The Room
SEVEN
“Let’s start with vital statistic, tell me your full name and any names you use, who you work for, both business and personal addresses and phone numbers, email addresses, computer passwords, phone voice box passwords, and the names and phone numbers of three friends. ”
“Suzanne Daphne Forks. Sometimes “Suzanna”. I’ve been known as “Suze” but I hate “Suzy”. I work for Mendaletion Consulting.” She then gave me the rest of the info requested, I’m not going to list it all here, but will name her friends, Carol, Donna, and Michelle, some of whom we may just meet later.
What really struck me though was that her employer, Mendaletion Consulting was also Ken’s.
“Very good, a follow up question—are you here on behalf of Mendaletion Consulting? If not, who?”
“No, not Mendaletion. I’m here because we thought it was a good opportunity.”
That seemed to be a place for a new line of questioning but I also wanted to see if she would make it more complete, and there was a big gap still. “That’s the end of the first question. Anything to add?”
She closed here eyes, then opened them wide, “When I said we, that is myself and my administrative assistant Erika. Not anyone from Mendaletion or anywhere else.” Again she closed her eyes, then said, “Done”.
“OK, select something to wear from the suitcase and sit back down. But first feel good about your answer.”
Her eyes went a little wider and she shook slightly, her tits swinging slightly from side to side. She stood and bent over the open case, breasts dangling delightfully, legs straight bent at the waist, a wonderful sight, and not done without some thought as to effect - that girl is still thinking about how to effect me, and gazing southwards I see it’s working. She selected a dress shirt and pulled it on, then sat back on the couch. The shirt never looked so good on me—it was light enough that hints of her hard nipples showed—no doubt that she was at least a little excited as well.
“Next question—who knows you are here and when are you next expected to contact anyone?”
“Erika knows I’m here. We didn’t know if you were arriving today or tomorrow, but she’ll expect a call tonight either way.” After a deep breath, she said, “Done.”
I’m not sure even now if Suzanne’s that good an actress, but I swear I could see the hint of pleasure given from the complete and correct answer cross her face, without prompting, she went to the suitcase and selected some sweatpants, stepping into them and drawing the string tight around her waist.
“We just had unprotected sex. Are you on any birth control and have you any reason to believe you may have an STD?”
“I’m on the pill. No VD, no crabs or aids or anything nasty. You are the only person I’ve fucked where I don’t know for sure.” Pause. “Done.”
She then takes some socks from the suitcase and slides them on her feet.
After a second to absorb this good news—I should have thought about it earlier and didn’t, even with my Rock ‘n Roll road-confections experience—“thinking with your dick will get you in trouble”, I say to myself for about the billionth time in my life. Never learn. Keep trying though. “I’m clean too, last girlfriend and I tested before we went unprotected, and no one else since.”
“OK, now you’ve covered yourself we’re going to have a conversation at normal talking levels, and at the end there’ll be a special reward. If I say anything incorrect, interrupt to correct me. Relax and enjoy this.” Then thinking for a second, “Before we start, would you like something to drink now, I have some sodas in my cooler, and there are a few bottles of wine in the cupboard? And do you want to use the washroom to freshen up?”
I was getting good, at least so I thought, at reading her expressions, which were both relief and surprise at this. “Yes to the washroom. Yes to wine. I want to put on makeup and shower.”
I thought for a second, “You can shower, though the water-heater hasn’t got past luke-warm yet. No to makeup until we’ve talked further. You will go directly to the washroom off the master bedroom at the end of the hall. You can redress after the shower in the same clothes. Do not pick up or move anything on the way there and back here. You can use the soap in the bathroom, but cannot touch any razors or other items that could be used to harm either yourself or me. I want you to think to yourself as you shower, “I may not get what I came for today, but it will end up being a very good day if I keep doing what Bill asks”. You will not lock, or even shut any doors.”
