A New Birth of Freedom Ch. 03

The adventure continues toward the births of two sisters (who don't know they are sisters).

Again, deepest thanks and grateful acknowledgment to Grandmaster dweaver999 for his encouragement and for permitting me to publish this story. He created a world and filled it with real people; I merely scribble in the corners.

Thanks to a great composer and lyricist, Jim Steinman. When I was stuck trying to write this story, and about to let it all go overboard, there was Bonnie Tyler belting out Mr. Steinman's masterpiece--and everything was all right.

One more time I gratefully acknowledge earlier technical assistance from SA Penn Lady and Yes_Please. As they didn't read this story, they aren't technical editors/advisors strictly speaking, but their past help has been invaluable.

Finally, of course, I am solely responsible for any errors, inaccuracies or misstatements.

*

Valerie and Sally didn't speak as Valerie drove home. The roads were clear in the early afternoon, and the day, though cold, was bright. A cloudy day would have made the drive home even more depressing. I should be elated, Valerie thought, and yet Sally is hurting; she isn't just playing, but I can't give up this baby. I won't, Sally or no Sally! And I have that damned meeting back at the office--oh, fuck it all!

She nearly missed the exit from the Interstate. Sally flinched as Valerie took the exit ramp hard, squealing the tires on her Lexus and making her even angrier. She braked hard at the top of the ramp, and squealed the tires again as she turned onto Spring Street.

Parking roughly and taking Sally inside, Valerie kissed her, removed her coat, and took her to their bedroom. "Just lie down and rest, darling. I'll come home and cook us a great dinner."

"Yes, Mistress," said Sally, looking at the floor. She sounded like a lonely, unhappy child. Valerie hugged her hard. "You know I love you. I love you," Valerie said desperately, hoping to break through Sally's pain--and her own. Valerie was afraid she hadn't succeeded, as Sally turned away and lay down.

Valerie had to leave. She could not miss the meeting.

*****

"Well," said the Colonel, "Rupie Murdoch has come out. He's making a tender for as much Delgrasi stock as he can get. Will and Rocky told him to fuck off, but the cousins, those motherfuckers would sell anybody and anything. And Rupie is throwing cash around like it's going out of style.

"I want us to try to figure out a way to keep Delgrasi Publications Delgrasi--and to give us inspiration, guys, if Rupie takes over, we-uns is all walkin' the plank. With no severance."

Jamie Whynch asked, "Can't Delgrasi borrow the money to buy out the cousins? I mean the corporation of course...from a bank or a hedge fund or somewhere? Are leveraged buyouts out of fashion?"

George Falstaf answered abruptly, "Good thought, Jamie, but it won't cut it. I understand Will Delgrasi approached the banks we deal with. Delgrasi is debt-free, and Rocky and Will haven't pledged their stock to anyone for a loan, so the banks'll lend for sure, even in this economy, but they won't lend nearly enough. Murdoch's paying well over the odds. And even if the banks would lend enough, Delgrasi would have to pay the banks every cent of the bottom line and more, for years, to pay off the loans. No bonuses, no benefits, salary cuts, take garbage ads just to raise cash--we'd lose our staff and go broke."

"Sounds like Rupie's gone crazy," someone said from the other end of the table (Valerie was thinking so hard that whoever was speaking didn't register).

"Like a fox," said the Colonel. "He's paying far more than our free cash flow would justify. But we have a niche and a moat and a franchise, all the fuckin' Buffet buzzwords. There's no meaningful competition for what we do."

Valerie spoke up at last; something had clicked. "Colonel," she began, then paused, and went on.

"I haven't seen our latest numbers, but we're nothing compared to News Corporation. Our free cash flow isn't even a rounding error on their balance sheet. Mr. Murdoch isn't buying our cash flow. And he sure isn't putting his name, and News Corp's name, on Mastering Magazine and Pony's Paddock and Poly Living. When News of the World got caught hacking cellphones and stealing stories, he shut them down and ran like a thief. Can you see the Tea Party crowd and the National Organization for Outlawing Marriage, and the crew that believes Fox News, cheering that their guru bought Jamie's latest story about better beatings before cock-and-ball torture? Or Dorothy's stories about multisexual sixsomes raising children?

"No sir! Mr. Murdoch wants something more than Delgrasi's magazines or their free cash flow. And I'm betting what he's buying is power. That's the only thing he'll spend that kind of money on, the kind you're talking about."

