The Project

Chapter 1 - A Proposition

My older brother Scott called me on a Thursday night just after Easter. It had been a long day at work and I was washed out, lying on the sofa with a glass of wine and feeling sorry for myself.

"Hi Karen, how's it going?" he said.

I tried to think of something cheery to say. Scott and I were the only kids in our family and had always been close. But our father's sudden death last fall from heart disease, and the collapse of my marriage three months ago, had put a strain on our lives.

"I'm sitting here sipping an after work glass of wine and really glad to hear from you," I responded. "What are you up to?"

Scott, at the young age of 28, had already been in three successful Internet startups. Based in Silicon Valley, he had leveraged an engineering degree from Stanford into entry level positions on successful teams. His first payoff had been a million, the second ten million, and I wondered how much he had gotten in the IPO of his third effort just two months ago.

"I have a confession to make." he said. "Four years of 80 hour weeks have gotten a lot of cash in the bank for me, but I have nothing else to show for it. My body is a wreck, my love life sucks, and I'm trying to figure out how to get myself into a better groove. By the way, what's the latest on you and Sean splitting?"

"The lawyers have submitted all the papers to the judge and tell me a final decree will be issued in less than thirty days. With no kids and no real assets, it'll be more like shaking hands and saying goodbye than anything else. I thought we loved each other, but it didn't turn out that way, and I've decided it's time to move on."

"Karen, I have an idea about a new project that you might be interested in, but I can't talk about it over the phone. Is there any chance you could get a few days off and fly to Phoenix to meet me for a long weekend of conversation and relaxation? I'll arrange for your ticket, of course."

"Is this all work and no play?" I said, knowing his reputation for diving into "interesting" ideas.

"I promise, Sis, no more than five or six hours on business. The rest of the time we have swimming, hiking, golf, and great cafes with live music. And there's a reception at the Arizona Biltmore on Saturday I would like to take you to."

"All right," I said, "I can't leave until early Saturday because we have an executive marketing team meeting tomorrow until late afternoon. Forget buying me a ticket, I'll make the arrangements from this end and you can reward me with a nice dinner somewhere."

Flying from the Midwest, your plane starts down over Flagstaff, glides around Camelback Mountain, and plops onto the runway at Sky Harbor airport. Clambering down the rollaway stairs into heat and glare, I said to myself, "where are your floppy hat and dark shades, honey?" Neither of which I had remembered to bring.

Scott was waiting at the security exit, looking as tall and handsome as ever. I ran to him and he swung me into the air and we twirled around. It felt nice to be in a man's arms again. He kissed my cheek, but I grabbed his head and moved to smash his lips properly.

He finally put me down. "Hmmm, from the feel of that kiss, someone needs some loving."

I leaned over and nibbled his ear, whispering, "Yes, but not right here."

"My, you are as frisky as ever. Is that all you brought?" he said, looking at my overnight bag.

"Yes, I don't have any desert clothes anyway, and I figured since the weekend is on you, we could find me something here." He was leading across the street into the parking garage and we stopped at a shiny motorcycle. He opened the rear saddlebag, extracted two helmets, and squeezed my bag inside.

"Karen, ever wanted to be a biker girl?"

"You're not making me ride on that, are you?" I looked at him with mock outrage. "How can I be decent in a dress sitting behind you on that?"

Scott looked around, then reached between my legs and pulled my dress up into my crotch. Then he just lifted me up and put me down on the bike seat, handed me my helmet and climbed in front. The bike roared on the first turn of the ignition and we were off. I clutched him for dear life.

He grabbed a dangling wire, and suddenly was talking to me through the helmet earphones. "This is a short ride and I'll explain about the motorcycle when we get there. Just relax and enjoy yourself."

The bike was throbbing between my legs and the dress was flying around. A lot of thigh was showing, but fortunately, not all the way up to my girly secrets. I thought to myself, "Lady, you need a leather outfit, a couple of tattoos, short hair, and some boots..."

I said into the mike in front of my face, "This isn't exactly the right image, boss man, with my dress flying in my face."

He swatted my bare leg. "Looks good to me, boss lady."

In ten minutes, we were in Tempe and turning into an RV park. Another hundred yards and we were parking next to a large, black and very new vehicle. He shut down the bike and stepped to the side. "Want a lift off?"

