Catherine The Matriarch

Chapter Ten-1

Chapter Ten

Crossfire

Gathering her belongings in her large bag, Mrs. Roman grabbed the bottle with one hand and took me by the arm with her other hand. She ushered me hastily upstairs. Honey was waiting for us at the top of the steps. I expected the much-anticipated confrontation to begin immediately.

Instead, Honey said, “I wish you hadn’t worn a catsuit.”

“Oh, I forgot,” Mrs. Roman said. “You were wearing a Catwoman suit at the New Year’s Eve masquerade party. When Rennfield Clark died. I didn’t mean to remind you.”

“Let’s talk in the parlor,” Honey said, leading the way. “I suppose I’m jealous, too. My outfit didn’t create the kind of sensation you would have,” she demurred, sitting on a couch with the sealed fireplace to her left.

Mrs. Roman sat beside her and placed her bag and the champagne bottle on the floor at her end of the couch. “You always look stunning in dresses.”

“Thank you.” Honey had changed to an oxblood dress of shiny, supple leather with matching elbow-length gloves and four-inch pumps.

Essentially forced to sit on the couch facing them, I marveled at the incredible tone of their conversation. Shouldn’t they be pulling each other’s hair by now?

Despite my renewed devotion to Mrs. Roman, too many years of s****l-image programming caused me to notice the wayward hem of Honey’s dress, exposing the dark brown rim of her hose. Her lack of finesses projected a charmless allure, but her calculated stocking ploy still snared me. The bold lines and colors of her makeup reinforced her harlot persona.

“You’re a lucky man,” Mrs. Roman smiled sardonically. “Sitting here with two beautiful women.”

“Yes,” I agreed. And Mrs. Roman’s beauty won again. Not her figure: Her shape always aroused me, but so does Honey’s. Even Mrs. Roman’s three or four-inch height advantage and Honey’s 15-pound surplus in weight failed to settle the issue. Their faces set them apart. Honey coaxed and cajoled with her honey-colored eyes. Her eyes enabled me, and Mrs. Roman’s disabled me. Mrs. Roman’s bold, dark eyes commanded respect and made me so grateful for the slightest favor that I wanted to perform any act to please her. Mrs. Roman’s face simply overwhelmed me. Her black hair and white skin defined her features so sharply that she probably didn’t need makeup. Her habitual expression was either so severe or so sardonic that I would sacrifice myself—and continue doing so, little by little—to see her smile.

“Cat got you tongue?” Honey asked.

“More like my catsuit,” Mrs. Roman uttered a low, throaty chuckle.

When I started to respond, Mrs. Roman raised her hand and pointed her palm toward me. “Your opinion doesn’t matter, dear. In fact, don’t speak unless we tell you to.” Detecting my feelings, she assumed a condescending expression and tone of voice. “You thought we’d fight over you. Typical male ego. In your own little world, or compared to other men, perhaps you have value. But you’re insignificant compared to Honey or me. Our disagreement over who should own you is a struggle over female power.”

Honey chimed in gleefully, “Tell Catherine what you said about poison.”

“D.H. Lawrence said—”

“Not that,” Honey interrupted me. “Tell her what you think about male masochism.”

I was stunned. I had expected a catfight—between Mrs. Roman and Honey. But I couldn’t have foreseen the battle between them and me. “Submitting to a woman can be terrific or like poison,” I mumbled.

“Speak up!” Catherine the Great demanded.

Honey prodded me. “That isn’t what you said before.”

Mrs. Roman strode across the floor and stood before me. “On your knees! Confess to me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Flushed with fear and s****l arousal, I knelt before her. “Submitting to a desirable woman is enriching, but submitting to an undesirable woman is like poison.”

“Wrong!” Mrs. Roman slapped my face. “I thought you showed intelligence surrendering to me Friday. Acknowledging your inferiority to women. Women are superior to you. Right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“All women. You don’t get to choose which ones dominate you. Understand?”

I remained silent briefly before blurting out, “You’re my goddess. I’ll yield to any other woman you designate. But no other woman is your equal.”

Mrs. Roman blinked quickly at my abject praise but countered, “Stop trying to assert your will. You have no choice. Although you’re my wife, you are a slave to all women. Accepting that fact is the beginning of wisdom. Confess your bondage to women.”

“Not all of them,” I objected. “Suki tricked me, but I’m not her slave.”

