86th and Park

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It had been two weeks since Jane Worthington began work at the white-shoe Wall Street law firm of Haight & Robb. She was the newly hired lead partner of the litigation group, and Gerald McNeil had been watching her with interest from the moment she first appeared before the executive committee to be considered for the position. She cut an impressive figure, coming across as supremely confident and intelligent. At forty-eight she was four years younger than Gerald, and while not beautiful, her penetrating blue eyes and leonine mane of jet-black hair shot through with streaks of silver made her a striking woman.

Gerald led the mergers and acquistitions group, traditionally the practice area that provided the firm with its highest profits per partner. Because of his importance Gerald sat on the executive committee and was involved in all the major decisions made by the firm. The decision in this instance had been easy. Everyone on the committee had been impressed with Jane. She had been offered the position, and she had accepted.

During the initial two weeks Gerald saw Jane only on a few occasions, always in passing and with time only to smile and say hello. Their offices were on different floors, and they both were extremely busy. Still, he was able to observe a few things about her from these momentary encounters. She favored dark, solid colors in her attire, which was conservative even by law-firm standards. Only a necklace or kerchief in, say, red or turquoise added a touch of color. She wore little or no makeup, and she almost always wore her thick hair pulled straight back. Once, he saw her hair in a ponytail, which he had liked. It softened her. He also liked the way she walked. She was somewhat of a large woman. He guessed she was 5 foot 9 and about 150 pounds, with large, firm breasts, 40D or even DD. But for a woman of her age and size she walked quite rapidly and lightly. Whenever he saw her walking in a hallway with her assistant, a mousy little blonde named Marian, the poor girl always seemed to have trouble keeping up. He thought she was an effortless dynamo. Now, after two weeks, it was time to pay her a visit in her office.

Gerald, all 6 feet 2 of him, loomed in the doorway. Jane looked up and smiled warmly. “Hi, Gerald, I’m glad you stopped by. Have a seat.” She gestured at the sofa against one wall.

”Thanks, Jane. I’m glad we have a chance to chat a little bit.” He sat on the sofa, and they talked shop for a few minutes. The talk turned personal, and they discovered they lived near each other on Park Avenue. Then Jane suddenly asked, “Are you married, Gerald?”

“Oh, yes, I guess you noticed I’m not wearing a ring. Uh … I was. My wife died two years ago. She was in a car accident. Her name was Miranda.” He paused. “Yeah … I stopped wearing my wedding ring. I don’t know why.” He looked out a window. “I have a daughter. Jessica. Jess. She’s eighteen. In her first year at Vassar. She’s the spitting image of her mother. It’s unbelievable.” After a moment he added, “She’s my best friend in the world.” He halted there. What he couldn’t tell Jane was that he had an incestuous, d/s relationship with his daughter. To change the subject he asked, “Are you married?” He had noticed a ring on her ring finger.

It was Jane’s turn to look out a window. “You could say I am.”

He found that odd. He asked, “May I look at that ring?” Jane extended her hand toward him, and he got up from the sofa for a closer look. The ring was unusual, wider than normal, perhaps close to an inch in width. It was dark gray and seemed to be made of steel or lead. Embossed on it was a female figure with long flowing hair and a long gown. A Greek goddess? “Is that your wedding ring?”

Jane took a long pause. “You could say that it is. I’m sorry to be so mysterious. I … I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this. I don’t even know you. But for some reason I trust you. I’m married … not legally, but I’ve exchanged vows with a woman. I’m a lesbian. My wife’s name is Holly. This is my wedding ring, but it also signifies membership in a lesbian club called The Sisterhood of Sappho … You mustn’t tell anyone.”

They looked at each other. Gerald said, “Well … well, that’s really interesting. Of course I won’t tell anyone.” Since she had been so forthcoming with him, it was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that his wife had been fully bisexual and that his daughter also loved women. In fact, Jess was sharing a dorm room with a Japanese girl, Hitome, who had become her lover. Instead, with mouth closed, he ran his tongue over his teeth.

They continued to hold each other’s gaze. Finally Jane said, “Would you like to come over Friday night, meet Holly and have dinner?”

“I’d like that,” was his reply.