I nodded and got another twirling swing through the air. He led me to the front and pressed a code into the side of the RV. The door opened silently and we climbed in. The door closed automatically. The interior was elegant and then some. Teak paneling, full kitchen, bathroom beyond with a shower. Two double beds.

I said, "What's with this, your early midlife crisis?"

Taking the gambit, he said, "Oh honey, I'm sorry I spent so much money on this big thing. It took all of our retirement accounts, but I promise I'll make it up to you somehow." And burst out laughing.

Playing into the role myself, I said, "Scott Thomas, if you don't tell me what is going on this instant, I'm walking out and never coming back." I turned toward the door, but he dove after me, and pulled me down to the floor.

"Now Marie," he said, "don't be like that, or I'll be forced to tie you up and do you know what." He rolled me on top, hiked my dress, and dug his fingers in my ass.

In my sweetest teenage voice, I said, "Daddy, are you going to spank me for arguing with you?"

My thong was covering nothing and he kneaded my bare butt, kissing me gently at the same time. He whispered, "You are just as hot as always, Karen. How come that idiot Sean let you get away?" Then he sat up, lifting me with him and set me down at the dining table. The moment was broken and I didn't have to answer the question I didn't want to answer anyway. He opened the fridge and asked, "Beer, soda, water?"

"Water is fine." I caught my breath and said, "What's the game plan? You said something about a reception?"

"Oh yeah, hang on a minute, I have to make two quick calls." He punched a number into his cell and smiled at me. When it answered, he said, "Olga, she's here. Made it on time. Are we still set for this afternoon?" There was fast talk from the other end. He motioned for me to stand up. "With clothing on?" he said into the phone. He whispered to me, "Olga is working on a dress for you for tonight, she wants your exact measurements, minus clothes." He pulled a tape out of a drawer and said, "Take you dress off." I glared at him, but undid my zipper and let it drop. "More conversation from the other end. "With or without bra," he said. More words from Olga and he laughed again. "Take your bra off. Olga says this is a special dress with builtin bra and she wants to know your bare breast measurement." And then he added, "And whether they are high, medium or saggy!" I glared some more, stared daggers at him, dropped my bra, and stuck out my chest. I have nice tits, which he knows very well. And they look even better since I started working out every day to help get over Sean.

His eyes widened as the tape went around me. "Thirty-four and a half," he said into the phone. The tape went around my waist and my hips. "Twenty-three, and thirty-five," he said. More words from the other end. "Ok, just a sec." He got down on the floor and measured me from the floor to my knees, to the top of my hip bone, to my breast nipple, and to the top of my shoulder. These went into the phone and then a quick wrapup. "OK, she'll be there at two."

I looked at my watch, it was almost one o'clock. He was still sitting on the floor looking up at me. I had only a very small thong on, and it was getting wet fast. I sank into his lap and kissed him. "Mister, that was very invasive of my privacy. I don't take my clothes off for just anyone." He kissed me back and said, "You're right. I haven't seen you naked since we went skinny dipping in the mountains before you got married." His hands cupped my boobs, massaging them carefully and rolling my nipples. I felt a gush from down below.

I said, "Are you feeling me up for a reason?"

"You have the most amazing tits. I could do this all day."

I kissed him again, and said, "It feels very nice, but you told Olga I would be there by two?"

He hugged me and stood up, raising us together. The way he was tossing my 126 pounds around, it felt like he had been in the gym too. He turned me and gently replaced the bra, making sure everything was tucked in properly. Then helped me into the dress again.

Another phone call. "Yes, this is Scott Thomas, I'm calling to confirm a car for 1:30 to go to the Scottsdale Mountain Resort and Spa. Please make sure the bill is sent to me and the driver gets a generous tip."

He turned to me. "Here's the deal. Olga Menshikov runs the finest women's salon in the area, and I've known her ever since she did a makeover on my former boss's mistress. Very discreetly, of course."

"She is going out of her way to beautify you for the reception tonight. She is providing 100% of everything you will need. Clothes, body workup, hair styling, everything. The reception is from 5-7 at the Biltmore. That's early, because a lot of people are going on to the Entrepreneur's Ball. But since I'm currently unemployed, we are not. I know a quiet low key place in Phoenix where we can get a nice meal and talk."