"Valerie," said George Falstaf, just slightly patronizing, "very interesting, but what's that got to do with Delgrasi Publications, Incorporated? What power do we have?"

"Not us, Mr. Falstaf," Valerie said, and paused again. "Our subscribers."

"Motherfucker!" The Colonel's big black fist hit the table with a crash. "Of course, dammit! He buys Delgrasi, he gets the subscriber lists. The names on there are fuckin' dyna-mite. Say you're a Senator, a Congressman, a Judge, the CEO of a major bank, or even Someone Bigger--you want it known you're in the lifestyle, while you're defending the Defense From Marriage Act? Bankrolling the homophobe politicians? While you're yipping it up about "Family Values"? Holy shit, girl, you got it!"

Valerie didn't mind the "girl", not from the Colonel. "I've never seen the real names on the subscriber lists..." she began.

"Of course not," Pedro Valdez from Circulation broke in, loudly. "I never have, and my business card says I'm the department head. They're guarded better than Fort fuckin' Knox. I only see box numbers and phony addresses."

Valerie went on, "but there must be names there that would tremble if Murdoch threatened to out them. Maybe even politicians and journalists and big campaign contributors from the liberal side, who he could smear real good...."

"So," concluded the Colonel, "we engage in some polite blackmail?"

"I'd suggest we call it Defense of Reputation," said Valerie. "And one more suggestion if I may, sir? Maybe we need a new financial advisor, to bring in some fresh thinking, perhaps even facilitate the arrangements. Someone who can talk to our subscribers, tell them our story in their own language. Gently suggest what having their names in Mr. Murdoch's hands would mean...."

"Like Champagne Charlie Vanquil?" asked George Falstaf.

Valerie's mouth dropped open. How the Hell does he know about Master Charles? And how dare he call Master 'Champagne Charlie'! Valerie snapped her mouth shut and said quietly, "Mr. Vanquil would be perfect."

George Falstaf smiled at her. "Just the man, isn't he, to get the message across to the right subscribers the right way, scoop up their money, syndicate the deal (without any money sticking to his fingers or Word One getting out), create some innocuous entity to hold the stock, and assure our subscribers of the utmost discretion and anonymity. And maybe even a modest return on their investment."

"Colonel sir," Valerie asked, "May I call Mr. Vanquil?"

"George," said the Colonel, "do you concur? Remember, George and Valerie, if this blows up, your collective asses are grass and I am the lawnmower! My wrath will descend upon you heavily!"

"And if Rupie buys Delgrasi we're all dead anyway," Falstaf replied in a monotone, staring at the table. "What else are we going to do?" Turning to the Colonel, "if you wish, Marcus (Falstaf had permission to use the Colonel's first name), I'll get with Will and Rocky tonight. I don't dare telephone, even on a landline, and e-mail's out of the question."

"Anybody else feeling brilliant? No? Valerie, hold off on calling Champagne Charlie till I tell you. OK, let's go home," said the Colonel.

*****

"Darling, I know I promised to cook for you tonight, but we have to go out. We're having dinner with Master and Lady Nadine tonight." Sally was still in bed when Valerie came home.

"Yes, Mistress." Valerie looked at her; she had been crying. "Oh baby, when you cry it hurts me too. I never want to really hurt you, only when we play."

"Mistress, please let me be Sally. I want this baby, but I want to be her Mommy, me, Sally, not a breeding animal. I belong to you, but let me belong to you, not your pet animal, but me, Sally. And let my baby be herself, not some trophy."

"Oh honey," Valerie dropped to her knees next to Sally, "I'll try. I want this baby so much. It's so hard to share what I need so desperately. But for you, anything."

"Show me."

"If Master Charles doesn't put us on restriction, tonight I totally belong to you."

******

Charles Arthur Jameson Vanquil II ("Chip") was in the middle of his dinner when Valerie and Sally walked into the livingroom. He looked momentarily at the new arrivals, decided not to howl or hide as he recognized them as non-hostile, and returned to Lady Nadine's left breast.

Charles extended his right hand for Valerie and Sally to kiss, as they knelt. "Good evening, Valerie and Sally. It's nice to have your company. Please take seats."

Two responses of "yes, Master," and Charles clicked his iPad. Yolande, the latest apprentice, appeared, naked but for a collar of used tampons around her neck. "Yes, Master?" she said as she slid to her knees.

"Drink orders, slave."

"Yes, Master. Master? Mistresses?"

