Sultry Summer Finale By Cathy Brockman

Sultry Summer Finale

By Cathy Brockman

As the night wore on, the ladies got drunk and excited dancing with men and with each other. Bonita found herself more and more turned on and more and more confused that Summer kept creeping into her fantasies. Deciding she needed to put some distance between the two of them she motioned Summer to the table.

“Hey, I think I’m gonna call a cab and head home, it’s getting late and I think the hottie in the cowboy hat you have been dancing the last several dances with, has ideas of his own. I don’t want to put a damper on things for you.” Bonita hoped Summer didn’t pick up on the hint of jealousy in her voice.

“Ahh, Sam? He’s just a friend. I’m afraid to take him to bed. I don’t want to jeopardize the relationship we have; though he is pretty tempting. I like Wayne though and want to see where that might go, so I’d better just go home too.” Summer took a long drink, eyes cast down at the table as if in deep thought.

“Why don’t you stay over tonight”, she said, a hint of hopefulness in her voice and desire in her eyes.

Bonita sat quietly for a moment thinking whether or not this would be a good idea. Summer squeezed her thigh lightly and Bonita nodded in agreement. Bonita paid the bill and they called a cab.

~~~~

The cab ride home was filled with tension, both women trying to decide what their next move would be. Both thinking of that kiss in the fitting room and wondering if there was more to the relationship or was it too risky for their friendship.

Arriving at Summer’s house, Bonita gazed over Summer’s trim, but curvy body as she unlocked the door. The combination of the muggy temperature and the need to touch her bloomed throughout her body.

“Wanna drink? I have wine and some diet cokes and a bottle of Jack.” Summer tossed the keys and her purse on the table by the door.

“Sure, whichever you’re having is fine with me I like all three.” Bonita put her clutch on the table by Summer’s.

“I guess I should have gone to the house and got me an overnight bag”, Bonita said, following Summer into the kitchen.

“It’s okay, I have an extra sleep-shirt you can wear, if you decide to sleep in anything at all!” Summer winked suggestively as she poured them both a glass of wine, and took some strawberries, a bottle of chocolate sauce and a can of whipped topping from the fridge, sitting them on a tray.

Bonita swallowed hard as she picked up the two wine glasses and followed Summer into the living room to the couch. Summer sat the tray on the coffee table and took one of the glasses of wine, patting the couch next to her.

Reluctantly Bonita sat, the heat of Summer’s bare legs touching hers, causing her to lick her drying lips.

“Let’s toast, to new roommates and a new start on life.” Summer clinked her glass to Bonita’s and their eyes met.

Summer’s free hand slid slowly up Bonita’s thigh as she sat her glass on the table reaching for Bonita’s.

“I’ve thought of nothing but that kiss since that night. Nita, tell me it wasn’t just because you were drunk.” Her warm hand slid further up Bonita’s thigh, stopping just as her fingertips reached the edge of her high-cut panties.

“Want me to stop here?” Her finger softly traced the elastic brushing lightly against the moist heat.

Bonita shook her head as she leaned in closer to Summer’s face, her hand now sliding up Summers thigh, rubbing her hot damp core. Summer gasped as their mouths clashed hungrily; both women’s tongues tasting, teasing, and battling for dominance. As Summer’s fingers slid beneath the thin layer of silk, Bonita gave into her best friend, letting Summer take the lead. Summer stood, pulling Bonita up from the couch, offering an unspoken invitation of following her to the bedroom. Summer placed the wine glasses on the tray and Bonita followed her.

 In the bedroom, Summer put the tray on the night stand, pulling back the bedding, motioning Bonita to sit. Summer put on a CD of Evanescence turning it down to a soft murmur; she lit a couple of candles and turned off the light.

Summer started swaying to the music in a seductive strip tease until she was in nothing but a lacy red bra and a matching thong.