Gerald decided to walk to Jane’s building. He had been invited for cocktails and dinner. He lived at 72nd and Park, and Jane and Holly lived lived just up the street, at 86th, a leisurely fifteen-minute stroll. It was a perfect time of day, just before sunset; plus, it was spring, and the luminous, fragile güvenilir bahis green-yellow of budding trees was everywhere. As he approached Jane’s building he noted that it was a near replica of his own, a classic prewar structure. He counted the stories: fifteen, typical for that stretch of Park. Jane had said she lived on the top floor. Interesting, he thought, she lives on the top floor of a fifteen-story building, and so do I. There’s an excellent conversational icebreaker. He was feeling very well, but at the same time he was nervous. He didn’t know why, but there was that familiar tingling in the pit of his stomach.

A doorman opened the door for him. He recognized the man. It was Tom Herlihy. He had been a doorman in Gerald’s building years ago. Tom recognized Gerald as well, and spoke first.

“Mr. McNeil, what a surprise. It’s a pleasure to see you, sir.” Though Tom had lived in America almost all his life, he had never lost his native Irish brogue.

He shook Tom’s hand. “Tom, this is unbelievable. I had no idea you were still in the neighborhood.” Here was another interesting coincidence involving Jane. They chatted for a while, then Gerald mentioned he was here to visit Jane Worthington.

“I’ll announce you straight away, sir.” He pointed. “Use the elevator on your left.”

“Thanks, Tom. Great to see you. My best to the family.”

He rode the elevator to the top floor. The doors opened, as in his own building, on the foyer of the apartment. The foyer floor was a checkerboard of black and white marble, again as in his own apartment, and he immediately faced a door on his left and one on his right, exactly the layout of his own apartment. He knocked at the door on his left.

The door was answered by a coal-black woman wearing blue jeans and light-blue workshirt. She was a slightly shorter, fitter version of Jane, of indeterminate age, 30s or 40s probably. He saw that her breasts were large and firm, even larger than Jane’s. He identified himself, and she asked him to have a seat and said that Jane would join him in a minute. She was pleasant but disengaged. She left the room, walking down a hallway that led to the main part of the apartment.

He sat in an overstuffed armchair and looked around. This room, the sitting room, felt like a museum. The color scheme was drab-green and pale yellow; the furniture and mirror frames were gilt-edged. Large 18th century paintings of nature scenes hung on the four walls. Were they real or reproductions? he wondered. Scattered among the classical art were other, smaller paintings, drawings and photographs. These were of a decidedly different stripe, and fell into two categories. There were several depictions of butterflies, but, more interesting to Gerald, there were a few black-and-white photographs of naked female torsos. The breasts were always large and firm, the nipples always erect. It was while he was looking at one such photo that Jane appeared in the room.

“Gerald, I’m so glad you came. Intriguing photo, wouldn’t you say? I hope you’re not shocked. They do go in a closet when our parents are on the guest list. I didn’t think it was necessary in this case.” She laughed. “Let’s have a drink.” He asked for Scotch, which she poured, and she made herself a gin and tonic. She was wearing a bright-red blouse, matching lipstick and black pants. Her hair, as always, was swept back. She had a brooch pinned above her left breast. It was a dragon, it seemed, something Asian. Gerald was pleased she had worn something colorful, even if it was all solid. And the top two buttons of her blouse were open. Gerald saw the beginning of her cleavage, and her heavy breasts strained the silk of her blouse. She might be a lesbian, but his cock still stiffened.

They drank. He mentioned Tom Herlihy and how they both lived on the top floor. They talked about living on Park and about family. They were on their second cocktail when Holly entered.

Gerald rose to greet her. She walked up to him, took his hand in both of hers, looked him straight in the eyes, and said, “I am so happy to meet you, Gerald. Thank you so much for coming.” Her voice was small, almost hushed. Several things occurred to him as they greeted one another. Holly was incredibly well mannered. She obviously was much younger than Jane, probably by twenty years or more, which would put her in her mid-to-late twenties. She was quite a bit smaller than Jane, say 5 foot 4, 115 pounds. She too wore the Sappho ring. And she was quite possibly the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, certainly a rival to his beautiful late wife and his stunning daughter. Everything about her was flawless: the medium-length light-brown hair, the straight white teeth and dazzling smile, the widely spaced emerald cat-shaped eyes, the lightly freckled peaches-and-cream complexion, and last, but certainly not least, the perfect petite breasts and derriere. She wore a cashmere pullover that matched her eyes and beige slacks.

Then this perfect girl did something he thought was a little strange. Instead of sitting in her own chair she kicked off her shoes türkçe bahis and sat at the foot of Jane’s chair, tucking her feet under her and leaning against Jane’s knee. He thought it was something a child might do. Indeed the picture they made, seated as they were, with Jane trailing her fingers through Holly’s hair, suggested more a mother and daughter than a couple.

