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Chapter 7 - Mikado




When Margery had reached home that morning to change after her night at the Plaza Grand, she'd been tingling with excitement and anticipation.  Kat was to be let out of her bag once more.  She'd chosen her garter belt and nylons carefully and checked in her mirror-wall that all was in order before putting on her outer clothes with the night's total conquest in mind.  Widget or no widget.

The week had gone so well.  It was out shopping on Monday, that she'd seen her chance to move on to the next step in recruiting the new girl, Bianca.  Then Bianca had suggested a money making winner and by a stroke of luck, Tuesday had been the day of the developers' Christmas party, allowing her to make a pre-emptive strike on Mohandas, who'd deliciously already turned Bianca's head.  And then the boy had turned out to be so clever and produced her widget after just a few hours in this Aladdin's cave.  She'd hit a whole flock of birds with one stone or in this case, the purchase of one pair of knickers.

So far Wednesday has gone like clockwork, exactly as she planned.  Now Mohandas' Fragonard has suggested the first stage in his training this evening.


After her visit to the loo where she also adjusted her more intimate recording devices, they met back in Mohandas' workroom where she explained his challenge.  It was to create a game that Margery called Mikado. She began to explain that The Mikado was an operetta by the satirist WS Gilbert's who wrote the songs to the music of Sir Arthur Sullivan and that it is set on Japan in a fictional town called Titi-poo.  She had intended to have him watch it on his screen from one of the many versions in The Cloud but he was already familiar with it.  More good luck, it saved her a couple of hours of cuddling up to him.

In the game he was to write players have to match suddenly appearing creatures called 'Titis' with objects called 'Poos'.  Poos are real places and can be almost anywhere.  But because they may be in strange spots, and are not always available, they can be difficult for Titis to find.  A mapping feature would show both Titi creatures and the relative location of Poo objects appearing and disappearing as a match is made.  As a Titi is matched with a Poo both would disappear and a golden token would be collected by Mikado from the TitiMikado would then pass a brown token, that is a fraction of the golden token, to the Poo object. 

With an undergraduate's enthusiasm, Mohandas was delighted with the reference to Titi-poo.  Kat, as he knew her, paced about his workroom, explaining in more detail, while he was swivelling about on his office chair smiling stupidly and acting like a young smartarse.  He was watching her with delight, no doubt anticipating taking her to his bedroom, when he made the mistake of saying:

"So I suppose that's Kat as in Katisha?" forgetting that Katisha was a frighteningly ugly old maiden in the operetta. 

"That's not at all nice," Kat shouted angrily, her hand reaching out at his bare arm, as fast as a cobra's strike.

Mohandas found himself flat on his back on his workroom floor staring up at her.  Catching him off balance she'd pulled him off his unstable chair, sending it skidding away on its side. 

He was lying there appalled at his stupid gaff. By asking if Kat was Katisha he hadn't meant to imply that she was old; and certainly not ugly. She is older than he is, maybe ten years?  But that's marvellous, it gives her confidence and maturity that a younger woman can't match.  And she's by far the most beautiful woman he's ever been intimate with.

He'd tried to get up but she immediately pushed him back firmly with the tiny point of her stiletto heeled shoe.

"Put your hands in your trouser pockets. And don't you dare take them out," she demanded, smiling as he instantly obeyed her, watching her and cowering like a naughty puppy.

Sensing the occasion Kat began stalking back and forth across his workroom, displaying herself to him like a super-model on the catwalk:   'Today Kat is wearing a revealing loose silk blouse; full, charcoal silk skirt and dark stockings above her black patent leather shoes with their pointed toes with tall metal stiletto heels.'

"So this is what you consider old and ugly?" she asked as she turned theatrically at the end of her imaginary catwalk.

Like a film director watching her own performance from across the room, Margery imagined the cameras'-eye-view and adjusted Kat's movements and expressions accordingly.  She was recording this.  Mohandas was to be a new work in her performance-art collection.  With his hands effectively immobilised, Kat was able to arrange him, just so, on his glossy floor; walking away to look appreciatively at the result before coming back to make another adjustment.  This was her overture to a new game of Kat and mouse. But it would be more than that, it would be a medical process too in which his various hormones would be players in his young body so that with sufficient repetition addiction to her charms would inevitably follow.


Kat dragged his chair and righted it.  Then steadying herself with a hand on its back, as a ballerina might on the bar, she placed her left foot next to Mohandas' head; raised her right leg over him; and touched her toe to her left knee.  

