly. The time stamp appeared in the upper-left-hand corner of the image. It was not the romp of Wednesday night and Thursday. I might have been able to explain that away, given the events at Neo. No, this was a record of the very first time I had brought Jason into our bed. How had Sam Irvin put it during the Watergate hearings? What did he know? When did he know it? The intent of this little docudrama was crystal clear; Angie knew it all, from then to now, and had a record of it. I had been hung with my own rope. I knew at that moment I would not find Angie anywhere in the house; nor would I find her discs, or the hard drives in their bays in the surveillance server. I didn't bother looking for a note; the video on the big screen was the note. Dear Donna, it proclaimed, You asked how could I cheat on you? What do you call this? What HAVE you called it all these months? If you insist on pointing fingers, start with yourself. Even as I flogged her, she had been staring at me with those defiant, knowing eyes. With this video, she was now voicing the utter contempt which the gag in her mouth had stifled, flinging my own hypocrisy back in my face. I went upstairs, removed my domina garb and took a long, hot shower. After toweling dry, I slipped into my silk robe and slippers, then made my way downstairs to the kitchen. Pouring a glass of the Pinot Noir - unadulterated this time - I filled an ice pack with cubes and made my way back to the living room. Upon igniting an extended-duration fireplace log, I retreated to the sofa, curled my legs beneath me, propped the ice pack between my head and the back of the couch, sipped wine and stared at the flames. Through my tears, I could have sworn I saw the casino walls crumbling to ash. *** Each day was a gift. I went to work, did my job and did it reasonably well. After all, I had nothing but memories and a guilty conscience to distract me. I went home, ate something or other, perhaps watched a little television, then went to bed. As I turned out the light, I counted my blessings. I had not yet been served with a divorce petition. I had not been called into our President's office to discuss an ugly and potentially embarrassing situation that had been brought to his attention. No police had shown up at my door with a warrant for my arrest for Aggravated Battery. I had not received the dreaded e-mail: Been to YouTube lately? Click HERE. I knew if that day ever came, my life, as I had known it, would truly be over. To no surprise, my repeated attempts to contact Angie were rebuffed; gone to voicemail on the cell phone and "may I take a message?" when I called the office. At least my emails were not returned as 'undeliverable'. She would contact me when and if she was ready. The fact she had not already done so - through an attorney or process server - was encouraging. Of course, Jason called; several times a day, every day. I let those calls go to voicemail. Among his messages, he mentioned he had received an 'anonymous' e-mail containing a really interesting video clip. He had viewed it several times since then, enjoyed it immensely, and wanted to know how soon we could make another one. Finally, he called my office, requesting a meeting to discuss the status of his media campaign. I couldn't turn that down. Yes, I really had been developing a campaign for him; after all, business is business. We were ready with some newspaper and magazine spreads and even had storyboards for possible television spots, all of which were ready for his approval. I had hoped to convince him my office was the better location, but he was not having it. He insisted I come to his office for a mid-afternoon appointment. No problem, right? Just stay away from Alan's - or was it now Angie's? - office and everything would be fine. That's what I told myself as I crossed the parking lot from my car to the front door. My resolve began to crumble the moment I announced myself to Sally Bennett at the front desk. We had met and chatted at several company functions. She now stared a hole through me as though I were a homeless person begging for a handout. "One moment, Mrs. Ames," she purred oh-so-syrupy-sweet. "I'll announce you." She dialed an extension and informed the party on the other end of my arrival. After acknowledging the response, she hung up and turned to me. "Patti will be right out to escort you back," she informed me with a glint in her eye. Then she turned her attention to something on her desk, dismissing me peremptorily. Well, I thought to myself, at least I'll have the opportunity to meet Jason's secretary at last. How bad could that be? Pretty damn bad. I would have recognized those flashing emerald eyes and fiery red hair anywhere. "Would you follow me please, Mrs. Ames?" she intoned, all business. "Mr. Miller is expecting you." She escorted me resolutely, eyes straight ahead, past female staffers who stared coldly at me. "I should have guessed... Trisha," I muttered out of the side of my mouth. "The whole thing was a set-up." "You would know about set-ups better than anyone, Mrs. Ames," she smirked. "I'm sorry; that would be Ms. Peterson-Ames for someone like you, wouldn't it? How's the head? No permanent damage, I trust? Too bad about the roses. I picked them out myself, for her to give to you." "Why?" I hissed, "to give the knife another twist?" "Look who's talking," she spat. "You wanted Angie to come home that night so you could flaunt your infidelity