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Dinner Party Mystery

A Girl Friday, Risk Versus Reward crossover story.


Author’s Note

This is chapter two, which should be a pretty good indication that you ought to read chapter one first.


Chapter 2: A Broken Keyboard


I was still humming the little melody that had lodged itself in my brain earlier this morning, as Charlotte and I rode the light rail into the city. C7 E7 G7 E7 B6 E7 G7 E7. At one point, I got rather obnoxious about it, hoping I could get Charlotte to join in, but she just sat there with her hands on her lap.

“What’s up, toots?” I said, eyes wide, and about two inches from her face.

Charlotte scrunched up her nose and grunted.

I laid my head on her shoulder. “Miss Charlotte.”

“Are you okay, darling?” she asked.

“I’m a little hopped up this morning, but yeah, I’m fine. And I’m chemical free if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

Charlotte moved her hand to my thigh and looked me in the eye. “You know we love you, don’t you? You’re not just a live-in sex toy.”

I grinned. “This morning? Is that what this is about?”

Charlotte nodded.

“I know you love me Miss Charlotte.” I covered her hand with mine. “And I know Miss Natasha loves me too. Just like I love both of you.”

Charlotte’s lips were still set in a tight line. Whatever it was that was bothering her, she wasn’t convinced that it was resolved.

“You don’t feel…” Charlotte’s nose scrunched up again. “I don’t know, used?”

“Hell yes.” I leaned in close to Charlotte’s ear and whispered, “Particularly with your hand all up in my lady bits. I feel fortunate that I can even sit down.”

“Would you be serious for one minute, please.”

I scooted over in the bench seat that we shared. Partly, I wanted to be closer to Charlotte to give her some reassurance in what I was about to say, and partly because what I had to say was no business of anyone else in the train car.

“Miss Charlotte,” I whispered, “when you and Miss Natasha have your way with me… Well, it’s quite relaxing. No, not relaxing, that’s the wrong word. Liberating. Liberating is the word.”

Charlotte’s lips were still pressed tight, but she did snuggle up to me, wrapping her hands around my arm, waiting for me to continue.

“You must know how it is too, Miss Charlotte,” I said, “but you probably don’t think anything of it. You’ve been with Miss Natasha so long that it’s just part of your life.”

Charlotte rested her chin on my shoulder and gazed into my eyes.

“Miss Natasha… she’s different than anyone I’ve ever been with. While you saw her tossing me on the kitchen counter like a rag doll, and riding my face while she… while she…” I lost my train of thought for a moment as I reviewed the events of this morning. I squirmed in my seat a little, probably leaving a wet spot for the next passenger.

“She takes me right up to the edge, Miss Charlotte. Right up to the edge and no further. And right about the point when I think I’m going to die, she makes me come like a fucking rocket. Do you know what that’s like? Of course you do.” I was pretty much talking to myself at this point. Charlotte still hadn’t said a word. It may have had something to do with the fact that I wasn’t really whispering anymore either, and that a few of our fellow passengers had taken an interest in our conversation. Fuck ’em.

“You met Miss Natasha early enough in your life that you were spared the rigors of dating, the one night stands, the selfish people that say they care, but really only care about themselves. Miss Natasha’s nothing like that. When it looks like she’s using me, fucking me into oblivion, that’s when I know how good you’ve got it. Because, she’s doing it for me, too. She’s taking me right up to the edge and no further. No further, Miss Charlotte. And I can trust her, that she’ll never take me beyond. So I can relax. And I can relax and be liberated.”

I closed my eyes and sighed.

Charlotte had moved her chin from my shoulder and was tapping at my thigh.

“What? Am I being too loud professing my love for your wife, Miss Charlotte? We should be shouting it from the rooftops. To hell what anybody else thinks.”

Charlotte kept tapping, more urgently now.

I looked her in the eye. “What? What’s wrong with—”

“Shh,” Charlotte hissed. “This is our stop.”