“No. I want to do that. It’s all I have thought about for days,” Summer whispered as she took the hem of Bonita’s shirt from her. Straddling Bonita’s knees, Summer slowly raised the shirt over Bonita’s head, dipping for a hungry kiss as she tossed the shirt to the floor. Coming up for a breath, she gently pushed Bonita down on the bed, dropping to her knees, lifting Bonita’s hips as she pushed her skirt up higher. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband and started sliding the silky wet panties down; burning a trial of hot kisses down the exposed flesh of Bonita’s legs. When she reached her feet she slipped off her shoes, kissing her foot and eliciting a moan from Bonita as she gently sucked one toe into her mouth, working her way up the opposite leg, kissing and licking. When she reached the now bare treasure she had dreamed about all week she began a slow seductive torture of licking and exploring with her tongue and fingers.

“Oh shit, Summer! I’m coming. Stop. No don’t stop. Please more. Oh shit! Yes! Yes! So good!” Bonita moaned and pleaded as Summer continued her assault through at least two explosive orgasms.

Summer stood gazing heatedly at her sexy friend, now lover, trembling in aftershocks. She took Bonita’s legs and slid them up onto the bed, removing her skirt and climbed up next to her. Both ladies now in just their bras and panties. Summer removed her bra and straddled Bonita, leaning down for a long, sensuous kiss.

Tasting her essence mingled with mint, wine and Summer’s unique taste, Bonita slid her fingers up Summers thighs, pushing the thong aside and started her own tease, strumming Summer until her friend began bucking and moaning. Summer reached to the nightstand for the chocolate sauce, rubbing some liberally over her bare breasts. With her free hand she reached behind Bonita, unhooking her bra, and then smeared the chocolate over her full large breasts. As she leaned forward, Bonita began licking the chocolate from her friend; licking and teasing each hard nipple with her teeth. Summer moaned as she rode Bonita’s fingers, screaming in ecstasy as she went over the edge. Summer collapsed beside her lover, catching her breath. After a moment or two to recuperate she grabbed the whipped cream and started licking the chocolate from Bonita’s full breast, also teasing and biting one nipple while pinching the other.  Summer shuddered and gasped as she sprayed some of the cold whipped topping onto her own mound, then onto Bonita’s.

“Now for the grand finale,” she said climbing back on top of Bonita, this time her firm round ass and mound coated with whipped cream over Bonita’s face as she dipped down and started licking the whipped cream before her.

 Both women climaxed repeatedly until they lay in an exhausted heap. Summer stroked Bonita’s face lovingly, “so what do ya say? Gonna move in?”

“Most definitely! How soon do you want me to start packing?”

“Tomorrow! Now let’s get you cleaned up.” Summer smiled seductively as she led her new roommate to the shower.

Not the end but a new beginning

If you missed the first episode you can find it here 

The second here 

The third here

Steamheat: Captain Malloy

In the world of airships, steam power and mechanical clockworks, we left Eliza stowing away on a parting airship by hiding in  an escape pod. What do you think will happen to our injured heroine?  Let's tune in to find out.  

Steamheat:  Captain Malloy

by

Ben Hannigan

Read part 1 here

 

James Malloy stood in his chambers in a simple linen shirt and leather side-laced trousers. The air was hot and humid, the brass walls dripping with the condensed water from the engine rooms below. Though he was the captain, this vessel had little room for luxury as it was dedicated to the paying customers playing at sailor. He could and did fly the vessel alone with the aid of thinking machines, allowing the “duties” of his cargo to simply be smattering of what their ancestors faced on the water crossings. Each “sailor” doing a stint swabbing deck, a stint in the galley, a stint loading and firing cannon at proddy targets conjured up by the machines, and the most onerous duty, actually the one duty with an affect on the ship, everyone did one shift shoveling coal and coke to the engine room.

