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From: "Louis Nessus" <nessus29@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} NEW NESSUS: Berlin ( FemDom)
Date: Fri,  7 Sep 2001 05:10:01 -0400
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This story is intended for the enjoyment of adults over the age of 18 or
whatever the legal age is in your part of the universe.  It contains
fantasy scenes of graphic sexual activity.  Please, if you are under the
age of 18, or if you may be offended by such material, use your
intelligence and read no further - delete the file.  Otherwise ....enjoy!

   Berlin By Nessus(C)



   Prologue: Berlin 'In Berlin by the wall You were five foot ten inches
tall.  It was very nice Candlelight and Dubonnet on ice

   We were in a small cafe You could hear the guitars play It was very nice
Oh, honey it was paradise' (Berlin - Lou Reed)

   I guess we all have life changing moments or, perhaps, a better
definition would be life shaping moments.  Looking back over the years, I
can identify many such moments.  Am I extremely fortunate to have had so
many crammed into my life or am I being punished for something I have done,
people I've hurt?  After all these years I still don't have an answer and
I've stopped looking, relishing instead the memories.

   Where did it all begin?  I lightly moved my paintbrush over the canvas
and looked back through the years, the years of a man.

   My life took a sharp turn down a different road when I stayed in Berlin
for a few months many years ago, a road I have followed for the remainder
of my life as, in reality, I've had no choice.  I also would not have
wanted it any other way.

   Exactly when did that first life shaping moment occur?  Was it when I
stood in the London rain outside the grand old newspaper 'The Daily
Empire'? Or was it when Claire offered me an alternative escape route that
same damp afternoon in the 'Kings and Keys'?

   Or, maybe it was everyday I spent with Caroline in Berlin?

   'Oh, honey it was paradise'

   Part 1: Men of Good Fortune 'Men of good fortune, often cause empires to
fall while men of poor beginnings, often can't do anything at all.  The
rich son waits for his father to die The poor just drink and cry And me I
just don't care at all' (Men of Good Fortune - Lou Reed)

   My father called me as soon as he heard which was about forty minutes
after it happened.  I was standing in the drizzling rain, a sodden
cardboard box filled with my meagre personal effects, wondering what I was
going to do next when my cell phone chimed in my overcoat pocket.

   "James," he boomed down the line.  "What are you going to do now?"

   "What do you mean?" I said weakly.

   "Don't bullshit me, my boy.  Clarkson just fired you, didn't he?"

   "It was a difference of opinion," I said defensively, watching a bus
splash through some puddles on the road.

   "You don't have differences of opinion with the editor of the best
newspaper in London, especially when you're low down in the pecking order,"
he said mildly.  "Clarkson told me he fired you because you just fucking
lazy!"

   That solved the question of how my father found out about it so quickly.
"Not lazy, maybe I procrastinated a little on some tasks.  Anyway, I
resigned," I added plaintively.

   "Fool yourself, Einstein, if you want," he said sarcastically.  "Christ
knows why I let your mother talk me into sending you to school in England.
You've become more of a limey than an American.  You haven't been home for
nearly three years!  The only time I saw you was when Lois and I flew to
London eighteen months ago!"

   "Can we leave Mother out of this, please!" Especially in the same breath
as Lois, I thought meanly.

   He ignored me and kept on.  "I've deposited enough money in your account
to buy a ticket back to New York.  You can work for me." He hung up without
another word and my heart sank at the thought of being absorbed into my
father's huge corporation.  I had worked at carefully avoiding exactly that
fate as well as America for most of my life but it now appeared I had no
choice but to face it.  I had visions of myself wearing baseball caps
backwards and large, ill fitting cheap T-shirts with some obscure rap
artists name splayed across my chest.

   Moodily, I thrust my free hand into the pockets of my overcoat, the box
tucked under the other arm and sloshed through the rain to the pub.  A few
pots later, I had a nice beer chill happening when a few of my fellow
workers filed in.  "Sorry to see you go," Rodney said sheepishly.  "At
least you've got your father to help you out." Claire, an advertising
executive at the paper stood by Rodney's elbow and smiled at me.  As usual,
she was bloody gorgeous, long dark hair; wide staring brown eyes and lush
red and kissable lips.  We had been friendly at the newspaper but she was
such a dynamo, so focussed in the business that I felt a possibility of a
relationship was extremely remote, I mean, she was so beautiful, what could
she possibly see in me?  Every time I saw her I felt my cock stir but I
knew I would be wasting my time even trying to date her, especially since I
was pretty inept at that sort of thing.  "Guess you'll leave London?"
Rodney added.

   "Yes, I suppose that's unavoidable now," I muttered as I drained the
last of the lager.  Did I detect a note of happiness in his shrill and
irritating voice, I wondered?

   "I suppose you are going back to New York?" Claire asked and I just
shrugged, tapping the bar with the empty beer mug to attract the barmaids'
attention.  Rodney shuffled off, leaving us alone, and Claire moved a
little closer.  "Are you going back to New York?" she repeated and her
sharp tone made me turn back to her.

   "Hardly going back, Claire, I've just gone there for the school hols so
it's certainly not home for me." I sighed and shook my head.  "I hate the
bloody place but I don't have a choice, do I?" I said sulkily as I took the
new glass of beer.

   "Everybody has choices," she said firmly and, startled, I looked up at
her.  Claire smiled and flicked my hair with her fingers.  "Your hair has
turned frizzy in the rain.  Does your ever loving Daddy know you've grown
it?" I shook my head, as growing my hair long was a small rebellious act
that, in the long run, was probably futile because I knew I would cut it
before I saw him.  "So," Claire prompted quietly, "are you going back?"

   "I don't know," I said miserably.  "I don't know what to do.  I see
London as my home but once I get back to New York he won't let me come
back. I'll be watching gridiron before you know it!"

   "James, " she said with an exasperated air.  "Why do you allow your
father to make all the decisions in your life?"

   "He always has and he owns a gridiron team, by the way."

   "Who cares!  And you let him make all your decisions."

   "I suppose I do," I muttered.  "You don't know him, how ugly he can get,
how demanding!  Mother used to shield me but now..." I turned back to the
bar and I felt Claire's arm touch my elbow.

   "I sorry, James, about your Mother," she said softly.

   "Doesn't matter now," I said, turning to inspect the crowd as they
jostled in the bar.  Rain was falling steadily and the open fire to the
right crackled and danced in a merry way, completely the opposite to how I
was feeling.

   A lad with long hair in a skinny suit, tie hanging loose from his
collar, selected 'West End Girls' on the jukebox in the corner and the Pet
Shop Boys swirled in the air with the blue haze of cigarette smoke.  'In a
west end town a dead end world The east end boys and the west end girls
west end girls Too many shadows, whispering voices faces on posters, too
many choices'

   In spite of everything, I started to hum along with the music, life goes
on even though I'm jobless, even in the Kings and Keys on a wet London
afternoon with a soggy cardboard box filled with the remains of my
journalistic career.  Claire studied me for a moment, thinking something
through and then she spoke.  "I can help you make a decision," she said
quietly.  "At least I can give you another choice if you want one."

   I sipped the beer and nodded.  "Maybe.  What are you talking about?"

   She looked at me thoughtfully for a moment, then spoke, "I know of a job
in Berlin."

   "I don't speak German."

   She laughed softly.  "Is that your first reaction?  Look, it doesn't
matter.  The job is really private secretary to a German movie star.  She
speaks English and most of the people you'd be dealing with speak it as
well."

   "Private secretary," I said incredulously.  "I can't do that!"

   "Why not?" Claire suddenly snapped.  "Beneath you?"

   "No, I just wouldn't know what to do," I said defensively.

   Claire smiled strangely.  "Oh don't worry about that James, she'll tell
you what to do.  You'll enjoy it."

   "Who is she?"

   "A friend, someone I met a while ago and we have mutual interests,"
Claire said airily.  "You'll like her, everyone does.  What about it?"

   "I don't know.  I mean, Berlin?"

