What Are Friends of Friends For?

She was standing with her back to the little staircase that spiralled its way down from the library when Andrew Michaels first saw her through the little crowd at his house warming party. Andrew, stepping down the stairway at the time, was suddenly mesmerised by the way a loose curl had worked its way free from her hair band. He was intrigued by the way it hung down around the nape of her neck, a soft inverted question mark, mischievously hinting at the need for that nape to be kissed.

Making his way towards her through the assembled throng, he eventually found his way to the little crowd of admirers that surrounded her. A small cluster of men seemed to have been attracted to her like moths to a flame, but inevitably disappointment thinned the group as the evening wore on. A few hardy souls remained to fence with this apparently self-contained woman. Yes, hardy was the word for their ease was sorely tested by the vituperative slights this woman could dish out with apparent ease.

'And you, sir,' she smiled at Andrew meaningfully as he stood back, smiling to see her dismiss their embassies one by one. 'Has the cat got your tongue?'

'I suppose that I can't go through life without introducing myself and finding out where such an interesting conversationalist might come from,' he conceded.

'That would certainly be remiss of our host tonight, Mr Michaels.' 'Welcome to my little world,' he spread his hands about him and indicated that all this was his. 'Now, please enlighten me lest I have to resort to the atlas that I left in the library.'

'Ah! Mr Michaels desperate and without an Atlas in his own living room?'

A titter of laughter flowed from the few people who remained around them. He quelled it with an irritated glance.

'I am not exactly desperate, Miss...?

'Katrina. Mrs Katrina Edwards,' she replied carefully enunciating the 'Mrs'. 'I am a mere friend of one of your friends.' 'Forgive my faux pas, Mrs Edwards. I hope it did not disturb the sang-froid of a friend of a friend.'

'Friends of friends can often have a better time than the friends themselves,' he said self-importantly.

'Provided they don't indulge their appalling French accents,' she teased crisply, stepping back with equanimity from the intimacy of a friendship that he would have indulged her. 'What are we to do with you Mr Michaels?'

'Indeed – what are we to do with me,' he rallied. 'Here I am – forty seven, professional, athletic and I even own my own atlas.'

'Some might consider you well endowed.'

'It is a very nice atlas.'

'In thick vellum?'

'How else would one bind it?'

'I couldn't say what your preference in binding is, Mr Michaels. Why we have barely met,' she paused a moment to let the newness of there acquaintance sink in. Then she looked at him with a hint mischief in her eyes and added: 'though the way you perambulated across the room with such purpose did seem to show you were geographically inclined.'

'Perhaps it is my English side coming out. I am half English on my mother's side. I still have relatives in London. Come with me and I will show you their lineage.'

'So deliciously decadent!'

'How can you refuse me then?'

'I fear that I cannot. Lead me to your tea drinking relatives forthwith, sir.'

'My English relatives say they can tell the difference in the tea, depending upon when one puts the cream in.'

'They sound just a little bit retentive,' she giggled, taking his arm and then suppressing the half formed smile. 'I mean no offence.'

'Sometimes I feel I should be in therapy over my tea drinking cousins, but that is just a relative problem,' he smiled patting her hand and taking her slowly across the room, while the world watched.

'Do you resent this familial burden?'

'No.'

'You may be well-advised there, sir.'

Tell me, Mrs Edwards,' he continued blithely ignoring the company as it parted to let them through and finally standing at the stairs that reached up to the door to the library above them. 'Have you ever been across the pond?'

'You have a pond in your library, Mr Michaels? Do you have fish in your pond? Or is it just ornamental with pretty little icebergs? And sunken Titanics?'

'Yes, dear, of course I do,' he shrugged his shoulders at her unremitting teasing and stared her into silence. She looked down at her glass and then up at him, her eyes bright with the fire of his challenge ready to retort back at him with gleaming directness. She said nothing, but shrugged her shoulders lightly and began to climb the stairs up to his little lair.

It was bright on the stairway at first and then a dark gloominess took over as the lights of the room below them faded into the shadow of a tight passageway. The darkness enfolded them both as he reached the threshold and turned to push the heavy oak door open. There was some light in the room, but the lamps and candles spread around the room were far less bright than the rather excessive miniature chandeliers of the large room below them.

