"Mrs. Malibu has requested your help with a special assignment. It's a very rare occurrence. We don't know who else to turn to. A man's life may be in the balance."

"Of course I'll speak with her, Mrs. Riviera, but is this something Mrs. Cardinal can't know about? I still get my assignments through her."

"This is something even Liz can't know about, by her own choice, until after the job is done. Think of it as a black op. The black card sisters operate all underground railroads. Barbie can call on me without Liz's knowledge. And we really need you to do more than speak with Viki Miata. She'll give you the details, but she will run the op."

"Holy shit! Um, do I need to be, um, armed?"

I had gotten so used to being with armed women that I had gotten firearms training and a permit to carry a concealed weapon, but I didn't want to use it.

"No, not armed with anything other than your charm, honey. This is a job for a cock whisperer."

"A what?"

"You heard me. We need you for a rescue mission, but this time you'll be rescuing a man, if you can."

I got the details from Mrs. Malibu. One of our sisters, Mrs. Fuscia, had gone too far, at least in the opinion of some of the sisters. About three years earlier, we had taken control of her husband's company. For the next two years, Mrs. Fuscia was gradually 'transitioned' into the running of the company with oversight by the sisterhood.

It seemed to be a smooth transition. They even had another child during that time. We had covertly planted another sister in the company, to watch over Mr. Fuscia and ensure he didn't do any damage. Apparently, we always try to have at least two sisters in companies we own or have significant interest in. Mrs. Fuscia was the primary, but she didn't know about the existence of the backup.

The backup sister had witnessed a steady decline in Mr. Fuscia's health, and when he didn't show up for work for over a month, she reported it to her sponsor. Word got around to Mrs. Malibu and, to make a long story short, Mr. Fuscia has been receiving monthly visits from black card sisters to check on his health as he languishes, supposedly voluntarily, in chastity and bondage in their home.

"Did we check the child's DNA, Barb?"

"You have good instincts, Cate. No we didn't. It's clear now that the child isn't his."

"What do we do during these health checks?"

"She's denying him orgasms. Are you familiar with the chaste cuckold lifestyle?"

"Not personally, but I've stumbled across it in my research." Actually, I was secretly fascinated by chastity devices for both men and women. It's safe to say that I was even somewhat excited by the possibility of meeting someone in the chaste cuckold lifestyle, but if he was in it involuntarily, that was another matter. I am as opposed to real slavery for men as I am for women.

"Good, then you should know that orgasm denial is physically unhealthy for his prostate, not to mention his emotional health, so part of what we do is milk his cock, massage the semen out of it. Unfortunately, to get permission to do even that, we have to punish him first. They both insisted on that, although we really doubt that his consent is anything more than parroting her instructions."

Having recently read about some of the varieties of male submissiveness scenes and having viewed numerous photos and videos of everything from sissification to chastity cages to cock and ball torture, I thought I would be prepared for the scene that greeted me as I went with Mrs. Miata on the 'health check' visit. I was wrong. Those stories, photos, and videos don't depict the real effects of long term psychological abuse. But maybe Mr. Fuscia's case was different because he was unintentionally coerced into it by the sisterhood's intervention in his life.

Before agreeing to go along, I had read his profile. I had seen the photos of a handsome man in his early thirties, tanned and well-muscled and smiling while on a family vacation with his wife and daughter. He cared about his appearance, his health, and his responsibility to be a role model for his daughter. According to Mrs. Malibu, who had privileged access to records I wasn't supposed to know existed, Mrs. Fuscia had never sent him a gift of any sister, although she had indulged in many favors and in the Masked MILFs clubs. I wasn't privy to any information on his company, because I didn't know their real names, but it did mention his field of expertise and it is a prestigious field.

On the way to their house, Mrs. Miata explains that Mrs. Fuscia has agreed to divorce Mr. Fuscia, but only if we can prove that he has a sufficient spark of independence left. She has ordered him not to fuck any of us and is betting that he won't. He has not defied her and has repeatedly said that he is staying with her voluntarily, but Mrs. Malibu, Mrs. Miata and others have all agreed that he is probably just obeying and parroting out of fear of the consequences. They want my best attempt to lure him away from his marriage and into the care of a trained rehabber.

"Really? We have women who rehab cuckolded chastity slaves?"