Malloy was intimately connected to the ship, he could feel the engines pulsing, feel the machines ticking over. They were in flight, he had met his crew - the usual crowd of upper-class wankers who want a uniform to show off at the club. He stood relaxed, preparing for the show that he always put on halfway through the voyage. 

The ship was attacked, the crew called to arms, and the guns manned. But it’s not enough, the guns they have just aren’t enough though the crew acquit themselves well. The ship is boarded by the British navy. Those elements who betrayed the crown to support the parliament traitors. The speech was a beauty, all about glory, and love of the realm and honour and duty; the kind of third rate claptrap they ate up in the projector halls. Malloy had always been a showman, so he programmed this little stunt into every voyage.

Bellowing orders to the crew from the top deck, members of the crew on watch in the nests with marksman’s rifles and those crew walking the decks finding themselves issues shotguns by shadowy ships mates.  The ship subtly changing from an airship to a British sloop. Drawing the customers into the magic, making it real. It's why his runs were four times the price of any other, and why the company had paid for the spell, those who had experienced it could only speak of it to others who shared the same memories.

The uniforms the “flight crews” are presented with at the end of the voyage for the final inspection carrying rank based on what they had in their background. Some working class boys ending up as officers and some ruling lords being little more than deckhands; the uniforms drawn from the memories in the blood. What the persons family had been in days long past. This was the same as all other aircrew experiences. 

However, ‘Malloys Men’ were different. Their uniforms carried campaign ribbons as well as family medals. Much like the others but they always carried a new badge, one that all of the ‘Aircrew’ could see. Which made for instinctive respect and deference, much like a new unbloodied trooper would defer to one who had shed blood for his country.

This was where we would find Malloy if we were to observe; in his chamber bouncing on the balls of his feet with a sabre in hand dueling two shadowy figures.  He was an accomplished swordsman using it in honour duels. In displays, in entertainment and in order to save his life once, long ago. So he trained, each day faster and harde,r pushing himself, determined that he would not fail if attacked like that again. The sabre blurring, a pistol appearing in the other, surrounded by the dead servitor spirits he fought on until exhaustion. His bones shaking, limbs burning with the pain.  

Then the world went black. His cabin was no longer dark, murky alleyways or battlefield, no longer places from Malloy's troubled past, but instead a simple room for a sailor. A hammock strung across each windowless wall, a trunk set, a cabinet of provisions and the thinking engines, the displays, the input devices and the tape printers making a slow comforting sound that reminded him he wasn't alone, almost like the heartbeat of a lover. 

He stripped and roughly bathed himself with a soapy rag and bucket of icy water before standing under a venting steam pipe to spray him with a refreshing mist of water.  Standing there taking time to wash the last of his body, his mind returned to his swordplay.  Taking his weapon up and fighting a very different duel, focusing on the feeling, the exhilaration, and the pleasure of tasting warm skin.  The honey sweetness of a girl's kiss, the soft cream of their skin, the pink rosy nipple under his lips and trailing down the stomach tasting her, sweat mixing with her natural sweet musk.  And as he parted her legs in his mind, the blood rushing, pulsing ,sounding like a roaring tide in his ears as he tasted her scent, the rich sweet musk melding into this whirlpool of heat of desire.  The deep honeypot his to devour and explore, as he snaked his tongue deep into his woman’s entrance, hearing her screams of lust as he lost himself in exploring her every inch.  He could feel only the warmth of her on his hand, and immediately the image was gone. The warmth nothing more than the rapidly cooling emission leaking across his hand. He moaned finding himself on his knees, washed up again and lay on the hammock.

Getting some well earned rest in the quiet time of the voyage, the insistent buzzing, like the ship needed to show him something. Still an enigma to him as he wrestled with the question of what she wanted to show or tell him, he succumbed to exhaustion of mind and body and slept.

The Dom's Diary: Pallaca

Who is Maxim and what was his proposition? I don't know about you but I'm anxious to find out.