   "So go back to New York," she snapped.

   "I don't want that.  Berlin would have to be better than that.  I'll
have to tell father," I said, draining my beer.

   "Why?" Claire asked and I looked at her.  "Why tell him?  You're an
adult, you can make some decisions on your own, can't you?  Just tell him
you're not coming home."

   "Yes," I said slowly.  "I could but he would find me."

   "Not if you work under another name and I'm afraid you'll have to.  My
friend won't give you the job if she knows you're James McNamara, son of a
media magnate."

   "Change my name?  To what?"

   Claire thought for a moment and, with a sly smile, she leaned forward.
"How about Robin?  Robin Humphreys?"

   I looked at her in surprise wondering how she had thought of that so
quickly.  "Robin?  Isn't that a girls name?"

   Claire smiled and shook her head.  "Have you forgotten Robin Hood?"

   "Of course, Robin Hood." My mind whirled and I started to believe I
could just go away, ignore my father and do something else, something he
doesn't want me to do.  I felt a sense of relief surge through me as I
realised I had just made a decision, albeit with Claire's help.  "Robin
Hood," I joked.  "I won't have to wear green tights, will I?"

   Claire smiled strangely at me over her glass.  "No," she murmured "Not
straight away, anyway." Startled, I stared at her and she smiled warmly
back at me.  "Just a joke, James," she said, patting my arm.  "We'll just
change your last name so you'll be James Humphreys.  And don't worry, I'll
help you make all the arrangements."

   I was surprised when Claire took complete control of the arrangements
but as she seemed to know what she was doing so I let her, allowing myself
to be swept along with the flow.

   One grey afternoon, Claire was helping me pack when I suddenly realised
I had no idea who I would be working for.  "Claire," I said, frozen in the
midst of folding some shirts.  "Exactly who will I be working for when I go
to Berlin?"

   She smiled at me.  "I thought you had no interest in where you were
going?" she teased as she rummaged in her briefcase.  "You will me working
for Caroline Bahlsen."

   "Never heard of her," I said, finishing folding the shirt.

   "Here," Claire said, handing me a photograph of a woman.  It was
obviously a publicity still as she was wearing a flowing white dress and
posed against a tree with a small dark cigarette in one hand.  Although she
was much older than I, she was extremely attractive.

   "Gosh," I breathed.  "She's beautiful."

   "The photo doesn't do her justice," Claire said.  "Wait until you see
her."

   I turned the photograph around and saw something written on the back. 
Although it was written in German, I could decipher Claire's' name.  "What
does this say?"

   "Oh, just warm regards or something like that," she said airily.

   "Why are you doing all this?" I asked quietly and Claire stopped folding
to look at me.

   "You don't know?" I shook my head slowly, feeling a little stupid.  "I
like you, James, in fact," she added in that serious tone of hers, "I like
you a lot."

   "Me?" I yelped in surprise.  "But, I never knew," I stammered.

   Claire laughed.  "Never mind, James, we aren't quite ready for each
other yet.  Now, what other clothes have you got to pack?"

   Soon, my flat was wound up, my belongings except for some of my clothes
were placed in storage and James Humprehys was ready to travel to Berlin.

   "Goodbye, James," Claire said at the airport and she quickly pecked me
on the cheek.

   "Thanks for arranging everything," I said sheepishly, wondering if I
should hug and kiss her.

   Her leather coat creaked as she folded her arms and she looked me up and
down.  "Give my regards to Caroline and don't worry, she'll like you, you
look sweet," she said.  "Just remember she has a bad temper so don't get
her angry.  Enjoy your self," she added with a strange smile and quickly
walked away without a backward glance.

   Once again, I checked the written instructions Claire had given me and
wondered, for the thousandth time, what Caroline Bahlsen was like.

   Part 2: Loving the Alien 'Watching them come and go The Templars and the
Saracens They're travelling the Holy land Opening telegrams oh oh' (Loving
the Alien - David Bowie)

   The plane was full of serious businessmen and women, deep in sheafs of
papers and laptop computers as we spiralled towards Germany.  My feelings
were mixed.  On one hand I was relieved I had something to go to, while on
the other I wondered how I would fare in a strange country.  I had never
been to Germany; somehow I had avoided it in my quick jaunts across the
channel, choosing instead to visit France and Spain.

   I took a cab to the hotel Claire had reserved for my first night as
Caroline Bahlsen expected me early tomorrow morning.  The Hotel Tiergarten
was a small hotel reasonably close to the Alexanderplatz and, the cab
driver assured me, assuming I was another English Public Servant, easy to
get to the government buildings.

   After checking in, I spent a while wandering the city, taking the
underground from Tumstr three stops to Kurfurstendamm.  People ebbed and
flowed around me but I felt apart, separate and detached as I knew I was
only avoiding the inevitable so I wandered back to my room.

   For sometime I perched on the edge of the bed staring at the telephone
until finally, I plucked up enough courage to ring New York.  A deep breath
and I picked the phone up, my hand trembling as I rang the direct number to
my father's office.

   "Yeah?" a soft voice musically answered and I felt a surge of relief, as
it was Susan, my father's long serving personal assistant.

   "Susan," I said quickly.  "It's James."

   "Jimmy," she exclaimed with genuine delight.  "You've still got that
sexy little accent, honey," she drawled.  "It's great to hear from you. 
Your father isn't here but Bob is.  Will I put you through?"

   I agreed and a moment later my stepbrother answered.  "Jimmy, is that
you?"

   "Hello Bob.  How are you?" I asked politely.  We were not close, the
hostile divorce followed by my father marrying his mother, Lois, put a
strain on our interactions, especially after my mother died.

   "Fucking busy, as usual.  Hear you're coming home?"

   "Ah, actually, no."

   "No?  What do you mean?"

   "I have something else to go to so I'll be busy for a while.  Tell
Father, will you?"

   "Tell father, will you," he mimicked.  "Hey, buddy, you know it's not
going to be that easy.  He's not going to like it," Bob warned.  "He'll
come looking for you, Jim and he will be really pissed.  You know what he's
like, man."

   "He won't find me.  Look, I have to go.  Do your best to calm him down
for me?"

   "Ok, I'll do what I can.  Jim," he added after a moment, "good luck."

   "Thank you Bob.  Good luck in running the corporation."

   "Me?  That's not decided," he said quickly and I smiled to myself in my
small hotel room, imagining Bob sitting astride a huge leather chair while
New York sprawled, ready to be taken, outside his skyscraper window.

   "I don't want it, Bob," I said and realised for the first time that was
true.  "I really don't and you do.  And you are good at it.  Good luck," I
added and I meant it.

   "Thanks Jimmy," he said very slowly and paused.  "I'll do what I can for
you, man," he added after a moment.  "Take care, man," he said and I hung
up.  I never spoke to him again although, over the years, I've seen
photographs of him in magazines with his wives and many children and I knew
I made the right decision.

   I spent a lonely night in my room watching German television, a surreal
experience, and half expected my father and some of his people to come
bursting through the door to take me back.  After tossing and turning all
night, I checked out and took a cab to the address Claire had provided.

   Flecks of snow were visible on the wind as I scurried for a cab in the
busy streets.  Unfortunately, I was running late when the cab dropped me
off outside Caroline Bahlsen's house, which was surrounded by a high wall.
Nervously, I buzzed the intercom and a female voice snappily said, "Guten
Morgen".

   "Ah, James Humphrey's to see Caroline Bahlsen," I said into the small
grill, smiling sheepishly when I realised that I was being watched from a
security camera.

   "You are late," the woman snapped in English and the gate slowly opened.
She was waiting for me at the front door and I gaped at her.  Claire was
right, the photograph did not do her justice and she was extraordinarily
beautiful.  Her blonde hair framed her regal features and she was dressed
in a simple pale blouse and long flowing black skirt.  "I do not appreciate
lateness," she said coldly as she held the door open for me and motioned
for me to quickly to enter.