"Not really. The rehabbers mostly deal with alcoholism and other addictions. We like to rehab our own to minimize the damage to their reputation. We have one rehabber who also deals with domestic violence directed at the husband. She's available and willing."

"But he's not violent?"

"Not in the least. He's essentially useless to us now and we don't think his home is suitable for raising their children. If we can get him out of it, we want to take their children from her, too. That's easier if we can get him in shape to be a suitable parent for them. I'm not optimistic. I have personally attended four failed attempts, my own and three of the most skilled women we have. I have little hope that tonight will be different, but if it isn't, I'm not sure I can bring any others. It is too disturbing."

I don't like that she called him 'essentially useless to us' or that we would give up because it was 'too disturbing'. Upon our arrival, Mr. Fuscia opens the door wide and what I see shocks me. He is almost completely naked, wearing only the tiniest of pink see-through panties over an obvious steel wire cock cage, complete with a brass lock. He is hairless from the nose down. He has lost his tan and his muscle tone and he keeps his eyes downcast. I'm accustomed to men not looking at my eyes. It's irritating but comforting to know that my breasts still attract their attention. But he seems to be looking at a point in front of my feet.

"Welcome to Her home. Mistress awaits you in the parlor."

He turns to escort us to his Mistress and I add one thing to the list of items he is wearing, an obviously large black buttplug. He is pudgy and looks soft, like a marshmallow. As we pass down the hallway, I stop and look at photos hanging there. There are several old photos of the happy couple in the Spring of their marriage. Then several photos of them with their first child, a daughter who looks about eight years old in the final photos, which include an infant who does not look entirely Caucasian.

We enter the parlor to find Mrs. Fuscia standing at the bar enjoying a drink. She is clearly posed there for effect, dressed for a night on the town in a tight turquoise sheath that is so short I am quite surprised that her crotch is not quite visible. She is also wearing stilettos and an excessive amount of eye makeup for a woman whose day job is the running of a conservative firm. I hate the sexist tone of what I think about her, but she seems more suited to the perfume counter of a department store than the senior level of a business.

I estimate her age to be early thirties, She is wearing a gold anklet, something I had only recently learned was considered a badge of pride for certain 'hot wives'. I had been considering getting one for a prop for fantasy play with my husband. I wouldn't be caught dead wearing one in public, at least not without my mask or burqa.

I notice there are trinkets dangling from it, clearly to draw attention to it. I see two that don't surprise me. One is a key and the other has 'I BBC' cut into it so that the letters are quite obvious from as much as ten feet away. I suspect the others are similar indications of her preferences. Mr. Fuscia grovels at her feet, looking no further up her legs than the anklet.

I do not understand women like her. I do not understand the fascination with big black cocks. Yes, the cocks are visually appealing, but the fascination for men who would plant their seed and then abandon the care of their offspring is beyond me. Men like that, regardless of race, are not 'bulls'. They are jackasses. The women who would do that to their husband and their children are not women that I would call friends, especially if they abuse the power that the sisterhood gives them. Membership is not a license to irresponsibly indulge in debauchery.

"Good evening ladies. I will not be attending the milking of this pathetic little sissy tonight. I will be spending time with a real man, perhaps several real men. Men with cocks instead of pathetic little dicklets. The rules haven't changed. First you must punish him and then milk him before attempting to seduce him away from me. He hasn't had an orgasm since your last visit a month ago, so a strong breeze on his little clitty would probably be enough to make him cum, but unless you can arouse his desire for one of you after that, he's obviously still my property."

I do not like the way that she is speaking as if he isn't even present in the room, but I understand that it is part of the inferior male conditioning that she has been using on him to lower him to the sorry state we now witness.

"In the unlikely event that you succeed, you will use a condom to collect the evidence, and of course, there must be video proof that no trickery occurred."

Mr. Fuscia automatically follows at her feet as she walks up to me and says, "You are a new contestant. You're obviously a sub and rather long in the tooth. This pathetic worm's weakness was younger women with attitude. What makes you think you can succeed where such women have failed."

Mrs. Miata had warned me that Mrs. Fuscia has a gift for compelling cooperation, and I could see where that could be true for a man, or maybe even for a woman who found her attractive. But I could look her straight in the eyes, albeit from behind the security of my mask, and not personally feel it. She has the classic hot-wife body, with signs of hard partying, crow's feet before her time, a bit of flab under her chin, and a certain facial slackness from habitual lack of sufficient sleep. Mrs. Miata had requested that I not speak directly to her, so I refrain from answering and just stare at her as if she is some kind of bug.