'My, what a lot of books you have, Mr Michaels,' she murmured, raising her glass to her lips and looking around at the shelves. She did not quite know where to look first seeing how the volumes seemed to cover every part of the walls of the room. They rose up 12 to 15 feet from little stacks on the floor to tightly packed shelves touching the very ceiling of the room.

'It's a collection gathered over several lifetimes. Call it a shared passion if you like.'

'You look so much younger when you share your passions, Mr Michaels.'

'Perhaps, dear lady, the possibility that you as young as you look brings the passion out vividly,' He retorted, touching her lightly on the shoulder, wondering how to quell her sardonic wit.

'How young do I look?' She parried back quietly and backed away from him into the velvety near-darkness.

'Sixty Two.'

'Ouch! Beast!' She gave him a poisonous glance, as he shut the door behind them and closed them off from the crescendo of enquiry below them. 'I'm 63 actually.'

'How about thirty nine?'

'Forty three.'

'It's a deal. That wasn't so hard now was it?'

'You were getting impatient, so I decided I should clarify like a good girl.'

'I'm sure you are a good girl.'

'How can you be so sure?'

'I was teasing you.'

'Teasing me? Was that nice Mr Michaels?'

'Yes it was. And by the way, I think you are very pretty.'

'Thank you: I was once.'

'Hush! You are positively glamorous!'

'Are you teasing me again, Mr Michaels?'

Are you saying: "thank you, Andrew"?'

'Take it as you would like to take it, sir.'

'I would like to take it accurately. For instance I see you have no wedding ring, though there are the vestiges of a mark on your ring finger,' he observed carefully.

'Summer love dies with winter and sometimes you just have to kiss the past goodbye.'

'Why the good-bye kiss? It wasn't because he drank a tea incorrectly was it?'

'No - he just started looking elsewhere for sex.'

'He was a fool then. What was his age?'

'Thirty-nine: he used to say that he was my toy boy – which was rather irritating.'

'Too young: you need someone older - more mature.'

'Do you have any suggestions, sir?'

'You are too cute.'

'I am too delicious, Mr Michaels. Please take note of this.'

'I have taken note that if you were any more delicious, I would overheat.'

'I will try not to shine and over excite you then.'

'I will only get excited when you offer to sleep with me.'

'Would it not be much more fun, were I to stay awake?' She responded with a slightly puzzled frown. 'Or are you admitting to narcoleptic tendencies, Mr Michaels among your many other unspeakable perversions.'

'I bet you would, but let's not get too obscene...yet... though you are now officially four insults behind me.'

'So spank me - officially of course.'

'I would, but I think you'd enjoy it too much, Mrs Edwards. And in any case the desk is occupied by a fine bottle of pinot noire.'

'No champagne then?'

'I thought you would have more mature tastes, less easily overwhelmed by vacuous fizz?'

'You'd better not open that bottle in case you overwhelm me sir.'

'I'll open it and take a chance on that.'

'Are you trying to impress me with your dexterity sir?'

'I'm trying to impress you with my conversational skills and my wit.'

'You are doing fine, sir.'

'When did you first realise you were looking to surrender to my conversational skills and wit?'

'Correction – you were doing fine,' her voice grew low and agitated before she allowed a thin-lipped smile to break through the furrows, 'until that hint of arrogance suddenly threatened to overwhelm us.'

'I insist you respond though.'

'If you insist on perfectly fatuous questions, then you have the right to perfectly fictitious answers,' she murmured, shaking her head cryptically, waiting for him to address her politely but sharply.

'Surprise me then, Mrs Edwards?' He almost barked, sitting back in a chair and not disappointing her expectations. Her polite eyes never left his face, but he could see that she still felt let down by his slightly egotistical remark.

'I first became aware in the womb,' she replied eventually, constructing each syllable of the tease carefully. 'I was so born to be overwhelmed.'

'I didn't realize anything before the age of thirty six,' he said meaningfully, scolding her lightly for teasing him once more.

'Then you discovered you were a late learner?'

'Then I discovered that learning was more fun with two.'

'And you tried canoodling to keep you happy?'

He didn't reply at once but just stood still, looking at her, realising that he desired her more than ever. He watched as she turned about and looked once more at the books. He could not help but wonder if she was contemplating something akin to surrender and, if she were not, then how he might lead her gently towards the place that he wished her to be.