 

The Dom's Diary:

Pallaca

by 

Abyrne Mostyn 

 Read part 1 here

Read part 2 here

Read part 3 here

 

                Maxim signaled Naobi for a drink of his own before excusing her from the conversation once it was delivered.

“I will summon you to attend my guest if I need to be called away.  Please ask Ren to watch the community room for me until I am done.”

“Yes Maisu.”

                She bowed slightly and left quietly; again I barely caught her verbal response, though as it was meant for him, it was of little consequence.  He watched her leave, turned fully to me, took a long draw of deep amber liquid, set it aside, and began.

“Welcome to my playground.  Like you, I enjoy our world away from the pretenders and the merely curious.  This dungeon was created to serve those like us who want the freedom to partake, without the prying eyes or questions of those who are only playing at the lifestyle but have no place in it.  This is a place to allow opportunities for those who know who they are and what they want, but who choose a level of discretion or exhibition that the public dungeons do not afford.  It is also for those whose lifestyle choices and fetishes have no play place elsewhere.  Everyone here is of consenting age.  Everyone here has also provided medical background proving they are clear of affliction that can be passed through our activities, though birth control is always available.  We collectively and separately enjoy the aspects of the lifestyle here with no risk of persecution or retribution as we all collectively have a stake in the success or failure of this establishment.  We call it ‘The Manse’.  I believe, based on the orders you have placed with my other business, you may fit right in, should you choose to entertain the notion of joining us.”

I thought through the comments he had just made for a few moments, nursing my scotch as I pondered.  I had always believed such places existed, but never knew how to find one.  How do you find what you want when you don’t know what to ask for?  Simple…You don’t.  It finds you.

“That’s quite a substantial proposition you’ve put on the table.  You say Yessenia is to thank for this meeting and subsequently this offer?  Will she be joining us?”

“My sister is likely here somewhere.  She enjoys her proclivities often, though I had not invited her to join us for this discussion.  If you are interested in joining us, I would not put that to you in front of anyone.  It is of course, a choice, but the parameters of our group must be factored and those are no one else’s business.”

  I was nearly blinded by the flashbulb this time.  Looking at him as he relayed their relationship, the familiarity I could not place before, smacked me in the face as I saw many of her features in more masculine relief in front of me. 

“I appreciate the courtesy.  I assure you that should I elect to accept your offer, your conditions are not beyond my ability to meet.  Should I be enquiring about membership costs?  Rules?  Times?  Terms?”

“Perhaps you would like to have a look around.  While I am confident you will be pleased, I do not assume it is for everyone and a conversation of the other details would be premature.”

“If you’d like to lead, I’d be interested to see what you have here.”

Naobi was waiting just beyond the doors in the foyer when we cleared the study.  A small Asian man was by her side and their conversation ceased at Maxim’s appearance.  She moved quickly to his opposite side and walked with us through the halls, leaving the man near the front entrance alone.  Maxim was proud of his manse and with good reason.  Upstairs and down were filled with private spaces to scene.  Some rooms held equipment, some had beds and some held both while others held nothing at all.  Variety abounded from room to room.  There was a lounge, and two community rooms, one that was openly social mingling and the other I knew before we reached, was openly sex.

Sex had a smell; a distinct, indescribable, unmistakable scent that you just know.  To me, the scent of sex had always made me think of the Sahara at the fording point in the land where the rain forest meets the sand and the scents converge.  Walking with Maxim and Naobi as we came up to the last corner, I knew what I would find once we passed the turn, I could smell it.  The high heat and dense damp humidity of sex play was around the corner.  I knew it in my bones.

I was not disappointed.  As we made the turn, we entered an exhibitionist’s dream landscape.  I had never witnessed anything like it.  Around the room dotted in odd tangles of flesh, every proclivity was playing out.  I saw them all, but noticed none save the scene that was playing out from the center of the room.  It caught and held my attention and stole my breath from the moment we cleared the doorway. 

