Risk Versus Reward Ch. 08

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Author’s Note

Risk Versus Reward is a prequel to Girl Friday and focuses on the story of Karin, the ‘H.R. Lady’ who provided Charlotte’s rather unique interview experience when she was hired. You do not need to read Girl Friday to understand what’s going on in Risk Versus Reward. But if you enjoy this story, Girl Friday should most definitely be on your reading list.

In the last chapter, Karin began her day with an amazingly fresh feeling provided by The Academy’s high-tech bidet and shortly after was treated to a nice post-calisthenics orgasm provided by the lovely and talented Carly from New Jersey. Finally it’s time to start actually get down to the business of attending classes, but like everything else in Karin’s unique educational environment, the rest of her morning will prove to be anything but dull.

I hope you enjoy Karin’s continuing story.


* * * *

Chapter 8: Ladies Who Lunch

I think The Academy must own stock in the company that makes all these flat-panel monitors, Panasonic or Samsung or whoever, because they are absolutely everywhere. Always displaying those cheeseball animations advising me on my choices for the day. And as I made my way hand in hand with Desi, down the hallway to the wing where all the classes were held, there was a monitor outside of every single room. Just like a multi-screen movie theater complex, each one beckoned us to enter with a short animation highlighting what the class was about and how many free seats were left inside.

“Looks like home economics, Des. Four seats, all of them free. Wanna check it out?”

“What?” She looked at me like I was asking her to jump in the river. “And miss Contemporary American Literature? I was so looking forward to getting my dose of Salinger for the day. I’m not kidding. I really was.”

Desi smiled, took my hand, and practically dragged me through the door to Home Ec.

“We’ll have to take literature sometime you know,” I said. “It’s required.”

“But not today. Today we can blow it off for the promise of gourmet food.” Desi smiled and plopped her naked ass on one of the four stools arrayed around what looked more like a kitchen island in a really posh home than a classroom, and I sidled up next to her.

For a brief time we were the only two people in the room — a typical kitchen setup, with cabinets, a fridge, a smooth dark glass surface that looked like it might be an induction rangetop, and a double oven mounted in the wall next to the cabinets. Gone were the old traditional classroom desks and chairs, having been replaced by the bar stools.

“Hello girls,” I heard a woman’s smoky barroom voice from behind me. “I managed to find one more straggler willing to join us today. So it appears we will have three in the class — a very auspicious number for today’s endeavors, wouldn’t you say?”

What the heck is so magical about three? But as I turned around in my seat I soon forgot all about my question, and settled in to watch this woman in her white double-breasted chef’s coat, the one to whom the sultry voice belonged. I found myself lost momentarily in switch of her hips and the jiggling of her breasts as this she made her way over to where Desi and I sat like she was working the runway at a Paris fashion show. I managed to peel my eyes from her chest and stand up from my stool just as she extended her hand to greet both of us.

“I am Miss Chowdhury, your culinary instructor,” she said as her full lips spread into a wide smile.

Miss Chowdhury definitely fell into the voluptuous category of woman, and sexy as hell. Her ample bosom tested the strength of the buttons on her top, while the curve of her hips filled out the coordinating pants quite nicely. Factor in her easy smile and twinkling eye and she looked like the kind of woman I would gladly bathe and fetch wine for while she spent her days spoiling and tempting me with her homemade goodies and confections. Listen to me, like I’m shopping around for my dominant already — but it was always there in the back of my mind, that thought — and someday I knew I would have to take the plunge and make that choice.

Miss Chowdhury was quite a contrast to the petite and rail-thin naked redhead who had followed her in and was introduced to us as Celia. Celia was so damn cute and demure that I just knew she’d be snatched up out of the dating pool in an instant, probably the very minute she wrapped her slender fingers around her diploma.

Celia caught my eye as Miss Chowdhury’s back was turned and pushed her right hand through a little circle that she had made with the thumb and finger of her left. Apparently she too had witnessed the shower antics between Des and me. Celia winked, as if that were some kind of invitation so I puckered up and blew her a little kiss while Desi simply looked on and wagged her finger at the two of us. Our little exchange was brief and ended with the three of us all biting our lips in an effort to appear studious when Miss Chowdhury finally turned to face us Ankara escort once again.