Mrs. Roman’s right hand balled up into a fist and flew toward my nose before I could brace myself. Her blow produced more of a “splat” than a “crack”—so nothing broke—but the pain brought tears to my eyes, and the trickle from my nose to my lip indicated that my nose was bleeding. “Confess Honey’s dominance over you!” Catherine the Great commanded, with a touch of exasperation in her voice. She rolled her eyes up and tipped her head toward Honey.

Suddenly I realized more was at stake than a philosophical debate over female domination. Mrs. Roman decreed that I humble myself to Honey. I shifted my knees to face Honey more directly. Her right leg was crossed over her left, and she swung her foot impatiently.

Bowing my head, I told her, “You’ve held my fate in your hands, and you showed more mercy than I deserve. I confess and rejoice in your supremacy over me.”

“It took you long enough to say that,” she grumbled. I failed to detect any lilt in her voice. She was completely serious.

Impetuously, I snatched the shoe off her right foot and shoved all of her toes into my mouth, up to the ball of her foot. My mind groped to the realization that my previous, unctuous praise for Mrs. Roman—while verbally shunning Honey—placed me in grave danger with Honey. I sucked hard on her toes. Sheer fright made me oblivious to the taste.

She wiggled her toes for a moment before withdrawing her foot from my mouth. “We’ll have to practice foot baths,” she said, haughtily, yet playfully. “But we’ll have a long, long time to work on it. Stay right where you are.” She uncrossed her legs, giving me a quick glimpse up her thighs before she put her knees together. In the darkness under her dress, I don’t know if I saw her bush or just her underwear—making her tease that much more tantalizing.

Mrs. Roman said evenly, “I’m here to determine how much time you have with Francis. He and I are married now.”

“I figured as much.”

“He’s worth more to me as a puppet banker than to you as a harlot. At the bank, he’ll shield me from all the stress and pressure of million-dollar decisions. I’ll take all of the profits or blame him for the losses. He doesn’t have that kind of income and scapegoat potential for you.”

“You’re making Frank sound like a cell phone or other practical tool.” Honey rose and walked over to me. “But cell phones can be fun. So is Frank.” She grasped my head and pressed my face into her breasts.

I nuzzled her cleavage for a moment before pulling back to look at Mrs. Roman.

“I sold you Martha, and you took Princess,” Mrs. Roman said, her jaw set. “I love to swindle men as much as you do, but let’s not defraud each other.”

“You see,” Honey explained, “Martin is very useful, but he’s not much fun—like an old brick cell phone. I’d rather have Frank. But don’t blame me.” Honey looked self-confident and slightly amused at Mrs. Roman’s irritation. “Suki switched slaves—and made a handsome profit.”

“I admire Suki’s resourcefulness as much as you. And I plan to put it to good use.”

“How?” Honey asked.

“Suki works for me. I seduced her.” Mrs. Roman conceded, “She’s sharp. But, again, I dislike women cheating each other—especially when they cheat me. Let’s rectify the situation. I’ll bilk Martha to buy Princess back. It will bankrupt Martha, and that will give me two slaves.”

“That would be fair enough—if I wanted to part with Frank. But I don’t want to.” Honey turned her back to me and stuck her derriere in my face. Before Mrs. Roman’s arrival, I would have kissed Honey’s rump, but Catherine the Great owned me again. Although Honey must have noticed my change in attitude, she continued, “And Frank wants to stay.”

“Wait a minute!” I protested. “How can you talk so glibly about bankrupting Martin?”

“Why do you care?” Honey asked. “Martin put you in this fix. He chickened out. But, like I said, f**k Martin. I’ve got you now. You’re like a top-of-the-line cell phone. By the way, what kind of cell phone do you have, Mrs. Roman?”

Catherine the Great looked slightly puzzled, but took her phone from her bag and held it up. “Digital,” she boasted. “Call waiting, call forwarding, and three-way calling.”

“Internet capability?”

“Who cares?”

“Just curious.”

Mrs. Roman rose to her feet and serenely walked over to us. “You don’t have Francis.” Her eyes bored into mine. “Tell Honey everything you did for me, from licking caviar off the soles of my boots to sticking your tongue up my anus while I tossed myself off. You’re my bride, and you want me, don’t you, Princess?”

“Wait a minute!” I objected. “I didn’t—” Mrs. Roman’s eyes flashed. OK, if she wanted Honey to believe I tongued her ass, I would go along with her.

