part2 « Fetish Review Blog

part2

“Well, he is a womanizer. He drinks too much…and, all in all, he is a bad

influence.”

“Didn’t he win that triathlon last year?” asked Lydia, whom up to this moment sat

idly by listening to the gossip as if it was the latest rerun of “Seinfeld.”

“He is a hard drinker, yet he is a health nut! Make up your minds,” demanded

Dianne in mock anger.

“Well, he is a hypocrite in a certain sense. He has been married four times. Each

wife was high spirited, intelligent, and unforgiving. His first wife was a

lawyer. She wanted to change him. His second wife was a doctor. She wanted to

settle down and have a family. His third wife caught him cheating on her with her

own sister.”

“His wife’s sister? How tacky,” blurted Ron

“And his fourth wife?” asked Dianne.

“Back on the prowl again, Di? Thought you were going with that beefcake soldier

boy? What’s his name, Biff?” stabbed Ron, with his searing, highbrow sarcasm.

“No, his name was Bill,” she replied, licking her lips suggestively, thus causing

Ronald to head off to his office, after he announced: “Well, I must go prepare

for my 10:00.” She was sure old Ronny had a severe crush on her and she did

everything she possibly could to frustrate the poor bugger.

Once, out of sheer boredom she let the old man watch her through the partially

open door to her office from the hallway as she changed into her jogging outfit.

She found that changing in her office saved her some extra time before doing her

daily exercise routine. Moreover, it drove Ronald mad with desire every time he

watched her from his window as she bounced her way down the front steps. She

still smirked every time she thought about how he reacted as she once burst

through the door and bumped into him, making sure her hand clumsily boinked him

in the groin. She had often wondered just how exactly well built he was in the

sex department. However, she never planned on finding out by sleeping with him

because she couldn’t even stand being next to him, let alone stand the thought of

being under him.

“Is he still married?” Dianne asked, trying a different approach.

“His fourth wife died of natural causes. I think it was Cancer.”

“Oh. That’s sad. Do you know if he has a girlfriend yet?”

“For crying out loud, Dianne. You haven’t even met him yet.”

“What?” she asked indignantly. “What’s wrong with wanting to get to know your

colleagues?”

…End of the part2. To be continued..

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part2

Since her husband Jim, an overworked accountant seldom found the time, energy, or

skill to service the smoldering middle age beauty the good Mr. Bougehard managed

to rendezvous with Mrs. Anna Belvoir at the exclusive Chestwood Hotel in downtown

Memphis on a rather regular basis. And now…….this pompous young black

upstart had the audacity to demand that Anna would now be HIS assistant. As the

other eleven white partners sat looking with amused expressions he finally

surrendered his plaything……..”If you feel you need the services of Mrs.

Belvoir; then she is at your disposal Mr. Bettis,” the Senior Partner finally

offered. There were several bemused sighs as the other partners in the law firm

rejoiced at the older man’s humiliation at the hands of the young arrogant black

attorney.

Jerome then turned to leave the gathering and mentioned over his shoulder, “Bring

me Mrs. Belvoir’s personal file and her security file. I need to review her

qualifications before I meet with her in thirty minutes.”

Rage engulfed Mr. Bougehard Wright’s face as he was ordered about by the most

junior partner of the huge law firm; and a “black porch monkey” at that. Angrily

he ordered the trifle task to be performed by one of his smirking white

colleagues. As he thought about the pretentious request he asked himself how the

newest attorney knew about the “security” reports that the firm had compiled on

all partners and staff of the law firm. The security report was routinely

updated by a local private investigating firm on all members of the firm and

contained from time to time very sensitive information about the individuals

partners and employees. This data enabled him; the most senior partner to know

all the weaknesses; vices and other incriminating details about those who worked

under him. His mind drifted knowing the details in Mrs. Anna Belvior’s private

file.

When Boughard returned to his office he stood beside Anna’s large cherry desk

directly outside his inner office. “I’m afraid that Mr. Bettis has requested

that you be assigned to assist him in the Greater Louisiana Oil Company case.

I’m………….sorry,” he managed to speak as he turned and walked hurriedly

into his office. The large oak door shut solidly…….

Anna could not believe what he had just told her…. Mrs. Anna Belvoir was

brought up on an elegant old South plantation in Southern Alabama. She could

trace her ancestry back to the Civil War and she had attended all the right

finishing schools. Her disgust of Black People in general and Mr. Bettis in

particular was well known throughout the office. She considered herself above the

black race and had on many occasions explained her views that they should still

be “shackled and working in the cotton fields; with a heavy dose of the cat

o’nine tales applied liberally……….”