in her face, rub her nose in it? You don't have a clue; never did and never will. You and your boyfriend deserve each other." I was about to counter "he is not my boyfriend," then realized the utter absurdity of the contention. We reached Jason's door. Patti knocked twice and opened it. "Mrs. Ames is here for her two o'clock appointment," she announced in her sincere-efficient-secretary voice. "Thank you, Patti," Jason responded. "Would you please hold my calls? We won't want to be disturbed." I winced at his abysmally-bad choice of words, given the situation. "Of course, Mr. Miller," Patti answered, doing a good job of keeping the sarcasm out of her voice. "I'll just shut the door behind me." As I walked by her, she shot me a look that would have turned Old Faithful instantly to ice. The moment the door closed, Jason was out from behind his desk like a shot. "Thank God you're here, Baby," he exhorted, all over me like an octopus. "I have missed you so much. It's been awful around here the last couple of weeks, especially not being able to see you. Why haven't you been returning my calls?" "Jason, please, not now," I asserted, fending him off as best I could. "Let's go over these galleys, shall we?" I wanted to say "not ever", but thought it best to stick to business for now. I would find a better time to explain my personal feelings to him and let him down easy. "Oh, sure," he responded with his boyish grin and a wink. "Business before pleasure, right? Okay, let's see what you have." I explained the different ads, presented the results of our market research and offered my recommendations on media buys to maximize the impact on broadest demographic possible. At the same time, we would be focusing on the 'movers and shakers' who had the ear of the people who awarded the contracts. Disturbingly, Jason made no attempt to return to his chair during the presentation. Instead, he stood next to me - right next to me - as I leaned over his desk, pouring over the contents of my folio. My brain and body sent conflicting messages on the desirability of this invasion of my personal space. When his hand moved to my butt and began massaging it, I shifted my hips back and forth to shake it off. That sent the wrong message; he slipped his hand under my skirt and grinned triumphantly when he encountered my soaked panties. It had been two weeks since I had had any sex; I hadn't even masturbated. My body was writing checks my brain did not want to cash. "What has been going on here in the last two weeks?" I asked, as much to distract myself as Jason. He snorted and shrugged his shoulders. "The important thing is, we're a step closer to securing the contract," he responded. "Did you know 'Angie' made the presentation without me? I don't have any idea how he pulled it off, but apparently the General liked the pitch a lot. When I met with him later, he told me he would be taking a personal role in presenting our bid to the review board and was looking forward to working with 'my charming assistant' in the future." "Then Angie has..." I began. "Oh, yes," Jason interjected with a smirk. "He certainly has. He..." "She," I corrected. "Whatever," Jason conceded. "She has come out in a big way. All my female staffers are solidly in her corner - and have made no bones about it. I had to hold an emergency meeting with my executives to tell them to back off. If 'Angie' has become so important to securing that contract for us, then she can wear a tutu and ride a pink pony, for all I care." "So you are going to be okay with all of this?" I asked hopefully. He grinned evilly and took me in his arms. "The way I see it," he opined, grinding his crotch into mine, "this is what you asked for - and I delivered. You owe me big time." "But we've been caught," I protested. "Angie walked out on me." "All the more reason for us to hook up again," he chortled. "You want it and so do I. Now we don't have to sneak around." I had to push him back to keep this situation from getting out of control. "Slow down, Lover," I urged, smiling coyly. "There will be plenty of time for that later; somewhere we can be more comfortable. I always pay my debts." I stepped away from the desk and walked over to his 'me' wall, pretending to be interested in his college diploma. I had never really paid attention to his little shrine before. Then I realized; the framed certificate before me proclaimed him a Bachelor of Science in Recreation Science. "You amaze me," I pronounced genuinely. "You came from a P.E. background, yet started such a successful high-tech business. Your parents must be proud of you." He stared at me quizzically, thrown off-balance. Then he pursed his lips and made his way over to me, smirking, planting his hands firmly on the credenza on either side of my body, trapping me in-between. He lowered his face to within an inch of mine, with that same silly smirk on his lips. "I didn't start anything," he schmoozed. "My father started this company thirty years ago, producing communications and navigation equipment for general aviation aircraft, Cessnas, Pipers, and Beechcraft, mostly. He retired five years ago and turned it over to me. Really, I could just as easily be building Kitchen Magicians or Pocket Fishermen, as long as it was my company to run. I buy whatever technical expertise I need to get the job done - like your gayboy husband. I deserve this, just like I deserve you. You started this thing between us. It's a little