Comfy

Jenna stretched, shuddered and rolled over on her stomach, arms outstretched to hug the slippery sheets and mattress below her, the smell of sweat and her sex permeating the sheets. 'Oh, this glorious bed,' were her first thoughts. She grabbed the sheets, grinding her sex into the bed for a long moment, then regretfully rolling over to start her day. She heard a click from the ceiling, and she looked up at the dark-cloaked ceiling.

"Jenna, good morning." The woman's voice was firm and authoritative, no longer the cheery assistant confidant's voice of the previous evening. Jenna shuddered, then smiled widely, and a little wildly. Her mistress spoke to her! A sense of joy, mixed with almost unbearable horniness, welled up from her now-dripping center.

"M-m-mistress, how may I serve?" She unconsciously assumed a position on the now-still bed, kneeling with legs spread, head down, and arms stretched out at her sides, palms forward.

"Get dressed, Jenna, and eat the meal waiting for you in the front office. Then return to your employer for your first task." Jenna got dressed as her mistress continued, providing her with reasons to live for the day. Jenna immediately made a few telephone calls, and, with her Palm Pilot, made a few appointments. As she got ready to leave the bed, she reached out to stroke the headboard, and her card popped out of the slot. Without a thought, Jenna put the card in the wallet in her purse and, trailing her hand lightly along the bed, she walked out of the room, and into the early morning light and (her stomach growling) a nice, big breakfast.

Jenna met Laila in front of the IRS office. Laila was dressed to impress: a filmy, short green silk dress over a half-camisole that failed miserably at hiding her generous cleavage, high, rounded breasts and dark nipples. Garter belts just showing below her hem (even as she was standing on her 4", Ferragamo heels). Glossy red lipstick, eye shadow highlighting her gold-flecked, hazel eyes, and a Gucci clutch purse completed the ensemble. 'She looks a little underfed,' Jenna thought to herself, then smiled brightly. Her Mistress had given her the tools to help Laila help her Mistress, and a hearty lunch would do them both some good... "Good morning, Ms. Fender," she said brightly, "here's the list of agencies you asked for, along with the contact people and the pitches they will be looking to hear."

Laila scanned the sheets. "Humph," she said grumpily, "it'll have to do." Before Jenna could rebut her, she turned towards the door. "Let's go; I don't want to keep him waiting any longer than you have."

Jenna followed, still smiling inside. Yesterday, Laila's zingers would have put her in knots. Today, secure in her Mistress' love, nothing could touch her inner contentment.

The meeting went as expected. Jenna sat at a table in the back of the office, with Laila and the IRS examiner loosely seated around a small, round Formica-topped table. It was easy to see that his son hadn't diverged from his father's gene stock: this older, rumpled man in a cheap, off-the-rack business suit had a dazed, dreamy look about him, too. In his case, however the dazed look and obvious tenting in his pants were due to Laila's studied perch on the scarred, wooden chair. Despite his pedestrian clothes and look, Jenna noticed him, the kind of person she'd be trying to learn to ignore as beneath her. While his suit was plainly mass-produced, it seemed to emphasize, somehow, his interesting high hairline and crinkly, graying eyebrows sprouting like weeds on a rounded plain. Jenna almost pitied him.

The meeting started with both of them sitting across the table, Laila sitting forward, her upthrust breasts looming over the table top, shadowing some of the papers. She would occasionally point to one of them, her manicured, lacquered fingernail jiggling her breasts slightly, captivating the poor man's gaze.

"Are you all right, Mr. Ramsey?" Laila asked after a while. "You seem distracted, somehow. I was really hoping you'd be able to help me," she continued, shifting her shoulders, sending her breasts gently swinging freely underneath their thin coverings, "with resolving this complicated problem today."

"Ah, ummm, yes, Ms. Fender, I'm sorry; I guess my mind was wandering there for a minute," he replied, unconsciously shifting in his seat, adjusting his pants to little avail: his penis was threatening to strangle itself in the cheap pants cloth.