A large guilt frame was fastened upright to the girders, immobile and hovering over a small platform two steps up from the floor.  The woman inside appeared to be floating, balancing on just the balls of her feet on tiny tree stands that were built into the sides of the frame.  Her hands were high above her head, grasping the straps that connected her wrist manacles to the frame at the top.   The harsh manacles a hard contrast to the canvas of soft skin she presented openly in the frames display.

Though her head was down, I knew without knowing that it was Yessenia.  The tension and arousal played across her features as she relaxed into each new lick of the whip that was being thrown from behind her and the sheet of mahogany swung forward and back as she returned to pose.  The snap and crack of each throw was distinct.  I knew from those sounds that it was a single lash that was being applied.  It was too crisp to be a cat or compound.  I also knew by the time of the drags in between that the thrower was holding back.  This was for pleasure, not punishment.  Yessenia’s full mouth was dropped to gap open with soft pants and I was transfixed to watch her.  Through the fall of her hair I saw her eyes open and caught the flash gleam of recognition and pleasure before the next stripe fell and she was again lost to the euphoria of the sensations.  She was near to gone, but fighting to hold out for more.  She was magnificent.

We walked the circumference of the room.  Every new angle only added to the experience.  Able to watch another dance for someone else’s whip for the first time in ages, I had forgotten the eroticism of it and craved seeing her take more.  It wasn’t for several moments that I realized I was no longer looking at Yessenia.  We were on the opposite side of the room from where we had come in and I found I was not watching the dancer but the Domme. 

She was a petite package, wrapped like no gift I’d ever gotten, but one I was wont to have, right then.  Wrapped in a second skin of leather, she wore fitted chaps that hugged her legs from ankles to hips.  The cutaway exposed a micro thong of lace and pearls.  A leather bustier and fingerless elbow length leather gloves covered the top half, with nothing more.  Her back and shoulders unclad and free ranging to throw as she chose, it was the perfect outfit if she had to wear anything at all.  Thick auburn tresses swung from a high ponytail that brushed back and forth against her ass cheeks with each swing as I watched.  The rounded globes of her cheeks were pushed up and out by heels just high enough to accent her curves and I found myself imagining tracing the continents on each of them with my tongue. 

I knew I was staring, but I couldn’t make myself look anywhere else.  Each throw set off a domino of muscle flexion’s that made my fingers twitch to touch her.  Her form was impeccable.  My mind was reeling at the images and stutter-stepped when, several throws later, I realized what I was seeing that I hadn’t realized I was seeing.  In between the sway of her hair and the shift of pearls, a jeweled plug peeked back at me and winked in the lights before hiding away again until the next throw.  My carefully schooled face nearly dropped with my mouth at the onslaught of information.  My head was a whirlwind but my mask was intact, for now.

It was a solid few minutes of Yessenia’s low moan before it built to a keening cry and it was over.  The Domme stepped up to help Yessenia from the frame with the aid of two males I had not seen come forward.  I remained rooted to the spot where I stood with Maxim and his wife, watching the whole thing.  Looking around with only quick glances, I noticed that I was not the only one who was moved by the scene.  The Domme turned just then to walk back towards where we stood.  Had I not been completely undone by the images from the back, I would have been as she approached.  Maxim and Naobi were talking quietly, if it was to me, I could not say.  Walking in my direction was a vision in leather with the most arresting green eyes I had ever seen.  The two men brought Yessenia past us and I heard her speak for only a moment to the woman who had taken her over the edge.

“Thank you Pallaca.”

Maxim brought me out of my blank stare, clasping my shoulder and speaking to me as he gestured the Domme who was merely nodding her reply as Yessenia was led away.

“Thorne, might I introduce you to Cla’vis Tand.”

“Cla’vis, this is Thorne DuFoe.  He is considering our establishment.  Perhaps I can talk you into showing him the rest of the property?  Naobi would like time in the frame and I am never one to deny her.  Thorne is the designer of the cross ours in modeled after.  Perhaps you can show him the modifications we made?”