late for you to be playing hard to get. "Oh, and that lame excuse about 'what will they think of us'? As you said, they know what's going on between us, and why; we have your little sissy to thank for that. So, no more playing games. You've run up quite a tab; it's time for me to collect." I would be lying if I said the bastard's masculine essence wasn't getting to me, just as it always had. I had to stay focused. He was making it easier for me to repulse him by insulting Angie. "Jason," I murmured, "I'm married." "Yes," he agreed. "I know. This is as exciting for me as it is for you. I won't spoil that for us. Once he has this contract wrapped up for me, I'll fire his fairy ass. Then, when the little faggot has to come home with his tail tucked between his legs, we can move him into one of the other bedrooms and keep him as our maid. We'll get him one of those cute little French Maid uniforms and he can wait on us hand and foot. We can even have him stand by our bed and watch while a real man fucks you. Then he can suck my cum out of your pussy when we're done. I hear they get off on that sort of thing." That was more than my guilty conscience could take. I had desired a similar fantasy scenario, although not taking it to the extremes of humiliation and degradation he suggested. It was to have been a way to take our relationship to the next level; sharing a man with my beloved Angie, while ramping up my own domme/sub desires. Viewing it through Jason's eyes made the whole thing seem sick, twisted - very much like the whipping I had given her two weeks previously. Jason's head snapped back with the force of my slap; a convenient proxy for my own self-loathing. "You arrogant, ungrateful little prick," I hissed. "My Angie is down the hall, busting her butt to make you rich beyond your wildest dreams, and that is all she means to you? She is twice the man you will ever be!" My head rang with the force of his punch. I would have screamed, but his hand around my throat was squeezing the breath from me. His other hand reached under my skirt and ripped my panties away. "You cunts are all the same," he growled, his eyes glinting with hate. "You come on so lovey-dovey, begging for it. Then, when the time comes to get down to it, you snatch it away. It's all a game to you, isn't it? Worse, I find a really cute chick who lets me know she wants to get it on, then I find out she's really a little faggot like your sissy Alan. Well, I'm not a faggot, I never have been, and I'll show you what being a real man is all about." The force of his cock jamming its way into my naked pussy barely registered on my brain. Stars were exploding behind my eyes as I gasped for breath. I fought him at first, scratching at his face and neck. As my strength and consciousness ebbed, my hands flailed away behind me, grasping only air. Then my right hand closed around something solid, metallic, comforting. I seized it, held on for dear life, and swung it around in an arc with every shred of strength I had left. I heard the satisfying crunch of bone as my ersatz cudgel connected with my attacker's temple. Jason dropped like a sack of potatoes, taking me to the floor with him. I gratefully sucked a lungful of air as though it was my first ever, then another and another. My eyes glanced downward, beholding the instrument of my salvation. How ironic was that? It was that oversized, garish Big Man On Campus trophy. Its brass-and-marble heft had put my attacker in touch with his inner Twilight Zone with one swing. Something was out of place with the heavy award - literally; the brass face plate had been knocked askew by the force of impact. I idly slipped my fingernail along the edge to nudge it back in place. Instead, it fluttered away entirely - exposing a second brass escutcheon underneath. As I read its engraved legend, I would have gasped in astonishment if I wasn't already gasping for air. Miss Sunset Strip - Continental 1992 Releasing my grip on this horrific nightmare, I crawled on my hands and knees to the desk, reached up with one arm and managed to pull my purse to the floor. Locating my cell phone, I punched 911 and attempted to organize my thoughts as it rang. *** They processed the rape kit at the emergency room. Scrapings were taken from under my fingernails, then photos and swabbings recorded the bruising on my throat. The doctors decided to keep me for observation overnight. I was a little unnerved when Patti showed up at my hospital room the next morning. "No, I'm not here to gloat," she began as she seated herself. "I wouldn't wish this on any woman. Faye is parking the car. She will be up in a minute." "I didn't know Faye drove," I commented, not knowing what else to say. "It's my car," Patti informed me. "She offered to drive and I accepted. I always knew Jason was a pig, but I've been pretty shaken up since finding out what kind of monster I've been working right next to these past few months." "I can appreciate that," I consoled. "So, Angie isn't..." "She flew out to see Jerome early this morning," Patti interjected. "Oh, I see," I acknowledged dejectedly. Patti just closed her eyes, shook her head and sighed heavily. "Major General Jerome Clayton, United States Air Force," she intoned, as if it were the most obvious thing on earth. "Angie was on the phone with him a couple of hours last night - after making sure you were going to be all right. She wanted to come with us today, but we convinced