I chuckled briefly and then shot up from my seat to follow her briskly şişli bayan escort out the doors, the doors that had started chiming their intent to close, and onto the platform. From the corner of my eye, I saw few heads had turned to watch us go. Fuck ’em.

* * *

We opened the doors into the gloriousness that is the Saint Vincent DePaul thrift store. I was immediately transported back to my aunt Theresa’s attic—with the dusty smell of old clothes and even older books—and all the wonderful treasures my cousins and I found up there to play with.

As always, Charlotte was drawn, like a magnet, to the array of used musical instruments. And, as always, I tagged along.

“Do you know what this is?” Charlotte said, while practically fondling the keys of some dusty old keyboard.

I shook my head. “Maybe you should try dating before you start feeling it up like that.”

Charlotte turned and glared. “It’s a Hammond SK-1.”

“It’s a broken piece of shit.”

Charlotte’s glare narrowed. I could almost see the word ‘philistine’ forming on her lips. I had to suppress my grin.

“It’s a Hammond B3 in a portable, fifteen pound package,” she explained with glee.


“So, it’s got that sound. That classic rock & soul sound of the original B3. James Brown. Booker T. and the MGs. Spencer Davis Group. Stop me when I get to something familiar.”

“It’s broken,” I said, tapping out this morning’s melody onto the keys. C7 E7 G7 E7 B6 E7 G7 E7. “See, no glorious B3 rock & soul extravaganza here, just dusty old plastic.”

Charlotte smacked me on the shoulder. “It needs to be hooked up to an outboard amp, smart ass. I’m going to find somebody that works here and see if I can plug it in.”

“While you’re wasting your time with that, I’m gonna cruise the vinyl. I’m still hoping that one day I’ll find an original pressing of The Rolling Stones’ Sticky Fingers. It’s got a working zipper on the cover so you can take a peek at Jagger’s junk, if you’re into that sort of thing. It got changed pretty soon after it came out. Apparently, nobody wanted to see ole Mick’s pito. I just want it for the collector’s—”

Charlotte had stopped paying attention and was looking at her phone. A split second later, my phone buzzed too.

N: Girls, remember that charity auction I bid on? I won! Dinner party tonight at our house. We’re having guests. Find something nice to wear while you’re out.

I looked at Charlotte, she looked at me. Without a word, we took each took the other’s hand and headed toward the racks of men’s suits.

* * *

“You look nice,” Charlotte said, as we stood toe to toe in the tiny fitting room. “There’s just something about a woman in a zoot suit.” She leaned in and ran her tongue over the side of my face, starting from the lower part of my jawbone and ending just below my ear. With my earlobe trapped in her teeth, she whispered, “It gets me slightly aroused.”

I shuddered. “Slightly?”

“Very aroused.” She clamped down a little harder after that.

“I’m digging your three-piece,” I said, “but it’s going to take me longer to get you out of it.”

“I can help.” Charlotte grinned.

And with that, we locked our lips together and began pawing at each other’s thrift shop finds. The jackets were easy to shed, but Charlotte’s vest took forever with all of it’s little buttons. As a result, I felt my pants hit the floor just as I popped the last one.

“No fair,” I complained as Charlotte cupped my underwear in her palm.

“That’s really not fair,” I said, as she started to rub, but I still scissored my legs to help her slide my panties down.

Charlotte spun me around until I was facing the wall and I thrust my hands out to avoid hitting it face first. She still had her pants on. “Hey that’s really not—”

My words were cut off as Charlotte stuffed my underwear between my teeth.

“You really are chatty today,” was all she said to justify it.

I said nothing, I was too busy with my palms on the wall trying not to fall forward. Charlotte ran her hands over my chest, stopping to hold my nipples between her fingers at one point, and give them a little tug while I moaned against the clingy cotton in my mouth.

“I know your pussy is probably worn out, darling.” Charlotte licked the back of my neck as she said this.

She then knelt down and licked the small of my back. I felt her hands leave my nipples next and then felt a moist finger up against my back door. Charlotte must şişli escort have been satisfied with my hygiene, because the next thing I felt was her tongue.