Gerald’s musings about the two women were interrupted when Jane said, “Gerald, you know all these paintings and photographs of butterflies and breasts were done by Holly. She’s a wonderfully talented artist. And a poet. Darling, you should show Gerald some of your poems.” With that, Holly lifted her head from Jane’s knee and started to get up. Jane said, “Not now, Darling. Perhaps later.” Holly resumed her position. Jane continued, “As you can see she has two obsessions, butterflies and breasts. Big breasts. Really big breasts.” Both women laughed. Jane’s laugh was throaty; Hannah’s was more a girl’s giggle, and her hand flew to her mouth to cover it. It was a charming gesture. “While I slave away all day at the factory, young missy here stays home and photographs tits. Not a bad life, I would say.” They laughed again, and again Holly covered her mouth. “I’m teasing of course. I want her to stay home. I want her to be in an environment in which she can flourish. Darling, tell Gerald about your book project.” She was continuing to run her hand through Holly’s hair.

Holly got to her knees, and moved halfway to Gerald by walking on them. She sat back down on her heels. “I’m going to do a book about breasts, Gerald, a celebration of the female breast. It’s going to be all photographs, my photos, mabye some essays and poems also, and I’m going to go all around the world and shoot women of different cultures. I’m going to juxtapose aboriginal women with dykes here in New York, with Arican women nursing, with Norwegian women nursing. Lots of nursing mothers from everywhere.” She giggled, then smiled her gleaming smile. The words had tumbled out of her; her arms and hands had waved like mesmerized cobras as she had spoken. She was nearly panting.

Gerald didn’t know what to say. “Well, if nothing else, Holly, it’ll be a great way to see the world.” Holly deflated a bit, and slinked back to Jane’s feet. “Oh no, Holly, don’t get me wrong. You’re obviously very talented. These paintings are amazingly precise and lifelike, and your photographs are beautifully done.” Holly brightened. Radiance was her natural state it seemed.

The black woman was at the edge of the room. “Dinner’s ready.” Jane said, “Gerald, did you meet Helen? She lives here and makes sure this place runs like a home. God knows, neither Holly nor I could manage that.” Gerald and Helen exchanged hellos.

They moved to the dining room and sat at a polished mahogany table, Jane at the head, Holly and Gerald on either side of her. Shaded sconces provided dim background light for the dining room. Three very tall tapers illuminated the table. Shallow, ebony-lacquered trays served as place mats.

The had finished salad, and now Helen was returning with the main course. Gerald was expecting something light: fish or chicken. He was pleasantly surprised when Helen set a large platter of prime rib, a baked potato and creamed spinach before him. Real steakhouse food. His appetite had been whetted by two Scotches and a glass of wine. Now Helen was pouring a hearty California Cabernet into his glass. Gerald leaned back in his chair as she poured, and thought about how interestingly offbeat this evening had been. Jane and Holly made an eccentric, though clearly loving, couple. He liked them both. He sat forward in his chair. Here was another, stranger surprise. As Helen poured his wine he noticed that she too wore the Sappho ring. What is going on here? he thought. He concentrated on his prime rib.

In fact they were all absorbed in eating. Even dainty Holly sawed merrily at her meat. Gerald returned the conversation to Holly’s art. He asked about her interest in butterflies (he wasn’t going to ask about the breasts), and she replied that there was never a time she wasn’t fascinated by them. Her speech had become even more rapid, and her gestures more florid. In the candlelight Gerald noticed her face was flushed. She had drunk half a glass of wine.

Gerald made a connection. “Have you read Nabokov? He was a lepidopterist — or whatever that word is — wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” Holly said excitedly, “yes, that’s the word. I’m so happy you know it. Oh yes, I’ve read Nabokov. Almost all of him. ‘Lolita’ is my favorite.”

“Ah, ‘Lolita,’ yes, I love ‘Lolita.’ I’ve read it several times.” Indeed he had read the book several times. It always excited him to read about Humbert Humbert’s doomed, transgressive love for his stepdaughter. Lolita was twelve when Humbert first met her. Jessica had been twelve when he had begun obsessing about her, though he had waited till she was eighteen to deflower her. “Did you see the movie version, the one with Jeremy Irons?”

“Oh, I hated that.” As she spoke her hand flew forward, knocking over her güvenilir bahis siteleri wine glass, which hit the table and shattered. Gerald instinctively closed his eyes. When he opened them, he noticed a nasty cut had been opened on the back of his right hand.