He added, "Don't worry about jewelry. I've thought of that and will bring it with me when I pick you up at Olga's just at five."

A horrible thought occurred to me. "Scott, you're not going to get me all fixed up and make me ride the bike, are you?"

"Don't worry, you'll be pleased with your ride to the Biltmore. By the way, you are my sister to Olga, but at the reception, you are my mother's college roommate's daughter, here in town to interview for a very high level engineering job."

Oh wow, I thought, something's going on around here.

Chapter 2 - A Visit to Olga's

The spa receptionist stood up as soon as I told her my name and said, 'Oh yes, please come this way."

Olga was waiting for me in a largish dressing room with clothes hanging around the walls, several sewing machines, and two assistants.

"Ah, Madam Thomas, it is so good to have you visit my humble salon." Her accent was partly Russian and partly French.

I answered in French, "But it is I who am honored to be in your care. My brother says there is no one in Arizona who understands women as you do."

She smiled and replied in fluent, liquid French, "I think perhaps you and I will do something to surprise your brother and his friends tonight. Would you mind if I helped you out of your clothes? We are all girls here and they will be helping with your program for this afternoon."

In a flash, I was down to my thong and being examined by three pairs of intent eyes. I was introduced to Evette, who was my body person. Then to Louise, who was my hair and makeup stylist. Yet another young woman walked in, who turned out to be Simone, Olga's head seamstress, who would do the finishing touches on the dress.

Olga said, "Girls, we have a perfect body here. It is a challenge to transform her, for one night, into a glorious vision of passionate womanhood." This sounded a lot better and sexier in French than in English.

The dress was black with intricate deep red embroidery and detailing. Underneath, there was one tulle slip. Olga said, "In Paris, for an opera gown, the skirt would be long and very full. But here in the desert, it is too warm for that. But we need just a little fullness to make sure there is no cling."

Simone helped me into the dress. Scott had said it had a builtin bra and it did, but something was not quite right. Simone pulled the zipper down and folded the front below my breasts. The two of them removed the foam lining of the bodice. Olga said to me, "Madam, I need to fix your breasts for a moment, please do not move." Then she quickly slapped both sides of each breast sharply. I drew in my breath. Evette came up with lotion on her hands and massaged them, pulling the nipples up and outward.

When they were done, my bosom was as high and full as I've ever seen it. Then the dress was zipped back up and everyone stood looking at it and me. Acres of my heaving pink chest were showing. Without the foam, my nipples were prominently pushing the dress material out.

Olga stood behind me and pushed and pulled on my breasts some more. "Now, please, walk to the end of the room and come back."

I remembered something I had heard about runway model posture. Shoulders back, butt tucked under, legs striding straight ahead. I did my amateur best. As I turned and came back, all four women were smiling and clapping.

"Perfect," was Olga's verdict. "We need to make just a few adjustments to match your measurements. She knelt with a tape and called out numbers to Simone faster than I could follow.

I said, meekly, "Uh, could we make the dress cover my nipples? I don't really need to show off everything." And then added a euphemism in French for a woman of shady reputation. Not a whore, but close.

This provoked great laughter. "Oui, Madam," said Olga. And added in French, "Nipples are for your lover, not for every idle eye!" We all laughed again.

They eased me out of my dress, and Evette motioned that I should follow her. Down the hall and into another room with massage tables, steam compartments, and baths. She closed the door and flicked a lock, smiling at me, "We do not have much time and do not need to be disturbed."

She took off her smock and hung it on the door. Underneath, she had on a two piece outfit that looked like gym clothing. She noticed my glance and said, "My work gets me very warm so this is just enough to be decent."

She came over to me with a low stool, then sat on it and eased my thong down my legs. "I need to check your muscle tone, will you please just stand relaxed for me for a moment?" Her hands quickly moved over my body, poking and prodding, pulling and pushing. She stood up, went to a sink and filled a glass with something from a quart bottle. She came back and said, "Drink this, it is just a tonic that helps with the massage. Please get up on the table."

She began working on my legs and then my buttocks. Her strong sharp fingers were digging into me. She suddenly said, "You have not done number 2 today, have you?"