"This is what you like isn't it?  Or am I too old and ugly for you?  Yes or no," she asked as she allowed him an unrestricted view up her flowing skirt. 

Below her, Mohandas was spellbound as he gazed up at the sexuality that had haunted him all day and that nest of soft dark hair that had so enthralled him last night.  He didn't know what to answer.  "Yes I mean No..."  he mumbled and Kat smiled down at him unpleasantly.  She was both sexy and scary at the same time.

At his inadequate answer she raised her knee and swung her leg wide, straightening her leg, pausing again before bringing her foot down quickly towards his head.  As promised, he caught a longer glimpse of that forbidden view.

He was transfixed. Like a magpie defending her nest, Kat's shoe, with its long, sharp, glistening, stiletto heel, swooped down, in flashes of black and silver, at his face, her heel missing his eye by a centimetre. With his hands helplessly in his pockets Mohandas turned his head too late and flinched to protect his eyes. The magpie returned to its perch to evaluate its attack, before swooping back, this time even closer back to his face.  His head reflexively snapped over with it.  Again and again the heel swooped at him, until he learned that it was not going to hit him and waited instead for that glimpse of loose underwear and pubis.  His head froze his eyes flinching upwards in awe, waiting for his next glimpse.

"Look at how hard you are you pervert!  Why do you find looking up women's skirts so sexy?  You weren't as turned on by the sight of my naked body last night," she'd told him after the second flight.

He hadn't realised that he was turned on, except perhaps like the proverbial condemned man awaiting execution.  His overwhelming awareness was of fear, interspersed with relief as she missed him yet again.

At Kat's suggestion that he was turned on by his up-skirt view he realised that it was true.  Like the fellow beneath the swing in the Fragonard, at each swoop he caught a voluptuous glimpse of that forbidden view. 


Les Hasards heureux de l'escarpolette ca.1767 Jean-Honoré Fragonard
 Jean-Honoré Fragonard
Les Hasards heureux de l'escarpolette ca.1767

Public domain via Wikimedia Commons


Margery was pleased at Kat's progress. Nor-epinephrine had been stimulated.  Mohandas was indeed becoming increasingly aroused.  He was a rider on a frightening roller-coaster. Each time the magpie reached the top of its arc it paused, and he breathed again, before it, terrifyingly, plummeted down.

Abruptly Kat stopped and stared down at him angrily: "You have a wet patch on your pants!  So you've decided that I'm not such an ugly old spinster? Or would looking up any woman's skirt make you do that?" she shouted.

"No! I mean you're not...," he managed to stammer.  Kat was smiling at his confusion, like a prosecutor who has just won her case. 

Yet perhaps she was satisfied with this evidence that he found her attractive because she was now unhooking and unzipping the waist fastening of her skirt.  It dropped to the floor and she stepped out.  With a flick of her toe it flew away, sliding to a halt across the polished wooden floor.  Now she was unbuttoning her blouse and it joined her skirt across the room.

She stood before him naked except for her stockings, suspenders and high heels - like the flesh and blood personification of a Playboy Centrefold from his antique erotica collection.   He was finding her unimaginably sexy.

"Push those soiled pants down," she told him. "Leave your shoes on."

"Thank goodness," he thought, "we're going to have sex at last. She's forgiven me." Serotonin flooded his system. This was how she had begun last night's first athletic adventure. The moment the hotel door had shut, she'd undone his belt and lowered his pants to his ankles.  Then she'd pushed him stumbling back to a chair before pulling him to the floor by his feet and mounting him, her tight dress hitched up to her waist. The benefit of wearing no knickers.

She was watching smiling, as he fumbled to free his hands from his pockets and then more urgently with his belt and fly and underpants, amused at his haste to get ready for what was to come next. 

"Lower them right down to your ankles."

With his pants around his ankles, caught above his shoes, he was at her mercy yet again. 

"Arms behind your back," she added, standing above him.  But this time she did not lower herself onto him as she had last night.

Mohandas felt a hard shoe forced between his thighs and her pointed toe pushing gently against his balls. His feet moved back automatically and his knees came up and bent wide to allow her greater access.

"It's time to prove you like me.  Show me you didn't mean to say I was ugly. Or do you really think I am old and ugly?  Come on show me!" she commanded as her toe prodded his scrotum.

She had become his fantasy Playboy Bunny. Her prodding shoe was not at all gentle but his excitement grew steadily with each little kick of her foot. Dopamine again.