She was quickly brought out of her stupor when one of the other secretaries

stopped in front of her desk. “Mr. Bettis wants you in his office; Now!” she

brusquely informed the vacant staring beauty. Mrs. Anna Belvoir was the most

senior para legal and she was in charge of training and disciplining all the

other staff in the large office. Most, if not all, disliked her patronizing and

…End of the part2. To be continued..

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part2

all very large men with frowns on their faces but she did not worry. When she

went in however two of them followed her and she knew something was wrong. The

minister was curt and to the point , he dropped a folder in front of her and

asked her to explain, she started to shake her head and repeated softly “no, no

this is not right, no, no”. At which point the minister waved to the guards and

told Karen she was under arrest. She then panicked and bolted past one of them

but the other grabbed her long blond hair with such force that she fell backwards

and pounded her back into the floor. The guard dropped to one knee landing it in

her chest with great force, knocking the wind from her. They then turned her

over cuffed her hands then her ankles, lifted her up by the arms and took her

away screaming that she did not do anything wrong, begging for a chance to

investigate the “errors”.

Bariwa is not well known for its civil rights record, to the extent that if it

did not have great mineral wealth the US government might not look the other way.

Karen knew she was in deep shit, once in her cell, not only figuratively but

also literally. The smell was obnoxious, the orders of urine and defication were

thick. It was all she could do to prevent from gaging and vomiting. In two days

the trial began and she was required to defend herself, no right to an attourny

here, the evidence was presented Karen tried her best to explain the

discrepancies but she knew it was hopeless. She begged the court for mercy and

awaited the verdict. There were three items to be decided, resisting arrest…90

days; embesselment 2 years; she had believed that it would be much worse and 2

years was long but not forever, she was young and could recover, at 29 when

released she almost felt relief. Then the final count, facing the judge in the

tattered grey prison dress….. 25 years of hard labor for crimes against the

people of Bariwa, her heart sank, she went dizzy and dropped to her knees begging

for mercy again. The judge simply said to remove the prisoner, and slammed down

the gavel.

Karen was then drug from the room and loaded onto the transport truck alone, she

was in a state of shock and knew that her final destination would not be

pleasent. Shackled and cuffed she was unloaded from the truck after what seemed

like 5 or 6 hours. There she was inside the gates of the high security prison

called Jubasa, literal translation “the jungle”. The prison was built in the

middle of a jungle, there were 400 acres of clear area surrounded by lush dense

rain forest. Here they waist no time in getting prisoners processed, she was

taken to what the guards called orientation immediately.

Karen was told to stand at attention, not to speak or move keeping her eyes

straight ahead. She heard a door close and heavy steps coming toward her, closer

and closer. It was the head of the prison who always greeted each prisoner for

orientation. A tall female brunette smartly dressed in her uniform, which hid

most of her feminine features, spoke to Karen in a soft pleasant voice.

Warden: “Hello Karen” Karen: “Hel..” SSMMAACCKK!!!!!!!!! across her

face causing her to nearly pass out. Warden: “SHUT THE FUCK UP! I will tell you

to speak. I will tell you when to eat when to sleep or when to breath if I am so

inclined. You may nod your head yes or no if you understand. ARE WE CLEAR?”

Karen: Head nodding yes, tears forming in her eyes and breathing deeply her

chest heaving

Warden: “Let me tell you a little about how we work here. By law you have

become the property of the state, you are no longer considered a person, simply

another asset of the county and as such you have no rights to anything, not even

air if I so choose. If I were you I would make me, the guards and any guests as

happy as possible. Because here we do not send memos, WE KICK ASS AND FORGET THE

NAMES! ARE YOU STILL WITH ME, KAREN?”

Karen: again nodding yes, hoping this was a bad dream.

Warden: “You own nothing, you are nothing except labor or entertainment which

ever we chose at the moment.” (Speaking to the guard) “Strip the cunt and take

off the cuffs, please.”

Guard: “yes madam”

Karen started to rub her wrists.. SSMMAACCKK!!!!!!!!!! again across the face

Warden: “You are not paying attention. Stand at attention. That is eyes

forward head back stomach in feet together and…listen closely HANDS AT YOUR

SIDE! Got it?

Karen nods yes

Warden: “I think we need to impress upon you the clairity of all our orders

they are simple and not ambigious. Follow them cunt. Do you see the table at the

front of the room? The one with the tall pole on one side?” (KJ nods yes) “I want

you to move your little scrony ass as fast as you can to get that table and roll

it back here and resume your position. Do you understand?” (KJ nods yes)

“OK…MOVE!”