her we would take care of you and it was more important for her to get together with Jerome and try to salvage this disaster." She grimaced even as she said the words, holding up her hand in anticipation of me saying something. "That... didn't come out right," she explained apologetically. "I didn't mean to sound insensitive or minimize what you went through. You did all of us a service by getting that animal off the streets. In spite of everything, Faye wants to nominate you for a medal. The problem is, without him, the review panel may reject our bid outright. Even if that doesn't happen, the FBI performs an extensive background check on all companies in consideration for Defense Department contracts. There is no way they will sign off on a bidder whose CEO is an accused murderer. For that matter, there may not be a Miller Avionics anymore. It's privately- owned and he hasn't named a successor. We may all be out of jobs." No good deed goes unpunished. Again, I didn't know what to say. "Then Angie has been staying with you?" I asked. "No," she reprimanded, as though I were a wayward child. "She has been staying with Faye. Those first two nights, she couldn't face the prospect of going home to you and Jason. She had somehow found the strength to allow you your lover all that time because that was what you wanted and you kept it discreet. Confronting the two of you in her own bedroom, as Angie, and being expected to submit to him was more than she could handle. From what I hear, it may have been the smartest decision she has ever made." I shuddered as I considered what might have happened. "Are you telling me you two didn't..." I inquired tentatively. She turned her head slightly and looked at me askance. "I won't even attempt to tell you that," Patti demurred. "Faye, Angie and I had a wild night that Wednesday night. Jerome is quite a stud; he took on all three of us. I found out a bit earlier, he really likes girls like Angie and me." I just stared at her, dumbfounded. "I don't advertise," she asserted. "I've spent the last eight years, since I was sixteen, attempting to pass. It wasn't until I got this job I really felt comfortable that no one suspected." "I didn't," I admitted. "I still can't tell." She smiled coyly, stood, and discretely pulled up the hem of her skirt while pulling down her panties, revealing a more-than-adequate 'clit'. She restored her clothing and took her seat once more. "I recognized the telltale signs in Alan as soon as he started wearing lingerie, then a corset, under his suits. You know; 'it takes one to know one'? I had gone through exactly the same phase as I transitioned. I encouraged him as best I could without actually admitting I knew. I understood how sensitive a subject it would be to him and didn't want to embarrass him. I looked forward to each new day, watching to see how far he would go. He had dropped little hints that led me to believe you not only knew, you were in on it with him. I was so envious. I would have killed to have a relationship like that! "We were working late on a Tuesday night. We took a break and were on our way to the break room to get sodas when we spotted you and Jason coming out of Jason's office. You were all over him like a cheap suit. I didn't know who you were at the time; just another one of Jason's many conquests. Alan grabbed me and pulled me against the corridor wall, out of your line of sight. From his reaction, I knew exactly who you were. I didn't like you much after that. "Contrary to your assumptions, we didn't 'set you up' that Wednesday night. Jason set me up with Jerome, intimating he wanted me to fuck the guy's brains out. I was scared to death. Jason didn't know about me and I didn't want him to find out. That may have been the smartest thing I have ever done. Now I was faced with the possibility of having to 'out' myself to a man, a client, I had just met. I would have told Jason to shove it, but I liked my job and Jerome was a charming, attractive man. I didn't know how we were going to get around the gender issue, but I decided to at least go out with him. After all, Jason was paying for it all. "We were at a lounge, having cocktails. Jerome is an easy man to talk to and we talked about a lot. After about the third round, the subject of sex came up. Jerome said he liked his on the wild side, especially girls with 'something extra', and did I know of anywhere where a guy like him could have a good time? That was just too much of a coincidence. I knew he had somehow 'read' me - perhaps from previous experience. I remembered it was Ladies' Night at Neo, so I told him I knew just the place. "Mind you, I had never seen 'Angie' before. Still, I recognized her immediately. That is one of the advantages of having been in the Scene so long and seen so many transformations. She looked so good in that over- the-top style of hers and was having such a good time, how could I not like her immediately? The fact she was there with another woman who looked just like her was too good to be true. Jerome adored both of them. We were going back and forth; were they mother and 'daughter', or two T- girls? I asked him if he wanted to meet them and he was enthused. I was dancing next to Faye at the time, so I... introduced myself. "Yes," I responded, stifling my laughter. "I saw that part." Patti giggled. "Angie noticed me then. I thought she was going to have a heart attack when she recognized me. I told her I was completely supportive and if she wanted to, we could have a real good time. After we left you, the four of us went back to Jerome's hotel suite and did exactly that." "I wish I had gone with you." I noted wistfully. She beheld me for a moment, as if making up her mind about something. "You know what?" she asked. "So do I. We might have avoided a lot of grief." "Where did 'Trisha' come from?" I asked. "Jerome," she responded, shrugging her shoulders. "He said 'Patti' sounded like some perky little high school cheerleader. 