“When we leave the room, I’ll get the wine open and you can freshen up.” I was pretty sure that I had control while in the parlor, but I didn’t totally trust what would happen as we left, but I had a plan - “When we leave here, and until we are both back, you will not see me even if I am in the same room, even if I touch you, not in a mirror or reflection off a glass, and you will not consciously remember this instruction after we exit, though you will obey it. If I say something you will hear it and obey, but not attribute it to me, it will just seem the natural thing to do. When we return, if you have seen me while out, start your next sentence with my name, if you do not, start it with anything else. Understood?” She nods, and I open the door for her.
Instead of heading to the kitchen, I watch her as she first looks at the door outside—she hesitates and for a second my gamble of letter her out may be a losing bet—but I can’t keep her locked up in one room forever, can I? But she turns down the hall, heads to the bedroom and bathroom. I follow. My case, where I retrieved the recorder from sits on the bed, a jumble of electronic toys and paperwork in file folders—she sees it, and swerves so that she can look more closely as she passes, but nothing important is showing. But this shows that she is still searching for scraps of information to use, not a complete automaton, but restricted by the limits I set - yet I wondered how long they would last.
EIGHT
I grab my digital camera as I pass by my case following her into the bathroom. This day has been so unbelievable that I want a record of every moment. I switch it to movie mode and point it at her as she sheds my sweats and shirt, neatly folding and placing on the edge of the sink.
She sat on the toilet and pissed, then flushed. The sink covered her from where I stood by the door—I’m not really that interested in anyone else’s bodily functions, but I wanted to make sure that she followed through with the orders and didn’t try anything while “out of my sight” and out of the parlor—though I note that it was a good thing I thought of her comfort based on the length of the pee, else an unpleasant cleaning would have been on order in the parlor. She’s done nothing particularly unusual or against orders so far, she flushed and went over to the shower/tub.
She turns on the hot water tap and leans over to feel the temperature. Really, from whatever angle I looked at her, she was spectacular. A full round bum that jiggled slightly a she waited until the water reached the spigot from the heater. Satisfied that the water wasn’t going to get any warmer, she stepped in, shivering slightly, her nipples standing out as the cold water runs down her breasts, she quickly turns to wet her back and lifts her arms, then shuts the tap off and steps out.
I’m ready to test the “invisible commands”, being somewhat disappointed at the brevity, “Get back in and soap yourself all over, get up a good lather, then wet yourself to rinse off. Make sure to get everywhere.”
Still dripping she gets back in the shower and grabs the soap, working up a thick lather between her hands, turning the tap on just enough to get the soap ready. She takes my command literally, starting with her feet, one up on the edge of the shower/tub, working her fingers across the bottom and between her toes, then rinsing off with a brief spray of water when done. Her arms and legs are next, repeating the soap and rinse cycle—with no hot water it makes sense to avoid standing under the cold tap for any length of time, but still there are some pretty good goosebumps.
When she starts on her torso and breasts I notice a bit of a change, less workmanlike, she squeezes each breast slightly, playing with her nipple using her index finger until giving out a small moan. I’m look at the display on the camera and zoom in, check that it is still recording—classic!
All too soon she rinses off and starts another handful of lather, Her left hand reaches behind and starts to soap her bum, while her right starts with the top of her thighs and works upward. I move to get a better view and it’s obvious that she has taken the order literally, her left hand reaches between the perfect taught and curvy cheeks and is cleaning her ass completely.
And then the unexpected happens, instead of rinsing off when it’s all soapy, she starts to rub herself, fore and aft. Slowly and deliberately. Her knees widen and I see her right hand rubbing herself through the lather faster and faster, her middle finger disappearing inside The camera has a pivot on the display screen, so when I move it in closer and lower, I can see on the screen that she’s also inserted her left middle finger up her butt. Another small moan escapes, and I move back to the doorway. I’m in time to capture her orgasm as her face goes flush and she cries out.
She seems slightly embarrassed by what she’s done, quickly rewashing her hands carefully and rinsing off all the soap, using the telephone shower head to reach everywhere. A quick towel off and back into my shirt and sweats, and I step back into the bedroom as she passes. I follow her back towards the parlor.
“Stop here” I tell her as she reaches for the door. I run into the kitchen and grab a bottle of white wine from the pantry with two glasses and a corkscrew. “OK, go in.”