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The Legacy

By: madengineer3



Copyright by madengineer3, September 2006

What follows is purely fiction. All rights are reserved by madengineer3.

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It was a lonely walk from the little railroad station to my house. With the price of gasoline and with my need to exercise to keep my heart in shape the six kilometer round trip walk into town in the morning and out of town in the evening was just what the doctor had ordered. It was mid-fall at this point of time and there had been rain earlier in the day. The mist was coming up and the visibility was becoming difficult. I suddenly wished that I had brought a flashlight with me. If a car came along it wouldn't see me in time if I had no reflective object or light on me. I knew this walk as well as the back of my hand, so I normally needed no light to know where I was going. Tonight felt different in some inexplicable way. My house is an old farm house about three kilometers out of the village. It has many nice features, the main one being that I have refused to put in a telephone line. Since the house is 100 meters off the road the telephone company has informed me that I would have to pay for the access poles and wire if I wanted the phone. I can do without the phone. I carry a cell phone but make sure that I turn it off when I leave town. I like my solitude. Don't get me wrong I like people, but I like them in small numbers and small doses, i.e. when it is most convenient for me to be around them. My work, as a consultant, allows me to set my own hours and schedule. I make sure that I have at least one week a month that I can treat as just my time. There is an exception, once in a blue moon I will take two weeks for myself.

Tonight is the beginning of one of my week long vacations. I was looking forward to some special fellowship. I was to be meeting with several very old special friends and I hoped that my surprise packages had arrived in time.

I'd just turned off the road and was on the gravel path to my home. I enjoy the crunching sound that comes from beneath my feet when I walk that path. As I approached the house I was suddenly very alert. There was a dim light showing from between two curtains in the end room. I looked around behind the house and saw the car. I believe that my packages had arrived. I slowed my pace, approached to within a couple of meters of the house and stopped to listen. I could hear them. There were two people inside the house. I could tell from the noises that they were making that they were trying to be quiet. But they weren't quiet enough.

I proceeded to the house and opened the front door. Once inside I took off my coat and hat and went to the kitchen, which is on the side of the house furthest from the room containing my visitors. I turned on the light and grabbed a cold mutton chop from the refrigerator. I turned on the stove to boil water for tea and sit down for a brief meal while my guests were figuring out what they thought they wanted to do.. I knew what they should do, and what they will wish that they had done, but at this point they are, so to speak, "fat, dumb, and happy". 

The shrill sound of the kettle's whistle told me that the water was boiling. I put some loose tea in the tea ball, put the tea ball in the pre-warmed pot and added the boiling water. As my grandmother used to say "bring the tea to the water not the water to the tea". The slight cooling supposedly doesn't allow the rich flavor of the tea to come forth. I put the tea pot on the table and covered it with a "tea cozy". Then, I finish off my mutton chop. As I was finishing two men suddenly stepped into the kitchen. They were both holding semi-automatic pistols. They had the sallow, pasty faces that one would expect from long term prisoners. Neither one of them appeared to be over thirty years old. The larger of the two stepped forward and said:

"Keep sitting right there if you value your life." Speaking to the smaller man he said: "Frank, check him for weapons and don't get between my gun and him. If he makes a move I'll shoot him."

Frank came over and checked for weapons and found nothing but my keys. I didn't even have a table knife or fork. I like to eat my meat by hand, biting it off the bone. There is a sort of visceral pleasure in eating that way.

"He's clean Ralph, he doesn't even have silverware here."

Ralph looked satisfied. He lowered the muzzle of his gun and started talking: "What's your name Mac." 

I responded, "Gregory". 

"O.k. Gregory, on your way here tonight did you see any police?"

"No, should I have? Of course I could have missed them in the fog if they were parked a few meters off the road." Then to see what they would say I asked "Why do you ask?" . I already knew exactly why they asked.

"We would just as soon not meet any police at the moment, of course they would love to find us. How often do you have people drop by?" 

"Oh, not often at all. I am not expecting to have any people to the house tonight Ralph." I was telling the truth, but not really answering his question. At first he looked startled that I had used his name, but then seemed to remember that Frank had called him by his real name.

"We're going to spend the nigh here. We don't want to have to hurt you but we will if you try to give us any trouble. You understand that, right?"

"I understand what you are saying. What are you planning? After all, there aren't too many places that are near this area. Even by train I have to go almost an hour's ride to get to any large urban area. There are no major places to rob, or hide in for miles from here, unless you count the old ruin in the woods."

"Listen Gregory, I'm not going to tell you my plans. If I did I'd need to kill you for sure. I'm not going back to prison, and neither is Frank. Tell me about this ruin that you mentioned."

