by King Key
“We’re still talking fantasy? Things you’d like to do with a woman, but haven’t?”
“Real women. The outfits and actions are fantasies.”
“You talk about how her dress feels. Do you mean the feel of the material?”
“Feeling the woman’s body through her dress. Hugging her waist. Taking her ass in my hands. Pulling her close. Rubbing my cock against her crotch.”
“Do you get off that way? Dry-humping?”
“Depends on the woman.”
“Go on.”
“Sexy and arrogant. She gives me a hand job. Or makes me practice frottage.”
“Frottage?? You mean gratification from rubbing your penis against a woman?”
“Sure.”
“That’s an astute choice of words. You impress me!”
“Thank you, Dr. Krafft-Ebing.”
She looked at him skeptically. “I think you’re suppressing how bright you really are. Pretending to be dumb.”
“Not pretending.”
“Tell me more about the arrogant bitch who keeps her dress on.”
“Yes! ‘Bitch’ is the perfect word! She lies, cheats, swindles—whatever she wants to do. If I catch her, she leads me on. Laughs at me while I cum all over myself.”
“She whips you with her dress.”
“With her body in her dress. But if I’m lucky and she’s feeling generous…she lets me…inside.”
“Acceptance.”
“Oh, God, yes! If she pulls up her dress and takes me, that’s heaven.”
“Is she naked under her dress?”
“Garterbelt and stockings. No frills. Shiny, aggressive latex.”
“And you make love to her while she has her garterbelt on?”
“And her dress.”
Dr. Krafft shook her head in wonder and scribbled furiously. “Have you ever known a woman like this?”
Red splotches formed on Kurt’s face. He started taking quick, short breaths. “When I was eighteen…but I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Of course not,” Dr. Krafft said in a calming voice. “I apologize for making you uncomfortable. Do you know any bitchy women now?”
“By reputation.”
“Tell me more, please.”
“Gretel Fox. She works for Sidney Schisslinger. I hear she’s nasty. Makes me hate her and want to fuck her at the same time.”
Dr. Krafft’s focus on Kurt became, if possible, even sharper when she asked, “How do you think you’d react if you met this woman in person? This—you said her name is Gretel, right?”
“Keep my distance. She does Schisslinger’s dirty work. But if she worked alone—no, she’s a Fox, and foxes travel in packs.”
“Wolves run in packs. Foxes look out for themselves.”
“Selfish Gretel, looking out for her own pleasure. Even if—especially if she hurts others. Just like my neighbor when I was growing up.” Kurt loosened his collar. “At a party. I go to the bedroom. She cons me into stealing jewelry for her. And she makes me keep quiet. Oh, how she makes me!” Kurt balled his fists and unfurled his fingers several times. He rubbed his arms nervously. His eyes watered.
“Don’t go there. Those memories hurt, don’t they? Come back to me,” Dr. Krafft advised. But she made a note on her pad and underscored it twice. She looked at her watch. “Let me pursue one other line. You said the bitchy woman of your fantasies makes you settle for frottage—getting off by rubbing against her body—or masturbation. What if a woman in a sexy dress acts nice to you?”
“When she takes her dress off, she’s a playground.”
“You don’t respect her?”
“Respect but not fear. Intrigue is gone. No mystery.”
“Are you submissive just with blondes?”
“Brunettes, too. Serious brunettes. Regal. Scary. Beautiful. Blondes just look sexy.”
“But when it comes to romance, you only have eyes for brunettes?”
“Mostly. I admire brunettes. Wise and somber. Blondes? Pleasure rides. Or spoiled and corrupt.”
Dr. Krafft leaned close enough to whisper, but it was a loud whisper: “And you want them to spoil and corrupt you.”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Kurt exclaimed. “I can’t help it. Wicked, wonderful neighbor.”
“Take it easy. This is a good stopping point.” Dr. Krafft made her final notes and closed her notebook. Taking the key from her dress pocket again, she unlocked the desk, put the notebook in the upper right drawer, and locked the desk again. Returning the key to her pocket, she said, “Let’s come back to full consciousness. Your journey refreshed you. You’ll put aside the thoughts of our discussion. Come with me. I’ll lead you back. Then you can tackle any problem you face with a clear mind and a rested body.” She carefully guided him to full consciousness.