"We're trying everything we can think of. This one's different. She's not a pro. Her day job is engineering management. She's on track for senior management."

Was that fear I detected in Mrs. Fuscia's eyes? She also shifted her posture so very subtly that I almost didn't notice it, from bravado to false bravado. I had prepared myself for failure. How could I hope to succeed where eight skilled seductresses had failed? But she's concerned. How could hearing about my employment background worry her?

I recall something that Kyra told me about men, horses, carrots, and sticks. We took Mr. Fuscia's business from him. He was clearly a work horse, but in order to build a business that we wanted badly enough to take it from him, he must also have been a prime stallion among workhorses. It's no wonder he doesn't trust us or the pros we've sent. But I am something different and I perceive that Mrs. Fuscia is aware of another weakness in him, one that she is not qualified to exploit.

I have problem solving skills and management skills. It is an everyday thing for me to inspire people to optimum performance. I'm no expert in male psychology, but I compete in a male-dominated business arena. If the right buttons to inspire Mr. Fuscia still exist, I only need to find them. I know of different buttons than a common whore would know. I won't even try the common whore buttons, because they've presumably already been tried.

Mrs. Fuscia tries to dismiss her obvious concern with a, "Hmmmf!", accompanied by an equally dismissive shrug of her shoulders. She walks over to a chair, sits and raises her foot into the air. Her uncovered pussy is now insultingly on display. I believe most pussies are beautiful, but hers looks... somehow slobbish, as if it could spit out a bowling ball, burp, and then gape open and wait to be fed a huge cock. Mr. Fuscia has automatically followed her over to the chair and remains bowed obsequiously until she says, "Worm, remove the key and give it to that common trollop over there."

The research that I have recently done to satisfy my curiosity about the lifestyle of cuckolds tells me that he will see that she is wearing no panties and he will know that she is going out to get fucked tonight, probably by multiple men, and probably intends to return home to dump their cum into his waiting mouth. I hope this deliberate provocation backlashes on her. I silently vow to give it my best effort, despite Mrs. Miata's earlier prediction that I would fail.

Mr. Fuscia brings the key to me, holding it in both hands above his head with his eyes looking again at my feet. I take it from him and, despite my revulsion for what it represents, I experience a slight rush from accepting the role of keyholder. Mrs. Fuscia leaves and Mrs. Miata says, "Take us to the punishment room."

We follow him into the basement. It is painted white, brightly lit, and it contains many of the usual things found in a midwestern basement, including laundry facilities, a small bathroom, and stacked boxes in a corner. There is also a small cot here and I realize that this large open utility room is his bedroom. Judging from the size, the house has at least four bedrooms, so being denied the use of one is an insult to him.

I also see a television. It displays a large beautiful bedroom with a large bed. I suspect it is her bedroom and I suspect that he has been required to watch her with her lovers. He brings a straight-backed chair to the middle of the room as Mrs. Miata sets up video cameras on tripods around the room and boots up a portable personal cloud server.

I remove my trench coat and sit in the chair. I am uncharacteristically clothed. To emphasize that I am not the typical black card sister that we have been sending to him, Mrs. Malibu requested that I wear something other than a burqa or trench coat. She also advised against wearing anything overtly sexually provocative, because they had already failed. I could have chosen shorts and a T-shirt, but when my eyes had fallen on my most expensive business suit as I looked through my closet, it had suddenly seemed appropriate.

Mr. Fuscia takes his place in front of me, grovelling at my feet and awaiting my orders. It's time for my opening gambit.

"Sir, please look into my eyes."

He does not move. My opening gambit is a failure. I place my pointed toe under his chin and while pushing upward, I say, "Up on your knees, slave."

He raises up to his knees, but his eyes remain downcast. I slap his face hard and say, "Slave, I order you to look into my eyes."

He raises his eyes. I do not see hope. I see only despair. But I also see that he may be under the influence of some drug. If so, this could complicate things, but it might just be that he's mentally dulled due to the abuse he has received. It may take a while for whatever it might be to clear from his system, Maybe longer than one night. If I fail, I intend to call in a sister to get a blood sample.

"You will take all requests as commands until further notice. Understood?"

"Yes Mistress."