“Alright girls, we’re going to jump right in feet first today and prepare a selection of hummus and pita appetizers for a luncheon,” Miss Chowdhury said with a delightful rolling of her Rs. “Before we start though, I’m going to need a volunteer.”

Without giving it much thought I shot my hand up in the air. OK, I suppose Miss Chowdhury could have been looking for an unsuspecting soul to fatten up and toss into the oven to be basted over the next several hours and served up with a side of hummus and pita, but she didn’t really strike me as the evil old cannibalistic witch type. First of all I don’t think she was too terribly much older than me, and secondly she didn’t look like she could have a single wicked bone in her body. She definitely hadn’t dragged our third student in pinched by the nipple as Mistress Nguyen was so fond of doing. So I volunteered.

“Thank you Karin,” she said. “Please hop up on the counter here.” Miss Chowdhury patted the kitchen island while I moved from my seat and hoisted my butt up to sit on the edge.

“You have showered recently?”

“Yes, Miss. After calisthenics.”

“Good, good,” she clucked as she quickly took my hair in her hands and secured it with a scrunchy that she had produced from her coat pocket. “Now please lie down and think happy thoughts. Desi, if you and Celia could please fetch the long wooden platter and bring it over I would very much appreciate it. It’s the one leaning against the wall that looks like a surf board. Yes, yes, that’s it.”

Lie down? Shouldn’t I be sitting up if I’m going to cook something? And what’s with the thinking happy thoughts? But as Miss Chowdhury directed Desi and Celia to place the long narrow platter on top of the kitchen island and helped them to slide it underneath me, I began to put the pieces together. I wasn’t going to be doing the cooking today, I was going to be doing the serving, and I was pretty sure I was going to be doing it on my back, lying atop this big mahogany surfboard thing.

“Celia, please bring me two towels from that drawer over there.” Miss Chowdhury blindly gestured to an area over her left shoulder while her eyes were busy scanning me from head to toe, sizing up her work surface. “Desi, the vodka please.”

What the? … The vodka?

“Food-borne illness is a very real concern in this line of work, girls. Especially as you are lying around with your coochie hanging out. So we must always take care to sanitize our work area.” Miss Chowdhury took the towels and bottle from my two naked classmates who looked like they were biting their lips even harder with this new development. And did she just make disparaging remarks about my vagina while referring to it as a coochie? She had definitely slipped a notch lower on my list of potential dominant hook-ups. Make that two notches — one for not fully disclosing the true nature of my volunteer assignment and another one for the coochie comment. So rude.

I shivered as I watched Miss Chowdhury upend the bottle and soak the two towels thoroughly before handing them back to Desi and Celia. As Desi and Celia stepped up next to me with soaked towels in hand, it dawned on me that I was the work area she was currently obsessed with sanitizing. I think the thought had sunk in with them too, because I swear I saw them grinning whenever Miss Chowdhury wasn’t looking.

I had never felt such a chill in my life — and the smell! The smell nearly knocked me out as Desi started at my feet and Celia started at my neck, laying those big kitchen towels, heavy with spirits against my bare skin and beginning to scrub. I shuddered the entire time they wiped me down. And when Celia reached my nipples and Desi got to my pussy, holy crap! But it’s what I saw next that really made me shudder anew. Miss Chowdhury reached down below the kitchen island and pulled forth two more items. The first was the scariest — a wide roll of plastic wrap, the kind you might find in any commercial kitchen, used to seal up leftovers before tossing them in the fridge. The second was simply a short glass tumbler that she proceeded to fill about a quarter full with spirits before picking it up and knocking it back. It’s nine-thirty in the damn morning! Miss Chowdhury just slipped a couple more notches down my list of bachelorettes on the dominant dating game.

“Nicely done, girls,” Miss Chowdhury praised. “Now let’s secure our little serving girl to the platter with one long spiral pass of the wrap, shall we? Desi, you’ll want to start at the ankles and when you get half way up pass it off to Celia so she can finish. Be careful to maintain an even tension girls, presentation is key.”

Miss Chowhury looked to me and patted my cheek. “Oh I do hope you had a chance to relieve yourself before class, Karin. We wouldn’t want to spoil the luncheon with any accidents.”