'I love to see your bright eyes as we talk, Katrina.'

'If you could not see them, then I might not be able to control you, Andrew.'

'And how would you respond, if I started to lose control?'

'That would depend on what you needed.'

'I have lots of needs.'

'I'm sure you will uncover them all in time.'

'You are very seductive.'

'My husband was less than impressed by my technique.'

'But you kept his name?'

'It went with his house, his car and the larger part of his bank balance and it keeps wolves from the door.'

'I'll bet you don't go long between wolves.'

'You think I am a slut then?'

'You - a slut?' he raised his eyebrows and held out his arms in protest. 'No, not at all! I think you are intelligent, sweet, very cute, sexy, highly desirable and thus would not long be available.'

'Switching from man to man: taking my dress off at the flick of a whip?'

'Only you can answer that.'

'Not if I'm gagged or have my mouth around something nice and hard and filling.'

'Such as?'

'A stick of celery.'

'Celery is not filling.'

'Two out of three isn't bad.'

'You want something warm.'

'I'm open to suggestions, sir.'

'Would you like your hair held firmly and pulled back and down so you'd have to drop to your knees?'

'I've been known to respond well to such treatment, sir.'

'And would you feel good to see me unzip as I held your head in place?'

'Only if I was permitted to look up from the floor, sir.'

'I will always permit you to show your eyes bright in the candlelight.'

'I do rather love your candelabra, Andrew.'

'I do rather love to see the glint in your eyes as I rub my cock across your cheeks, Katrina.'

'Oh my – then I can forego the blindfold after all.'

'Yes, you can. Do you like being rewarded for being a good girl?'

'It's not unpleasant sir.'

'I like good girls. I like pleasing and obedient girls.'

'We are well met then - I like to please and obey as good as they come, sir.'

'Will you respond in accord with my wishes?'

'Do friends of friends respond in accord the first time they see each other?' She responded quietly

'Do friends of friends answer at once and not make me ask twice?'

'Are you telling me off already sir?'

'Not at all: I'm telling you what I expect.'

'And there was me thinking I had been a naughty girl, sir.'

'You have been naughty and in more ways than one.'

'Does that make me naughty, wicked and bad then?'

'Yes.'

'I think you like it when I am naughty, wicked and bad, sir.'

"That is a given.'

'Yes sir.'

'Good girl.'

'Thank you sir.'

'Now, that wasn't so hard was it, dear?'

'Not as hard as some things, sir.'

'Like the celery, for instance, Katrina?'

Not wanting to smile in silly agreement at his purloining her joke, Katrina frowned.

'If that crowd weren't out there, I'd force you across my lap and free your mind of salad.'

'Your hand is straying under my dress sir.'

'You noticed. Do you realise that your lovely pantie-clad buttocks are irresistible.'

'Is it the panties or the buttocks that attract you?'

'Pull your panties down and expose your sweet bottom. Then you will know for sure.'

'I think I'll just let you imagine how wonderfully peachy my tight little bottom is for a while.'

'I can imagine.'

'I'm sure you can, Andrew. May we have some wine?'

'I think you'd enjoy getting it spanked,' he grinned reaching out for the bottle and the little dog that served as a corkscrew.

'Oh no, I'd hate it sir,' she retorted, endeavouring to look as sulky as she could. 'I'd absolutely hate being pulled over your lap and you flicking the skirt of my dress up and rolling my pretty little panties down over my soft flesh sir - really I would – I promise you.'

'I want you to remember that girls who break their promises get their bottoms spanked.'

'As do girls who keep their promises, by the sounds of it, Mr Michaels.'

Girls who keep their promises also get fingers slipped down between their cheeks every so often to see if they are moistening,' he grinned and handed her a glass of dark red wine.

'That's something to look forward to then,' she grinned back and sipped at the dark liquid, licking her lips to make the most of each drop. 'Do your fingers acclimatise do the moist warmth eventually?'

'Any complaints if they do?'

'No sir.'

'Good girl.'

'Thank you sir.'

'As you get wetter, I might contemplate slipping my finger further in and then I might put it to your lips to see your reaction.'

'I might tremble just a little, sir - just the hint of a shiver of anticipation,' she smiled and raised her glass again.

'I shall expect you to suck with enthusiasm.'

'I have a practiced mouth sir. Is that so very wrong of me?'