He has maintained eye contact the whole time and I take that as a good sign.

"Good. So that you will understand me, I will tell you something about myself. I both hated and enjoyed slapping you. That is my nature. I will both hate and enjoy spanking you. I will deceive you if I wish to, but I will do it without lying to you. If I tell you something, it will be the truth. You must not question my commands, but you may ask me questions. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Mistress."

Mrs. Miata finishes with the final camera and says, "We can begin. Start with twenty bare-bottom swats."

"Stand, slave."

I remove the panties and order him to remove the butt plug and 'clean up'. When he returns from the bathroom and bends over my knees, I feel the normal revulsion that I feel about causing pain, but it is especially keen because I see, up close, the many scars from past abuses and the slack anus from spending long periods stretched around the butt plug or other objects. I dread the 'milking' that I have agreed to perform after the punishment. I had only just read about the practice a few weeks earlier. It sounded both invasive and humiliating for the poor man.

As I administer the spankings, I take solace from the pain I am causing myself. There is something different about spanking a man's ass. His ass-meat is harder and tighter. His anus closes completely after the first five swats, and looks almost normal by the time I finish.

"Okay, now on to the milking." I want to get that over with, so that I can try to accomplish the real mission.

"Oh, no... um, Ma'am. He gets twenty with a cane first. Sorry, I thought I told you that. The spanking is just a warmup. It's mainly psychological. The caning is mainly physical pain. It's why the um, next owner wouldn't come. She can't bring herself to..."

"Oh, shit. I'm not sure that I can either. I've never done it. Do I have to?"

"I can give demo swats to teach you, but they don't count toward the twenty. You have to hurt him. That's a condition."

"Crap! Okay, can you just walk me through it without hitting him? I'll do my best."

I wanted him to hear my reluctance, to let him know that I want to be merciful. He tips the chair on its side and bends over it, gripping the legs at the front corners of the seat. She teaches me, explaining that she must see the welt from the cane's tip every time or add another hit to the count. After five, I have the technique down and I wail into him for another five. I am swinging so hard that I break a sweat and must pause to remove my jacket.

I notice how hard my nipples have become and it sickens me to realize how much I am enjoying the infliction of pain on this poor pathetic man. Is he a proxy for Dan? I am enjoying hurting him because my husband cheated on me? Or could this be retribution for all the hurts I have received from his gender? My pussy lips slip against each other as I deliver the next ten with a combination of growing self-loathing increasing sexual arousal. He jerks and cries out as each blow lands three distinct points of pain on him, one on each ass cheek and the worst as the tip curls around and marks him. I want to fuck this man in the ass I have just finished caning, but he is crying, and I am crying, and despite the lust that I am feeling, I am glad when Viki confirms that the last mark appears on the video.

I order him to stand and look into my eyes. "Sir, I am sorry for the pain I caused you. Had I a choice, it would have been your wife in your position, for what she has done to you."

His eyes widened when he heard that. He is careful not to react in any other way, but I believe I see hope come into him.

I whisper, "Think of anything I can do that could help me convince you that our mutual interests lie in the removal of you from this marriage. For now, I must continue with the requirements of the challenge your wife has given us." I switch to full command voice. "Prepare for milking."

He removes the spanking chair and pulls a padded table into the center of the room. He climbs onto it and places a dessert cup between his knees. I suspect that cup is for something I have read about while researching male inferiority conditioning. A 'cum cocktail' served back to a milked man is one of the more revolting practices. They call it 'recycling'. It gives me an idea that I can use to sway Mr. F, but I'm not sure that I have the stomach for it.

Mrs. Miata gives me a latex exam glove and a small tube of lubricant. I have never done this before, but she coaches me through it. I put the glove on, lube my middle and index fingers and insert them into his anus. I cannot help but cause him pain as parts of my hand touch his freshly caned ass. At his sharply indrawn breath, I whisper, "Sorry," and I hear a whispered, "S' okay," in return.

Under Mrs. Miata's guidance, I find the hard little bulb of his prostate and begin to massage it. Cum quickly starts to ooze from his flaccid cock into the bowl. I feel no pulsing and sense no satisfaction as he cums, but I move my fingers around his prostate and press harder until I feel a few squeezes and hear a moan of pleasure.

When he seems to be milked dry, there is a large amount of cum in the cup. I withdraw my fingers from his anus and remove the glove. Then I reach for the cup.

