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Glad you could make it. Expect to see me later tonight. Have dinner and then wear this dress down to conference room four at nine PM. Wear nothing under it, except shoes. Come-fuck-me pumps preferred. And stockings if you want, but no pantyhose. Talk to no one while wearing this. This was exciting. The text had come in on my new secret cell phone, which was the first item in the package that I had received when I checked in. It was in a small box within the big box and it was labeled ‘Open First’ in Kyra’s messy scrawl. The message had come from Mrs. Cardinal, the only entry in the phone’s contact list. This journey had started when I received an email at work from my best friend Kyra, aka Mrs. Cardinal. I hadn’t heard a thing from her, except for non-secure chit-chat in my regular email account in the past two months, not since just after the wild four day ‘vacation’ that culminated in my cheating husband’s surrender to the demands I had made on him. I had called to give her the good news, saying only that our plans were successful, and receiving her congratulations . Surrender is not really the right word, of course. It was a negotiation, but I was able to drive a much harder bargain as a result of my association with the Last Wives Club that Kyra had recruited me into. Our marriage was saved, but it took a new form. It was a marriage of convenience, a sham, a partnership in a fraud designed to look like a traditional marriage. We both had the freedom to have sex with others, but only if we minimized the risk of scandal to protect our professional careers. The was the most difficult concession for me, made in recognition that it would be better for my future, and for my childrens’, to stay together.We had resumed having sex with each other, but it wasn’t very satisfying. It was no worse than before, but I was less emotionally connected to him. He was not happy about all the secrecy of my four day absence. He resented that I had only communicated with our 12 year old daughter during that time. He claimed that he was worried about me, but I thought he was worried about what I might be doing with some other man as a result of discovering his infidelity. I had come back with a shaved beaver, new sexy lingerie, a younger-looking, more vibrant face and body, and a whole new attitude of confidence and purpose. I didn’t tell him a thing about where I went or what I did. I wanted him to think that I had been wined, dined, and well fucked by a lover, which was true of course, but he would never in a million Ataşehir Escort years have suspected that it was a lesbian affair. The benefits from the club, other than the impressive negotiation package, were a little slow in coming. I had received a new secure email address in the name of Mrs. Catherine White. I checked it daily, sometimes several times daily, curious and hoping for word from the club. There had been no requests for assistance from me, or other communications sent, other than a welcome message from the ISP with the domain name of uwa.org. Then one morning, there was a message from Mrs. Cardinal, telling me that I would be told that day, by my boss, about a short work-related trip, and that I was to pretend that I wasn’t interested, but I should agree to take it. Several hours later, my boss called me into his office and informed me that I would be traveling to a roundtable conference in Des Moines. It was about the glass ceiling for women in engineering careers. I was an officer in the local chapter of the Society of Women Engineers, so the story was plausible. He wasn’t happy with the disruption to my work, and I made a token attempt to be excused from the trip, but he informed me that my presence was ‘requested’ by top level management, and that meant that I was going or there would be Hell to pay on my annual appraisal. Of course, I agreed to go. This was my first sign of string pulling in my own career. My husband had already received a plum, career-changing assignment, since my return from the spa trip, that I suspected was their first intervention in his career. Those may seem like small things, but they are the kind of profile boosters that get noticed in corporate careers. After dinner, I stripped and then pulled on the ‘dress’, which was actually a black, full length, and full coverage burqa, complete with a mesh viewport. One of my brothers had been assigned to the Middle East and had told me about the ‘BMOs’, the unofficial US soldier’s term for the women seen on the streets. It was short for ‘black moving objects’. I was about to get my first experience as a BMO in public. There was a pocket accessible from outside and another from inside. I could easily pull my arms inside, so I put my room key in the inner pocket. I had the right shoes and a pair of sexy black fishnet hold-up stockings with me, and I didn’t pass up the opportunity to add those sexy touches. I really had no idea what the night had in store for me, but I wanted Ataşehir Escort Bayan to be prepared. I looked at myself in the full length mirror and