But then, before he could reach the climax that he now so desperately desired, her toe was gone.  Kat had stepped around the other way to show him her bottom and renewed her mock interrogation.

"What about my arse?  Is it old and saggy?  Take a good look and tell me," she demanded; spreading herself with her hands; turning her upper body to smile at him seductively over her sholder.

"No. It's beautiful. Everything about you is beautiful," he managed to mumble disjointedly.

As a reward for the right answer, her rounded heel began bumping back into him rhythmically.  It felt even better.

"Toes and heels, pleasure and pain," she said, but he didn't understand until her sharp heel pressed down on his scrotum, right on top of his right testicle.

A searing, numbing, pain shot through his lower torso then intensified as she applied increasing pressure.  Terror swept over him, she was about to semi-castrate him. Adrenaline.

"If you want to insult me by calling me Katisha," she growled, "the ugly old maiden who is 'just a little teeny weeny wee bit bloodthirsty', remember she's the one who says: 'My wrongs with vengeance shall be crowned'."

Mohandas screamed louder, like a steer branded.  Then he was silent.


In her detached mind, Margery watched Mohandas' reactions with the attention of an anaesthetist. She was working on one hormone after another.  Earlier it had been testosterone, dopamine and oxytocin.  Soon in fear his adrenaline would redline, then Kat would relent and begin the cycle anew.  Over the coming weeks Kat would subject him to a number of her games to addict him to his own hormones; and a couple of little extras from Margery's 'kitchen'.  He would experience this growing addiction as passionate, irrational love for 'His Kat'.


Mohandas had briefly blacked out. When he came to his senses Kat was standing over him, hands on hips.  Her foot came up to his mouth.

"Now lick!" she demanded. 

His mind was in a strange haze and wasn't sure if it was out of fear or a desire to please but he did as he was told.

As his stubby tongue began cleaning the bottom of her shoe Margery was delighted.  As he licked her Kat alter-ego directed him to be more diligent: here or there.

When she was satisfied Kat changed feet and Mohandas began on the second sole without questioning.  It was the dopamine.


Margery, again imagining herself watching this performance from a camera eye view, couldn't wait to tell Bianca about the new shoe cleaning wallah. But how to introduce her to the revelation?  Perhaps she could take Bianca shoe shopping next and then casually offer his services?  But not just yet; not until Bianca was Kat's too. 


"Stop licking!" Kat told him.

As his reward she walked over to his sound system and touched the screen. Earlier he'd been keen to show her how to use it and delighted at her interest.

Music filled the workroom. His state-of-the-art sound drivers replicated those original sound pressure waves as if a real orchestra was actually in the room.  It was the overture to The Mikado.

Kat had also been to her bag and was pulling on surgical gloves and carrying a tube of lubricant.  As the music began she knelt between his knees, her legs on top of his pants, pinning his legs apart, and took his genitals in her hands.

"Look at me," she demanded over the music as she began, "You see, I'm not so old or ugly after all."

In her dark stockings and high heels she was no longer a Bunny but a dominatrix, ready to punish him for misdeeds or to reward him for being good, his mistress.

As the music played he squirmed to her expert medical manipulations in a most satisfactory way. She knew her way around a man's body as well as an old-time urologist. More dopamine; nor-epinephrine; and adrenaline were being secreted as she worked.

"The overture's about to end,"  she warned him at last, "You need to be quick now...  that's it... good boy!" 

From now on he would forever associate that music with this experience.

She was walking around again, talking to him in a matter of fact way like a doctor, pulling off the gloves, as if what had just happened was a normal everyday occurrence, like drying her hands. He would not have been surprised if she'd given him a diagnosis: 'enlarged prostate'.  Instead she was talking about his challenge.  Something about her had changed. She was less sexy, more like a school mistress.

"Tomorrow I want you to be up at six to begin work on Mikado," Margery told him. "I'll give you until six in the evening to prove that you are up to it; or I'll find someone else."

He was taken aback.  He'd thought the coding challenge was some sort of test of his worthiness, like a challenging game of chess, now she was talking as if developing her idea, for her Mikado game, was central to their relationship.  She seemed like a different person. He needed to reorientate.  Wasn't this simply two new acquaintances getting together as friends and lovers in the hope of an ongoing relationship; or at least of a few hours of lusty fun?  Yet this woman was talking as if this was a business proposition in which he was to be her unpaid employee:  'Or she'll find someone else?'