'Trisha' was more sensual, with a hint of mystery to it. I hadn't really considered it until he mentioned it, but I kind of like it. "Anyway, Jerome was... unbelievable. He was completely knocked out that he was with not one T-girl, but two - plus Faye. I have never had a man like him before - and I wasn't the only one. All three of us were walking gingerly Thursday morning." "Oh my," I murmured. "Yeah," Patti agreed, almost ruefully, "oh my. So, that morning, Faye was in the bathroom, taking a shower. Angie and I were sitting at the desk, doing our makeup in the mirror. We were each lost in our own little world. Jerome came up behind us and began massaging our shoulders; one hand on my left, the other on Angie's right. He asked if he could see the two of us again before he left. I don't know what I was thinking; maybe it was all those hours Alan and I had put in on this project and the anticipation of actually making the presentation at last. I just put my arm around Angie, hugged her, and told him: 'Tomorrow morning, ten AM, rain or shine'. "I don't know which of us was more embarrassed; Angie or me. Jerome hadn't met Alan yet; didn't know anything about the hours we had put in on the project. I couldn't take back what I had said and Jerome was not going to let it go. He started asking us questions, really probative questions about the project and established we both knew what we were talking about. He told us exactly those words. He said he was impressed with the hard work we had obviously put in on the project and was looking forward to seeing us there. "Angie was nervous; she asserted it hadn't been planned for her to be there at all; the presentation was being made by Jason and his senior male assistant. Jerome saw through that in a heartbeat. He just let us know; he was confident we were Miller Avionics' 'first string'. If either one of us did not show up, he would know the company was not serious about doing business with the Department of Defense and would be on the next plane back to Washington. I had visions of all our hard work going down the toilet. Before Angie could say anything, I promised we would both be there without fail. "I thought she was going to haul off and slug me the moment we were out the door. I filled Faye in on what had transpired while she was in the bathroom and she was all but bouncing off the walls. We called in to take the day off, then spent that whole day getting Angie ready. Faye may have gone a little overboard, but... Angie just looks so damn good like that. You can tell she likes it, too. We weren't sure how we were going to square it with Jason; only that we were committed. As it turned out, that wasn't an issue." I had to suppress a smile at that. "Friday, after the presentation, Angie was dancing on air. She knew Jason had left your place, so she couldn't wait to get home to you and share everything that had happened. She wanted to show you how much she loved you and try to win you back from Jason. I suggested the roses and went to the florist to pick them out for her. Then she thought of something really wicked she was sure you would adore. She asked me if I would take part in a threesome with her and you. The plan was, she would seduce you into bed. I would slip in and surprise you while she had your undivided attention. When I agreed, she gave me a key to let myself in. It was a surprise, all right." Her eyes met mine. We both remembered the result of Angie's homecoming. "What you did that night was heinous," Patti asserted. "Angie hadn't done anything you hadn't set her up to do. She was afraid to go home after that; afraid of what you would do to her next. When I think about it, I still want to strangle the life out of you." "Too late," I replied, staring at the wall. "Someone beat you to it." "Sorry," Patti apologized, stifling a smile, "another unfortunate choice of words." "Don't be sorry," I asserted. "You were right. For what it's worth, I am seeing it in a whole new light, having been a victim myself. Angie must hate me for it." "Surprisingly, Angie does not hate you," Patti attested. "Neither does Faye. They convinced me you are basically a decent person, but somehow got caught up in an ego trip over Angie's transformation. I have to tell you; whatever your issues are, you really need to get a grip. If it means anything to you, I don't hate you either; not anymore. In fact, I owe you a debt of gratitude. Because of you, I found what I have always been looking for." And there it was. I just wanted to curl up and die. It was my own damn fault. "I understand," I answered quietly. "I wish you the very best." "Thanks," she responded cheerily. "I had no idea there was someone out there like her - or that she would fall for me as hard as I fell for her." After what I had done, I couldn't complain about her taunting me with it. That didn't make it any easier to take. "Sorry I took so long," Faye breezed as she swept