"He must drink it."

"I want some of it."

Mrs. Miata is stunned. I look her straight in the eye and make as if to pinch my nose and drink. I see comprehension come to her. She understands that I am about to do something I consider revolting. She nods, looking as sick at the thought as I feel. "Since this is your first time, you have earned a reward, but only a sip. He must drink most of it."

I steel myself and carry the cup around to where I can face him. His eyes are once again downcast.

"Sir, please look me in the eyes."

He raises his eyes to mine without hesitation. I swirl the cum in the cup and raise it to my lips. I don't know why it seems so repulsive to drink cum from a cup when I no longer balk at swallowing it straight from the spigot, but I fight against gagging as I take a sip. I make sure that I get some on my upper lip before I tilt the cup back down. I use my tongue to draw his eyes to my mouth as I lick that small amount in and swallow it. When his eyes return to mine, I offer the cup to him.

"Would Sir care to drink with me?"

There! There is the look I have been waiting for. He is looking at me with unrelenting clarity. He recognizes the sacrifice I have just made. I do not know if he was raised in Catholicism and whether he grasps the symbolism of my gesture completely, but I know that I have earned something from him. I have done what I could to bring myself to his level. Lowering myself or raising myself, however he perceives it, I have shared in the humiliation, the loss of dignity. This is not sexual, it is sacramental. The slap, the spanking, and the caning have become meaningless between us; merely acts in a play. I have his mind. The drugged look that he previously had is gone now. It falls to me to inspire his body.

He drinks the remaining cum and then licks the bowl clean while I unlock his chastity cage. I remove the tube section, liberating his flaccid cock for the first time since perhaps the last attempt by a sister. He tenses as I carefully push first one of his balls, and then the other, through the base ring.

I whisper, "Sir, your wife seems to believe that she has conquered your will so completely that you will not disobey her, fuck another woman, and leave. If you have the desire to prove her wrong, I offer myself. My sisters are prepared to make amends for the... punishments you have suffered."

"Why should I trust you. You have been the Sword of Damocles that she has held over me since I signed that damned re-nup. On top of that, you're so incompetent that you let her run my company so deep into debt that I doubt it's recoverable." His whispers probably can't be heard by the cameras recording us, but I am certain that his and mine can both be picked up by the transmitter in my mask and are being recorded by Bethany as she waits in the car outside, and probably transmitted out from there to Barbie Malibu.

I was unaware of his company's financial problems. It isn't something Barbie or Bethany would focus on, but it is clearly meaningful to him. "You cannot trust us. We are not good partners, but we are powerful allies. We believe our interests now align better with yours than with hers. We will be on your side of the table for the divorce negotiation."

I think carefully about what I say next. I am not authorized to say it, but I am here to convince him to leave with us. I believe that I know what he needs to hear.

"Sir, we made a mistake. We should not have taken your company. We should not have let her run it. We chose poorly when we recruited her. She has outlived her usefulness to us, but we can always use good men in the right position. We will make this right."

"But you are cuckolding your husband."

"No! It is mutual. I send other sisters to him when I can't be with him. I've even vetted a mistress for him."

"Does it still hurt?"

The question is unexpected, and painful to answer, but I know that he would sense dishonesty.

"Yes. Every damned time. Not as much maybe, because my life has a higher purpose now."

"I understand higher purpose, but you will just give me to another woman. I heard your partner mention my next owner."

"That was for the benefit of the recording. You will be free. You have my word. For tonight, we will take you to a safe house. We offer the care of a professional rehabber, to nurse you back to health. She is a single mother, ready to take you in."

"Will she take in my children?"

"Yes, and custody of them will be part of the negotiation. We have... influence in the family courts. We usually tilt the field toward the mother, but it seems wise to go the other way. The older daughter will likely have some say in who she goes with. The infant..."

"He's a toddler now and he is not mine. She..., they may want to take him, but I can't leave him with her. He doesn't deserve that. He is upstairs asleep now. You will bring him with us?"

"Yes. Where is the girl?"

"Summer camp. She will be okay. My wife will not run with her or hurt her."

"Then do we have an agreement? You will come with us tonight?"

"I'm not sure that I can fulfil my end of this. She gives me something before you visit. Birth control pills I think."

"You consent to that?"

"My consent lost all meaning after you bitches took my company."