saw that my identity was completely concealed. It felt very strange, moving around without any under clothing beneath the loose black tent, as if I was naked, but also invisible. When the time came, I left the security of my room with trepidation, walked down the hall, and entered the elevator. Other people got in and looked at me with suspicion. One woman even stepped back out before the doors closed. There was no way they could know that there was a blond, fair-skinned, blue-eyed, descendant of French Catholic fur trappers behind the veil. As I approached the conference room I saw other, similarly dressed women approaching. We all went silently inside and remained silent. At precisely nine PM, there were twenty-one women inside. One of them closed the door and then said, “Please stand in a circle.” We shuffled around until we managed this. “New sisters, we are dressed this way tonight for two reasons; obviously we need to conceal our identities, but also, these garments serve as a reminder that we are sisters to women who must always wear these in public. Through our goals, we may one day change that, so that their daughters and sons will live in peace with ours.” Retracting her hand into her dress, she pulled out a stack of cards. She peeled a label from a tan card and said, “Mrs. Brown, please step forward.” When one of the women stepped forward, another woman left the circle and stepped behind her. “Who sponsors Mrs. Brown?” The woman who had stepped behind Mrs. Brown said, “Mrs. Wren.” “Thank you Mrs. Wren.” She gave the tan card to Mrs. Brown. “Welcome, sister.” Mrs. Brown said, “Thank you.” “Please, no talking. A nod of the head is sufficient. It’s for your own protection.” “Sorry, oops.” Some of the other women laughed, fortunately they included the mistress of ceremonies and Mrs. Wren. It was comforting to learn that the occasion was formal, but not overly solemn. The ceremony continued. I received a blue card. It felt good to have Mrs. Cardinal, my friend Kyra, at my back. Ten women received cards that night, witnessed by ten sponsors. Not all of the inductees were named after colors, and not all of the sponsors were named after birds, but all of the names seemed likely as fake as mine and Kyra’s. After the last inductee was welcomed, the mistress of ceremonies said, “Welcome sisters, to the Escort Ataşehir United Women’s Alliance. That is one of our names and you will see it, and our logo, on some of the communications you receive. Over the next day, some of you will openly participate in the conferences, along with many other women, most of whom are not sisters. If you place a face to a name that you have heard here tonight, or otherwise determine that you’ve met someone who was here tonight, please respect their privacy. This concludes our induction ceremony. Good night sisters.” We each left with our sponsors. I went with Kyra to her room. It was much nicer than mine, and I was only partly surprised to find that my luggage and clothing had been moved there. As soon as we were safely inside the door, I immediately stripped off my dress. I guess that I surprised Kyra when I didn’t immediately put something else on. Instead, I pulled hers off and found that she was also wearing nothing under it. She laughed as I hugged and kissed her. “Were all those women naked under their dresses?” “Oh, I doubt it. This sexual thing between us is probably not very typical of our sisters. Adding that to your induction is just something I did for you, because I thought it might thrill you.” She unceremoniously dipped a finger into my slit and said, “Hmmmmm. Looks like I guessed correctly.” I knew that I was wet. The whole surreal event was a turn-on for me, especially after I learned that Kyra was there. “Well, thanks for that. Yes, it was kind of spooky wearing that. People in the elevator looked so suspicious, like maybe they thought I had a bomb vest underneath, instead of just bare boobs, a bare ass, and a shaved beaver.” “Speaking of shaved pussies, did you freak your husband out?” “Oh, yeah. He doesn’t know what to think now, and I like that. All that happened has definitely changed our dynamic.” “Wait until he sees you after you’ve had the perfect lover.” “Oh? Did you bring it?” “Of course I did. I’ve been fantasizing about fucking you with it since, well, since I bought it really.” She opened her bag and handed her fake cock to me. At first, I didn’t really understand what I was seeing. It had shiny metal curved parts with a big rubber dong attached at one end. I oriented the dong properly, and then it dawned on me what I was seeing. At the back end was a thin upturned rod with a much larger round bulb on the end. A little further forward was a thicker curved rod that was only slightly bigger at the end. I pointed to the bulb at the back and said, “This one goes in your….” “Up my ass, yes. I knew it wouldn’t take you long to figure that out.” “And the other one goes in your pussy, and the thin strap goes around your waist to hold it up. That’s clever. Where the hell did you get something like that?” “One of our sisters makes them.