Kurt stretched luxuriously. “I feel great! When do we start our session?”
“It’s nearly five. Let’s resume at four o’clock next Friday. Does that fit your schedule?”
He smiled wryly. “Absolutely no conflict. Anything fits my schedule now that I don’t have a job.”
“Great!” She smiled, and he felt warm inside again. “Would you mind leaving by the backdoor?” she asked. “I have another patient coming any minute now.”
“But I’m parked out front.” He stood and faced the direction he came in.
“Oh, all right.”
“Dr. Krafft,” he said, emotion creeping into his voice, “I’m truly grateful for your help. You’ve made me feel good already. And I suppose I should thank BizMart for paying for your counseling. But nothing will replace the feeling of brokering business deals.”
“Do you know the adage about giving a man a fish?”
“Yeah. A friend of mine named Judd Workman says it all the time. ‘Give a man a fish, and he can eat for a day. Teach him how to fish, and he can eat for many days.’”
“Mr. Workman is on the BizMart board of directors, yes?”
“Gee, how’d you know that?”
“I make it my business to know everything about BizMart.”
“You have great recall.”
“I commend both of you for your excellent recall. Our therapy—the counseling I provide and your effort to make it work—is like the philosophy of the fish, with a broader scope. We want to help your body and your soul, whether you have a job or not. We are perfecting the art of fishing.”
“I’m hooked,” he joked.
“Not yet,” she said, giving him her brightest smile yet. “But we’re progressing in that direction. We accomplished more in this session than you could possibly imagine.”
Chapter Seven
Riding Sidney
Gretel nestled into the back seat of the black Lincoln. She hugged herself and smiled broadly. Catching Bruiser’s eye in the rearview mirror, she said, “Drive me home.”
He grinned back at her. “Really?”
“Yes, if you help me ruin Rich Leckie. But for now, drive this car to my place so I can pick up a few items.”
“You look pleased with yourself.”
“Before I’m through,” she laughed, “BizMart will be screwed, collectively and individually. Want to help?”
“Sure. BizMart must be a good lay if it makes you this happy. But if banging you is my reward—Hey! Who needs BizMart? You make me horny.”
“Don’t talk about banging me,” she corrected him. “I’ll do the banging. And I do my best to keep you horny,” she smirked. “Or would that be my worst? Whatever it takes to keep you dancing on my strings.”
Bruiser’s grin lapsed into a slack jaw, and he drove on in silence. Minutes later, he pulled up to Gretel’s place, a two-story wooden house painted tan with brown trim. A brown picket fence bordered her ample, well-kept lawn. Bruiser etched the vision of Gretel’s residence into his memory the first time he visited, but she never let him past the front gate. The symbolism and the underlying reality frustrated him immensely.
“Wait here. Won’t be but a sec,”
she promised.
Twenty minutes later, Gretel emerged wearing sunglasses with a decidedly masculine style. Most of her hair was tucked up inside her leather, brimmed hat. Her black leather pants highlighted her legs, but the matching leather blazer hung so low it hid her curvy hips. Under her blazer, Gretel was wearing shiny material, latex or vinyl, which flattened her breasts—like a flapper from the ’20s. Bruiser almost laughed when he noticed that Gretel completed her ensemble with black Rockport shoes.
In fact, her entire outfit surprised him so much that he didn’t notice the small suitcase in Gretel’s hand until she was near her front gate. Jumping out of the car, he asked, “Need a hand, Butch?”
“Don’t be rude.”
“Sorry.” He took the suitcase and put it on the front passenger seat of the car.
“Here’s the plan,” she said, handing him one of her trademark note cards.
Bruiser’s mouth dropped open after the first reading. He read it twice more. “Is this part at the end really true?” he asked.
“If you follow my best-laid plans, you’ll get the best lay you’ve ever had.”
“Oh, Gretel, I want you right now!” Self-conscious of the bulge in his pants, Bruiser hurriedly opened the rear door and stood close to it.