“It would be my pleasure Maisu.”

“Thorne…stay as long as you like.  Jenner will take you home when you are ready and give you my number.  We will speak again tomorrow.”

With that, Maxim was away, peeling clothes away as he approached the stand of tools along the wall.  I saw that Naobi had already been helped into the frame as Maxim bid me goodnight and was being secured in the manacles.

“This way Mr. DuFoe.”

“Call me Thorne.”

“Ok Thorne.  You may call me Pallaca.”

“What is Pallaca?”

“It’s an old word.  It means mistress.”

Sultry Summer Chapter 3 by Cathy Brockman

Sultry Summer

By Cathy Brockman

Chapter 3

What are friends for

Friday night Summer picked up Bonita for their girls’ night out. Bonita felt a little awkward after their kiss in the fitting room on Monday, but they talked every night since and Summer never brought up that moment, so neither did Bonita. Bonita couldn’t help but wonder exactly what Summer meant when she asked her to move in. Was it as friends and roommates only or was there more? She decided tonight she would find out exactly what Summer had on her mind, though she was pretty sure of her decision already. Even if Summer only wanted a platonic friendship as they had had since moving into the same neighborhood over 15 years ago, that was fine with her.

Summer rang the doorbell with butterflies in her stomach. She wondered what Bonita was thinking about tonight. All week long Summer had thought about that kiss in the fitting room but hadn’t said anything to Bonita. Was tonight a girls’ night out as usual or was it their first date? Did she really want it to be a date? As Bonita opened the door and Summer saw her friend all dressed up in the new denim dress she had bought for her, heat spread through Summer down to her core, causing her panties to dampen.

“You look so damn good in that dress, so many men will be hitting on you that you won’t have time for me tonight,” Summer said with a hint of wistfulness in her voice.

“I don’t know about that, they will all be on you like flies on honey, as usual.” Bonita smiled as she picked up her phone and called a cab. They started doing this when they first began going to the bars after Bonita’s husbands friends got killed driving home drunk. Bonita had made Summer promise to never drive or ride home with a man after they had been drinking. Now calling the cab was as routine as brushing their teeth.

As they approached their favorite table, Summer grabbed the chair Bonita usually sat in and slid it next to the one she sat in. Bonita looked at her in question.

“So we can both see the dance-floor better,” Summer answered the unasked question as if she could read her friends mind.

The heat of Summer’s legs barely brushing against hers and the soft flowery scent of Summer’s cologne stirred up feelings inside Bonita that confused her. She couldn’t help but wonder why after all these years she was feeling desire for her best friend. This had never happened between them before.

“Have you thought anymore about moving in with me?” Summer asked, nervously toying with her napkin.

“Actually it is all I have thought about all week. I just don’t know how it will work though. You have your life and date quite a bit. I’m not even divorced yet and a basket case. I don’t want to be a burden to you.”

“Nita, honey, you could never be a burden. My house is plenty big enough for us both. I was thinking I could swap Misty’s room upstairs to the guest room downstairs and give you more privacy. There is an adjoining room to that one you could use also like a little living room of your own too.”

“You don’t have to go to all that trouble and I don’t want to put Misty out.”

“It’s no trouble and Misty has practically converted her playhouse out back into a mini apartment. I was thinking about having it finished out for her, so when she comes home for visits from college she will have her own place. You know, more privacy for when she starts wanting to bring home guys. I try to be open and let her live her life and it brings us closer, but I really don’t want to hear; well you know what I mean.”

Bonita almost choked on her drink at Summer’s remark.

“Damn Summer, you know how to freak a girl out don’t you. I have enough on my plate and now you have to throw up that our girls are growing up. I haven’t even given that thought. And that brings up another good point. What about Allie? I know she will be living on campus and spending time with her Dad part-time, but my not getting to keep the house puts her without a home too.”