   "I am so sorry, Ms Bahlsen," I stuttered.  "This is my first visit to
Berlin." I looked around as we stood in the foyer.  It was a dark area; a
single chandelier hung from the domed ceiling and cast deep shadows against
the paintings on the walls that surrounded us.  The paintings were
portraits of serious people who all looked like they also disapproved of my
lateness.

   A large staircase wound its way upward to the light, I saw a large fern
on a landing perched on a carved table and a leather armchair.  Music, I
guessed it was Mozart, played quietly in the background and pale light
filtered down from a frosted sky light at the top of the stairs.

   "A poor excuse,' she interrupted me and pointed to a door under the
staircase.  "Your room is there.  Leave your luggage there and join me in
the office." Without another word, she strode off into a doorway close to
the stair well.  The room under the stairs was small but comfortable and I
left my suitcase on the narrow iron bed and quickly walked to the other
room where Caroline was waiting.

   She was standing next to a long window that overlooked the street, sheer
white curtains stirred around her as she sucked on a short, dark cigarette.
"I despise lateness," she said, not looking around as I entered.  "It is a
sign of weakness." The room was hot from the central heating and I
suspected she had the window open to remove the cigarette odour.

   "I am terribly sorry, Ms Bahlsen," I said quickly.  "It won't happen
again."

   Her eyes ran over me and I was startled by how blue they were, a cold
blue that seem to be impassive to all that went on around them.  "Nein,"
she said calmly, closing the window with a bang.  "It will not happen
again." I watched as she moved to a white sofa adjoining the fireplace and
sat, arranging her long flared black skirt around her.  "So," Caroline said
in that crisp accented English I was becoming used to, "you are recommended
by Claire?"

   "Yes," I said nervously, wondering if I should sit down as well, "Claire
suggested I come here."

   "You are lovers?"

   I was astounded by the bluntness of her question and felt my face flush.
"No, of course not," I stuttered."

   "So, you don't like the women?" She asked the question evenly while
looking me up and down.  "You prefer the boys, perhaps little ones?"

   "No, of course not!" I exclaimed.  "Claire and I are just friends."

   "Impossible.  Ich verstehe nicht," she said calmly, stubbed her
cigarette out in a large crystal ashtray on the coffee table and regally
stood.  "It is impossible to be just friends, especially when you are so
young, when you should be so full of passion.  What was your name once
again?"

   "James Humphreys," I stammered.

   She wrinkled her nose.  "H sslich!  Boring English name for such a
gutaussehend boy.  Perhaps it should be changed." Caroline gestured at the
room.  "This is my office and you will work there." A finger with a deep
red nail pointed at a desk and a electric typewriter in the corner.  "The
telephone is the most important device here and," she said, a half smile on
her beautiful face as she knowingly tapped the side of her nose, "it is
also important how we answer the telephone."

   "I'm sorry," I said hesitantly, "I don't understand."

   She sighed and walked over to the window, staring down into the street.
Was she waiting for someone, I wondered?  "You are aware I am in the
cinema?"

   "Yes, a very famous actress," I rushed in, not really knowing what to
say.

   "You've seen my films?" she asked, a mocking tone in her voice as she
glanced at me.

   "Ah, no.  I haven't," I confessed, blushing at being caught out.

   "Then, how do you know?" she prompted, her ice blue eyes boring into me.

   "Claire told me?" I said hopefully, digging a deeper hole for myself.

   "I do not think so.  Do not attempt to lie to me again," Caroline said
flatly and I felt embarrassed as, after all, I was just trying to make
polite, social conversation.  "I am attempting to secure a part in an
American film or movie as they call it.  This movie," she said the word
disdainfully, " could help me make money for my twilight years so it is
important that I seem unattainable and exotic to these bourgeois American
studios.  Such fools," she sighed.  "No class and no appreciation of cinema
art.  You have to help me lead them on so I get this part.  It will be a
good film, not European cinema but good enough to make me a star in
Hollywood."

   "I see," I said, not really seeing at all.  I felt like I was drowning
in iced tea, desperately trying to recall if I had ever seen a German
movie. "What is the movie called?"

   "Called?" She looked at me strangely, obviously wondering why I would
want to know the name of the movie.  "Stupid title,' she said dismissively.
"The Templars and the Saracens".  I watched as she lit another cigarette.
"It is about fat bankers on Wall Street in Hollywood." I watched her plump
lips close around the cigarette as she sucked on it.

   "Ah, New York," I said, instantly cursing myself for opening my mouth
when she turned that ice-cold gaze on me.

   "Yes?" she said icily.

   "Ah, Wall Street is in New York," I stammered, "not in Hollywood."

   "Do you consider that I even care where that stupid street is?" she
hissed and I flinched under that withering gaze for a few moments, my face
turning red and sweat starting to form in my arm pits.  Thankfully, she
turned away and continued.  "As I said, it will be a stupid film but it has
a good part for me.  I don't care what they call it or where it is."

   "What is it you want me to do?" I asked after a moment when I considered
it safe.

   "I want you to answer the telephone in an imperious tone that will
always suggest I am busy and in demand.  You will also attend to my
correspondence, my visitors and any other matters I decide.  Cook will
provide meals and you will start here each morning exactly on time.  Do you
understand completely?"

   "Yes, I think so."

   Caroline stood next to me, gazing down into my eyes and I suddenly felt
very small next to her.  "Thinking is not good enough but we will see,
answer the telephone."

   I looked around.  "But it's not ringing."

   She sighed.  "Claire did not tell me you were an idiot, ahnungslos,"
Carline tapped her forehead with a long finger and I flushed.  "Rehearse
your answer."

   I cleared my throat.  "Ms Bahlens residence," I said weakly, looking at
her hopefully but her eyes narrowed.

   "Pathetic," she pronounced.  "Slowly, coldly and with disdain like this.
Caroline Bahlsens' Residence.  Again."

   "Caroline Bahlsen's Residence," I said, copying her style.

   "That is better, not much better but better and you will improve." As if
on cue, the telephone in the corner jangled and Caroline stared at me.

   Nervously, I rushed to it but she stopped me as I reached to pick it up.
"Always let it ring three times," she cautioned and after the third ring,
hand trembling, I picked it up.

   "Caroline Bahlsens' Residence," I said slowly and Caroline nodded in
approval.

   "Hi there," an American voice crackled over the wire," who's that?"

   "This is James, Ms Bahlsens private secretary," I adlibbed and again,
Caroline nodded in approval and I suddenly felt proud of myself.

   "Hi James, this Dave Reed and I'm calling from London.  Put Caroline on,
will you?"

   "I believe Ms Bahlsen has someone with her, Mr Reed.  However, I will
check for you." I covered the mouthpiece and looked at Caroline who slowly
shook her head.  "I'm sorry, Mr Reed, she still has someone with her.  Can
I take your number and have Ms Bahlsen return your call?"

   Reed laughed bitterly.  "What for?  Caroline never returns calls, not
mine anyway.  Can you tell her I called and that we are getting closer to
the deal?  Got that?"

   "Yes, Mr Reed," I said, he rang off and I suddenly realised I was
sweating.

   Caroline stubbed the cigarette out as I waited for her verdict.  "That
was adequate but you have much room for improvement.  Attend to the
correspondence and I will return later." With that, she swept out of the
room.

   Part 3: Caroline Says 'Caroline says she can't help but be mean Or
cruel, or so it seems Oh, Caroline says, Caroline says' (Caroline Says -
Lou Reed)

   I worked through to lunchtime filing letters from directors,
screenwriters, producers and fans and the telephone did not ring again.  A
stout woman who spoke no English at all and who I assumed was cook provided
a simple meal of sausage and bread, which I ate while perched by the desk,
waiting for the telephone to ring.  It didn't so, after a while, I found
myself wandering into the lobby and through the grand house.  I left the
plate in the kitchen and, late in the afternoon, was examining the
portraits on the stairs when I heard the telephone ring faintly from the
downstairs office.  In a panic I was rushing down the stairs just as the
front door opened and Caroline stood there in a black full length leather
coat, her hair wrapped in a dark scarf and eyes alive with fire.