Bitterness. That's actually good. I can work with that.

"Fucking me will seal a new bargain with you. Mrs. Miata will bear witness. We can't break our bargain with your wife, so you must assert your desire to go. Is there anything I can do that will help? What is the most likely thing in the world to spark your desire for me."

His lips curl in a feral grin as an idea occurs to him. He gets off the table and rushes to a large box in the corner. It is a wardrobe shipping box. He returns with a large thin white garment bag. I recognize what it must be as he zips it open and the scent of moth balls fills the air. It is her wedding dress. Devious man! His cock has already started to grow.

"Will you wear this?"

I am already stripping out of my clothes. "You don't have to ask, Sir. Please fuck me in your wife's wedding dress."

"Can I fuck your ass?"

This stops me cold. My ass belongs to my husband. His eyes are locked on mine. It's a loyalty test.

"Were it not promised exclusively to my husband, I would not hesitate. Will my pussy not suffice? I'm told it is tight."

"You are a remarkable woman. I can't begrudge your promise to your husband."

I pull on Mrs. F's wedding dress. She has bigger boobs, but I pride myself in still being able to fit in it. She's much younger and certainly can't say the same. Unthinkingly, I turn my back to him and say, "Zip me up, sweetie," as if I'm speaking to my husband. If Dan could see me now... I feel a twinge of guilt. The gangbang was just sex with multiple partners. This is much more intimate. Neither Dan, my husband, nor Gabe, my lover, have excited me as much as this poor man. Of course it's a different excitement, competitive lust. I'll show that bitch what an uncommon trollop I am!

"Upstairs, in her bed."

I am glad that he's doing what he can to insult her. I'm happy to be his revenge fuck. He follows me up the steps. Mrs. Miata follows us with the handheld camera and two of the cameras on tripods. She turns on all of the room's lights and sets up the tripods as we strip the covers off the bed. Mr. F's cock has been growing steadily. His balls must be combating the pill. He moves one pillow to the center of the bed and I crawl up and roll onto it. He positions me so that my hips are above the pillow.

"I am weak. I can't support my weight on my arms."

I raise my legs up high. "My legs can support you. Just lean against me and plow into me."

He prepares to mount me and Mrs. Miata warns, "Condom, we need evidence of completion." She tosses him a condom and he tears open the wrapper. His cock is now hard. It's shorter and thinner than Dan's. I don't care. I'm not concerned with whether I come. I just want him in me. I want the victory.

"Please, Sir, don't hold back. Fuck me here, in your wife's bed, in her dress."

He holds my legs apart, leans down and licks my pussy. I know that it's already wet and I see that his nose and lips are now coated with my juices. Hopefully my scent on his face will help inspire him. He reaches between my knees and grabs the bodice of the wedding dress. He rips it open, exposing my breasts. She will never wear this dress again. The effort seems to have exhausted him, but his mouth descends onto each breast, licking my hard nipples. It doesn't really matter that his passion is not particularly for me, but is directed at something feminine that I represent. His desire is to have his way with his wife, or the sisterhood, or our gender in general. I am the designated cunt.

He plunges his cock into me, and lays heavy against my legs. I squeeze with my pussy as hard as I can to maximize his pleasure as he pummels me full stroke, rocking the headboard against the wall.

"Yes! Hard! Yes! Fuck meeeeeee!"

"Ruh, ruh, ruh, ruh."

I feel my breasts rolling as he thrusts against me. My nipples are rubbing against the torn fabric. I am surprisingly close to coming when he goes off. I receive his waning thrusts with frustration, but it is okay.

"You did not come?"

"No, Sir, but it's okay. I'm so glad you did."

But he isn't satisfied. "You earned better." He digs his face into my pussy and starts licking my clit. I barely notice Mrs. Miata pulling the condom from his cock and holding it in front of the camera. There is cum in it, not much but more than I expected so soon after the milking. I am victorious! His tongue feels wonderful. No man has ever licked my pussy so soon after fucking me. I pull and twirl both nipples with my fingertips and soon dissolve into bliss.

When I return from happyland, Mrs. Miata is packing up the video equipment. I can tell that she is disturbed by something, possibly my success where she failed. She tells Mr. F to pack his bags, but he says that he has nothing more than panties to pack. Mrs. F removed all of his clothing from the house. He isn't even sure if his driver's license, passport and birth certificate weren't destroyed. I do a quick search as Mrs. Miata packs the baby, but I find nothing.