"It's a very, very old building. It probably dates from the time of the Druids that lived here over fifteen hundred years ago. It's off the beaten track, and is little shelter unless you use the cave they kept their livestock in. It isn't big, and it isn't important enough to have the archeologists pawing around it. Since it is on land owned by some close friends of mine few people are let in to see it."

I could see that they were nibbling at my bait.

"How far is it from here? and while you are at it will we run into any people there?"

"There will be no people there except yourselves and it is about a quarter of a mile from here. The land around here must be on the backbone of this country because there is little earth between the surface and the rocks. It's useless as farm land and the rocks are granite meaning that building houses or buildings on it would cost a small fortune. It really is a desolate place. Some even have suggested it is haunted, but what old building isn't haunted in this area? Every town person has ridiculous stories of haunted buildings, but I'm sure that you two aren't afraid of silly old wife's tails are you?"

"Say, Ralph, what if we decided to move into the old cave and took Gregory along with us? He couldn't tell people where we were. We can use him to help carry food and bedding with us." I liked Frank's overly simple thought pattern. I just hoped that Ralph is as stupid, or as ignorant, as Frank.

Ralph then asked me "Tell me about this cave. How big is it, can it be seen from the road, and if a fire were built would people be attracted by the sight of smoke?"

"Well, Ralph, its about as big as this kitchen. For extreme weather there is a small place near the opening of the cave where a fire has been burned in the past. If the fire is kept small, and allowed to get enough air the smoke will be almost impossible to see from a hundred meters away. There are no roads near there, it is as private as can be found in these parts." I didn't add that it was because of this privacy that I, and my friends, had purchased this land in the first place.

I sat back and watched them slowly hatch the plan that would take them to the cave. I had to quietly chuckle at a humorous joke that would be explained to them later. I broke into their conversation to ask a simple question who's answer I already knew "What are you two running from?"

Frank responded, "We escaped from prison. We were both in for life for murder and rape. You see we like to enjoy the company of younger kids and the law frowns on it so we need to keep them quiet when we're done. They are as quiet as the tomb when we're done, aint that right Ralph?"

"Shut up Frank, we don't need to give this guy any ideas. But there's one thing that Gregory here has to keep in mind. This country doesn't have capital punishment. If we're caught they can't do anything more to us than we're already in for even if we have to kill him too.

Little did they know what a joy it was that they had arrived in time. These two would not be missed if they were never seen again. 

Within the next half hour Ralph had supervised the boxing up of food, cooking and eating utensils and bedding. We then left the house, with the lights all out, and started our trek back into the woods. Ralph and Frank had seemed surprised that I didn't keep a flashlight around. They apparently thought that nobody would be so comfortable in the dark that they wouldn't want a light. That should have told them something, but luckily it didn't.

I led them on the narrow, winding, path. They didn't like it a bit because they couldn't see much of anything, including where to step and where not to step. They both took numerous falls while on our way. I could have slipped away at any time, but I didn't. I wanted to make sure that they would reach the cave safely. 

When we arrived Frank and Ralph both agreed that I should build a small fire and set up the camp to be relatively comfortable. The cave was just large enough to allow us all to be able to lay down for sleep. Because the ground outside the cave was at a lower elevation than the cave itself we would be kept dry even if it rained. But tonight I was sure that it wasn't going to rain. We'd have dense fog, but no rain. My friends don't mind fog. Fog is good, it protects you from potential enemies.

Ralph and Frank decided that one of them would sleep while the other kept the fire going and watch me. Both Frank and Ralph kept the fire going much more brightly than was reasonable. They enjoyed watching the fire and embers not realizing that their night vision was being ruined. When the fire went out, they wouldn't be able to see well for several minutes. 

Ralph told Frank to get some sleep and told me to lay down on the bedding that was in the back of the cave. To get out I would have to move over Frank and the assorted materials and fire wood were between me and Frank. Ralph assumed that this would keep me safe. They didn't have any rope with which to tie me. I don't keep rope or cord around the house. I seldom have a need for it.

We settled down and I purposely went to sleep. I knew what was going to happen and they didn't. Being rested, before the party, would make it more enjoyable later. I dozed off. The next thing I remember was waking up to something that had the sound of a pack of wolves. Ralph was at the fire and looking very nervous. I checked my watch, yup! it was about five minutes before midnight. As I looked up, over the ground fog that enveloped us, I could see the beautiful full moon. 

"Hey, Gregory, what's making that howling noise?"

"They are a rare breed Ralph. This clearing is the place that they congregate on certain evenings, like tonight. Isn't their singing beautiful?"

"Are you mad Gregory. Are they dangerous?"

"Dangerous is an interesting word Ralph. They are not dangerous to most people, they are very friendly to their own and this is a hunting night."

"Their howling gives me the creeps! How can you be so comfortable with that sound around us? How come you know so much about these things?"