   I felt those eyes on my back as I scrambled through the office door and
I reached the telephone just as it stopped ringing.  Chest heaving from the
exertion, I stood staring at the phone, wishing I could fall through the
floor as I heard Caroline enter the room.

   Turning, I spread my hands in a form of nervous apology.  "Ms Bahlsen,"
I began but got no further.

   "Dummkopf!" she said quietly, her voice full of menace as she slipped
out of her coat, tossing it and the scarf onto the sofa.  "You know what
that means?" she snapped, walking towards me.  I could guess but she wasn't
about to let me answer.  "Fool!  Moron!  Dummkop!" Her hand flew and
slapped me firmly across the face and I reeled back in shock but she
advanced and seized my tie.  "This is very important to me, you fool!  You
are destroying my life with your stupidity!" she hissed and I cringed
against the desk.

   "Ms Bahlsen," I stuttered, my legs pressed against the desk and my head
pulled forward by her relentless grip on my tie.

   "Silence," she spat and quickly lashed the tie around the top of the
chair, pulling me forward into crouching position, my hands flailing
uselessly.  Caroline pulled open a desk drawer and removed a black cord,
the kind that one sees on ornate curtains, and tied it around one wrist and
threading it through the heavy chair back and tying it around my other
hand. "Now," she announced, "I know you will not leave the telephone
again!"

   As she stormed off I realised I could reach the telephone but I was
secured to the heavy chair by the ropes and my tie.  An absurd thought
popped into my head that she must have done this before but I immediately
dismissed it.

   I was left alone in the room in an embarrassing position.  A few
struggles told me I could not move and an immediate feeling of helplessness
swept over me and, to my horror, I felt my cock start to swell in my tight
trousers.  How humiliating, I thought, I'm getting an erection and it will
be obvious to whoever walks back into this room.  It could be Caroline or
the cook and I felt my face burn at the thought.

   Silently, I commanded my cock to subside but arousal was rising in me
stronger than I had ever felt it and the hardness remained.  I heard the
door open behind me and my face was hot as my cock pulsed as a strange
combination of helplessness and humiliation engulfed me, making me dizzy
with desire.

   I heard the click of a cigarette lighter and, a moment later, the acrid
smell of cigarette smoke.  Slow footsteps and Caroline was standing beside
me and I felt her eyes boring into me, my cock continuing to throb with
desire.  "So," she said softly, "I think we have discovered something?"

   "I'm sorry, Ms Bahlsen," I croaked, hoping she was talking about the
episode with the telephone and not my pounding erection.

   My face flushed as I felt her fingers trace my hard cock through those
tight fashionable trousers.  "Yes," she whispered, her breath warm against
my ear, "we have discovered something, ja?" I hung my head, hoping the
floor would swallow me up when her fingers expertly opened my trousers.  I
gasped in horror and shame as I felt her peel my trousers down and they
fell around my knees.  "Such ugly things," Caroline said in a flat voice as
she revealed my grey briefs.  I opened my mouth to protest but no sound
emerged as she deftly peeled my briefs down and my hard cock bobbed free.

   Caroline exhaled some smoke as her fingers lightly ran up and down my
hard cock for a few seconds and then they were gone.  "You will call me
Madame," her harsh voice seemed to echo in my ear, "and you will obey me
completely.  We will not have any more of these stupid mistakes.  Do you
understand?" she asked in a voice that dripped with menace.

   "Yes Madame," I murmured, head hanging low, my hard cock on display and
my face crimson with humiliation.

   She walked away and I assumed, no hoped, she was going to leave the
room. I heard rustling of clothing and then a sharp whistling noise
followed by a sharp crack against my bottom.  "Ow," I cried in shock and
exclaimed again and again as she slashed at my bare ass with, I suspected,
the belt of her coat.

   After a few strokes, she finished and quickly unlashed my hands and my
ties.  Standing, my eyes pricking as I fought back the urge to cry, I
couldn't resist rubbing my stinging bottom as she stood close to me and her
fingers slowly circled around my cock.  I moaned as she slowly caressed me
and then, maddeningly, stopped.  "You enjoyed that, didn't you?" she
whispered.  "The humiliation, the submission and the pain, all of it?"

   I blinked the tears away, rubbing where she had whipped me and looked
down at my hard and bobbing cock.  "You may relieve yourself," she breathed
in my ear, standing so close and I looked at her in shock and shame,
arousal filling my every need.  Caroline saw my burning face and smiled
coldly.  "We have no secrets now, James," she said.  "I know exactly what
you are and that you need my command.  Now," she snapped, "I will not order
you again."

   Dazed and incredibly aroused I watched as if from a distance as my own
hand encircled my straining cock and slowly began to masturbate as this
incredibly beautiful woman watched, a cold mocking smile on her face as she
watched.

   It didn't take long and I traversed that invisible boundary and erupted
into the most powerfully intense orgasm of my life, my seed spraying over
the desk.  Chest heaving, gasping for breath and my face burning in
humiliation, I waited.

   "Clean it up, James," she said in a calm voice.  "Be on time tomorrow.
Schlaf gut." Seconds later she was gone from the room and, the front door
slamming, from the house.

   Part 4: Sister Europe 'lonely in a crowded room the radio plays out of
tune so silently the radio upon the floor is stupid, it plays aznavour so
out of key

   sister of mine, home again' (Sister Europe - The Psychedelic Furs)

   I often think back about that moment, the moment I gave in to her
without a simple symbol of defiance against her strong determined will to
punish me.  Was it something I wanted, needed?  Or was I so used to other
people, especially my father, making decisions for me that I just
automatically acquiesced?

   The psychology of dominance and submission has fascinated me since,
teased me with its many connotations as I valiantly attempted to understand
all the permutations and, finally, realising that no simple formula, no
simple answer, can ever exist.

   Caroline, however, believed she knew it all, that she had complete
governance of all the nuances and that all submission belonged to her.  She
also, after a time, with me anyway, expected it and I gave it completely.

   Europe, sister of America and England but not that close, perhaps
half-sister is more apt a description.  Alien to me but strangely, even
after all that had happened to me that day, I felt at home, at one and at
home, home again.

   Home again in Berlin and how I remember it, I remember it well.  At that
time it was a strange and lost city, different from the rest of Germany,
different from Europe.  Part of the city believed the propaganda of
'Cabaret' and myths regarding the in between World War period and its
bohemian behaviour while other sections of the community strived to
transform the city into the financial capital of Europe.  Unknown to us and
to the rest of the western world, the Berlin Wall, that intractable and
immutable object, was beginning to show fine and delicate cracks and in
time would bulge against the surge of eastern failure.

   Shamefully, I had retired to my small room after cooks meagre meal,
bathed and fell into my cot so I could rush to sleep to escape the images
of what I had just done with my new employer.  After watching television
and striving to assimilate some of the language, I switched off the tv and
the lights and lay in the dark, begging sleep to come.  I tossed and
turned, sometime crying 'No' out loud as I tried to erase the image of my
humiliating masturbation from my tired mind.

   At last, sleep took hold of me but I was dragged from it's comfort late
in the night by the erratic sounds of Caroline arriving home, soft drunken
or drugged singing accompanied her teetering and strange movements up the
stairs to her bedroom.  Strangely, the knowledge she was under the roof
again comforted me and I fell immediately into a deep sleep.

   I was on time the next morning and worked studiously on her
correspondence for some hours, although I was afraid to face her but I need
not have worried as Caroline finally swept in dressed in a stylish cream
suit and dark glasses to hide her eyes.

   "Guten Morgen Madame," I said nervously as Caroline entered.  "Coffee,
Madame?"

   "Danke," she muttered and collapsed on the sofa as I poured the thick
brew that Germans seem to love that cook had left for us.

   As she sipped the coffee and I thought I saw her hands tremble, the
telephone rang, it's shrill bell cutting the air like a knife.  I waited
for the three rings and then picked the receiver up.  "Ms Caroline Bahlsens
Residence," I said slowly and primly.