"This is truly tedious, slave. Lady Nadine is your mistress. You are to address these others as 'Ladies'." Charles gave her a quick slap with Ruffnex Mizzou '56, a wooden paddle he'd acquired ("Would you believe it, on eBay?"). Signed by select students of the Agricultural College at the University of Missouri in 1956, it was an unusual toy. More than once, Charles had thought I wonder what any of them would think today if he saw what had happened to this memento of his misspent youth?

"Thank you, Master, may I please have another?"

"Of course. The Lord loveth a cheerful giver." Smack! "Now, as the vulgar would have it, girl, ya gotta work!"

"Master? Mistress? Ladies?"

Charles asked for a Lustau almacenista fino, Nadine for her usual Pellegrino and lemon, Sally for the same, and Valerie for an extra dry Gibson. ("If you have Plymouth rather than London, I'd like that." "Valerie, of course we do. Yolande, see to it." "Yes, Master.")

"Now, then," said Charles, taking his first sip of the Sherry, "I take it we can talk after dinner. I would, however, before we sit down to dinner, like to tell you that I spoke to George Falstaf on a secure landline, and we have agreed on the terms of the transaction Valerie proposed. Logistics will be a problem, and the damned money-laundering laws make it a real pain, but after all I am used to managing pain, it's rather a speciality of mine. My commissions, as you know, are never onerous, only very mildly extortionate. And the alternative is most distasteful to the Delgrasis' many fans.

"Valerie, your analysis has been very helpful, and I am sure, if we succeed in implementing your plan, the Delgrasis will not be ungenerous in showing their appreciation."

"Thank you, Master," said Valerie, her eyes tearing up.

"No, thank you, my dear. My name might be on certain lists, which I should not like to see in the filthy paws of a certain Press Baron whose initials are Rupert Murdoch. But moving from this distasteful topic," he pressed the iPad again, glanced at it, "I see dinner is ready. Nadine, my love, shall we have our dinner? May I take it Chip has had his dinner?"

"Your son has dried me up," she said, holding Chip against her shoulder as he let out a hearty burp, followed by a loud howl. "Now he is getting ready for bed."

"Such a good boy," said his father, going to kiss his son. "But what an appalling noise! I do hope he's not practicing to be a politician or a lawyer."

"Only if he goes to Harvard, darling," said Lady Nadine, with a gentle lilt to her voice.

"Well, I doubt he'll be going to Wellesley, darling. Except occasionally for amusement. Good night, boy."

Lady Nadine settled Chip in the wheeled cradle, and they went in to dinner.

When they returned to the livingroom, Yolande had built up the fire and poured Charles his Louis Treize. Hot water and a selection of herbal teas were arranged on the sideboard.

"Now, need we say any more about Delgrasi?"

Valerie said, "No, Master, the fewer people who know, the better."

Chuckling, Charles replied, "Obiwan has taught you well, Luke."

"But Master, George Falstaf was really rude this afternoon. He called you 'Champagne Charlie'. I didn't want to make a scene, with all the stress we were going through, but I was furious."

"Save your indignation, my dear. Falstaf's tongue gets more exercise than his brain, when he should have it the other way around. Two years ago now, I invited him to a dinner party I was giving Will and Rocky Delgrasi at the Gotham, to celebrate paying off the corporation's debt financing I had arranged. I ordered champagne, and of course no good deed goes unpunished. George got a little too happy, and he endowed me with an epithet I would sooner not hear. He should drink less and think more.

"Now, there's something more important. I'll be direct, because this is no time for diplomacy. Sally, are you pregnant?"

"Master, it's too soon for any test to show it, but I feel it. Yes, I am. It's like I have the flu, I'm kind of hazy about everything. We just...today... it's way too early for me to be nauseous and my breasts don't hurt, but I'm different, and I feel different...."

Valerie hugged her and kissed her cheek.

"I will talk to Sally, alone. My dear Lady, could you and Valerie make sure that Chip is settled in for the night and all alarms armed? And show Valerie the new frame we've installed in the dungeon? Just a brief demonstration, of course, we don't want to spoil her digestion."

"Of course, dear. Valerie."

"Yes, Mistress."

After they had gone, Charles asked Sally, "What is going on between you two? Valerie gets possessive, very possessive. I know. She called me once on my treatment of a servant. Although she was right, she challenged my role as Master, and it was only with difficulty I accepted that then. I won't accept it now. I am your Master."