into the room. "That parking lot is a zoo this time of day. I had to wait a solid twenty minutes for someone to leave so I could park." Then she turned her attention to Patti. "Hi, Baby." She leaned over Patti's shoulder. The redheaded girl put her arm around Faye's neck and devoured her with a kiss that curled my toes. "So," Faye gasped, breaking the kiss at last. "What did I miss?" "Not nearly as much as I have," I murmured in amazement. *** Criminalists have a cherished saying: there is clean, and there is forensics clean. Jason had been thorough in polishing his 'trophy', but the crime lab still found trace blood trapped between the walnut base and marble pedestal. They also found a usable print from his right index finger on the original plate, establishing chain of possession. Then, when they ran Jason's DNA through CODIS, the computer screen lit up like a Christmas tree; three rapes, two deviant sexual assaults, and the murder of a sorority girl, who took a header from the second-story fire escape of yet another downtown dance club - all previously unsolved. Both that girl and Terri Tunney had fought their attacker valiantly, as trace scrapings from beneath their fingernails had attested. The sorority girl bore the same pattern and dimensions of bruising from manual strangulation which the crime scene investigators had documented on my throat. I guessed she had said "no", too. As for poor Terri, my original assumption had proven horrifically correct. Times had changed. The current District Attorney had the usual political ambitions. However, she also had a 'hard-on' for sexual predators, regardless of their victims' gender, and was not inclined to plea bargain. After all, there was a mountain of hard DNA evidence arrayed against Jason, plus my deposition and those of the five girls who had survived their attacks. His attorney used the excuse of not handling criminal cases and ran for cover; so did most of the other attorneys in town. One, who had a national reputation for defending high-profile clients in impossible situations, agreed to take Jason's case, but it would take money - a lot of money. The smell of blood in the water brought all the sharks out. Jason's attorney fielded several offers for Miller Avionics - at fire sale prices. One offer stood head and shoulders above the rest; a fair price from an offshore corporation, apparently with deep pockets and a ton of clout. The embattled defendant took the money and ran - all the way to his attorney's outstretched hand. Jason had paid for a silver-tongued devil and got one. The trial lasted a month; most of it delay and obfuscation. The day I took the witness stand, Alan - his nails removed and his platinum blonde mane somehow hidden under a short, decent-looking resemblance to his original sandy tresses - took me by the arm and silently walked me past the gauntlet of press into the courthouse, then sat in the first row of the gallery, ever the loving, dutiful husband for all to see. Jason's precious e-mailed video became a matter of public record, in an attempt to impeach my credibility as a witness for the prosecution. Alan sat stoically through the visual record of his cuckolding and verbal references to his sissification. I cringed at the thought of the humiliation he must have been suffering on my behalf, as a show of support for his 'loving' wife. After Jason's attorney's vicious cross- examination, even I suspected I had been 'asking for it', and I had been there. I wasn't really surprised Alan disappeared after court was recessed for the day; just... disappointed. After seeing how my character had been assassinated on the public record, the other five survivors declined to testify. Still, the physical evidence was unequivocal and the nature of Jason's offenses were so egregious, the jury could not possibly have acquitted him on all counts, then gotten a good night's sleep. In the end, he was convicted on a single count of Murder Two - that of the college co-ed - and drew twenty- five to life. With model behavior, he could be out in time to celebrate his fiftieth birthday. No mention was made of the injustice done to Terri Tunney - again. It was chilling the way a wrongful death could be so callously dismissed, just because the person hadn't lived up to some pre- conceived notion of what she should have been. I resigned before being fired. YouTube pales in comparison to the nightly news - on every broadcast network, plus cable, every night for a month. At one point, I was even Nancy Grace's cause du jour. Being a media person myself, I could appreciate the can't-miss ratings appeal a story like this represented. At the same time, media people are supposed to report - or in my case, spin - the story, not become it. I wouldn't be hurting for money immediately. Still, I knew my prospects for future employment - anywhere - were limited at best. Eventually, I would see the house, the car, and the other accoutrements of my high-flying lifestyle slip away, one by one. I discussed that, among my other shortcomings, in my weekly sessions with Shelby Fairchild. As Trisha Drake had predicted, Miller Avionics did not survive. Its new owners reorganized and reincorporated it as DC Systems. There was the inevitable shakeout at the executive level, as individuals opted to seek their fortunes elsewhere, rather than trust their careers to the whims of the new management team. They were largely replaced by capable, experienced