"To help you get a feeling for my game I want you to play the music from The Mikado as you work. I'll be expecting real progress.  I'll take a copy of everything home and check your work tomorrow night.  Remember this is just between me and you: Our little secret.  Under no circumstances are you to save anything to The Cloud or to any machine outside this apartment."

Did this changed Kat think she could command him to write code for her like an unpaid employee?  He was indignant and it probably showed.  She'd stopped talking and was standing over him again.  Her whole demeanour was different.

"Why are you still lying there like that you pervert?  You're a nasty little deviant! All you needed to get you off was a look up my skirt and my hand up inside you.  Now you're just pathetic, lying on the floor like that, with your dirty pants around your ankles and your filthy secretions all over you.  Go and have a shower and wash it off. You're disgusting."

He heard the scorn in her voice. At the words 'pathetic' and 'disgusting' and recalling what she had done he suddenly felt debased.  Again the adrenaline surged through his body as his anger rose. 

She'd calmly used him like milking an animal and then told him that if he didn't work as her developer she'd get someone else.  This wasn't a love affair or even a lust affair.  She sounded as if she didn't even like him.  It was obvious that all she really wanted was for him to build Mikado.  And he'd licked the filthy soles of her shoes.  He'd been abused but he was dammed if he would be used. With his rage growing like a fire, at Kat and at himself, for letting all that happen, he awkwardly untangled his pants and pulled them up.  Now very stiff, he stumbled to his feet.  She let out a little shriek of amusement as he almost fell.  It made him angrier still.

As he reached his bathroom he pulled off his shoes, socks and all; tore off his pants, destroying the fly; and slammed into his shower.  There was no way that he was going to work on her stupid game.  Get someone else.  He would through her out as soon as he could get dressed and restore some self-respect.  He wailed in angry self-shame like an animal. He was on the verge of tears.


After five minutes neatly folding her skirt and blouse and happily collecting her little cameras, Margery skipped out of her shoes and silently followed Mohandas in her stocking feet.  Now it was Kat who listened for his shower then tip-toed into his bedroom and stood with her back to the wall beside his bathroom door.  When he came out she grabbed him playfully from behind.

Mohandas wanted to shake free but Kat was really strong. Then he felt her cool breasts against his warm back. Her firm nipples suggested that she was aroused.  Her arms enfolded him and her hands began caressing his naked body. He relaxed. She felt like a different person: without her shoes: not so tall; softer; more loving; and definitely sexually aroused.

"I'm sorry to have hurt you like that and made you lick my shoes my love.  I was terrible to you," she confessed sorrowfully in his ear.  "Can you ever forgive me for loosing my temper?  But you'd been a very naughty boy.  You shouldn't have insulted me.  I'm sensitive about my age and by comparing me to an ugly old spinster you really hurt my feelings.  Can we please go back to where we were this morning and put all this behind us?"

He realised that the last hour was an aberration and all his fault.  No woman likes to be insulted, particularly about being older.  His eyes closed in ecstasy and he moaned happily as she kissed his neck and upturned mouth; and held him in her loving embrace. He was so grateful to be forgiven for his insults and then for his shameful behaviour during the past hour, because that's all it had been, when he'd been so fearful, servile and contemptible.  His body was suffused with love for her as his hormones adjusted.

"Now, to show you how sorry I am, I have a little present for you," she whispered in his ear.

But Kat's gift was not what he expected.  She popped a capsule into his open mouth.  Like a dog at the vet's his first reaction was to spit it out but he couldn't, her hand was firmly on his chin holding his jaw shut. Her other hand was stroking his throat.  But he was holding it firmly behind his teeth with his tongue.  Again with this new shock the adrenaline had taken hold.  So she grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head back. Even without her shoes she was taller.  Her face was over his.  Now his mouth was held open by the hand on his chin.  Before he could push it out she'd stuck her tongue into his mouth and was thrusting his capsule down his gullet. He was choking on their combined saliva.  He swallowed it. 

Margery had wanted to test this new recipe for its effect on a man for some time. It was a new compound of sildenafil and psilocybin, the active ingredients in Viagra and magic mushrooms, that she'd ground together. They would make a nice cocktail with all those natural hormones that Kat had made him release during his initial training session.

Mohandas had never been kissed for so long or so erotically and he was ecstatic.  The hormonal roller coaster was delivering another dose of excitement.  Had they tumbled or was he pushed over the waterfall?  Now they lay on their sides, with Kat still embracing him from behind, on his bed.   His mind was drifting.  Kat felt warm against his back. The abrasive feel of her garter belt and stockings against his nakedness, as her legs wrapped around his, was extraordinary to him.  Her arms seemed to be multiplying, like those of Parvati, her many hands playing across the front of his body.  He was becoming astonishingly erect, almost painfully so.