"Oh, you must be worrying about your son. I understand." She pulled her chair back abruptly. "I forgot to give you this," she said, and bent down to her clutch purse, legs spread enough for him to see she her thong embedded between her labia lips, framed by her breasts hanging pendulously just above her knees, straining the sheer, green fabric. She pretended to rummage through the purse for several carefully timed seconds, bobbing up and down and adjusting her legs until it looked as through the government lackey might loose what was left of his control. Finally she looked up from that position and stuck her hand out at him, clutching Jenna's papers. The view, from his perspective, must have been devastating; Jenna was getting seriously horny, and absently rubbed at her left nipple under the guise of adjusting a costume jewelry brooch. Her Mistress' commands to love her employer were being sorely tested, and she wanted nothing more than to suck Laila into oblivion. "Here, Mr. Ramsey, I had a few agents look at Donny's bio," she said, pulling the chair forward, back to the table, cantilevering her bust back over it, distracting him from the papers in his hand (which were upside down, but he was beyond noticing).

"Ah, yah... Donny, right," he stammered, trying to collect himself, "ahem, yes, that's, that's great, Ms. Fender, I appreciate it, thanks." He was flushing furiously, damp marks visible on the papers as he flipped the sheets around to take a vague look at them. Laila smiled demurely back at him, her chin tucked into her palms, and arms uncoincidentally bringing her cleavage into sharp, defined, focus.

Jenna watched the interplay hungrily. She had always studied Liala, looking for tips on how to be more like her, but now she was more interested in thinking about how she would bring Laila to serve her Mistress, and how she could pleasure her herself. Judging from the distracted way Ramsey signed off on releasing her boss from over three million dollars in IRS debts, Laila would be an incredible asset to her Mistress.

They stood, and Laila well-feigned an innocent delight as she first shook hands (generating a seismic chest wave and further raising Ramsey's already lethal blood pressure), then grabbed him into a hug, complete with an uplifted leg and a gentle pelvic push. She released him just as his hands came up to her hips, stepped back, and gave one of her 'expensive' smiles: the kind that wrinkled her face. "Thank you very much for your help, Mr. Ramsey, I'm glad we were able to close on this issue." She went back to the chair, bending over at the waist to scoop up her purse. Jenna took this as her cue to stand as well, move to the door and open it for her employer, who turned once more at the door to the IRS agent. "Oh, Mr. Ramsey? Tell your son to call on my assistant if he has any questions about the names on that list," she said, vaguely waving in Jenna's direction as she turned and hippily walked out the door, leaving Jenna to smile simperingly at him, then close the door and hustle to catch up with her boss before the latter closed the elevator door on her on the way down.

Jenna had her hand in her purse before the doors closed, noting they were alone in the elevator.

Laila turned to Jenna. "Can you believe that man's gullibility?" she asked rhetorically. "His brains went to his little cock the minute I started on him." She snorted. I'm sorry now I got so worried about this whole tax thing." She opened her clutch and reached for her Palm Pilot, looking for her next appointment. "Um, Jenna, who's at this lunch appointment you've set up? There's no one listed." The elevator reached the ground floor, and Laila flipped up the PDA's antenna as they walked briskly through the lobby to the street, oblivious to the stares of the men passing the two almost painfully beautiful women. They reached the street.

"May I ride with you, Ms. Fender? I need to be back here later today," she said hesitantly, "so it would be easier for me to go over your schedule on the way to lunch."

Laila turned the request over briefly, then nodded curtly. They started for her car. "So who are we meeting at La Tralene? Is this a prospect, or is someone else picking up the tab?" La Tra, as it was nicknamed, had a simple yet hideously expensive lunch menu, owing in large part to the ultra-discrete dining booths scattered in nooks and crannies around the perimeter of the space, with a central salad, sushi and seviché bars.

"Oh, this is a followup from Mr. Oyev's office. I understand his assistant will meet us there, and she understands the meeting is at her expense, Ms. Fender." Actually, Jenna would pick up the bill, but it was in her Mistress' service, so the expense was irrelevant. She patted her slightly bulging, oversized handbag, checking for a reassuring bulk.

Laila merely grunted. "Fine, now what about the Versace account?"

Jenna tried to act as her assistanceship was meaningful, taking notes and supporting Laila's erstwhile plans as her boss tooled the high-performance car through congealed early lunch traffic to the restaurant. Laila swept up to the front, where a valet attendant positioned himself strategically at the driver's door to better watch Laila emerge. There was no demure way to exit a Viper, he knew, and Laila, in ignoring his existence, gave him a nice view of her legs and thighs. Jenna was left to unfold herself from the car, and hurried after her boss, who was striding leggily up the shallow stairs to the entrance atrium, then down the other side, into the open dining area that merged into the roof's shading and then into the air-conditioned interior.