Her Majesty took my hand and pulled me from my seat. With her free hand, she made a smooth gesture parallel to the floor, silently instructing me to lie down. Once I was flat on my back, Mrs. Roman sat on my face, crossed her legs at the ankles, and rested her high-heeled boots on my c**k. I embraced her hips and thighs to make sure she didn’t fall from her perch. Although we had never mentioned this stunt, much less rehearsing it, our tacit communication and perfect execution left no doubt I was her slave. For good measure, Mrs. Roman touched the floor on both sides to balance herself and vigorously rotated her hips to rub her latex-clad ass in my face.

“I get the point!” Honey screeched. “I’ll let you buy him back, but it will be expensive. The basic fee is fifteen thousand. And he’s run up some other expenses.”

Mrs. Roman rose to her feet. “How much?”

“Come over here.” They retreated to the farthest corner of the room and whispered so that I couldn’t hear them.

Amazing. Even in their financial dealings, with each trying to take advantage of the other, I was caught in their crossfire.

Then it was Mrs. Roman’s turn to be amazed. When Honey detailed my debt, Mrs. Roman alternated between exasperated disbelief and hysterical laughter. Raising her voice to make sure I heard her, Catherine the Great proclaimed, “Sometimes dumb blondes have brown hair.”

I rubbed my fingers through my brown hair to show that I got the point.

Turning to Honey, Mrs. Roman said, “Let me explain the situation to Princess.”

“Use the cellar,” Honey said. “May I borrow your phone for a minute? I have to make a call, and I’d rather wait here in the parlor for you to return.”

Mrs. Roman shouldered her large bag, took out the phone, and handed it to Honey. She and I headed for the stairs to the basement. As soon as we got downstairs, Mrs. Roman glared at me. “Without putting too fine a point on it, you’re a f*****g i***t. Emphasis on fucking.”

“How much do I owe her?”

“I can’t tell you because I promised not to. She wants you to stay over one more night so that she can lure you into more debt. Don’t do anything. Don’t screw her. Don’t masturbate. Don’t bring her to a climax in any way—don’t eat her; don’t even let her masturbate. Or me, as long as you’re her slave. You agreed to pay her for every s*x act she tricked you into, whether you pleased yourself or your partner.”

“Oh my god!”

“Goddess. That’s not all, Princess.” She pulled a digital phone from her bag and handed it to me. “I have two of these. Keep this one. If you need help, push this button for programmed calls and then the number 1. I programmed this phone to dial my other digital phone.”

“What kind of help?”

“Honey can be malicious. She wants to punish you for choosing me. No telling what she’ll do. Be careful. She plans to drive you further in debt. Or ruin you.”

“Then, why are you letting her keep me?”

Mrs. Roman glanced at the ceiling. “Honey wouldn’t agree to sell you unless I let you stay one more night.” Evidently Mrs. Roman considered her concession to Honey a minor defeat, and she wasn’t used to losing.

“You believe in honor among women,” I said, “but sometimes I think other women exploit your trust. Like Suki, and now Honey.”

“When you call me,” she said, shifting topics, “you don’t have to say anything. Just hang up. My other phone has caller ID. I’ll know you called.”

“Don’t go.”

“I have to. Too much is at stake with the deals I’m working on.” She put her gloved hands on my cheeks, brought my face to hers, and kissed me. “But call me if you need me. I can’t bleed Martha for enough to settle your debts. You owe too much. I’ll have to roll another man to free you, but I’ll get you out of this. I promise. Here.” She reached into her tote bag and handed me five stacks of bills. “Stash this somewhere. It’s fifty thousand dollars.”

“Mrs. Roman!—”

“Take it. Honey won’t injure you seriously. But she may threaten to kick you out on the streets if you don’t give her some money.”

“How can I ever repay you?”

“You’ll more than repay me, many times over, before I’m through with you.” She kissed me flush on the lips, as if her promise to bleed me financially was an expression of love—and in our perverted way, it was. “I get goose bumps when you’re so naive and vulnerable,” she beamed. “It gives me a reason and opportunity to punish you more severely—and you can count on torture, humiliation, and degradation when I get you back to the Little Hermitage. What’s more, you can’t do anything about it.”

“Yes I can. I can cherish your might. Suffering for you makes me ecstatic.”

Her eyes sparkled. “O, Princess! Sometimes I’m glad you’re such a stupid slut. So needful of discipline, so eager to absorb my abuse!” She kissed me again and turned to leave. “I have to get my phone back from Honey. Promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“That you won’t let her seduce you again.”

Mrs. Roman left before I could make my promise.