"Do you really want me to tell you, Ralph? Are you sure that you want to hear of things that you have never heard of or seen in the past?"

"Spill it Gregory, you're stalling. I thought you said that there wouldn't be people around this are tonight. Are you lying to us?"

"Oh, no Ralph I wouldn't lie to you. What I said was 'There will be no people there except yourselves' and I told you the absolute truth."

"Bullshit, you told us that we would be the only humans, but you are here so you can't be telling the truth."

"Ralph, you seem to have forgotten common sense and logic. I would be lying to you if I was human, but you see I helped you to pick the wrong house tonight. Those beautiful singing voices are part of my group. We meet here every time there is a full moon. This is an old, old tradition."

"You're out of your mind Gregory. You sure look human to me. Tell me about your friends. If they get here won't there be several more people here?"

"No, Ralph, do you want me to tell you a little about our background? Do you want to know where we came from and what we do?"

"Tell it Gregory! and if I think you are lying you may get shot."

"The story starts about millennium ago in the Caucasus mountains in a location that is now part of Romania. There were two very feared groups that didn't always get along. One of the groups was headed by a man named Vlad Tepes, of the Order of the Dragon. His name, in English, means Vlad the impaler. He had had a falling out with another group who were friendly to the unnatural wolves of the Borgo pass. In the end it was decided to pick a male, named Gregory, from Vlad's group and a female, named Sofia, from the other group and have them marry. The blended union would produce a new blood line with many of the strengths of both of the original blood lines. So it was done. The unusual thing that happened was that whereas both of the groups had to make severe changes at the time of the full moon, this new blood line was capable of willing the change at any time that they wanted but weren't forced to change during the full moon. This allowed us to live in closer proximity to our major food supply without the risk of being recognized by our absence during the days around the full moon. Gregory and Sofia are my grandparents."

"You're nuts Gregory, you just told me that the marriage of the first couple was a thousand years ago and now you are trying to tell me that these two are you grandparents? What do you take me for, I'm not stupid enough to fall for that story?"

"Oh, but Ralph our greatest protection is this century's strong disbelief in the supernatural. All of our kind belong to a group called Nosferatu." We are neither true vampires nor true werewolves, we are just called 'the blended ones'. Tonight we are going to have a friendly get together, enjoy a good meal, and enjoy the meeting of our clan. It was my turn to bring the food, and you were so helpful arranging this for us."

Ralph was beginning to look a bit jumpy. He woke up Frank and as he told Frank what I had just told him the howling became much louder. Every now and then a pair of yellow green eyes could be seen looking at the cave and fire. Frank said the obvious first: "Damn Ralph, those eyes look like they are about six feet off the ground. You don't suppose that he's telling the truth, do you?"

While they were talking I had laid back down again behind the supplies and had started my transformation. I was still wearing my nice baggy shirt and slacks, but now they were stretched almost to the breaking point. I had taken off my shoes and socks because I didn't want to ruin them with the claws that were now forming on my toes. My fingers were almost totally changed as well. My jaws now protruded, very obviously, and my body was now coated with beautiful black fur. They couldn't see what was happening. At that moment an especially loud growl was heard right outside the cave. Frank wildly fired a shot in the direction of the growl, as he did so, I carefully and quietly snapped Frank's neck. His head lolled over at an obscene angle. I had used a bit more force than I should have and managed to break all the connecting fibers that held the neck together.

Ralph spoke, "Frank, get me a couple of spare clips for my pistol. We may need some firepower." When he heard no reply he turned to face Frank and turned even whiter than he had previously been. He could just see me standing in the shadows.

I spoke to Ralph: "I have some bad news for you Ralph. Unless the bullets in your gun are made of silver, they can only sting us. You are the main course tonight. If you had been lucky, you would have died of a broken neck like Frank did. He didn't have to face the prospect of being eaten alive. You however are a different matter. Tonight some of our children are going to go through their initiation into the group and as a part of that initiation it is necessary for them to kill a suitable victim. You, Ralph, are the main course for them."

At that, Ralph fired all the rounds in his pistol into me. He seemed quite surprised as I walked forward and he saw the bullet holes closing and the blood stop flowing. He was more surprised as I took his pistol and crumpled it in my hand.

"Oh, Ralph I forgot to tell you a few details. Do you remember the young girl from the west midlands that you raped but who got away? I hope you do because she is one of the ones that is being initiated tonight and has requested that she be allowed to 'play with her food' before killing it. Since she is my niece I have agreed. You see, I'm the one who arranged your escape. I'm the one who provided you with the car and map that got you to town. And it has all worked out so nicely."

I picked Ralph up by the scruff of his neck and carried him outside. The children took him, and he was amazed that they were stronger than he was. Once he had been stripped of clothes four of them held him spread eagled about four feet off the ground. My niece walked up between his legs, smiled sweetly at him and started the feast. Ralph screamed in agony at the her first bite.  

