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Chapter 7 - Mikado
When Margery had reached home this morning to change after her night at the Plaza Grand, she'd been tingling with excitement and anticipation. Kat was to be let out of her bag once more. She chose her garter belt and nylons carefully and checked in her mirror-wall that all was in order before putting on her outer clothes with tonight in mind. Widget or no widget.
This week had gone so well. It was out shopping on Monday, that she'd seen her chance to move on to the next step in recruiting the new girl, Bianca. Then Bianca had suggested a money making winner and by a stroke of luck, yesterday had been the day of the developers' Christmas party, allowing her to make a pre-emptive strike on Mohandas, who's already turned Bianca's head. And then the boy had turned out to be so clever and produced her widget in a few hours in this Aladdin's cave. It was a whole flock of birds with one stone or in this case, the purchase of one pair of knickers.
So far her day has gone like clockwork, exactly as she had planned. Now Mohandas' Fragonard has suggested the first stage in his training this evening.
After her visit to the loo to adjust her clothes they met back in Mohandas' workroom where Margery explained his challenge. It was to create a game that she called Mikado. She began to explain that The Mikado was an operetta by the satirist WS Gilbert's who wrote the songs to the music of Sir Arthur Sullivan and that it is set on Japan in a fictional town called Titi-poo. She had intended to have him watch it from one of the many versions in The Cloud but he was already familiar with it. His familiarity saved her a couple of hours.
In the game he was to write players have to match suddenly appearing creatures called 'Titis' with objects called 'Poos'. Poos are real places and can be almost anywhere. But because they may be in strange spots, and are not always available, they can be difficult for Titis to find. A mapping feature would show both Titi creatures and the relative location of Poo objects appearing and disappearing as a match is made. As a Titi is matched with a Poo both would disappear and a golden token would be collected by Mikado from the Titi. Mikado would then pass a brown token, that is a fraction of the golden token, to the Poo object.
Mohandas was delighted with the reference to Titi-poo. Kat paced about his workroom, explaining in more detail, while he was swivelling about on his office chair smiling stupidly and acting like a smartarse. He was watching her with delight, no doubt anticipating taking her to his bedroom, when he made the mistake of saying:
"So I suppose that's Kat as in Katisha?" forgetting that Katisha was a frighteningly ugly old maiden in the operetta.
"That's not at all nice," Kat shouted angrily, her hand reaching out at his bare arm, as fast as a cobra's strike.
Mohandas found himself flat on his back on his workroom floor staring up at Kat. Catching him off balance she'd pulled him off his unstable chair, sending it skidding away on its side.
He was lying there appalled at his stupid gaff. By asking if Kat was Katisha he hadn't meant to imply that she was old; and certainly not ugly. She is older than he is, maybe five or ten years? But that's marvellous, it gives her confidence and maturity that a younger woman can't match. And she's by far the most beautiful woman he's ever been intimate with.
He'd tried to get up but she immediately pushed him back firmly with the point of her stiletto heeled shoe.
"Put your hands in your trouser pockets. And don't you dare take them out," she'd demanded, smiling as he instantly obeyed her, watching her like a naughty puppy.
Sensing the occasion Kat began stalking back and forth across his workroom, displaying herself to him like a super-model on the catwalk: 'Today Kat is wearing a revealing loose silk blouse; black skirt and dark stockings above her black patent leather shoes with their pointed toes with tall metal stiletto heels.'
"So this is what you consider old and ugly?" she asked as she turned theatrically the first time.
Margery imagined a camera eye view from across the room and adjusted Kat's performance accordingly. She was recording this. Mohandas was to be a new work in her performance-art collection. With his hands effectively immobilised, Kat was able to arrange him, just so, on his glossy floor; walking away too look and coming back to make another adjustment. This was her overture to a new game of Kat and mouse.
Kat dragged his chair and righted it. Then steadying herself with a hand on its back, as a ballerina might on the bar, she placed her left foot next to Mohandas' head; raised her right leg over him; and touched her toe to her left knee.