Charlotte held onto my hips, and I held onto the wall for dear life, as her tongue darted and probed my tight little opening. I moaned and ground me teeth against the underwear in my mouth. Charlotte was right though, I probably would have been very vocal about the attention she was giving my ass.

“Mmph.” I felt her finger again. This time instead of rubbing, it was pressing. I shivered and clenched as Charlotte pressed it home. Something was running down my inner thigh, either Charlotte’s saliva or my own juices. Come to think of it, it was probably both.

Charlotte had her finger buried now and was rubbing vigorously against that wall of flesh that separates the back door from the front door, and the front door was definitely feeling it.

‘Oh, baby,’ I tried to say. It came out more like, “Mmrr Mrrmrr.”

And then my arms betrayed me by quivering like jelly refusing to support my weight so that I was pressed with my face flat against the wall. My traitorous knees were next, and began knocking as I tried to stand. Charlotte took no notice of any of this.

‘Coming,’ I said, which came out as “MrrMrrph.”

While I shuddered and spasmed in that cramped little dressing room, I thought about all the things I wanted to do to Charlotte with my fingers and tongue. And when she finally released me, I manged to get her pants off and return the favor.

By the time we left Saint Vinny’s, we had two men’s suits in our hands and a pair of stupid grins plastered all over our faces. Oh, and we carted the broken keyboard home too. Though Charlotte insists that it lit up and did everything it was supposed to when the volunteer at the store let her plug it in.

* * *

When we arrived home, suits slung over our shoulders and Charlotte’s keyboard under her arm, a large cargo van was parked in the drive with Chowdury’s Cakes and Catering stenciled across the sides and back. A rather buxom looking woman, in a chef’s coat and coordinating pants, smiled and waved to us before opening up the rear doors. With her olive complexion and shiny, jet black hair set off against a white coat, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was her name plastered across the van.

She and two young women, young enough to pass for her daughters if only they shared her features, were bustling back and forth carrying things through the front door. Juliet and I just looked at each other and shrugged.

We stepped through the back door and Mistress kissed us both. She was grinning like a Cheshire cat. “The dinner party,” was all she offered in way of a greeting.

The buxom woman entered next and hugged Miss Natasha to her chest. I swear Miss Natasha’s eyes had gained a little extra sparkle after the experience.

“Charlotte, Juliet,” Miss Natasha said. “I’d like you to meet Vishranti Chowdhury. She’s a friend of a friend, you might say.”

I thought I heard Miss Natasha continuing on about a very old and dear friend who introduced them, but I’m not sure, because Charlotte and I were currently having our faces rather enthusiastically smooshed into the glorious bosom that was constrained inside Miss Vishranti Chowdury’s chef’s coat. I was on the verge of seeing stars, and also trying to figure out if this woman had just laid her hand on my ass when she finally released us.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” she said, with a delightful rolling of the R that made my ears tickle. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Juliet. And Miss Charlotte, it’s been too long.”

And with that, Vishranti Chowdhury, the handsy proprietor of Chowdhury’s Cakes and Catering, laid a kiss on Charlotte’s cheek and then mine, before rushing off to chastise her young assistants for some unseen infraction. Unseen by me at least. My eyes still held the afterimage of the woman’s chest.

“This is a fancy dinner party,” I said. Though what I really wanted to know is how the handsy chef knew Charlotte already and why I’d never been invited to one of her bosom smotherings until now.

“I should certainly hope so,” Miss Natasha said. “After the cash I dropped on that auction. Ah, but it was for a good cause. And, Miss Chowdhury is a top notch chef. I assure you, we will be eating high on the hog tonight.”

Another young assistant appeared, asking for directions to the dining room, and we lost Miss Natasha as she took the girl in tow.

“What does mecidiyeköy escort that mean,” I asked.

