Date: Fri, 22 Sep 2000 19:41:43 -0700
From: J. Ocean <jocean@slip.net>
Subject: 17th summer 20

My Seventeenth Summer, Part 20

The door swung open, and there she was. Madeleine's cool gray eyes met
mine, shooting me a look that said: We have to behave ourselves. I wanted
to throw myself on her, or lay my head on her shoulder, or drop to my knees
in supplication, or all of those at once; but I contained myself.

Madeleine stepped into the room; she was impeccably outfitted in a trim
black suit, looking every inch the professional, but her hair was down,
which was unusual in that context. "Hi, Morgan," she said, casual as can be.

"Hi," I answered, stifling the urge to add, "mistress of my universe."
Instead, I just said, "Welcome home."

The client was right behind her. It was a woman -- and not a bad-looking
one, either. A Latina with dark brown hair, short -- about 5'2'' -- and
sharply dressed in a tightly tailored maroon business suit. Late twenties,
I guessed. Madeleine turned to her. "Elena, this is Morgan."

Elena extended her hand. "Hi, Morgan. I've heard a lot about you."

I shook her hand, looking into her eyes -- big and dark brown, matching
her hair, with a bit of fire flashing inside. "Nice to meet you."

Madeleine took off her jacket and handed it to me, gesturing for Elena to
do the same. "We've had a long fucking day. Elena, let's have a seat in the
living room. Morgan, would you bring us a couple of martinis?"

I nodded, my retinas burning from what I'd just seen -- Elena had taken
off her jacket to reveal a tight, sleeveless top that housed a truly
magnificent set of tits. Huge and jutting, just at the point where any more
would have been too much -- and on such a small woman! I tried to shake it
off as I hung up the jackets. Think Madeleine; think good behavior; get a
grip on yourself.

I mixed the drinks and took them to the living room, where Madeleine and
Elena had made themselves comfortable, chatting amiably. I saw Elena look
me up and down as I handed her her martini. What was she thinking, I
wondered? This was quite an unusual outfit I had on -- did she think
something kinky was going on here? I mean, it was, but did she know it? I
felt myself starting to go red; I gave Madeleine her drink, avoiding her
eyes, and walked back toward the kitchen.

I paused for a second and watched them from the hallway; they continued to
talk, ignoring me. They looked very much at ease with each other. Madeleine
looked exquisite sitting there with drink in hand, her long legs stretched
out before her. She'd gotten a little sun and it made her face luminous,
offsetting her black clothes and hair. Elena laughed, drawing my eyes to
her; she was indubitably one hot little number. She had an aura of pure
sex, a body made for sin...I started imagining possibilities...but I was
getting ahead of myself. The paella needed my attention.

The two women had a second martini, and their conversation had gotten
noticeably louder by the time I informed them that dinner was ready. They
adjourned to the dining room, where I had set out Madeleine's best service.
I poured them each a glass of red wine; I noticed that each of them took a
good, long look at my cleavage as I poured. It was hard to ignore in that
dress.

"Morgan's quite a wonder in the kitchen," said Madeleine. "She's improved
my quality of life immeasurably." She said it with a clear double meaning,
a smile playing at the corner of her mouth, her eyes on mine.

I pulsed inwardly with the pleasure of being praised, thought ahead to
when our naked bodies would be pressed together, tried to keep my mind on
what I was doing. "Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes," I said.

In the kitchen, I took the top off the paella and stared into it, inhaling
the aroma, a feeling of quiet elation welling up inside me; things were
unfolding just as they should. Then I felt hands on me -- Madeleine, her
warm body pressing against me from behind as she wrapped me tightly in her
arms. She whispered in my ear: "You're doing great, baby. You look...you
look like a tasty little berry wrapped in chocolate." She stuck her tongue
in my ear, sending a little swoon through me. Then, aloud, she said, "That
smells delicious." She kissed my neck and cupped my breasts, which thrilled
to her familiar touch. Then, whispering again: "We're going to have a real
good time tonight."

Madeleine returned to the dining room, leaving me with a dilemma. Dinner
was ready to go, but her fondling had gotten my nipples rock-hard, and in
this dress there was no hiding it; the top, which ended just above them,
pooched out where they pressed against it. Elena was sure to notice, and
thinking about it only made the situation worse; thinking of her looking at
my nipples made me more excited, not less. Well, there was nothing to be
done; I took a deep breath, picked up the paella pan, and marched into the
dining room.

I sat the paella down, and Elena leaned over the steaming pan, breathing
deeply. "Paella! Did Madeleine tell you I was coming?"

"No...I mean, yes, she told me you were coming, but she didn't tell me
anything about you. It's not because you're Latin, I've just always wanted
to make it."

"It smells wonderful." I filled both their plates and poured them more
wine. Madeleine indicated a chair to her left. "Why don't you eat with us,
Morgan? You've earned a break." I sat and spooned myself out some paella.
"Go ahead and pour yourself some wine," Madeleine said. I did, and sat back
to enjoy my meal. The dinner had turned out well, the wine was excellent,
and here I was with Madeleine and our lovely guest -- how could things be
better?

We passed the rest of the meal talking on all sorts of unimportant topics
-- movies, airplanes, Texas, where Elena lived and Madeleine had just been.
After a while I stood up and cleared the table; I took a few minutes to set
the dishes soaking, and when I returned to the dining room, the mood had
changed. A bottle of tequila was on the table, and an empty shot glass in
front of each woman. Madeleine fixed me with a strange, intense look -- a
mixture of distance and affection. When she spoke, her voice was cold and
commanding. "Morgan, we'll take our dessert downstairs."

This was weird -- the basement was Madeleine's secret place, her dungeon,
here hideaway. I'd slept with her for weeks before I'd even known it
existed; now it was a place to have dessert?

I heard the click of the basement door being unlocked and the sound of
footsteps on the stairs as I took the chocolate mousse I'd made from the
refrigerator. I put it on a tray along with some coffee and walked to the
open basement door. I paused. This was weird, but thrilling too. Something
was happening -- I could feel it, warm, between my legs. I knew that
whatever it was, Madeleine was in charge, and she would make it alright.