"This is what you like isn't it? Or am I too old and ugly for you? Yes or no," she asked as she allowed him an unrestricted view up her skirt.
Below her, Mohandas was spellbound as he gazed up at the nest of soft dark hair that had so enthralled him last night. He didn't know what to answer. "Yes I mean No..." he mumbled and Kat smiled down at him unpleasantly.
At his inadequate answer she raised her knee and swung her leg wide, straightening her leg, pausing again before bringing her foot down quickly towards his head. Like a magpie defending her nest, Kat's shoe, with its long, sharp, glistening, stiletto heel, swooped down, in flashes of black and silver, at his face, her heel missing his eye by a centimetre. With his hands helplessly in his pockets Mohandas turned his head too late and flinched to protect his eyes. But now her leg swung up to the other limit and came back, like a pendulum, the other way, this time even closer. His head reflexively turned with it.
"Look at how hard you are you pervert! Why do you find looking up women's skirts so sexy? You weren't as turned on by the sight of my naked body last night," she told him.
Again and again the heel swooped at him, until his head no longer spun but froze his eyes flinching upwards in fear and awe. He hadn't realised that he was turned on, except perhaps like the proverbial condemned man awaiting execution. His overwhelming awareness was of fear interspersed with relief as she missed him once again.
In her detached mind, Margery watched Mohandas' reactions with the attention of an anaesthetist. She was working on one hormone after another. Earlier it had been testosterone, dopamine and oxytocin. Soon his adrenaline would redline then Kat would begin the cycle again. Over the coming weeks Kat would subject him to a number of her games to addict him to his own hormones; and a couple of little extras. He would experience this addiction as passionate, irrational love for her.
At Kat's suggestion that he was turned on by his up-skirt view, and was getting harder, he realised that it was true. Like the fellow beneath the swing in the Fragonard, at each frightening swoop he caught a glimpse of that voluptuous nest. Norepinephrine had been stimulated. He was indeed becoming increasingly aroused by her sexuality. He was a rider on a frightening roller-coaster. Each time the magpie reached the top of its arc it paused, and he breathed again, before it swooped down again in another terrifying yet amazingly exciting attack.
Abruptly Kat stopped and stared down at him angrily: "You have a wet patch on your pants, you pervert! How do you explain this? Do you still think I'm and ugly old spinster?" she shouted.
"No. I didn't mean that, I..," he managed to stammer. Kat was smiling at his confusion.
Perhaps she was just kidding again he wondered, because she was now unhooking and unzipping the waist fastening of her skirt. It dropped to the floor and she stepped out. With a flick of her toe it flew away, skidding to a halt across the polished wooden floor.
"Push those dirty pants down," she told him unbuttoning her blouse. "Leave you shoes on."
"Thank goodness," he thought, "we're going to have sex at last. She's forgiven me." Serotonin flooded his system. This was how she had begun last night's first athletic adventure. The moment the hotel door had shut, she'd undone his belt and lowered his pants to his ankles. Then she'd pushed him stumbling back to a chair before pulling him to the floor and mounting him, her dress hitched up to her waist.
She was watching smiling, as he fumbled to free his hands from his pockets and then with his belt and fly and underpants, amused at his haste to get ready for what was to come next.
"Lower them right down to your ankles."
With his pants around his ankles, caught above his shoes, he was at her mercy yet again.
"Arms behind your back," she added, standing almost naked above him. But this time she did not lower herself onto him.
Mohandas felt a hard shoe forced between his thighs and her pointed toe pushing gently against his balls. His feet came up automatically and his knees bent wide to allow her greater access.
"It's time to prove you like me," she commanded. "Show me you didn't mean to say I was ugly. Or do you really think I'm old and ugly? Come on show me!"
Her prodding toe was not at all gentle but his excitement grew steadily with each little kick of her foot. Dopamine again.