Miss Chowdhury flashed me a smile and set about refilling her tumbler while my classmates started their task of making a clear plastic mummy of me. They were both Ankara escort bayan grinning madly and I heard Desi whisper something about wondering what was happening in Contemporary American Literature right now. I made sure she saw me sticking my tongue out at her while she was asking Miss Chowdhury if they should do my face too.

“This is a living platter, Desi. The keyword here is living.” Miss Chowdhury knocked back another swig before leaning forward to kiss me on the forehead. “Are you quite alright, dear?”

“Yes, Miss.” And I was actually. The booze on her breath nearly put me under and I couldn’t move anything that wasn’t part of my face or my toes, but otherwise I felt OK — a little helpless, but OK. I tried to relax the best I could and just watch the events unfolding around me while I mentally reorganized my dominant dating list, pushing Miss Chowdhury into a solid tie for last place along side Mistress Nguyen and her nipple flicking riding crop.

I watched Miss Chowdhury and my two classmates as they all pulled forth matching food processors and several food items, some of them coming from the refrigerator, others from cabinets. Everything was lined up ready for use. I saw chickpeas, garlic, some lemons, a few vegetables, and several jars and bottles being taken out and arrayed on the island around me. At least one of the jars contained green olives. I know this because I watched Miss Chowdhury pull one out. She offered it to me and when I shook my head she tossed it unceremoniously in her glass to splash in the vodka. So it’s morning martinis now, is it?

After some combining of ingredients into the three food processors and a considerable amount of whirring, Miss Chowdhury and her eager grinning apprentices had produced three batches of hummus each with its own unique flair. Miss Chowdury was kind enough to let us all have a taste of these concoctions. I got mine via the index fingers of Desi and Celia, but that was OK, I knew they had washed and sanitized their hands. They still tasted a bit of booze.

“Oh, you look simply scrumptious Karin,” Miss Chowdhury clucked as she stroked my cheek. “The faculty will be very impressed with your efforts, girls. Very impressed indeed.”

So wait a minute. I’m going to be the appetizer platter for the faculty luncheon?

“Desi, Celia.” Miss Chowdhury turned from me to face my classmates with a newly filled glass of spirits in her hand. She knocked back a big slug. “Do please fetch the soup tureens from the warmer. And be careful not to burn your delightful little naked bodies as you do. It would be a shame to lose my two best helpers to the infirmary so early in the game. There’s also a large bowl of salad greens in the chiller.”

Apparently a few glasses of nine-thirty A.M. spirits was all it took to put Miss Chowdhury in a rare mood, and she was getting awfully handsy with Desi and Celia as they tried to organize the cart for the faculty luncheon. I understood now why the class had all of its seats empty this morning. Fortunately though Miss Chowdhury laid off the groping and the spirits while they were transferring the hot soup to the cart. The appetizer tray, otherwise known as me cling-wrapped to a surf board and covered in hummus, was very grateful for their caution. I let out a long sigh, thankful that that part was over and stared at the ceiling, counting the light fixtures as they wheeled me down the hallway and through several sets of double doors before finally coming to a halt.

* * * *

I looked around at what I quickly dubbed the hall of mirrors. It wasn’t Versailles by any stretch, but still opulent in a modern corporate headquarters sort of way, and both the wall next to me and the one on the far side of the long polished hardwood conference table were floor to ceiling mirrors. This place must be hell to keep free of fingerprints, I thought as I was hoisted up onto a side table by Desi and Celia under the direction of Miss Chowdhury.

My surfboard had been placed atop some unseen — at least unseen to me — risers because I was definitely several inches above the plates and bowls that were laid out in front of where I was perched. The salad and soup went at my head and my feet as Miss Chowdhury made sure Desi and Celia had everything just right before directing them to filling pitchers with ice water. And as the home ec entourage scurried back to the kitchen for a few last items, I was left alone with my thoughts and a stupendous view of the ceiling.

The ceiling got pretty old after about thirty seconds and I began to think about lab coat girls, specifically like where the heck were they? They were always the ones running around and feeding us — and tying us — at dinnertime. That got me thinking about two things — the hierarchy here at the school, and boobs. The boobs were all due to the gilded Venus statue from the garden. I could see it out the large picture window if I craned my neck just so, but I couldn’t hold the position for long without getting stiff. So I lay back and thought about hierarchy instead.