   "That you James?" the American drone from the day before wafted down the
line while Caroline drank her coffee, my anxious face reflected in the dark
lens of her glasses.  "This is Dave Reed.  Is Caroline available?"

   "I'm terribly sorry, Mr Reed," I said and Caroline turned her face to
look at me and I saw my reflection in both lenses.  "I'm afraid Ms Bahlsen
is in conference with two gentleman from France." I thought I detected a
faint glimmer of a smile on her face when she heard my improvisation but I
continued to focus on the voice at the other end of the tired European
telephone network.

   "From France?" Reeds voice took on an urgent tone.  "Say, James, was one
of them a tall guy with a beard?"

   "I am sorry, sir but I am unable to confirm that description."

   "Yeah, yeah," Reed said dismissively.  "I get the picture.  She's
talking to her friends in France.  They love her there.  Ok, James, this is
what you got to tell her.  It's all go; I'm talking contract and dollars
now so she has to hang on.  You got that?"

   "I think so, sir."

   "Ok, you make sure you tell her.  And, by the way, the working title is
no longer that Templar thing.  It's called 'Massacre on Wall Street'.  Ok?"

   "Very good sir.  Thank you for calling." I slowly replaced the receiver
and looked up.  "It's now called 'Massacre on Wall Street', Madame and he's
talking dollars."

   Caroline stood and walked over to me, her arm sweeping behind my back,
holding me close as her hot lips claimed mine.  My cock sprang into
hardness as she kissed me, her tongue probing my mouth, taking possession
and control.  I was gasping as she pulled away and I saw my flushed and
panting face reflected in her glasses.  "I think we now understand each
other," she said, a mocking tone in her voice as she pulled a cigarette
from her gold cigarette case and extended her lighter towards me.  "Do we
not?"

   "Yes Madame," I said softly, my cock pulsing as I flicked the lighter
and lit her cigarette.

   She reached out and held my trembling hand steady as she lit her
cigarette.  "Are you hard?"

   "Yes Madame," I murmured, my cock pulsing in my trousers.

   "Excellent," she said calmly and sat on the sofa.  "You have work to
complete, do you not?

   "Yes Madame." As I turned back to the desk and the correspondence, I
heard a soft giggle behind me.

   Part 5: Let There Be Love 'it heals and it hurts She leads you to
heaven's door And leaves you for dirt' (Let There Be Love - Simple Minds)

   We worked together through the morning, answering the pile of letters
that sat on the antique desk.  She paced as she dictated and I typed into
the word processor then printed them onto her elegant letterhead for
Caroline's signature.  The dark glasses were tossed aside after her second
cup of coffee and her eyes were clear and ice blue when she turned her gaze
on me.

   Her presence was arousing to me and once, when she bent next to me to
sign a letter, her musky perfume swept over me, sending my cock to back
instant hardness.  After a while she ceased pacing and elegantly sprawled
on the sofa to smoke a cigarette while I printed the last of the letters.
As I brought it to her, I saw her skirt had risen up and my eyes were drawn
to her nylon-covered thighs, my cock was immediately hard.

   Face hot I glanced up and saw a mocking smile on her face as she saw the
bulge in my pants and she waved a long admonishing finger at me while that
teasing smile remained.

   We worked through to late lunch and drank a glass of wine with the heavy
meal cook had prepared.  Caroline recalled funny stories from her many
movies and I was soon hanging on every word.

   I watched as she slowly stood, her blue eyes staring down at me for a
long moment, then that teasing smile on her face as she turned and started
up the staircase.  A crooked finger and I was quickly following after her,
my eyes fixated on that lush bottom in that cream skirt moving from side to
side as she slowly climbed the staircase.

   Her bedroom was large with a substantial four poster bed in the middle,
dark curtains covering the French Doors which opened to the balcony that
hung over the busy street.  "Naked, please," she airily instructed and
disappeared into what I assumed was a dressing room.

   Nervously, I removed all my clothes and stood embarrassed next to the
bed, my hard cock jutting from my body.  Caroline stood in the doorway, a
black cloth bag in her hand, looking me up and down with that strange smile
still on her face.

   "Bed," she snapped and I lay down, watching her as she removed items
from the bag and I was soon tied spreadeagled on the bed.  Caroline sat
beside me and teasingly ran her fingers over my straining cock.  "We do
things my way," she said in a matter of fact tone as she slipped her dress
off over her head and I gasped as she smiled down at me dressed in a white
silky slip.

   Leaning down, her hot lips closed over mine, her teeth pulling on my
bottom lip as she rang her finger through my long hair.  I was gasping for
breath when she pulled back and dangled a black silk scarf over my face. 
"You will focus on me," she said, wrapping the silk over my eyes and I was
plunged into darkness.

   The bed moved and I felt her straddle my chest and suddenly her wet
pussy pushing into my face.  "Lick me," she demanded in a husky voice and
for the first time in my life, my tongue tasted the intimate juices of a
woman.

   I was useless or that was what she told me over and over again as I
licked and kissed while attempting to breathe at the same time.  Finally,
through my clumsy efforts and her use of my chin and nose, I heard her moan
as she orgasmed.

   The bed moved and she was gone from my face, leaving her juices and her
perfume on my mouth.  Her fingers touched my hard cock and I moaned.  "Not
yet," she murmured and I felt her tighten something around the base of my
cock.  The scarf was removed and I saw a thin strap has been fastened
around my cock.  Caroline spilled packets of condoms on the bed and rolled
one over my straining cock, then another and another until my cock was
wrapped in several condom layers.  I stared down at the foreign object that
used to be my cock and opened my mouth.  A sharp slap to my cheek and I
shut it again as Caroline climbed on top of me, her large breasts
threatening to spill from the white lace of her slip.  Smiling down on me,
she sat over my now plastic embalmed cock and slowly impaled herself on it.
A satisfied smile appeared on her face as she slowly began to move but I
felt nothing except for vague movements around my numb cock.

   She used me wantonly with no thought of my pleasure, using my hard, numb
cock over and over until she screamed with abandoned pleasure.  We were
both covered in sweat when she rose off me, leaving my swollen condom
covered cock wet and denied.

   Caroline giggled as she removed layer and layer of condom from my cock
and finally removed the thin strap and I felt a sharp sting as the blood
circulated again.  "We can not keep this on too long," she murmured
dangling the cock strap in front of me, no more than half an hour," she
added and I realised she was instructing me for future use.

   She released me and pulled the dark curtains apart so the weak light
filtered into the room from the French Doors.  A flurry of snow drifted
against the glass as Caroline sat on a chair next to the French Doors,
smiling at me as I lay on the bed, my hard cock waving from my belly. 
"Come here," she said, the white slip seeming to glow in the dim room.

   Unsteadily, I moved to her and following her gesture, knelt in front of
her, her legs teasing me.  Her fingers caressed my hair as she whispered in
the dark, "You will learn, little boy.  You will get better," and my cock
throbbed.  "Would you like to touch yourself?"

   "Yes Madame," I croaked and tenderly seized my cock when she nodded
agreement.  Slowly, she parted her legs and slid the white silk up her
thighs so I was staring directly at her pussy, her pubic hairs wet and
matted.  "Kiss me while you do it," she said and I leaned forward to bury
my face in her pussy as I frantically jerked my cock.  It didn't take long
and I was soon spurting against her legs and the chair while she giggled
softly above me.

   I pulled back, my face burning as she tenderly stroked my cheek.  "And
now?" she asked, an eyebrow raised and I guessed what was expected.

   "Thank you Madame," I murmured and she smiled as the wind and the light
snow rattled the French Doors.

   Part 6: Complicated Game 'They wanted Tom They wanted Joe To dress 'em
up and stick 'em out on show They were arrows in a very bad aim It's just a
complicated game (Complicated Game - Andy partridge XTC )

   The weeks rolled by and Caroline extended her control over me with each
passing day until I was a willing and unquestioning slave to all her
desires.  The games started small, making me sit at the desk with my pants
undone and my hard cock jutting out under the desk while the gentle cook
bustled in with our coffee.