Summer dropped her hand to Bonita’s knee rubbing softly, soothing her.

“Nita, Allie will have a home at my place too. It will be OUR home. Her and Misty can share the guest room downstairs until I get the playhouse converted, then she can have that room as hers, or the extra room next to yours has a sofa bed in it, she can use that. But knowing the girls, she will stay with Misty out in the new apartment more than likely. There are plenty of options.”

“Ok, that does sound doable, but that still leaves your personal life. I don’t want to cramp your style or make you feel uncomfortable about bringing men home.” Bonita stifled a moan as Summer’s hand softly kneaded her thigh.

“You know I could only bring men home when Misty was with her dad, silly. Besides, I am tired of just being a sex toy or fling for some man unfulfilled by his current lifestyle. I am ready to find something more meaningful,” She stopped and looked into Bonita’s eyes before continuing, “Misty is grown, and will be starting her own life. It’s time for me to have a life of my own again. I have to say I am looking forward to it too.” Summer removed her hand and picked up her glass slowly taking a drink.

Bonita watched her wistfully as Summer drank and toyed with her straw, remembering the feel of her soft lips, the sweet minty, chocolaty taste of her tongue and the feel of her supple body in her arms. She hesitated for a moment before whispering yes, wondering why she was feeling like this and why the thought of Wayne in Summer’s bed made her green with jealousy. Should she move in? Would they give in to this temptation between them? Would it wreck their friendship?

If you mssed the first chapter you cna find it here:

The second here:

The Dom's Diary: Maisu

 Abyrne really has a talent for  building tension doesn't he?  Have your ice handy to cool down with, it's a scorcher!

The Dom's Diary:  Maisu

by

Abyrne Mostyn

 Read part 1 here

Read part 2 here

Maisu

                Within five minutes the meeting was set and the call with Maxim was ended.  Jenner, his driver, would pick me up in the lobby at 8:10 prompt, and take me to where he and I could have a more candid and lasting conversation.  He assured me that all my questions would be answered and any lingering doubts alleviated, thus I agreed to the get together.  I paused long enough to contact my sub for the evening and reschedule for several hours later than planned.

                Walking out of the elevator a few minutes early, I was somehow not surprised to see the driver already waiting.  Jenner was a tall wiry man with something about him that left no question about the seriousness with which he performed his duties.  I was escorted to a pristine, late model, deep wine colored, convertible Mercedes; 1960’s if I had to guess.  The car shouted luxury without the pretentiousness of being flashy.  I didn’t realize until I was getting in as Jenner held the door, that the car was outfitted with one-way glass.  I was impressed.

                I watched our route wind up Lakeshore Drive before it cut back towards I-94.  We were going north away from the city, well past the established suburbs.  He turned off, taking me thru a pleasant area, past golf and other recreational places, before turning in and gliding thru the security stand of a gated community with nothing more than a wave.  I saw no houses, instead only sprawling lawns, trees and manicured gardens.  Paying closer attention, it wasn’t a gated community.  There actually were no houses, it was an estate.  There was one house, and it was a big one.  What I had mistaken for landscaping was actually camouflage for the high fences buried between rows of arbor vitae that surrounded the property.  Someone wanted privacy.

                Pulling to a stop, but not parking, I was surprised that the owner of the voice from the phone call did not greet me.  I was also not let out by Jenner.  Instead, a tall woman whose skin wore the myriad shades of the islands complete with bare feet that belied warmth that wasn’t here opened the door.  She was covered enough to be considered clothed, though her sheer sarong left nothing to the imagination, just as the collar at her throat and the nipple rings marked her status and position.  She did not speak, instead motioned me forward up the stairs to the entrance.  Once inside, she gestured me father thru the foyer to the large double doors beyond and across the floor on the far side.