candidates found within the existing office culture. DC Systems started life on a high note; a multi-million-dollar contract awarded by the Department of Defense to manufacture a high-end radar- intercept package for the next generation of fighter aircraft. The future of the fledgling firm was bright indeed, as reported in a widely-covered news conference by its immensely-popular and media-friendly new CEO, recently-retired General Jerome Clayton. Two months later, long after the media circus had struck its collective tent and moved on, I was a bit early for my weekly session with Shelby. I was delighted to see Angie exit the inner office. She looked radiant; the fitted, Navy blue two-piece suit and crisp, open-necked white blouse lent the right business image to her prodigious curves. Her makeup, hair and nails were flawless, but Angie was Angie; they were toned down for daytime, yet anything but demure. Upon seeing me, she hesitated but a moment. Then, her smile lit up the outer office, warming me as I had not felt in months. She strode confidently across the room, swept me up in her arms and hugged me like there was no tomorrow - or recent yesterdays. The difference in our personal styles was apparent in the number of inches she stood over me, her heels being that much taller than my own. "Donna," she gushed, "it is good to see you again. I'm finally ready for it now." "I didn't know you were still seeing Shelby," I pointed out. "I thought that ended..." Angie shook her head. "Far from it," she asserted. "I'm continuing with my transition. I've been on hormones since leaving home. I'll be having my first round of surgery next month." She shifted her body back and forth. "I can't wait to get rid of these prosthetics at last; same proportions, just more me." "Then Alan is...." I began hesitantly. She closed her eyes, pursed her lips and gave a little shake of her head. "What you did in court - not just for yourself, but for Terri, Faye, and the rest - was the bravest, most selfless thing I have ever seen. I was there for you because I wanted the whole world to know how much I loved and respected you. At the same time, sitting there, knowing what the whole world perceived they knew about what you and Jason were doing behind my back, what you were doing to me.... "It's my own fault, really; all of it. I e-mailed Jason that video clip to get him to stay away from you. I should have realized the arrogant ass would just view it as another testimonial to his sexual prowess. In the end, I had given him all the ammunition he needed to destroy both of us in open court. I can't go back to that; I'm just not that strong. I would rather move ahead - as Angie. You're all right with that, aren't you?" "You must be joking," I replied. "I adore you this way. Why would it even matter to you anymore what I thought?" Angie smirked, sucking in her cheeks. "As someone pointed out to me once, we are married, you and I," she teased. "Of course it matters." "But," I protested weakly, "after everything I did..." "Old news," she interjected. "Shelby helped me understand I couldn't get on with my life until I had forgiven you - particularly for that nasty S/M session. I have put it all behind me..." She rolled her eyes upward and jiggled her bewitching backside with both hands. "... no pun intended," she continued. "You need to do the same." "That's why I'm here," I admitted, pointing to Shelby's office door. "I'm trying to put that part of me behind me." She smirked again, beholding me with sparkling eyes. "Um, don't be so hasty," she cooed in her little-girl voice, tracing one fingernail teasingly down my chest. "I mean, I didn't appreciate the... wretched excess, but the rest of it was hot - especially you. I never expected to say this, but... I think I envy Deidre a little. Do you think, perhaps, we might be able to explore it from time to time - without the anger?" My eyes brimmed with tears. "I'm certain of it," I choked out, "if that is what you want." "I guess what I am trying to say is," she continued earnestly, "it's all about choices. I could have destroyed you for what you did to me, or not. Instead, you chose to fall on your own sword to put Jason Miller away. I respect you for that more than words could say. I could return to you, in spite of everything, or not. Jerome, Trisha, and Faye have shown me; I have options, a future, whatever I choose to do. I choose to believe what we had... have is real, that you love me as much as I love you. I won't pretend to understand why you did things the way you did. The fact you are here, meeting with Shelby, tells me a lot. If we can get a handle on our respective issues, I would rather be with you than without you." My stunning and much-missed life partner kissed me warmly. After so long, I had forgotten what it was like to feel whole. Our lips parted and she glanced at her watch. "Look, I know you have to get inside, so I won't keep you," she prompted. "Actually, I was thinking it was time we started seeing Shelby together, as a couple again. Are you all right with that, too?" I had to restrain myself from jumping up and down for joy. "Yes," I gushed. She squeezed my hands with hers. "I'm meeting Mom for lunch at Dante's," she informed me. "Will you join us when you are done here? I'll even order for you. I know what you like." "Wild horses, Sweetie," I admonished, hugging her for all I was worth. *** Seeing mother and daughter together like that, as