“It’s an old expression. When pigs were roasted whole, the best cuts were toward the top, so high on the hog—”

“No, I mean the handsy Julia Child. She said, ‘it’s been too long,’ like she already knew you. I swear she did.”

Charlotte nodded. “I took some classes from her once.”

“I thought your grandma taught you everything you know in the kitchen. I didn’t know you had professional training. You’ve been holding out on me.”

“It was years ago, and it was part of the package. When I accepted the personal assistant job that led to me meeting Mistress, there were training classes.”

“Oh, that kind of classes.” I grinned. Charlotte had told me about that experience. Twelve hour days filled with everything from proper table setting, to expectations of personal grooming and posture, to sensual massage. All so she could be a more suitable match for some dominant client looking for a personal assistant ‘with benefits’.

Well, she got Miss Natasha, so I suppose it was all worth it. I sighed a little at that stroke of luck.

“We should probably stay out of their way,” Charlotte suggested.

I nodded and wandered off upstairs to find one of my old pulp detective novels. I thought it might be fun to study up and be in character with the suit I bought. Charlotte wandered downstairs to have some alone time with her new Hammond SK-1. Bella curled up with me, so it was okay.

* * *

“Damn it.” Charlotte’s voice echoed up the stairs, all the way from our little basement recording studio. Bella’s ears perked up.

I marked my page in my copy of The Maltese Falcon and set it down on the side table. I trotted downstairs to find Charlotte wearing a frown. “What’s the matter?”

“You were right, it’s broken.” Charlotte pressed a key.

I finally got to hear the soulful wavering tremolo of this classic organ sound she had been going on about all that time in the store. She then reached around to where the amp plugged into the back. At first I heard static, then nothing. With another wiggle, we were rocking again.

“You know the old joke, right?” I said. “I guy goes to the doctor. He says, ‘Hey doc, it hurts when I go like this.’ The doctor says, ‘Don’t go like that.'”

Charlotte stared at me with narrowing eyes again.

“Like don’t wiggle it,” I said.

“Oh yeah, that’s so gonna happen when I’m up on stage.” Charlotte kicked the floor with her toe. “You were right. I shouldn’t have bought it.”

“I hate to pass on the ‘I told you so’ moment, but it’s probably just a bad connection. If you’ve got a soldering iron, I bet I can fix it for you.”

For those words I got a big squeeze and a kiss on the mouth.

“You’re the best,” she said.

“So, you have a soldering iron?”

“No idea,” Charlotte said. “You’ll have to ask Mistress.”

Just as I had turned and was about to trot back upstairs, Charlotte wrapped her arms around my waist. “Thank you, darling.” She lowered her mouth to my neck and proceeded to set her tongue exploring for long enough that I lost track of time.

“You’re welcome?” I said.

Charlotte swatted me on the ass and sent me out the door.

I heard a short burst of static, and then my little two bar melody from this morning, Hammond B3 style drifting forth.

C7 E7 G7 E7 B6 E7 G7 E7

I was grinning all the way up the stairs, because in my mind I saw our sad little balloon and her porcupine friend—they were standing at the altar, reciting their wows. James Brown was officiating.

* * *

Unfortunately, I never did get a chance to find out if Miss Natasha had a soldering iron lying around. By the time I got to the top of the stairs, the doorbell rang and Miss Natasha ran off while shouting, “I’ll get it.”

I decided to go back to my book and at least finish up the chapter I was on before I went off to bother her.

I should have kept my nose in my book too, because when I finally trotted up to her office, I found Miss Natasha alright. She was kneeling on the floor, her blouse unbuttoned, draped in a loose ring around her waist, while some dragon lady in a black suit paced the floor and dragged a wicked-looking riding crop over the tops of her shoulders.

I quietly turned around and tip-toed off to find Charlotte.



The stage is set, the handsy caterer and her assistants are carting in the evening’s delicacies for what should be a wonderful dinner party. But, who is the woman in the office Juliet stumbled upon, and why does she have a topless Mistress Natasha kneeling in front of her?

Find out in Chapter 3: The Dragon Lady.

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