But then, before he could reach the climax, that she apparently wanted and that he now so desperately desired, her toe was gone. Kat had stepped around the other way and renewed her mock interrogation.
"What about my arse? Is it old and saggy? Take a good look and tell me," she demanded; displaying herself with her hands; turning her body and smiling at him seductively.
"No. It's beautiful. Everything about you is beautiful," he managed to mumble disjointedly.
As a reward for the right answer, her heel began bumping back into him rhythmically between his legs. It felt even better.
"Toes and heels, pleasure and pain," she said, but he didn't understand until her heel stepped down on his scrotum, right on top of his right testicle.
A searing, numbing, pain shot through his lower torso then another as she applied a second pulse of pressure. Terror swept over him, adrenaline.
"If you want to insult me by calling me Katisha," she growled, "the ugly old maiden who is 'just a little teeny weeny wee bit bloodthirsty', remember she's the one who says: 'My wrongs with vengeance shall be crowned'."
Mohandas screamed, like a steer branded. Then he was silent.
He'd briefly blacked out. When he came to his senses Kat was standing over him, hands on hips. Her foot came up to his mouth.
"Now lick!" she demanded.
He wasn't sure if it was out of fear or a desire to please but he did as he was told.
As his stubby tongue began cleaning the bottom of her shoe Kat was delighted. As he licked she directed him to be more diligent: here or there.
When she was satisfied she changed feet and he began on the second sole without questioning. It was the dopamine.
Margery, again imagining herself watching this performance from a camera eye view, couldn't wait to tell Bianca about the new shoe cleaning wallah. Perhaps she could take Bianca shoe shopping next and then casually offer his services? But not just yet; not until Bianca was hers too.
"Stop licking!" she told him.
As his reward she walked over to his sound system and touched the screen. Earlier he'd been keen to show her how to use it and delighted at her interest.
Music filled the workroom. His state-of-the-art sound drivers replicated those original sound pressure waves as if a real orchestra was actually in the room. It was the overture to The Mikado.
Kat had also been to her bag and was pulling on surgical gloves and carrying a tube of lubricant. As the music began she knelt between his knees on top of his pants and took his genitals in her hands.
"Look at me," she demanded over the music as she began, "You see, I'm not so old or ugly after all."
As the music played he squirmed to her expert medical manipulations in a most satisfactory way. She knew her way around a man's body as well as an old-time urologist. More dopamine; norepinephrine; and adrenaline were being secreted as she worked.
"The overture's about to end," she warned him at last, "You need to be quick now... that's it... good boy!"
From now on he would forever associate that music with this experience.
She was walking around again, talking to him in a matter of fact way like a doctor, pulling off the gloves, as if what had just happened was a normal everyday occurrence, like drying her hands. He would not have been surprised if she had given him a diagnosis. Instead she was talking about his challenge.
"Tomorrow I want you to be up at six to begin work on Mikado. I'll give you until six in the evening to prove that you are up to it; or I'll find someone else."
He was taken aback. He had thought her coding challenge was some sort of test of his worthiness like a challenging game of chess, now she was talking as if developing her idea, for her Mikado game, was central to their relationship. He needed to reorientate. Wasn't this simply two new acquaintances getting together as friends and lovers in the hope of an ongoing relationship; or at least of a few hours of fun? Yet Kat was talking as if this was a business proposition in which he was to be her unpaid employee. She'll get someone else?
"To help you get a feeling for my game I want you to play the music from The Mikado as you work. I'll be expecting real progress. I'll take a copy of everything home and check your work tomorrow night. Remember this is just between me and you: Our little secret. Under no circumstances are you to save anything to The Cloud or to any machine outside this apartment."
Did she think she could command him to write code for her? He was indignant and it probably showed. She'd stopped talking and was standing over him again. Her whole demeanour had changed.
"Why are you still lying there pervert? You're a deviant. All you needed to get you off was a look up my skirt and my hand around your balls. Now you're just pathetic, lying on the floor like that, with your pants around your ankles and your secretions all over you. Go and have a shower and wash it off. You're disgusting."