"Master," Sally said, standing in front of Charles, "she wants to own me. This is her baby I'm carrying. There's no room for Sally, except for providing an egg and a uterus to grow it in. She's more than a Mistress, she-- like she wants to crush me, not dominate me."

"You know, dear Sally, subs want to try to 'top from the bottom', dictate how their Masters must treat them, make rules beyond their contracts. I have your contract and Valerie's. They should be reviewed. It may be that you are playing the sub game, and I like that, it keeps Master on his toes. But it may also be that Valerie is setting herself up as something beyond her proper role.

"After all, we review our insurance coverages, our tax strategies and our long-term investment plans every year. We haven't reviewed our D/s contracts for much longer, and that's just poor planning.

"No excuse for poor planning. So--no restrictions, enjoy yourselves thoroughly between now and next Saturday. Both of you come back here at, say noon, and bring your contracts with you. Now let's see how my dear wife and yours have contrived to amuse themselves."

They walked down the stairs Sally knew well. As they entered the dungeon, they heard Lady Nadine's voice. "Now we can push part of your body forward, or pull it back, since the arms of the rack are flexible. Let me show you."

Valerie was naked, of course, and strapped to a large wheel with many spokes, attached at top, bottom and sides to heavy struts that permitted both vertical and horizontal rotation through 360 degrees. Lady Nadine was holding what seemed to be a television remote, but at a touch Valerie's upper body was pushed forward, causing her breasts to protrude.

"Now I can attach nipple clips and weights, and have you lean forward, and the effect will be enhanced. Sally, would you like to help?"

"Master, may I?" "Certainly, Sally."

Sally attached and tightened the clips Lady Nadine held out to her. Valerie gasped very slightly, and gasped louder as Sally attached the chains and the weights. Lady Nadine touched the controller, and Valerie was moved forward, her breasts taking the full effect of the weights.

"See what a nice toy this is?" asked Lady Nadine. "Sally, would you like to play?"

"Yes, Mistress." She turned to Valerie. "Mistress, may I?"

"Tonight I totally belong to you," said Valerie.

Sally kissed Valerie, tested the weights with a gentle pull that made Valerie gasp even louder. She walked to Valerie's side, to the ends of the scars from Francine's beating . She kissed each scar. She ran her finger gently over each, and kissed it again.

Valerie started to cry. "Don't cry, Mistress, I love you." Sally remembered the words of a hymn they'd sung in church a few weeks before: "With what rapture, gaze we on those glorious scars." She smiled at the thought of what some of the people who had sung that hymn would think if they saw her now.

Still smiling, Sally slapped Valerie's face, twice, three times. She kissed her mouth, then bit each ear. She reached down to Valerie's vagina and thrust three fingers into her. Valerie gasped again and her crying became sobs. Sally brought her lover slowly, gently, to orgasm, and removed her fingers. She held Valerie's head as Valerie hung suspended, kissing her again, comforting her. "When we get home tonight, Mistress, you will pleasure me with your mouth and your fingers."

*****

Saturday was overcast, and snow threatened again, as if winter was a drunken guest who wanted to make yet another incoherent point before being propelled out the door.

Sally wanted to sleep. The morning after their dinner with Charles, her business phone rang at 5 a.m. The week that followed had seen her in Cleveland, recovering an auto repair shop that had burned to the ground, but was insured by one of Sally's biggest clients. Temporary space was easy, with the current economy, but advertising the temporary location; securing replacements for the tools and equipment that had been destroyed; trying to placate maniacal customers whose irreplaceable cars were gone; scrounging replacement cars for them or endlessly haggling over cash payouts when replacements didn't suit them (and as usual some customers whose heaps had been righteously consumed thought they'd won the lottery), working around the fire marshals and police investigators; and above all, doing it all by herself in six days, while not rattling the cages of her client's bean-counters, or spending too much money--that was 144 hours of pure Hell.

And Valerie was on the phone, almost hourly, worrying about the baby and Sally's health, while Sally had plenty to do.

Finally, on Thursday afternoon, it was all too much: "Mistress, I'm going to lose the client and my business. Now leave me the fuck alone!" And she hung up, as the song echoed in her head: "Once upon a time I was falling in love, but now I'm only falling apart. Nothing I can do, a total eclipse of the heart".

By dawn on Saturday morning, Sally had flown back home exhausted, barely having strength to drag her carry-on up the walkway. She had slept perhaps an hour or two, when Valerie wakened her and reminded her that it was time to see Master Charles.