Karen runs as fast as she can and grabs the table pulling it back as quickly as

possible and placing it in front of her. Then resumes her stance at attention.

Warden: “Not bad for a fucking cunt.” Slips the cover off of the table to

reveal a collection of paddles, canes, clamps, suringes, nozzles, bucket of ice

and other items Karen has no idea as to their use.

Karen with heart pounding both from the running and fear is starting to sweat and

breathing still more heavily

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part2

base past the coarse hairs to the tip, and start coaxing a response by licking

small tender licks around the head as it rears and presents itself for further

action.

He runs his hands through my hair, delineating the backs of my ears and the line

of my jaw. The jeans fall to the floor and I pull them away from his feet, as his

knees relax him into the chair, and he starts reaching for my breasts.

My hands start tracking towards him. “Oh no you don’t” he commands, and lifts my

whole body by my upper arms to a standing position, my mouth losing contact with

his cock. He holds me in front of him, leans me closer, kisses me with fire then

grabs my bottom lip with his teeth. His hands slide down my arms to my wrists,

which are suddenly held behind me by just one hand. He’s strong — I could escape

but I won’t. Can’t. Don’t. The teeth in my lip press harder, the sensation and

the association of the imprisoned arms sending signals my Pavlovian response is

helpless before. I moan as the endorphins start to take, losing track of what

he’s doing.

He’d taken the belt from the jeans as he lowered them, and it’s now being

fastened around my arms, restricting my arms and holding them behind me. He

releases my lip, looks at me with craving, lechery, desire… “Now go back to

what you were doing”, he decrees. I obey, gladly, dropping to my knees in front

of him and taking his manhood once more into my mouth.

I feel inspired, inflamed, inebriated by the changes in his body. His breathing

starts to catch as I apply my lips up and down the sides of his cock, then around

the top, brushing it as if with one long, absorbing kiss. Running my tongue

around the base, I start to trace the lines on the scrotum, then gently take each

ball in my mouth and let my tongue play with it as I savour the taste of him. My

tongue draws a thin line right under the sac, as he slumps in his chair and

abandons himself to the feeling. My nose precedes the mouth back to the cock, and

I then lick from bottom to top, finally taking the whole in my mouth and staring

the longed-for in-and-out motion he so desires.

I have to concentrate on not overbalancing without the use of my hands when his

hands gently come to land on the back of my head and urge me in a faster and more

intense rhythm. His groin raises to meet me, and he starts uttering small moans,

almost inaudible yet as clear to me as a summons to further action. I relax my

throat, and gradually work his thickness down as far as I can, as his groans

metamorphose into higher, almost distressed cries and he compels me deeper,

farther and faster. His cock becomes solid and utterly erect, and his whole lower

body is climbing to meet me — when he removes my head with an unintelligible

entreaty and slumps to the chair, sweating, panting, not yet satisfied.

“Not yet”, he gasps, then takes better control of himself. “Not yet”, he repeats,

“We have a long way to go tonight.”

He leads me back to his office, and stands me in front of his computer, facing

…End of the part2. To be continued..

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part2

ever so slightly. “Guys stare, it’s what guys do when they see something they

like, right? Believe me, I know…” She was looking me straight in the eye, and

I felt like a bug on a windshield. But I bit the bullet; what the hell. “Yes, I

was looking. You are…” I groped for a word as her smile widened. “…very

pretty.” Her eyes widened. “Pretty? Well, thank you, Jack. You’re not too bad

yourself.” She turned again and bent over at the waist, reaching for something

on the ground. My gaze was traveling up her legs when I caught her looking at me

and grinning. “Yes, you’re very pretty.” I was totally losing my grip, and I

started babbling. “Yeah, I remember you and your friends… Me and my coworker

were looking at all of you, but I was mostly looking at you.” She straightened

and resumed her perch. “Uh huh. Don’t you think it’s, like, wrong to look at

women that way? We’re not objects, you know.” Her smile was so fetching, a

beauty to behold. Some women turn and hide their grins, and some are more bold,

but she took the cake. Her smile was a tiger trap I would have gladly put my

head into. I frowned. “True, true. But sometimes you ladies seem to want us to

look, right? Like you said, you know when guys stare at you. Obviously you like

it.” “Uh huh. I do like it. I like it a lot.” She squirmed a bit, rubbing her

legs together. “Sometimes I think I like it too much…” Mimicking her pose on

the desk, I bent forward and matched her conspiratorial tone. “What do you

mean?” “Well…” She bit her lip. “Sometimes when I get guys to look at me, I

get really turned on…” She paused. I didn’t say a word. “Sometimes I can’t

wait to touch myself. I mean, I can’t wait until I get home… Sometimes I find

a place where I can get away with it, and go ahead and do it.” “…Like where?” I

prodded. “Well, like the other night when my girlfriends and I were here… This

older guy was near me in a row of books, and he was holding this book like he was