He heard the scorn in her voice. At the words 'pathetic' and 'disgusting' and recalling what she had done he suddenly felt debased. Again the adrenaline surged through his body as his anger rose.
She'd calmly played him like an animal and then told him that if he didn't work as her developer she'd get someone else. This wasn't a love affair or even a lust affair. She sounded as if she didn't even like him. It was obvious that all she really wanted was for him to build Mikado. And he'd licked the filthy soles of her shoes. He'd been abused but he was dammed if he would be used. With his rage growing like a fire, at Kat and at himself, for letting all that happen, he awkwardly untangled his pants and pulled them up. Now very stiff, he stumbled to his feet. She let out a little shriek of amusement as he almost fell. It made him angrier still.
As he reached his bathroom he pulled off his shoes, socks and all; tore off his pants, destroying the fly; and slammed into his shower. There was no way that he was going to work on her stupid game. Get someone else. He would through her out as soon as he could get dressed and restore some self-respect. He wailed like an animal. He was on the verge of tears.
After five minutes neatly folding her skirt and blouse and happily collecting her little cameras, Margery skipped out of her shoes and silently followed Mohandas in her stocking feet. She listened for his shower then tip-toed into his bedroom and stood with her back to the wall beside his bathroom door. When he came out she grabbed him playfully from behind.
Mohandas wanted to shake free but Kat was really strong. Then he felt her cool breasts against his warm back. Her firm nipples suggested that she was aroused. Her arms enfolded him and her hands began caressing his naked body. He relaxed. She felt like a different person: without her shoes: not so tall; softer; more loving; and definitely sexually aroused.
"I'm sorry to have hurt you like that and made you lick my shoes my love. I was terrible to you," she confessed sorrowfully in his ear. "Can you ever forgive me? But you'd been a very naughty boy. You shouldn't have insulted me. By calling me an ugly old spinster you really hurt my feelings. Can we please go back to where we were this morning and put all this behind us?"
He realised that the last hour was an aberration and all his fault. No woman likes to be insulted. His eyes closed in ecstasy and he moaned happily as she kissed his neck and upturned mouth; and held him in her loving embrace. He was so grateful to be forgiven for his insults and then for his shameful behaviour during the past hour, because that's all it had been, when he'd been so fearful, servile and contemptible. His body was suffused with love for her as his hormones adjusted.
"Now, to show you how sorry I am, I have a little present for you," she whispered in his ear.
But Kat's gift was not what he expected. She popped a capsule into his open mouth. Like a dog at the vet's his first reaction was to spit it out but he couldn't, her hand was firmly on his chin holding his jaw shut. Her other hand was stroking his throat. But he was holding it firmly behind his teeth with his tongue. Again with this new shock the adrenaline had taken hold. So she grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head back. Even without her shoes she was taller. Her face was over his. Now his mouth was held open by the hand on his chin. Before he could push it out she'd stuck her tongue into his mouth and was thrusting his capsule down his gullet. He was choking on their combined saliva. He swallowed it.
Margery had wanted to test this new recipe for its effect on a man for some time. It was a new compound of sildenafil and psilocybin, the active ingredients in Viagra and magic mushrooms, that she'd ground together. They would make a nice cocktail with all those natural hormones that she'd made him release during his initial training session.
Mohandas had never been kissed for so long or so erotically and he was ecstatic. The hormonal roller coaster was delivering another dose of excitement. Had they tumbled or was he pushed over the waterfall? Now they lay on their sides, with Kat still embracing him from behind, on his bed. His mind was drifting. Kat felt warm against his back. The abrasive feel of her garter belt and stockings against his nakedness, as her legs wrapped around his, was extraordinary to him. Her arms seemed to be multiplying, like those of Parvati, her many hands playing across the front of his body. He was becoming astonishingly erect, almost painfully so.