The maitred' swept up to them, "Ah, Ms. Fender. Good to see you; I have an alcove reserved for you, if you would follow me?" He turned and preceded them through the lainai-hidden tables, past the nooks and booths used by the déclassé' diners, and past the sushi chefs, to the rear of the establishment. There, discrete ramps and lit paths led to the various, secluded booths used for the movie deal-making and discrete tête-à-têtes between the rich, famous and paranoid discreet. Here we are, madams: the able is set and service will begin whenever you signal."

The booth had been arranged as Jenna had ordered: only a dim vanilla-scented candle, set on the wall opposite the entrance, providing light for the three settings. Also on the table was a carafe of ice-cold water with twists of lemon, lime and threads of saffron suspended in the liquid. A platter in the table's center held a generous mound of Sevruga caviar, Laila's favorite, along with salted crackers, egg whites, finely chopped onions and capter each in a paper-thin porcelain cup The beaded glasses were filled partway with marble-sized ice cubes. The cumulative effect of the setting, the lighting and the smells was that of an upscale opium den.

The man seated them across from each other, with the third chair facing the curtains left empty, then bowed his way out. As he did, Jenna discretely turned off the service light and turned on the "do not disturb" light, ensuring they would not be interrupted. Jenna felt energized, excited, and not a little turned on. She had palmed a small vial and uncorked it as they were settling at the table. She reached over and took Laila's glass and, while lifting the carafe, tapped the contents of the vial held between her middle and ring fingers hold ing the glass, into it, then immediately filled it with water. The colorless liquid in the vial immediately mixed with the water, and Jenna set the carafe down, palmed the tiny vial, and put the glass down in front of Laila, then filled her own.

Laila nodded her thanks, then opened up her planner as she took a sip of her water. "Did you plan this, Jenna?"

"Yes. I thought, since Oyev was paying, we could set it up to suit you, Ms. Fender."

"Nice work." She shifted back into a business gear. "Okay, what does Oyev want? Do you have the figures on the publicity project? If we land this deal, you're going to have to find someone in the furniture business who can execute this for me." Laila continued outlining her strategy ideas, while Jenna took notes. The caviar was salty, as were the capers, and Laila soon finished her water. In just a couple of minutes, her streal of ideas trailed off, and shook her head, as if trying to clear it.

"Is it hot in here, Jenna? It just seems so stuffy all of a sudden..."

This was what Jenna had been waiting for. "No, Laila, it's fine in here. You must be thirsty, though. Have some more water." She poured her another glass, along with another vial's worth of the drug provided by her mistress.

Already under the drug's hypnotic effects, Laila took the proffered glass and drank it back without comment - under normal conditions she would have balked, not wanting to get bloated. Finished, she set the glass down unsteadily, and looked up, straight into the device Jenna had pulled out of her bag and set on the table. It looked just like one of the sconces from the bed Jenna had been programmed in the night before: a red, lit eye surrounded by a spray of fiber optic strands. Jenna activated it, and it started pulsing and flashing, the little fibers activating in a swirling, dimming pattern meant to draw the tired eye inward, and inward towards the flashing red centerpiece. Jenna groaned inwardly, half-remembering her captivation, her orders, the unbearable sexiness of a captive woman, of the women she would capture. She shuddered, then, with a quick press to her damp crotch and her erect clitoris, continued.

"Look at the light, Laila. Isn't it pretty?" Laila, already captivated, and slack-jawed, could only nod, eyes fixed as the second dose of drugs permeated her body. "Look deeper, Laila, deeper. You can find the center if you just follow the spiral deeper, and deeper..." Jenna continued the induction patter while scooting around to Laila's left, carefully setting her bag on the table and removing more devices given to her by her Mistress. While this was not a good place to fully bring her erstwhile employer to love her Mistress, she would have to ensure your compliance until she could fully experience the magnificence of the bed. She scooted right up to Laila, making sure not to block Laila's view, or look herself into the sconce. By this time Laila's eyes were heavy-lidded, almost closed.

"You feel good," she intoned.

"Ahhh... yah..." was the slow reply.

"You feel very warm. Your legs are getting hot. Spread your legs to cool them."

"Hot... Cool off..." Laila murmured to herself, then slowly, deliciously, spread her legs until they were a good two feet apart, her heels firmly planted on the floor, toes pointing out.