reading it, but really he was looking at me… I was squatting down to look at

the lowest shelf, and he was looking down my dress at my tits.” My erection,

noticbly pushing against the front of my pants, pulsed at her words. I bent over

further, hoping to disguise the bulge, but she couldn’t see from where she was

and continued. “So, he’s doing this pathetic job of pretending to read, I mean

really staring, and I glance over and see his dick get hard. I mean, he was

really showing. So I stood up and made to go by him, and I ‘accidentally’

brushed my hand against his crotch. I looked up at him really sweetly and said I

was so sorry, and he practically bolted. I mean, I got this old fart all hot and

bothered –” She squirmed again. “–and that got *me* hot and bothered.” She

stood up and moved away from the desk a bit. “All he wanted, right then, was to

lift my dress…or this skirt…” She paused as she touched the hem of her skirt.

My eyes were glued to her fingers as she lifted it slightly. “…rip off my

panties…” I could see the barest hint of white panties. “…and fuck the shit

out of me.” I bit my lip. My dick was a steel rod, poking painfully into the

front of the desk. My brain wasn’t taking any calls, and my eyes were glued to

the gorgeous woman exposing herself. Suddenly she dropped the skirt and grinned.

“I’ll be right back,” she blurted. She turned and walked quickly towards the

restrooms. Realizing my mouth was open, I closed it and shook myself. What the

hell was going on here? Surely this couldn’t be legit. Was this some bizarre

trick by management to get me fired? Was this some weird setup by my roommate to

get a laugh? Thinking fast, I dialed my buddy Jeff, stationed at the other

information desk across the store. When he answered I spoke fast. “Did you see

that gorgeous redhead in the blue shirt and plaid skirt?” “No, I didn’t… Where

is she?” Wait a minute, my brain screamed. You want to share this with someone

…End of the part2. To be continued..

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part2

“What it really boils down to,” I said, pretending wisdom, “is that much of the

work that is being done in this country derives again from European influences.”

Steven smiled, distracted. He put down his glass and leaned forward, his high

brow slightly wrinkled.

“I don’t think we go very far describing an artist’s work in terms of

influences,” Steven said. “There is always an evolution of linguistic terms, so

to speak, but language is a living component of our expression. Substance always

triumphs over form, yet without comprehensible forms, the expression becomes

lost.”

I remember listening carefully, because I respected Steven more than anyone I had

ever known. Part of me had always believed the arts perpetrated a fraud, that a

conspiracy of critics and galleries operated to decide one piece would be

valuable and another would not. To me, a painting was pretty or it was not. The

rest sounded like poppycock. Yet Steven seemed to believe.

“I want to show you something,” Steven said and with my assent, he led me

upstairs to a large room I calculated to be his study. The south wall of the

grand space was almost entirely built of glass, windows that seemed to draw in

the broad reaches of landscape, the small pond, the gentle roll of pasture, the

distant oak forests and broad color-rich skies. A wide glossy desk sat poised

beneath the darkening panes, cluttered uncharacteristically, I thought, with a

dozen strewn volumes, piled open in a chaotic array. The east and west walls

climbed some thirty feet high with overfilled bookshelves, majestic old leather

bound tomes near piles of unkempt paperbacks. Steven approached the north wall,

where a curtain hung.

“Do you know Pandolf?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said, laughing at the notion that even someone as generally ignorant as

I could fail to know of Fra Pandolf. “I mean, I’ve never met him, if that’s what

you mean, but his paintings are already worth millions.”

“He did a painting for me, years ago,” Steven said.

“Really?” I asked, quite amazed.

“My wife commissioned a painting, as a gift. Anna had quite an eye for artists.

He was just a local back then. I think she only paid a few thousand for this.”

Steven pulled the cord which drew back the curtain.

A large canvas hung on the wall, filled with greens and blues and sunlight golds.

The subject, only slightly abstracted, was a beautiful woman, simply radiant in

her loveliness with water bright eyes, soft skin, long sensuous legs and a smile

that almost laughed out loud. I smiled, pleased, knowing the treasure Steven

showed me was a very pretty picture.

“It was our tenth anniversary,” Steven said, his eyes fixed on the portrait of

his wife, Anna. “She posed without my knowing and gave me the finished painting.

…End of the part2. To be continued..

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