The faculty here Escort Ankara were definitely the top dogs, because one, they were dressed all the time, and two, they had us full-time girls pretty much at their beck and call along with the lab coat girls. I liked to think that those of us on the full-time submissive track were next in the pecking order, but that was kind of hard to do while I was wrapped to a board as an appetizer tray. I don’t ever recall seeing a lab coat girl subjected to such indignation, hell they even got to wear clothes. But then they also served us meals and took care of things like grooming and post-calisthenics massage. That was a bit of an enigma, but it was something I was going to have to figure out later since the doors were open now and the faculty members were assembling.

I turned my eye to the mirrored wall and watched them all filing in. Each woman dressed to the nines except for good old Mistress Nguyen, she wasn’t as casual as a her red track suit, but she was wearing black slacks and a school logo polo shirt while the rest were attired in jackets combined with either pants or skirts. Some of the faces were new and others I had seen before, like Headmistress Hendricks in one of her signature pencil skirts with the sexy seamed stockings. I was sure now that her wardrobe consisted only of pencil skirts and stockings. She paused to balance her plate on my knees as she selected a bit of each kind of hummus and a slice of pita to go with it, and before she reached for the salad, she pinched my cheek and told me that I looked absolutely lovely. That was quite a step up from Mistress Nguyen who dug around in the plastic wrap to find my nipple and pinched it mercilessly while she told me about all the things she was going to do with Desi while I was incapacitated. She had a kind of half-smirk so I don’t know if she was serious or not. For Desi’s sake I kind of hoped not, because most of it sounded pretty uncomfortable.

Trailing along right behind Headmistress Hendricks and the P.E. teacher from hell was another woman I had never seen before, but she had obviously seen me, because she complemented me on yesterday’s shower performance, told me that I had a lot of chutzpah as she gently touched a finger to my cheek.

I know I’ve described a lot of women as beautiful so far as I recount my experiences at The Academy, but it’s all true, they are all uniquely attractive and desirable to me, even Mistress Nguyen in her own slightly scary way and Miss Chowdhury if she could just lay off the booze. But this woman, the one who had just laid her finger across my cheek was by far the most stunning of them all. She had these beautifully expressive brown eyes that twinkled as she gazed down on me, set into a round face that was the color of an iced latte framed by short dark ringlets and accented with full red-painted lips that stretched into an easy smile as she complemented me. And she smelled faintly sweet, like sugar cookies or spiced cider or something. For the first time since this morning I began to strain at my bonds, trying to get another look at her gorgeous face as she passed, but all I caught was a flash of her tailored white pants and jacket in the mirror as she strode the length of the buffet table, trailing her finger over my cheek until it was no longer possible to maintain contact.

I sighed, and after a while I went back to contemplating the ceiling. About fifteen women had been through the buffet line and by then I was mostly denuded of my hummus and pita selections. I was looking forward to having a pee and then maybe spending some time in the hot tub to work some of these kinks out of my body. Lying supine on a surfboard for a couple of hours can put some knots in a girl, but I guess that comes as part of the territory when you’re a living appetizer tray. Maybe I could even find myself a sympathetic lab coat girl to take care of me properly. That sounded nice, I could use a happy ending right about now.

But it was not to be. After I was taken back to the kitchen and unwrapped, Miss Chowdhury informed me that there was one more duty over the lunch hour that I had yet to complete, and as she whispered in my ear it suddenly made sense why several of the women around the table were wearing dresses or skirts. I was to be in charge of the lunchtime happy endings.

When I got back to the room clutching a small pillow in my hands, there was already a chair pulled out for me, so I dropped to my knees and crawled under the table to get started. I have no idea what was being discussed at the staff meeting above me, because it was all muffled by the time it filtered down here. I sat back on my haunches and placed my hands gently on the knees of the woman closest to me. She parted her thighs to let me know she was indeed interested and I leaned forward to get to work. I started in slowly as I had been advised by a now seriously sloshed Miss Chowdhury. She was actually my first client as she gave me a rundown of what was expected while sitting on a barstool in the kitchen classroom, martini in hand and chef pants pooled at her feet. She’s definitely the whole package, this beauty we call Miss Chowdhury and I really enjoyed my practice run, but all I could think of as I knelt at her feet was what time of day her pussy would start to smell and taste of booze.

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