“That’s ‘Ms. Fox’ to you,” Gretel said, relishing her sexual power over him. She slid onto the back seat.
“Foxy Gretel,” Bruiser improvised, pixilated with lust. He closed the door and hurried around to the driver’s side. Taking his place at the wheel, he donned his own sunglasses, adjusted his chauffeur’s cap, and cleared his throat, as if to clear his mind. “Sorry, Boss. Got carried away.”
“Keep both hands on the wheel so we don’t both get carried away. On stretchers.”
“Good one.”
“Don’t suck up too much.” She reconsidered. “Actually, I’d like to have you physically suck me all over.”
“And if I did?”
“You could bring me to my knees.”
“Really??”
“By dropping to your elbows.”
“Why do you have to be such a bitch?”
“Drop me off at Chimera and continue on to the hotel. I’ll drive from Chimera to the hotel.”
Chimera was on Charles Street, a thoroughfare better known for advertising than PR. But Gretel always said the two professions were sisters in the Oldest Profession: Advertising was a streetwalker, and PR was a high-class call girl. Bruiser pulled into a loading zone long enough for Gretel to hop out and grab her suitcase from the front seat.
“More clothes?” Bruiser asked.
Gretel nodded. “And a list of phone numbers. And a dildo.”
Even in worldly Baltimore, Gretel’s last remark drew a double take from a passer-by. “It’s not for you,” she told the observer. He turned his eyes straight ahead and walked on without comment.
Gretel took the stairs up to their third floor office. The exercise invigorated her, and she hoped to work up a sweat—Sidney’s favorite perfume.
Sidney met her at the door to their suite of offices. His rounded face and round-framed glasses blended the images of a young boy and an owl. “I love it when you dress like that!” he exclaimed. “I feel like grabbing my ankles.”
“Later, sweetie. Work comes first.” She closed the door, locked it, and handed him the list. “We’d better hurry. Rich will be in the hotel lobby at five.” Depositing her suitcase on the office couch, Gretel added, “If he knows what’s good for him.”
Sidney was already dialing the first number. His dyed brown hair aided the boyish illusion. But a closer look at his skin showed the ravages of age. And his pink, red, and purple nose pegged him as a heavy drinker.
“Mr. Abernathy,” he said in a clipped voice. Then he became so unctuous that Gretel expected to see his words slither from his lips into the mouthpiece of the phone. “Hate to bother you, Gil, but Casper Waverly just fired Kurt Merchant…Word is on the street. I can’t divulge my source…I know, I know. Kurt’s the best man there. Best Pacesetter in Baltimore, and that will be a matter of record tonight…I’m upset, too, and I don’t even have a vested interest in BizMart. No telling what Casper was thinking—if he was thinking…Yes, I’ll see you tonight.”
While Sidney made his first call, Gretel took her dildo from the suitcase, dropped her pants, and strapped it on. Sidney’s eyes grew huge when he looked at her with her pants pulled back up, concealing the harness in her pubic area, while her dildo stuck through the fly in her pants. Her sunglasses made her look tough, and Sidney’s cock stirred when Gretel’s hand, clad in a short leather glove, lowered the brim of her hat.
“Greg,” he used his pet name for her character to utter his one-word, implied plea.
She lit a cigarette, slowly, and blew the smoke in his face. Lowering her voice as much as possible, she growled, “I’m going to fuck you in the ass, Sissy Schissy. Do a good job on the phone, and I’ll make you smile. Either way, I’m going to enjoy it.”
“Oh, yes, Greg. Anything you say, Greg.” He dialed the next number. Cupping his hand over the phone, he added, “Just give it to me hard and fast. Make me your bitch.”
She dropped her cigarette on the floor and crushed it with her Rockport shoe, filling that simple gesture with cruelty. Pointing to her watch, she tapped her foot.
After Sidney’s fourth call—he quickly perfected his pitch to get to the point—Gretel lit another cigarette. “Get your shit together,” she threatened, “or I’ll have to give you the pink slip.” She blew smoke in his face again. “With matching panties.”
“Oh, Greg, I love it when you tease me!” He blushed. “Am I your girl?”
“Shut up and dial.”