I approached the table, had always made my heart soar. They were so much alike in appearance and mannerisms. Both arose from their chairs, hugged me and bussed my cheeks in turn, before we took our seats. My timing was impeccable; the waiter appeared as if by magic, serving Eggplant Parmesan for three. The sparkling diamond on Faye's ring finger caught my attention as she lifted her wine glass. She followed my gaze and smiled as brilliantly as the diamond. "I won't even attempt to understand how these things work out," she attested. "All I can say is thank you, both of you, for making me so damn happy. Trisha is everything I have ever hoped for - and then some." That was worth a toast, and the glasses clinked. I gave Angie the once- over, including a glance under the table. "I couldn't help noticing how fetching you appear today," I asserted playfully, "but that suit looks way too tight, you seem to be showing a bit too much cleavage, even for 'business casual', and those heels.... How do you avoid them sending you home for violating the company dress code?" "Excuse me," Angie piped up, with an air of wounded dignity. "As Executive Vice President and Chief Operating Officer of DC Systems, the dress code is whatever I damn well say it is. Believe me; the CEO is fine with it, and the only other opinions that matter to me seem to agree." She cocked one eyebrow speculatively, gazing first at me, then Faye. We both nodded enthusiastically. "I couldn't help admiring the new name of the company," I smirked. "You like it?" Angie teased. "Faye and I adore it. I had been working with the venture capital people for months, in preparation for ramping up our production and distribution capacity. When the company became available - and Jerome agreed to come on board as CEO - we were a shoo- in. After that, it was just a matter of setting up the appropriate... acquisition instrument." "You mean, an offshore shell corporation to deflect any suspicion of insider hanky-panky," I accused mockingly. "What about the FBI?" "Oh, they love a war hero," Angie intoned bemusedly. "Did you know Jerome flew jets in the first Gulf War? Besides, he had his brother Lawrence smooth things over with the Bureau's director." "Lawrence... Clayton," I mulled. "The Attorney General?" "The very same," Angie chirped. "They come from a family that strongly believes in service to their country. The two brothers have always worked well together. Their friends called it the 'Jerry and Larry Show'. Who knows? Once he leaves office, we might be able to convince him to come on board as Corporation Council. We could use his expertise handling bureaucratic red tape." "Wouldn't that be considered a conflict of interest, considering his role in your company's reformation?" "Possibly," she surmised, "but no more so than Jerome becoming our CEO at the same time as our being awarded that fat contract. That was something I wanted to discuss with you." "What do you mean?" I asked, genuinely puzzled. "Wellllll," she drew out expansively, "we're in the Big Leagues now, with Big-League image issues to contend with - like that one. I've talked it over with Jerome and he agrees; we need a Communications Director, someone with experience and savvy, to handle our media relations. With this new contract, and more certainly to follow, our budget can afford the very best. If things worked out, this director might even be given a seat on our board, thus having a say in how the company was run. We were wondering if you knew someone who might be interested?" "I could think of a name or two," I responded glibly, my heart pounding. "In fact, I believe there might be a campaign already available, tailor- made for your needs. It would only require a tweak or two, like a name change." Angie beamed. "I was hoping you would say that," she cooed. "It's fun to be a boss and make decisions that benefit lots of people. It's also fun to be able to acquire nice stuff...." She reached into her purse and withdrew a small, square box, placing it on the table between us. I opened it and beheld a dazzling blue-white diamond solitaire, set in a platinum band. Glancing down at my own hand, I noted it was virtually a clone of the ring Alan had slipped on my finger years ago. I looked up, puzzled. Angie gazed at the ceiling, whistling; so did Faye. Beneath the table, I heard a toe tapping impatiently. I got the message. Removing the ring from the box, I took Angie's left hand and slipped the exquisite gem on her ring finger. "Angie, my love," I asked earnestly, "would you marry me... again?" "You betcha," she gushed. "I was thinking sometime after my first surgery - but not too much after. I don't want to have to mess with the whole 'civil union' thing. Mom is looking forward to being the Mother of the Bride. Trisha will be my Maid of Honor - or Matron, depending on the timing. We sorta have this 'tit for tat' agreement...." "Who is going to give the bride away?" I inquired mirthfully. "Jerome, of course," she responded carefully, tracing the back of my hand with one long, curving talon. "In fact, I was hoping to bring him over this weekend so you could... get to know him better. It's kind of a package deal. I mean, he's going to play a big part in our lives - a very, very big part." "Oh my," I gasped, rubbing my thighs together. "Of course, you could always say no," she added smugly. I just stared at her as though she had lost her mind. "Fat chance," I replied. ***