Jane saw it too, and immediately said to Holly, “Go to Helen. Right now.” Without a word, hand covering her mouth, Holly left the room.

“Jane, maybe you could get me a towel. I … I’m thinking maybe I should go to the emergency room. Have this looked at. Perhaps you can call me a car.”

“Of course, Gerald. I’m so sorry. That was terribly thoughtless. I’ve spoken to Holly countless times about becoming too excited.” She left the room, and returned with a towel, which she handed to him. “I’ll go call for a private car.” She was back in a moment, apologizing profusely, and saying, luckily, a car was right downstairs. They headed for the front door.

“Jane, look, please don’t blame Holly for this. I’m sure I’ll just need some stitches. I’ve had a very nice time. I like you both very much.”

“Oh, Gerald, thank you so much. We’re very fond of you as well.” She opened the door to the foyer. “Please call me later or tomorrow to let us know how you are.”

“I will, Jane. Good night.” As she closed the door he was certain he heard from the rear of the apartment the sounds of a raised voice and spanking.


Jane ran her fingers through Holly’s hair. It was the familiar gesture, but this time it was meant to quiet her crying. Jane had just finished striking Holly’s bottom five times with a light bamboo cane. The cane was the harshest punishment Jane used on her and was reserved for those occasions when she had been especially bad. Knocking over a wine glass, causing Gerald’s hand to be cut, had been one of those occasions.

Now, later that same evening, Holly found herself bent over the pommel horse in the couple’s bedroom. Her wrists were handcuffed to rings on the far side of the horse, and her ankles, widely spread, were shackled to its legs. A bright-red ball gag from which four leather straps reached away to meet and fasten behind her head fitted her mouth. Holly had stopped crying, and Jane had bathed her eyes and cheeks with a damp washcloth. She stood behind Holly. The cane was in her hand again.

“Darling, I’m going to give you five more strokes. I’m going to focus on your upper thighs this time. I want you to put your attention on your breathing. Inhale deeply, exhale deeply. This will be over soon.”

Jane took the cane back as if she were hitting a tennis forehand and snapped it forward on the back of Holly’s thighs. Holly attempted to raise up and back from the pommel horse but was held fast by the wrists and ankles. Jane swung again, and Holly’s entire body jerked as if from an electrical shock. A wail escaped from behind the ball gag. Jane hit her a third time, and now Holly’s tears flowed freely. She could not stop them. Jane paused for a moment to let her lover’s pain subside. “Just two more, my dear. I’ll do them quickly. Get ready.” But she did not let her get ready. She took quick aim and hit her twice, hard, in that sensitive place where the thighs join the buttocks.

Holly sobbed without restraint. Her backside was a roadmap of angry red lines. Jane put down the cane and took the washcloth into the bathroom and doused it with an astringent. She returned and dabbed the soothing liquid on Holly’s wounded flesh. Holly quieted, and Jane took a moment to finger the “JW,” her initials, that had been burned into the cleft of Holly’s buttocks near the anus.

Jane released Holly from the pommel horse, removed the gag and helped her walk gingerly over to the bed. Holly got onto the bed on all fours. Jane lay on the bed on her back and raised her black silk nightgown up to her waist. Holly knew what was expected of her, and she positioned herself between Jane’s legs and brought her mouth to her hairless pussy. Jane watched her lover lave her labia and clit, and as her pleasure mounted she closed her eyes and thought of the first time she had seen Holly, across a room at a Sisterhood of Sappho meeting. She had known immediately that Holly was the most beautiful girl she had ever seen and that she must be with her. She then thought about how later that same night she had fucked a bound-and-gagged Holly doggy-style with her strapon.

Reliving that memory brought Jane very close to orgasm. She grabbed a fistful of Holly’s hair and pulled her face tight to her cunt. Holly responded by licking .Jane’s clit more insistently. Jane was a squirter, and with a cry she shot her tangy juices to the back of Holly’s open, waiting mouth.

Holly nestled in Jane’s arms, and they lay quietly for a few minutes. Jane stroked Holly’s face and ran her fingers through her hair. Normall their lovemaking would conclude with Holly nursing at Jane’s mammoth breast as she masturbated or as Jane masturbated her. She shifted her position now to take Jane’s breast in her mouth. Jane stopped her. “Not tonight, darling. I don’t want you to pleasure yourself. In fact I want you to go to Helen. I want you to spend the rest of the night with her. I have given her permission to punish you further and use you as she likes. Go to her now. Don’t put any clothes on. Just go as you are. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

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