"I can wear her bathrobe," he says.

"No! You will not wear women's clothing when we leave this house. Fetch me some scissors."

"Yes, Ma'am."

It disturbs me that I have so quickly slipped into my Sister Cate persona and that he so readily and deferentially complies. He returns from the basement, from his territory, with pinking shears. I take the quilt from her bed and cut an opening in the center for his head. I throw it over him and he now has a poncho. With a few more cuts, it is a sleeveless wrap, belted around his torso. It looks odd, but he seems grateful. I strip out of the wedding dress and he throws it on the bed. I dress in my clothes and just before we leave, he pees on her dress. Mrs. Miata throws the knotted condom on top and takes a photo.

We whisk Mr. F and the boy away in Bethany's mini-van. Bethany also seems perturbed, and I wonder if I have done something terribly wrong. We take Mr. F to the safe house, and he is immediately welcomed by a sister I haven't previously met. Bethany doesn't introduce her and she asks me to forget that I've been there. By the time we leave, the sister is serving him a hot meal and he's wearing a man's bathrobe. I say goodbye and repeat my promise to be on his side of the table. He thanks me.

After we drop Mrs. Miata off at her car, Bethany takes a phone call.

"She seems okay. A little shocked maybe. That sounds like a good idea. Cate, Barbie wants to meet with you."

"Now? It's kind of late."

Beth puts it on speakerphone and says, "She can hear you now."

"Hi Cate, it's Barbie. I think we should talk. Can I buy you a drink."

"Sure. Are you here."

"Yes. Bethany?"

"Almost there."

We get to the same hotel that I'm staying in and Beth gives me a room number. She also takes my room's key card with an enigmatic, "Doctor's orders." I knock and find Barbie in pajamas. She gives me a hug and invites me in. She's got an unopened bottle of Talisker.

"For you. With our thanks."

"Barbie! You can't afford this!" Barbie's inability to hang onto money is a running joke in the Red Council meetings.

"Liz can. She had it delivered here when I gave her the news. I know you probably want to relax, but I hope some liquid relaxation will do. I want to get your thoughts while they're still fresh in your mind, and help you cope if you need any... counseling."

"Ah, so you're the Doctor who had Beth take my key card. You want me to talk about what just happened?"

"Yes. If you will."

"Can I at least shower first? I feel all kinds of grotty."

"Sure, you can stay the night, too. The room has two beds."

"I sleep naked."

"That's between you and your bed, Cate. I'm just here to drain your brain and soothe your soul."

I shower and return wearing a hotel bathrobe. It feels good to have washed the grunge of the night off me. I find my luggage on the other bed. I have clean clothes to change into if I want, but all I want is a double of the single malt. I pour it and kick back on the bed. I sip and the soothing burn eases down my throat. When I'm ready, I look over at Barbie's bed and see that she is sipping her own drink, red wine.

"Can we get started?"

"Yes."

We go over the entire evening. I learn that she was one of those who failed and that she recorded and studied all subsequent attempts. I confirm that she watched live during this attempt and has it recorded on the laptop. I refuse to look at the recording, but she watches and listens to the parts she indexed as important. She grills me on the interplay between me and Mrs. F. She wants my thoughts on whether Mr. F sensed her fear of defeat after meeting me. I think he did. I thank her for giving me the tools that threw Mrs. F's sense of superiority out the window.

"Thanks. I studied her. I guessed that he needed to see her worry. What made you decide to wear a suit?"

We go over my guesses as to what gets through to him, including my choice to wear business attire. I tell her that he probably thought we were idiots for allowing the business that we took from him to get run into the ground by his wife. The business suit was to show him that we aren't only what he came to think we are, seducers and blackmailers. Finally, we get to the part I dread. The part where I stepped outside the lines.

"You did four things that I consider to be crucial. I didn't see any of them coming. I didn't think to try any of them. None of the pros did either. That wasn't a seduction. That was a... What was that?"

"Half business deal and half Faustian bargain."

"You think you were the Devil?"

"We were. We sent him to Hell. We, the sisterhood, did that to him by assuming he was an enemy instead of a potential ally. And I can't say I feel all that good about being a member of our gender right now. If I thought it would help, I would sew my pussy shut and never have sex with anyone again."