Without really understanding what was happening Kat had climbed over him and was using him for sex.  She seemed to enjoy herself enormously in what seemed to be an endless orgasm.  He was drifting and had lost track of time. 


Later, over coffee in his living room, when he was clearer in the head, Kat told him that she was looking forward to doing this again tomorrow night: 

"Tomorrow evening we can do it all again or try some variations on this evening's games that you'll enjoy even more," she whispered across the rim of her cup suggestively, as they sat naked side by side, his knee touching hers, on his favourite sofa.

He wasn't sure which part Kat wanted to repeat but he realised he didn't mind, even the pain or licking her shoes. It had been the best night of his life and she was promising to do it again tomorrow. Of course he would spend a day working on her project.

She suggested that he get his quilt and lie down here on the sofa with his head in her lap. He was warm beneath his feathery quilt and Kat's intimate smell was wonderful. The music was again playing softly in the background as Kat bent over him in a motherly way and gently stroked his forehead and face to its rhythm, softly talking to him, perhaps singing about a wandering minstrel, he couldn't remember, until he went to sleep.


He was just a boy really.  As his mind had drifted she'd bewitched him and embedded a hypnotic spell in his subconscious to secure his future obedience.  Given their actual age difference he could be her son.  A sudden wave of grief for what might have been swept over Margery. Then her heart hardened against the world again.  Someone had to pay for all that.

She got up; showered; dressed; and left invisibly, using his widget.  From this night forth Mohandas would submit to Kat again and again, becoming increasingly addicted to his own hormones until he begged for her abuse.  He would be Margery's too, to work on her project for as long as she needed him. 

Of course Margery had no intention of checking his work.  In fact she had no idea what all those symbols meant.  She could barely read normal text. She had tried her usual strategy of sounding out the letters to no avail it must be another language altogether. 

Tomorrow, Friday, Mohandas would call in sick as instructed and start work on Mikado.  To preserve her privacy she would fly here after dark, so it would be well after six when she came to check on his progress.  She'd said that he was to work six to six because it was important that he waited for her tomorrow night on tenterhooks, in uncertainty and anticipation.

With the help of Circe, her VPA, she'd checked out an on-line source that had recommended a specific requirement for a management console in which all constants could be seen and altered if necessary.  She'd made a list of the essential variables that she'd need to change: the name and version of the App; the publisher and copyright details; token values; links to related resources like maps; dates. She'd left him a sheet of specifications, which she'd printed out with the aid of Circe, on his desk.  She would add to them and revise them as the project developed. She anticipated that Mikado would take some weeks.  So on Monday he would need to call in sick again.    But he didn't know that yet. 


As she arrived home Margery was elated. 

These days she keeps a video-diary of all her conquests.  It's not just to gain control through blackmail or even for the sexual pleasure that she can derive from replaying her recordings.  What started out as a useful means of controlling others has become her hobby.  Like other hobbyists she keeps abreast of the technology and employs the latest micro-cameras.  They're chameleon, clinging to and mimicking any background surface.  This make them almost invisible except for the tiny lens that swivels and pans, automatically framing any movement.   She likes to imagine that there's a diminutive voyeur inside each camera scanning the room for carnal action then leaning forward lecherously; peering through the peephole; getting increasingly excited as Kat performs for her 'little men'.  She's become a true video artist, creating performance works for herself and perhaps for an intimate friend.  It's been a little while since Margery's last disciple, Annette, proved to be unsuitable and met with a nasty accident.  But soon Bianca will be sufficiently close to appreciate Kat's art with her, perhaps in bed. 

She stripped then popped a bottle of her favourite vintage bubbly and poured herself a glass, holding it up to her reflection in her living room mirror-wall to congratulate herself.  Where would she hang the Balthus? And who was that irresistible seductress over there?  Nearly thirty years of doing this and she was getting better and better at it.  Mohandas' first day traversing The Garden of Earthly Delights had been a triumph.  She'd achieved his initial excursion into the central panel of perverse delights within a day of their first meeting.

Her alter-ego, Kat, could now have all the time she wanted to play with this latest mouse, softening-up her captive all the while, as domestic cats do, until his introduction to the third panel and his inevitable, delicious, demise.



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