"Very good, Laila. You are still wam in some places. Hot. Between your legs, Laila. You feel your pussy getting hot. It needs to be stroked to cool off, but you can't move your arms or legs," she continued. Laila's brow furrowed, tiny beads of sweat gathering on her forehead as the heat from her crotch spread throughout her body. "Tell me what you want, Laila. Tell me now," Jenna ordered, her left hand already coming up under the table.

"I. Need. Your hand. Hand on my pussy." Laila moaned softly.

Jenna carefully lifted Laila's left leg and draped it over her right one, further widening Laila's legs apart. Then she took a rounded, delta-shaped vibrator from her handbag. The outside was fuzzy and crinkly, like a patch of Velcro tape. The inside had a mat of little, rubbery nubbins around a rounded, rubbery center. She slid her hand up Laila's thigh, past the garter belt, up to her crotch. Laila ground down on her hand as soon as she felt it and, for several moments, Jenna indulged herself, feeling the rush of her employer grinding helplessly on her hand, her wet labia lips sliding up and down the back of her thumb as her clit gently brushed back and forth against its knuckle. Laila's started moaning louder.

"Laila, your voice hurts your ears when you use it. The sound of your voice hurts you." Immediately Laila flinched, then, biting her lower lip with her teeth, ground silently down again on Jenna's hand. Reluctantly, Jenna, moved the stimulator into place, adjusting it until the rubbery protrusion was centered between Laila's lips. She couldn't resist brushing her thumb pad against Laila's clitoris as she gently extricated her hand from between Laila's humid thighs. Laila was beyond reason, her eyes, mostly closed and head thrown back, still focused on the pulsing device facing her on the table.

"You need to listen to what someone is about to say. You are about to hear from someone who will help you feel better than you ever felt before. You are becoming excited just thinking about what you are about to hear. Listen carefully!" Jenna intoned, and slipped a digital recorder out of her purse, and pushed the earbuds into Laila's unresisting head, then pressed the 'Play' button. Immediately, Jenna could hear her Mistress' voice come through the earpieces. Laila's face assumed the expression of someone concentrating as if her life depended on it, her hips rolling and twitching in time to the vibrator clutching and exciting her as her new Mistress' instructions came through the earpieces directly into Laila's subsumed, unthinking brain.

Jenna pressed a button on the vibrator, synchronizing its actions to the track on the digital recorder, connected to the vibrator's remote. As she did this, she started to feel an orgasmic wave rise and crest within her as her Mistress' instructions were completed. She lay back, writing silently as the programmed pleasure linked to her obedience washed over her again, and again.

It was many minutes before either of them stirred from their sexually induced sprawls. Laila recovered first, her hands rising of her volition to her ears, and pulling the earbuds, their task completed, from her ears. Next she rolled to her left, to where Jenna was lying in a doze, and reached between the buttons of Jenna's dress to her braless breasts, which she began to stroke and massage, quickly reaching her nipples, bringing them erect. Then she bend down and worshipped them, her perfect tongue flicking and rubbing them through the thin material of the designer dress as her hands reached between Jenna's outthrust legs and began earnestly massaging her wet pussy through her silken panties. Jenna began to stir, and instinctively clutched her former employer's head to her chest, forcing Laila to lap and suckle her nipples harder and harder as Laila pushed first one, then two and then three fingers up into Jenna's drooling cunt as her thumb vigorously massaged Jenna's clitoris. In moments, Jenna was silently convulsing at the table, her toes gently kicking the table stand in a gently, quickening rhythm to her cascading orgasms.

Eventually, Laila withdrew her hand, bringing it to her chapped lips and licking Jenna's sexual juices from each joint and finger. She was licking the last of Jenna's juices when Jenna brought her bead up from the back of the chair. "Shall I make the arrangements, Laila?" she asked.

"Yes, of course," was the anticipated response. "I will reschedule my personal appointments, and I will go to our Mistress when we leave. After lunch;" She broke into something approaching her former persona: "I am really too thin to see Her in this state."

Laila flipped the switch summoning a waiter and together they ordered a lunch sufficient to give their most expansive customers pause when the bill arrived. Laila paid it without notice, as Jenna finished the last of the appointment tasks, between languid strokes of her breasts and pussy, administered by Laila's adoring hands.

That night, Laila slept in the slippery opulence that only her Mistress' bed could provide, legs eagerly spread wide and arms akimbo throughout a night of learning and lessons Laila could never forget - or contravene.