"Oh, dear. I was afraid something like this had gotten into you. Why did you go through with it if it was so bad for you?"

"You wanted him to sacrifice the only security blanket we had left him, that steaming pile of twat. For us to get any sacrifice from a man like him, we have to earn it. So I had to admit our mistake, and promise help with his divorce, and offer him a job. I wasn't authorized to do that, so I'll pay if I have to."

"I'm pretty sure Liz won't let you pay for any of that. She gulped when I told her, but she put Kyra right to work on it. And she sent this bottle. I told her that you might be feeling kind of low, but not precisely why."

Barb was sitting on the edge of her bed now. Separated from mine by just three feet of carpet. She poured another double in the glass I had set on the nightstand between the beds. I sipped. I knew what was coming.

"We both know what the clincher was."

"Yes."

"What did it mean?"

"It means that I earned my right to his best effort by sacrificing enough dignity and experiencing enough disgust and committing my mind, body, and soul to the fulfilment of the promises I made. I'm on his side of the table even if we're on the other side of the table. I sealed that promise with a sip of his cum. It's powerful stuff. I don't recommend it when the stakes are that high. "

She breathes her response out in one long exhalation, "Shit."

"My thoughts exactly."

"What would you have done if you had failed?"

"I thought about that when he said she might have given him something. I would have promised to come back next month, and would have snuck a boner pill into the cum cocktail. From my lips to his."

Barbie looks shocked. "You would have done it again?"

"Somebody had to."

"I have one last question. Would you have broken your promise to Dan if he had insisted on anal?"

"In a heartbeat. I know Dan. I think he would have wanted me to. It would have hurt me more than it would have hurt him."

"Cate, I'm a marriage counselor. My job is to help people get along with each other. Right now, you're having a hard time getting along with yourself and it's my fault for calling you in on this, but you succeeded. You should be feeling great about that."

"I'm having a harder time getting along with the sisterhood right now. Not you or Bethany or any of the sisters in particular, but with the way we treat men. Mr. F has a mother and she would hate us for what we did to her son."

"But she would have loved you for rescuing him. Are you feeling guilty about what happened to him?"

"Not exactly. I've identified that we sometimes drop the ball after the re-nup. When a problem is identified, it should be addressed. Instead we continue to count on the sister to manage the husband after we put his balls in a vice. It's fine to do that in most cases, but Claire and her children could have been killed by Mick. And Mr. F tonight. God, I hope I never see another pathetic consequence of our inaction like that again. I just wish we would do better. And right now... the things I did and the feelings I felt... I just feel lost and clueless."

The tears finally come and Barbie stands in the gap between her bed and mine. She takes my drink and sets it on the nightstand. She tells me to take off the bathrobe and crawl under the sheets. She's seen me naked before. She's hugged me when we were both naked before. It's no big deal. I crawl naked under the sheets and she turns off the light. She crawls in beside me, spoons against my back, and throws an arm over to hold me.

"Sleep. Things will look better in the morning."

It feels good to have her there. It feels like my life has revolved around sex and I want nothing to with men or women at the moment. She is a beautiful and sexy woman and I am not attracted to her. She is straight and not attracted to me. For the moment, she is being a mom and I am being a scared little girl. She starts singing a lullaby and I stop sobbing and drift off...

I wake in the morning to the feel of her warm ass against my back. It feels good. My phone is ringing and it's Kyra.

"How does a spa weekend sound?"

"Wonderful, but knowing I didn't screw up too badly last night would be even better."

"Well, you can have both. You didn't screw up at all. Fixing this mess will cost a pretty penny, but it would have been worse if it went on for another quarter or even another month. And I don't even want to think about how much worse it would have been for that poor man. If Barbie's there, put us on speakerphone."

I don't have to. Barbie has turned toward me, and I toward her. We're just inches apart and she can hear just fine.

"She can hear you, Ky."

"Spa weekend. Liz's treat and Liz's orders. You, Bethany, Cate, and Me. We spent nine months trying to rescue a man and his wife almost ran his company into the lake. Liz wants ideas about how to prevent it. Action plans can come later."

It's good to get back to the place in Michigan where my Last Wives Club story began. Kyra and I share a room. Bethany and Barbie share another. We spend our days being pampered and our evenings brainstorming. My sex life is put on hold for the duration. Kyra doesn't even pout about that. We cuddle, and that's enough.