   Or on my knees in her bedroom, licking her for what seemed like hours
while she chattered in German on the telephone to her many friends and
admirers, than casually denying me any release for a few days while
mercilessly teasing me.

   One night, I found myself strapped naked to her bed, a leather harness
around my head with an obscene dildo jutting from the gag she had inserted
in my mouth.  Laughing, she had slid up and down that fake cock while my
helpless eyes had to take in every second of it sliding in and out of her
pussy while, all the time, completely ignoring my hard cock.

   Then, there were the times she would tenderly caress my hair while she
casually reached into my pants and stroke me to an urgent, spurting orgasm
in the back of taxis, in the last row of a movie theatre or in some dark
nightclub while plump singers crooned in German.  I never knew when or how
I would come and I just gave myself up to her.

   All the time, the telephone calls came with offers for Caroline to star
in the American movie, which was now called 'Money'.  She felt the offer
was reaching finalisation and her career was about to, at last, take off in
America so she insisted she take me to an interesting club in the
Motzstrasse for a long lunch.

   The restaurant was stark and all the waiters were women, dressed like
men in old fashioned dinner suits while accordion music was played by a
three piece band, seated behind potted palms.  I sat between Caroline and
her two female friends who completely ignored me and chattered in fast and
unintelligible German while sipping wine.

   Suddenly, Caroline turned to me and looked me in the eye.  "Undo your
pants."

   I quivered at the words but had no hesitation.  "Yes Madame," I murmured
and, reaching under the white tablecloth did as she demanded.

   "Slide them down." Again I did so and as she had instructed me sometime
ago never to wear underwear, my cock was fully exposed.  As Caroline had
insisted I remove my pubic hair some weeks prior, my hard cock stood in my
denuded crotch, making me feel even more naked.

   Caroline said something to her friends who leaned forward, lifted the
tablecloth and stared down at my throbbing cock.  One said something to the
other, all women laughed and I felt myself flush but I didn't cover myself.

   The conversation resumed as I sat there exposed for the entire evening.
Every now and again, Caroline would slowly stroke me so I was always hard
and show her companions who would giggle behind their hands.

   It was some sort of game, one I just didn't understand but gave myself
willingly, as Caroline required.  At the conclusion of the meal, I was
allowed to pull my pants up but had to leave the fly open so my cock was
exposed if anyone should open my overcoat.

   Later that evening after pleasuring her on my knees in her bedroom, she
allowed me release as she smoked a cigarette and watched.

   It was all a complicated game.

   Part 7: How Do You Think It Feels?  'How do you think it feels When
you're speeding and lonely Come here baby' (How Do You Think It Feels - Lou
Reed)

   I was constantly stimulated in all ways and very happy but that soon
changed.

   Late one afternoon the telephone rang and it was an apologetic, defeated
David Reed who spoke.  "It's over James and you're going to have to tell
her."

   "I'm sorry, what do you mean?" I asked but, with a sinking heart, I
understood all ready.

   "They've chosen someone else, a British lady and she can do a European
accent so the producers are happy.  Tell Caroline I'm sorry but that's show
business." The phone went dead and I looked over at Caroline who was seated
on the sofa, cigarette in one hand, coffee in the other.  She was looking
at me calmly but I intuitively knew she had heard every word.

   "Madame," I began nervously and she held up a delicate palm to stop me.

   "I believe I can foresee the future," she said in a bitter voice.  "And
that future does not include America."

   "Madame, I am sorry," I rushed but she was all ready standing, stubbing
her cigarette out in a furious manner.

   "Silence.  I will go and visit friends for a while." Without another
word she stalked out of the room and up to her room.  About an hour later,
I caught a glimpse of her in black as she passed by on her way out and,
moments later, I heard the front door slam.

   Late that night, I tossed and turned in my little bed, straining to hear
some noise that would herald her return.  I must have fallen asleep because
I was woken by the front door slamming shut and then my bedroom door thrust
open.

   Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I saw her in a black cocktail dress,
her shoulders bare and a string of pearls wound tightly around her long
throat, pearls drpped also from her ears.

   Caroline was wide eyed and staring down at me as she dragged me from my
bed, her fingers tearing at my pyjama pants until they were around my
ankles.  As her hand closed over my cock, I opened my mouth to speak but
she seized my jaw with her other hand and glared into my eyes.  "Silence,
slave," she hissed and I shrank from her.

   I had never seen such fire, such craziness in her blue eyes, rooted to
the spot as she tore my pyjama top into pieces and I was completely naked.

   A strange smile played on her face, her eyes wild and open as she led me
by my cock up the stairs and to her room.  Thrusting me face down onto the
bed, I heard her rummaging in the bag and then felt my wrists cuffed
together.

   I was afraid of her energy and her wildness as I sensed she was either
drunk or on pills so I slumped on the bed, all ready surrendering to her
completely.  A rope was attached to the wrists and I was dragged to stand
in front of the curtains, my arms over my head as the rope was lashed to
the bulky curtain rod.

   A gag was roughly jammed into my mouth and she laughed when she saw the
fear in my eyes.  Regally, she walked away, my eyes glued to her as she
pulled her dress off over her head.  My cock stirred at the sight of her in
her black corset, stockings, heels and pearls my heart pounded when I saw
her pick up a thin cane, muttering to her self in German.  How do you think
it feels When you're speeding and lonely Come here baby How do you think it
feels when all you can say is if only Caroline leapt forward, whipping the
cane across my buttocks and I screamed into the gag as she shouted at me in
her native tongue.  Again, fire erupted across my buttocks and I cried out
uselessly.  If only I had a little If only I had some change If only, if
only, only How do you think it feels And when do you think it stops? 
Shouting all the time, mostly in German but sometimes in English when she
shouted, "How do you think it feels?", she slashed the cane across my
shoulders and I screamed in pain.  How do you think it feels When you've
been up for five days Come down here Mama Hunting around always oooh 'Cause
you're afraid of sleeping Again and again, the blows rained down as I
squirmed from side to side, pulling on the rope, straining to avoid the
pain while still she shouted and flailed at me, my entire back a sea of
pain.  How do you think it feels To feel like a wolf and foxy How do you
think it feels To always make love by proxy?  How do you think it feels And
when do you think it stops?  When do you think it stops?  Urgently, I
pulled at the rope and, suddenly, the rope slipped from the curtain rod and
I fell onto the floor, sobbing into the gag, my wrists still cuffed
together.  Caroline stood over me, staring wildly at me, her breasts rising
and falling in the black lace with her passion and exertion.

   After a moment, she threw the cane into the corner, squatted down to
remove the cuffs and moved away, leaving me sobbing on the floor as my
trembling fingers removed the gag.  Caroline was standing by the French
Doors, looking down onto the street and as I crawled to her, I could see a
trickle of tears falling down her cheeks.

   My lips pressed to the sheer silk covering her groin, my body racked
with sobs as she idly stroked my hair.  Through all this, my cock had been
rock hard and remained so while I frantically kissed the silk, tears
flooding down my face.

   I knew it was not me she saw as she wielded the cane but those people in
Hollywood who had tantalised her with a promise of a future that proved
false and then brutally revealed their true selves.  I was simply the
chosen receiver of her pain.

   "Tut mir leid," she murmured as she tenderly took me to bed.  Light rain
brushed against the French Doors as she held me all night and whispered to
me as I lay in her arms until I fell into welcoming sleep, my face pressed
against her breasts.

   Part 8: All Tomorrow's Parties 'And what costume shall the poor girl
wear To all tomorrow's parties' (All Tomorrows Parties - Velvet
Underground/Lou Reed)

   For the next few weeks, Caroline was much gentler with me although she
kept a firm control and would brook no disobedience at all.  The city was
moving towards Christmas, decorations in the stores and the cold winter
wind was insistent and biting when I ventured outside.