'I wish we were alone in the house.'

'Do you sir?'

'Yes, so much so it hurts.'

'Shall I kneel and unzip you, sir, regardless of the company outside?'

'Yes.'

'Shall I pull your big fat cock out of your shorts and lick the underside looking up at you all the time?'

'Oh yes.'

'Shall I kiss the head of your cock and take it slowly into my mouth - my tight warm mouth sir? All pursed and eager - fresh and unfucked for nearly two months...sir?'

'Please.'

'Shall I rock backwards and forwards on my heels letting you ease your way in and out as is your pleasure.'

'This is exquisite torture.'

'If I licked your balls sir - would that be very bad of me - would you have to tell me to stop sir?'

'Not at all.'

'If my tongue happened to flick behind as you stood over me or if my mouth opened to suckle one nice round testicle at a time sir - licking and tasting and suckling to your heart's desire sir?'

'Then you would be a very good girl indeed. I like the sound of your voice and the shape of your mouth whispering intimate things.'

'Sometimes it can be even nicer when it is quiet and filled, sir.'

He paused and both of them drained their glasses easily, comfortably, companionably.

'You are making me want you. If you continue to be good, I'll let you get on all fours as I inspect you...pet you...probe you.'

'Why thank you, kind sir.'

'I'll like seeing your back arch and your little bottom stick you in the air as my fingers rub and push inside you gently.'

'You will make me moan, without even touching me sir.'

'Good.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Do you want 'sir' to fuck you from behind?'

'That would be so nice.'

'Do you want to feel 'sir's' cock slide inside you as he spanks your bottom?'

'Of course - if this pleases you.'

'Tell me you want me to fuck you, Katrina.'

'Mr Michaels - please will you fuck me?'

'Kneel on the floor and pull up the skirt of your dress, girl. The panties too: I want to taste you and feel you shudder. Kneel down and take off your clothes as I watch – an excellent 'hors d'oeuvres' before the main dish of the day.'

'Please sir – leave the French alone – you will reduce me to helpless giggling and unfortunate choking.'

'I like the idea of you helpless and unfortunate on your knees, bent forward with you hands reaching back to spread your lips open for me like a good little, bad little Kat.'

'I need your tongue sir, so clever and manipulative in your good little, bad little Kat.'

'I suspect you wanted to be manipulated all the time, Katrina.'

'How could I help it sir? After all your intentions always seemed to be entirely and delightfully dishonourable right from your first approach.'

'Not entirely: be assured that I'll stand by you as a friend of your friend for as long as you need me.'

'Your 'pants' are giving you away Mr Michaels.'

'Perhaps I should remove them or you should.'

'You need to make an executive decision before an accident occurs, Andrew.'

'I have decided to delegate the decision.'

'If that was empowering for you, Andrew, does that mean lipid jets of liquid love, here Walt Whitman and we come?'

'I do enjoy your mature, intellectual approach, Mrs Edwards.'

'You mean you couldn't just love me as a submissive cock sucker, Mr Michaels?'

'Submissive cocksuckers are far too common; you're educated and eloquent as well. That makes you a jewel beyond price.'

'Then where's my jewel then sir?' She pouted.

'I need to decide where to put it--you're navel or your forehead.'

'I can prevaricate as well as you, sir,' she smiled, closing her mouth around his finger and sucking it slowly as he ran an idle hand along her body, listening to her mumble under her breath.

He wanted to make out the words even though they might be of no importance. He would have to be content with supplying words for her from his own subconscious, as if picking up the striking of a clock in the middle with only the rhythm of the first uncounted strokes lingering in the mind. He let her tease a little longer and then reached down to place her hands on his belt.

'You can indeed, Mrs Edwards.'

'Is this belt of importance sir?' She looked up at him, eyes wide in the candlelight.

'At the moment, yes.'

'Such a big belt and such a large buckle.'

'The metal is cool. I prefer your warm hands as I quaff the last of this rather excellent pinot.'

'Are my warm hands to be a nice means of relief, sir?'

'Noblesse oblige.'

'You really are utterly hopeless sir,' she tittered, 'but if your wanton destruction of the French language gives you joy...'

'What else are friends of friends for, Mrs Edwards, besides joy?'

'That would be a whole new story, requiring a whole new bottle of that rather delicious wine, Mr Michaels...'