Halfway through the list, Sidney looked longingly at Greg/Gretel. “If I make a few more calls, will you bang me real hard?”
Gretel sat on the edge of Sidney’s desk, leaned back, and blew a smoke ring. “I’ll think about it, Sissy. I’ve passed up better pussy than you, looking for a place to beat off.”
“You can be so cruel!” He clapped his hands together.
She took the cigarette from her lips and put it between his. “Have a fag, Fag.”
“Don’t be crude.”
“Just passing it on. Somebody called me Butch.” She unbuckled his belt and undid his pants while she was talking. The pants hung loosely around his waist. “Keep the list. After we photograph Rich at the hotel, you can call some more of the BizMart directors—if you can stop whacking off to Rich’s pictures.”
“Do you think I’d stoop that low?” he protested.
“The operative word is ‘kneel,’ not ‘stoop,’ honey. I’ll make you forget all about Rich. On your knees.” She thrust her dildo into his mouth. “That’s what you crave, Sissy Schissy. I wish I could cum in your mouth.” Sidney’s mouth tightened on her dildo. “Suck real hard, darling,” she coaxed him. “That’s it. Get my cock good and wet. Now stand up.”
She pulled his pants down. “Bend over your desk. Spread ’em, Sissy Schissy, and I’ll drive you home.” Gretel thrust the dildo hard and deep. She knew through trial and error how to penetrate Sidney far enough to provoke him with her aggression without injuring him—and to goad him into wanting more, without ever quite satisfying him.
He swiveled his hips to maximize the contact points of Gretel’s penetration. When she reached around him and began to squeeze his tumescent cock, he said reverently, “Thank you, Greg.”
Gretel normally scoffed at the theory of penis envy, but when she diddled Sidney, she sometimes wondered how it would feel to have a real cock, experiencing the powerful sensations that stimulation of the glans penis would provide. The question passed quickly, because she could always absorb euphoric sensations from having Sidney at her mercy, coldly manipulating him into a quivering mass totally dependent on her whims. Watching him out of control, addicted to her domination, made her body quiver.
Sensing that Sidney was coming dangerously close to his perfect cli
max, ejaculating in front and feeling the male equivalent of an orgasm in his ass, in a way that would satisfy him completely, Gretel drove harder and faster, tightening her strokes on his cock, to truncate Sidney’s delirious experience. She quickly brought Sidney to ecstatic spasms and kept ramming him, well past his pleasure point, just to gratify herself by exerting her will and irritating him with the realization that maybe next time would be even better—making sure she hooked him into a next time. Besides, Gretel sought to exact revenge for the times she received such literally anticlimactic volleys. For her finale, Gretel slammed into Sidney a couple of times with enough gratuitous roughness to remind him that he really was her bitch.
He sobbed softly. “You get better and better. The only woman I’ll ever have sex with. The only woman who knows how to do it.”
“Thank you.” Gretel took a watertight container from her suitcase and put it on the desk. The plastic rectangle measured about two-by-two-by-ten inches. She opened it carefully, and the smell of chemical disinfectant escaped. Turning her back to avoid offending Sidney, she carefully removed her dildo from its harness. Zipping her pants back up, she faced the desk, put the dildo in the container, and closed it. “You might as well keep it,” she said.
They were in the twilight of their fantasy session, halfway between Greg bossing Sidney, and Sidney bossing Gretel. Gretel could give Sidney the best sex he ever had, even while withholding the best she could give. But her skyrocket flight didn’t change the reality of who wrote the checks. Gretel intended to reverse that reality, too.
“Why should I keep your dildo?” he asked.
“So it will already be in my room when I take Rich. And it might spill in my suitcase. “Besides,” the Greg in her grabbed his necktie and pulled him toward her, “I can’t give you my heart, so I’ll give you my penis.”
“God, you’re good!” he marveled. “I’ll put the container in one of the gazillion plastic bags we have left from that upscale store that bellied up.”
“Go ahead to the hotel,” she said. “Get set up in my room. Have your digital camera ready. I’ll meet Rich in the lobby about five o’clock and tempt him into exposing himself. Get some good pictures. Then you can go to your room and enjoy the pictures.”