   My hair was shoulder length and Caroline would not even consider
allowing me to cut it so I reconciled myself to keeping it.  One day I
heard her instructing cook on a special meal and she smiled at me oddly, a
combination of delight and dread, when she told me we were entertaining a
visitor tonight.

   In the dining room I looked at the settings for two and looked
questioningly at her.  "I am dining with our guest, James," she said, a far
away look in her eyes.  "You will be our waiter.  Cook will leave the food
keeping warm in the servery and you provide a service.  Do you understand?"

   "Yes Madame," I replied, eyes lowered and an uneasy feeling came over
me.

   From my room, I heard cook leave and, sometime later, the doorbell
chimed and faint female voices came from the lobby.  Minutes later,
Caroline appeared in my room, dressed in an elegant pale blue cocktail
dress, her heels clicking loudly on the floors.  As instructed I had waited
for her naked, my groin newly shaved and my hair in a ponytail.

   "Good," she smiled, looking me up and down before handing me a jumble of
light green nylon.  "Put this on," Caroline commanded and I slowly slid the
green pantyhose on, my cock absurdly exposed through a hole cut in the
crotch.

   She clipped a ring around my balls and another around my cock while
slowly stroking me to full hardness.  A small bow tie on an elastic strap
was placed around my neck and she was satisfied.  "We will need wine in two
minutes," were her last words before she swept out, leaving me to stare at
my ridiculous image in the mirror.

   Subconsciously, I had all ready figured it out so I wasn't that
surprised to see Claire seated at the table, beautiful in black and red,
with a broad smile on her face as she watched me walk into the room in my
lewd costume with a bottle of fine red.

   "Well, James," she smiled, looking at hard cock, "I see you are glad to
see me.  Come here." Self-consciously I stood before her as her light
fingers ran over my straining cock, while her other hand patted the nylon
that covered my buttocks.  "Remember?  I said you wouldn't have to wear
green tights straight away?" A small giggle and, face flushing, I poured
the wine for Claire and then Caroline.

   "As you can see," Caroline said as I returned with the first course. 
"He is well trained.  Of course there is more you can do."

   "I'm sure there is.  Thank you," Claire replied, raising her glass to
Caroline in a small salute.

   Caroline called me and I stood beside her, my cock still jutting out. 
"Yes Madame?" I asked.

   "You will spend the night with Mistress Claire.  Understand?"

   "Yes Madame," I said sadly and continued with the meal.  After the
coffee, Caroline stood unsteadily and I thought I saw a little sadness as
she smiled at us.  "Enjoy the night," she murmured.  "Tr um was Sch nes. 
Guten Abend."

   Claire smiled at me and tapped her wineglass with a long finger once
Caroline had left.  Quickly, I refilled the glass.  "I am in the guest
room. Do you know where that is?"

   "Yes Mistress," I said softly and she smiled over the rim of her
wineglass.

   "Wait for me there.  You'll find some things on the bed, use them to
prepare yourself."

   I found a gag, cuffs and chains on the bed so I followed orders.  A few
moments later I had gagged and cuffed myself onto the bed to wait for my
Mistress.  Sometime passed but she finally arrived, smiling down at me as
she lightly touched my straining cock.  "If your father could see you now,"
she giggled.

   It was a passionate teasing night with Claire satisfying herself many
times and in many ways before she allowed me to climax.  As she held me
close, the sound of rain against the windows and her warm breath in my ear,
she said, "You father has given up looking for you.  He thinks you've been
murdered or something.  You should let him know."

   "Yes Mistress, I will write."

   "Good." Claire snuggled closer.  "I always knew," she said softly after
a while.  "Knew what you were, although I wasn't completely sure.  I
certainly suspected anyway, that we were a perfect fit.  You just had to
find out.  When will you come back to London?"

   I turned my head away to watch the rain running down the windowpanes. 
"I don't know."

   "I will wait for you, my sweet," she murmured in my ear as she snuggled
closer.

   Part 9: Oh, Jim 'All your two bit friends, they asked you for your
autograph They put you on the stage, they thought it would be good for a
laugh But I don't care where it's at 'Cause honey I'm just like an alley
cat' (Oh Jim - Lou Reed)

   Claire left the next morning and Christmas rushed towards us as we
resumed our life, although Caroline was slightly withdrawn.  The games
continued but there was a half-hearted feeling to them except, occasionally
her harsh side surfaced.

   One afternoon, the doorbell rang and a short balding man, wrapped in a
cashmere overcoat stood at the door.

   "Yes?" I inquired politely

   "You must be James," he said in an American accent as he pushed past me
before I could protest.  "I'm David Reed.  Where is Caroline?"

   "Mr Reed," I protested but he was all ready moving towards the stairs
when the door to the office opened and Caroline stood there watching him
impassively.

   "Caroline," he enthused, turning back down the stair.  "Honey, you look
great."

   "Beh mmert," she observed and I smiled quietly.  Caroline walked back
into the office and was seated at the sofa, fumbling for a cigarette when
Reed and I walked in.

   "Madame," I said quietly as I lit her cigarette.

   "Honey," Reed said.  "Have I got the part for you!  It's great, it's
you!"

   "And this wonderful part is?" she asked coolly, blowing smoke into the
room while I stood beside her, wondering if Caroline was going to explode
and take the cane to this fake American.

   "It's a sure thing for an Oscar for Best Supporting, nothing surer."

   "Unfortunately, a lot of things you claim are not sure.  Who is the
Director?"

   "An American kid the studios think is brilliant.  The studios are ready
to invest," Reed added, pulling a script from his bag and dropping it on
the coffee table.

   "I will have to read it," she said, eyeing the script with complete
distaste.

   "Hey, I know that but you are in, you have got the part and I have the
contracts to prove it." He wildly waved a sheaf of papers.  "I have to go
to another meeting but read it, it's the character Roslyn, and let me know.
I'll see myself out.  I won't take no for an answer," Reed added as he
sailed away.

   The door slammed and Caroline slowly reached out for the script and I
left her alone to read it.  A while later, I heard her go up to her room to
dress and I sat down with the script.

   I finished it and threw it down on the sofa when I realised Caroline had
been standing in the doorway watching me.  "Madame," I exclaimed as I
jumped to my feet and she sailed into the room.  Leaning against the
fireplace, she looked at me keenly, her blue eyes burrowing into me.

   "Well?" she asked, eamining her make up in the mirror over the
mantlepiece.  "Your opinion is?"

   "Madame," I said, struggling to find the words.  "It's not a
masterpiece."

   "You are now a film genius?" she snapped, her eyes glinting and I
shifted uneasily.

   "It's terrible," I blurted out.  "It will make you a joke."

   "Fool!" she hissed and I flinched at her anger.  "What do you know? 
This is my last chance, my last opportunity to make real money for my old
age.  You are young and stupid, what can you know?"

   "It's wrong for you.  That American is using you!"

   "And you are not?"

   "Madame!" I protested.  "That's unfair!  I love you!"

   Her hand lashed out and slapped me hard across the cheek.  "You don't
yet know what love is," Caroline spat, her eyes filling.  "You just do what
I want, you do not think and you do not love!"

   My hand held my stinging cheek as my eyes pricked.  "I am thinking now,"
I said in a monotone, my heart heaving.  "I think it is time for me to
return to London," I said formally, studying the mark her hand had left on
my cheek in the mirror over the fireplace.

   "As you wish," she said softly, turning away as she lit a cigarette.

   "Goodbye Caroline," I murmured as I walked out the door, half hoping she
would call me back, say something, anything that would make me stay but,
she did not.

   I packed that night and slept fitfully, hoping that Caroline would come
down for me but there wasn't a sound in the house, all was quite in my
loneliness.  The next morning I searched the house for her but she was
nowhere to be found.  A slender white note on the fireplace said simply,
"James, safe journey.  Thank you.  Caroline."