                She knocked twice before turning the carved wooden handles and stepping back to let me into a very elaborate study.  The wood paneled room was impressive, not because it was wood paneled but because, if I was correct, it appeared to be paneled in Monkey Pod.  For so much of the Hawaiian wood to be lining a single room so far from the islands here in the Midwest spoke volumes about the standards of the owner.  The walls were covered with war and weapons memorabilia complete with a full suit of armor in the corner.  It was a man’s room; a man I nearly missed standing behind a surprisingly modest desk as I inspected my surroundings.

                Hearing my name caught my attention, this was the owner of the voice from the earlier phone call.  Maxim was tall but not bulky.  Judging by the jacket over the sofa arm and the cut of his trousers, he liked precision and wore it well.  His olive skin, dark eyes and canted brows made his heritage difficult to pinpoint, mixed perhaps.  There was something very familiar about him that I could not name.  He waited patiently for me to approach and accept his extended hand, a large smirk playing across his features.

“Hawthorne DuFoe; we meet at last.  My name is Elias Maxim.  My friends call me Maxim.”

“Call me Thorne.”

                Gesturing to the woman who had escorted me in but stood just out of my line of sight, formal introduction was made.

“This is my wife, Naobi.  Would you care for a drink?”

                We nodded to one another, but remained silent.  My mind was still trading the baton back and forth in a relay I was running with myself; a drink was a pretty damn good idea.  Having seen the full bar complete with crystal decanters along the far wall, I was fairly certain I could have nearly anything, but stuck to my usual order.

“Single malt please, neat with a twist.”

                He nodded to her.  She nodded back, commenting so quietly I barely heard her, ‘Yes Maisu’.  She disappeared briefly and returned with my request a moment later before stepping back out of my line of sight, but staying well within his.  He steepled his fingers and smiled broadly before speaking.

“I must say Mr. DuFoe, Thorne… I am most impressed by the level of reclusion you manage to maintain.  I had thought I was alone in my pursuit of privacy for the world we share.  I had arrogantly believed we would have had the opportunity to meet before now.  I had hoped for it actually, but we had not crossed paths.  How fortunate for me that Yessenia was out last evening, has a watchful eye and spotted you and your reaction to the new Dungeon.”

I must have worn the confusion I felt on my face as he continued to smirk through the next bit of his tale.

“I have been an admirer for quite some time.  The design and specifications for the cross you ordered and contracted for through Custom Helotry was inspirational.  If you’ll have a walk about with me shortly, I believe you’ll see the influences of your design in the piece I have here.”

With the revelations of the latest bit of commentary, a light bulb went off in my brain.  When I had placed that order, the counter clerk had asked if I minded if he shared my design.  As I had the piece I wanted, I didn’t care.  Maxim must have been who they had intended to share with.  The association that had not been immediately apparent was announced.  Maxim knew not only what I was, but he was familiar with some of my tastes in the world too.  I understood now the connection he had referenced on the phone.

“I wondered who the clerk wished to share that design with.”
                His laughter was a quiet chuckle before he stopped to explain further.

“No, no…Custom Helotry is mine.  I made your cross.  I came to appreciate some of the specifications you had asked for and wanted permission to build off of your design.”
                I was impressed by this.  He could have done so without my consent and I would have been none the wiser.  I appreciated his integrity.  The room where we sat took on a new dimension in that moment too.  Had he done the work?  It was obviously done by someone of great skill who had passion for the wood.  I shifted my drink to my left hand and stood, extending my right to shake the hand of the master craftsman before me.

“Thank you for your efforts.  The cross is beautifully made, exactly as I wanted it.”

“The pleasure was all mine.  As I said, you inspired me.”

                I was more relaxed as I sat back down.  Before me sat a kindred soul of some degree who had known of me and out of respect or propriety left me to enjoy our world without our meeting.   

“You said on the phone you had a proposition for me?  Care to share?”

                His grin was brilliant and mischievous all at the same time.  Had I known I was going to get the keys to the city, I might have sat a bit taller.