I looked at her startled, wondering how she knew I hadn't had time to take care of that.

"It's all right, come over here." She led me to a counter in the corner with a bar on it. "Just grab the bar, bend over, and hold still, please." I could hear water running behind me, then her lubricated fingers were rubbing down my crease to my anus and gently forcing it open. Something entered beside her fingers and then something quite a bit bigger popped in. A warm sensation filled me as she squeezed the enema bottle. It was very pleasant. I tried to remember the last time I had been cleaned out. Maybe never.

Evette said, "I'll work on your back and shoulders while we wait for that to work. Tell me when you start cramping."

For a few minutes everything was fine, and her hands were doing wonderful things to my back. But then a churning in my bowel began. I told her this and she said, "Just a few more minutes to get the best results. We want you to be super clean for this evening, don't we?"

I nodded and her hands went back to work. But this time, she was working around to my front, pinching my nipples, then kneading my belly and diving into my pussy, pulling hair and pinching my clit.

"Evette, stop that. Can't you see I need to go?"

"Yes, yes, in a minute, cherie." Her fingers were driving me crazy. I was hopping up and down, the sensations from inside me matched by pain and pleasure from outside. She led me to a table and scooted my rear up onto it. The fingers were still rubbing and pinching and I was starting to scream. A terrible cramp seized me and I grabbed my belly.

Evette's eyes gleamed at me, "Almost there, honey." No French now, just hard Arizona twang. Her hands were busy underneath me, connecting something to the tube that was in me. I could hardly stand the pressure in my bowel, worried that an accident was about to happen. Then, with no warning, her face was in my pussy, licking and biting my clit. She looked up, "Cum for me, now. Cum now!"

She turned something and all of a sudden everything was emptying out of me. And I was climaxing like crazy. I couldn't believe it, an enema and an orgasm at the same moment. I shook and screamed and fainted.

When I came to, Evette was wiping my face and kissing me gently on the lips. "Was that nice?"

"That was sheer torture and you know it, " I said bitterly. I was shaking and tingling all over. My toes were twitching.

She kissed me harder. "I could tell from the minute I saw you that you would have an outstanding sexual response. Your eyes, the way you hold your head, those fantastic breasts, the muscle tone in your legs and buttocks."

The kissing and compliments were beginning to work me up again. She continued, "Did you know that many of the same nerves go to your bowel and anus that go to your vagina and clitoris? I didn't really need to give you that enema to make you cum, but I guessed that it would be better for you if I did."

"But you tortured me, " I sputtered. As I spoke she was gently fastening something to my wrists, waist and legs. Then suddenly I was immobilized.

"Now what are you doing," I quavered.

"It's time for your waxing," she said. 'You have a lot of body hair that has to go. Olga is very particular that any woman she works on has to be clean as a whistle. Even women who are careful can't get everywhere."

As I lay there silently, still reeling from the total body experience I just had, she brought over a jar and started layering the material on me, including my pussy.

"Even my bottom?" I asked.

She nodded, "And all the way around to the back side where you can't get to."

When she finished, she said, 'While that sets up, I want one of our house physicians to take a quick look at your clitoris. I saw something that might need attention."

"But this is a spa, I'll have my own doctor look at it if you tell me what the problem is."

"Don't worry, this will just take a minute." She picked up the phone, punched two buttons and when it was answered, she said, "Doctor Jones, could you come to room 5 for a moment. I have something interesting for you to look at."

While we were waiting, Evette said to me, "Some women ask us to knock them out when we remove the wax. We just use a mild sedative, it only lasts a few minutes."

I said that if it was just a few minutes, that would be ok. I'd been tortured enough already this afternoon.

Doctor Jones came quietly in a back entrance and stepped up to me, "And your name is?"

"Karen Thomas, Doctor. Would you please tell me what this is about?"

"Just a moment, I'll have a look at you and we'll know what the difficulty is"

She moved to my waist and, adjusting her magnifying spectacles, looked closely at my labia and swollen clit pushing up from its hood. She said, "Evette, have you been abusing this poor woman?" Her fingers gently peeled back my labia and she tweaked my clitoris, moving it from side to side and up and down. I grunted and twitched in my restraints.