   As I sat in the airport, frozen and numb, a thousand memories crowded
into my mind.  Lost and solitary, I didn't know what to do so I telephoned
Claire who said, "Come to me, James," and I detected a note of delight in
her voice.

   As the plane lifted off I wondered what life would be like with Claire
and, at the same time, I knew I left part of my heart behind in Berlin with
Caroline.

   'Oh, honey it was paradise'

   Part 10: All The Way 'when somebody needs you it's no good unless he
needs you - all the way through the good and lean years and for all those
in between years - come what may' (All The Way - Sam Cahn & James Van
Heusen as sung by Frank Sinatra)

   Eleven years had passed before I saw Caroline again.  I was working on a
small independent film unit in Paris when I saw a newspaper article that
indicated she was very ill.  The memories of my Berlin period, as I now
categorised it, suddenly swept over me and I knew I had no choice, no other
alternative then to drive to Berlin to see her again.

   I had thought about her many times over the years especially after
Claire but had not the will to make the journey, either mentally or
geographically.  Now, it was different, I felt I had no choice but to seize
the moment of closure.

   Caroline no longer lived in that splendid house but through vague
friends managed to locate her apartment in the old east sector of Berlin. A
nurse opened the door and didn't appear at all interested in my story and
just let me into the dim bedroom to see Caroline.

   I was shocked by how she had aged and I gazed down on her sleeping face,
still containing hints of her beauty when she suddenly opened her eyes. 
The ice blue of her eyes remained and she looked me up and down in the dim
light.

   "Woher bist du?" she calmly asked and I smiled at the sound of that
familiar voice, unchanged by the years.

   "Good morning Madame," I said quietly, my heart fluttering in
anticipation of rejection.

   She strained her eyes and furrowed her brow in effort to see me.  "Move
into the light," Caroline said in English.  "I can not see you when you
hide in the shadows." I stood before her and smiled.  "Ah," she said a
faint smile of recognition on her wrinkled face, "the English boy, Claire's
boy."

   "Yes, Madame," I smiled in return and she patted the side of the bed.

   "Sit beside me," she commanded and I perched on the stiff wooden chair
beside the bell.  "Tell me all your news, my little James.  Are you still
with Claire?"

   I slowly shook my head.  "No Madame, I am not." I didn't tell her I lost
Claire in a car smash between Baton Rouge and New Orleans three years
prior, which left me with a long scar on my side, one leg shorter than the
other and no desire to live.  I wanted to die for two years and there are
some days when I still do.

   Her ice blue eyes searched mine and her frail withered hand took mine.
"Poor James," Caroline whispered sadly.  "Life can so sad." I looked up,
blinking back a tear, wondering if she knew.  She smiled and for a moment I
saw the Caroline of old.  "Also, life can be so wonderful.  Do you remember
our time together, here in Berlin?"

   "How could I ever forget Madame?" I said.

   Caroline sighed dramatically and leaned back into the pillow.  "Of
course, I am no longer beautiful.  Age does angry things to a woman's
beauty."

   "You are the same person, I see it in your beautiful eyes, Madame."

   She smiled and squeezed my hand.  "I never took that part you were so
angry about.  Did you know?" I nodded.  "I decided to retire gracefully and
then I was asked to do that stupid little film."

   "I remember it.  'S sse Tr ume' You were brilliant." And she had been
and Claire and I had seen it many times.  The critics also agreed.  "I saw
you on television at the Academy Awards.  Claire and I thought you were
beautiful."

   "A silly American nightmare," she dismissed the awards with a wave of
her hand like Caroline of old and I smiled to myself.

   We sat in that dim room listening to the traffic in the street below
until she squeezed my hand lightly.  "Will you stay with me James?" she
asked tremulously and I gently kissed her frail fingers.

   "Always."

   Epilogue: A Man of Colours 'There's a noise upstairs in the attic it's
the shuffle of worn out shoes and the scent of the oil and brushes drifts
down like a pale perfume and he says I am a man; a simple man a man of
colours and I can see see through the years years of a man, a man of
colours' (A Man of Colours - Iva Davies & Icehouse)

   My studio is perched on a tropical hillside where I can see the rolling
Pacific Ocean across the tops of the trees and the golden sand of the
beaches that greet the blue water.  All glass and polished floors, the
walls are lined with paintings I could not bear to sell.  All of my works
have 'James Hargreaves' painted in gold in the bottom right corner, my
small private joke in my adopted country.

   The sounds of the birds and the dull roar of the ocean carried into the
studio as I moved the brush slowly and delicately onto the stretched canvas
until the low buzz of my telephone interrupted the calm.

   "Hello," I answered, still staring at the outline of the face I had just
inscribed on the canvas.  Mozart played softly in the background, a perfect
accompaniment to the sound of the surf and my memories.

   "James," Nicky enthused, her voice booming in my good ear and I held the
phone slightly away from it.  "You are a brilliant man and New York loves
you!"

   "I'm assuming the showing went well?" I said calmly as I watched a bird
circle lazily in the clear blue sky, almost in time with Mozart.

   "We've sold eleven and four more have options.  You are going to be rich
for the rest of your life!"

   "That won't take a lot of money."

   "What do you mean?" Nicky asked, puzzled.

   "I'm an old man, Nicky," I said patiently.  "I won't need a lot of money
for the rest of my life."

   "Crap," she said succinctly and I smiled at her brassy New York ways. 
We had never actually met but had formed a friendship solely based on our
telephone conversations.  "Listen Crocodile Dundee, I should fly down to
Australia and drag you back here to civilisation."

   "You wouldn't find me," I said mildly.  "I'm good at disappearing."

   "Don't bet on it sweetheart!" Her tone became serious.  "Listen, I need
to know some history of the paintings.  I know it adds to the mystery but I
can't keep shrugging stupidly every time a buyer asks me who the subjects
of the paintings are.  You only paint two people, all in different poses
but it's always the same two women."

   "People from long ago." The bird had disappeared and a small white boat
was chugging up the coastline.

   "One blonde and one dark and the titles don't give anything away. 
'Portrait of a Lady' or 'Portrait of a Mistress' followed by a number.  Not
very imaginative, James," she reproached me.  "We could have used more
imaginative and enigmatic titles."

   "Best I could do at the time, I'm afraid."

   She waited for moment.  "So you're not going to tell me?"

   "Nothing to tell."

   "Ok, have it your way, you stubborn shit," she laughed.  "So where is

   Portrait of a Lady # 4 and 'Portrait of a Mistress #3?  They're missing
from the numbered sequence."

   "I burnt them, I didn't like them."

   "You are kidding, right?"

   "I'm afraid not," I lied.

   "You crazy bastard.  Ok, I got to run, I expect the others to sell
tonight and the art papers want to interview you.  Is that still a big
'no'?"

   "No interviews Nicky, that was the deal."

   "You just make my job harder," Nicky sighed, "but I'll manage.  Keep
painting." She rang off and I replaced the phone.

   Slowly, I dragged my stiff leg across the floor to stand in front of
Portrait of a Lady # 4 and Portrait of a Mistress #3, which were hanging on
the wall next to my small bed.  Caroline's haughty face sneered down at me
from of Portrait of a Lady # 4, pearls at her throat and falling from her
ears.  Ah, I remember that night so well.

   Claire's beautiful smile filled the room from Portrait of a Mistress #3,
her wide eyes and laughing lips always brought an ache to my heart.  They
were my best works and my most perfect memories of Caroline and Claire.  I
would never let them go, never, as I wait to join them.

   'he says I keep my life in this paintbox I keep your face in these
picture frames and when I speak to this faded canvas, it tells me I have no
need for words anyway...  and he says I am a man; a simple man a man of
colours and I can see see through the years years of a man, a man of
colours' (A Man of Colours - Iva Davies & Icehouse)



   ..................................................................... 
All Nessus stories are archived at www.asstr-mirror.org/Index.html in the Authors
Section under Nessus.  A small number of Nessus stories can also be found
at www.literotica.com and Chastity Belt only stories can be found at
http://www.tpe.com/~altarboy/
......................................................................

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