Without really understanding what was happening Kat had climbed over him and was using him for sex. She seemed to enjoy herself enormously in what seemed to be an endless orgasm. He was drifting and had lost track of time.
Later, over coffee in his living room, when he was clearer in the head, Kat told him that she was looking forward to doing this again tomorrow night:
"Tomorrow evening we can do it all again or try some variations on this evening's games that you'll enjoy even more," she whispered across the rim of her cup suggestively, as they sat naked side by side, his knee touching hers, on his favourite sofa.
He wasn't sure which part Kat wanted to repeat but he realised he didn't mind, even the pain or licking her shoes. It had been the best night of his life and she was promising to do it again tomorrow. Of course he would spend a day working on her project.
She suggested that he get his quilt and lie down here on the sofa with his head in her lap. He was warm beneath his feathery quilt and Kat's intimate smell was wonderful. The music was again playing softly in the background as Kat bent over him in a motherly way and gently stroked his forehead and face to its rhythm, softly talking to him, perhaps singing about a wandering minstrel, he couldn't remember, until he went to sleep.
He was just a boy really. As his mind had drifted she'd bewitched him and embedded a spell to secure his future obedience. Given their real age difference he could be her son. A sudden wave of grief for what might have been swept over Margery. Then her heart hardened against the world again. Someone had to pay for all that.
She got up; showered; dressed; and left invisibly, using his widget. From this night forth Mohandas would submit to Kat again and again, becoming increasingly addicted to his own hormones until he begged for her abuse. He would be Margery's too, to work on her project for as long as she needed him.
Of course Margery had no intention of checking his work. In fact she had no idea what all those symbols meant. She could barely read normal text. She had tried her usual strategy of sounding out the letters to no avail it must be another language altogether.
Tomorrow, Friday, Mohandas would call in sick as instructed and start work on Mikado. To preserve her privacy she would fly here after dark, so it would be well after six when she came to check on his progress. She'd said that he was to work six to six because it was important that he waited for her tomorrow night on tenterhooks, in uncertainty and anticipation.
With the help of Circe, her VPA, she'd checked out an on-line source that had recommended a specific requirement for a management console in which all constants could be seen and altered if necessary. She'd made a list of the essential variables that she'd need to change: the name and version of the App; the publisher and copyright details; token values; links to related resources like maps; dates. She'd left him a sheet of specifications, which she'd printed out with the aid of Circe, on his desk. She would add to them and revise them as the project developed. She anticipated that Mikado would take some weeks. So on Monday he would need to call in sick again. But he didn't know that yet.
As she arrived home Margery was elated.
These days she keeps a video-diary of her conquests. It's not just to gain control or even for a sexual pleasure she can derive from replaying her recordings. What started out as a useful means of controlling others has become her hobby. Like other hobbyists she keep abreast of the technology and employs the latest micro-cameras. They're chameleon, clinging to and mimicking any surface almost invisibly, except for the tiny lens that swivels and pans, automatically framing any movement. She likes to imagine that there's a diminutive voyeur inside each camera scanning the room for carnal action then leaning forward lecherously; peering through the peephole; hands on genitals; getting increasingly excited as Kat performs for them. She's become a true video artist, creating performance works for herself and perhaps for an intimate friend. It's been a little while since Margery's last disciple, Annette, proved to be unsuitable and met with a nasty accident. But soon Bianca will be sufficiently close to appreciate Kat's art with her.
She stripped then popped a bottle of her favourite vintage bubbly and poured herself a glass, holding it up to her reflection in her living room mirror-wall to congratulate herself. Where would she hang the Balthus? And who was that irresistible seductress over there? Nearly thirty years of doing this and she was getting better and better at it. Mohandas' first day traversing The Garden of Earthly Delights had been a triumph. She'd achieved his initial excursion into the central panel within a day of their first meeting.
Her alter-ego, Kat, could now have all the time she wanted to play with this latest mouse, softening-up her captive all the while, as domestic cats do, until his introduction to the third panel and his inevitable, delicious, demise.