The Legacy



"Delta house," the pretty brunette said as she picked up the phone. Her jaw working on a piece of chewing gum.

"Hi, may I please speak to Arianna?" Margaret asked. Margaret sat in her room, her feet kept warm by a heater kept under her desk. 

"This is Arianna."

"Hi, my name is Margaret. Delta class of 76. My daughter is Stacy. Stacy Barnes."

"Oh sure," Arianna said. "What can I do for you?" Although she knew very well what the woman was calling about. It had been all according to plan.

"Well my daughter called me last night and she was quite upset. I know pledging isn't easy, but I must confess that I'm wondering if you are taking into consideration that -"

"That she's a legacy?" Arianna interrupted, her glossy red lips formed a straight line. "I know very well what she is. I also know that your circumstance was a little unique as a Delta girl. But, I'll tell you what, why don't you come here later tonight and we'll discuss Stacy. See if we can improve her chances. Do you think we can do that Maggie?" Arianna blew a bubble and popped it, waiting for the older woman to answer.

"Yes..." Margaret said, her voice coming in a squeak. She wondered what the young woman meant by 'unique' circumstance. Then the name. Maggie. No one called her Maggie since college. She had introduced herself as Margaret. It could be a lucky guess, it might be much more. She was no longer the confident business owner and mother of two, but an insecure pledge.

"Do you remember the rules Maggie? ...Not the Delta rules. But your special rules?" The young woman's eyes gleamed as she put the screws to the older woman. She had discovered the rules when reading a most salacious diary she had discovered in the attic. She had many an orgasm reading that diary. Now she was talking to the girl who had been written about. A girl - now woman, who had lived a submissive sexual existence during her time at the Delta house.

"Yes..." Margaret said. Her voice now in a whisper. This girl knew. She knew her long held secret.

"Then how should you address me?" the impertinent young girl said, her lips now turning up in a smile. Her gray eyes flashing with hunger. 

"Yes Miss Arianna." Even on the phone Margaret could feel her cheeks growing hot.

"Good girl." Arianna said. "Can you be here tonight at eight? We can discuss your daughter then ... among other things. Maybe catch up on some old times."

"Yes ma'am." Margaret said submissively.

"I'll see you then," Arianna said, her mouth smacking as she chewed her gum rapidly, the blowing another bubble. "You should come prepared. I'm sure you remember your rules on being prepared. Don't you?"

"Yes, Miss Arianna," Margaret whispered, her loins growing hot as she remembered the rules.

"How about rule number one?" Arianna said. "Why don't you tell me about it." 

Margaret gave a shudder. The girl knew everything. Every last one of the humiliating rules she was required to observe while she attending college. She thought about pretending she had forgotten, but it ever since Arianna first brought them up, it was as if she were transported back to her college years - young, inexperienced, and submissive. She rucked her skirt up under her hips and slid her hand into her panties, then began to rub. Expert circles around and around. The rules weren't just something that was recited, the rules were obeyed.

"Rule number one," Margaret said, her voice thick and husky. "A hot slut is an obedient slut." "Good girl Maggie. You do remember. Call me when you get to the house," Arianna said. "I'll let you in the back. No sense in causing your daughter embarrassment, is there pet?"

"Thank you Miss." Margaret said. Girl. She hadn't been called girl in years. It was even more humiliating now than ever since the girl calling her that was young enough to be her daughter.

"And don't forget rule number two." Arianna said before she hung up. "You remember that one don't you? Why don't you say it for me."

"A slut - must - have - permission - to - come." Margaret panted out the words. Not only was she trembling, she was sweating like a pig. Faster and faster her finger rubbed. Shit, she was so fucking hot. She could feel herself peak. Yet, before she reached the crest, she pulled her hand away. Fuck, she wanted it. Hips pumping and her eyes rolling back in her head, Margaret gave a groan of frustration. A groan much like she gave so many time before in college. Arianna's last comment still echoed in her ears. Rule number two, her years in college were coming back to haunt her. Always horny. Sex constantly on her mind. Feeling like a slut.

A slut. She hadn't thought of herself like that since college. This phone call hadn't gone like she planned. Not at all. She was only trying to help her daughter, but now it appeared she was the one who needed help. Worse, she was late and needed to hurry in order to be ready and be at the sorority house by eight. She left her office and went to find her assistant manager Jenny, a cute blonde, once downright beautiful, but who had recently grown a little wide in the hips...also a former Delta. She was was busy talking to one of the clerks.

"Jenny," Margaret said. "I've got some place I need to be. Do you mind closing tonight?"

"Not at all Mrs. Bricker."

"Thanks." Margaret said.

Jenny was puzzled. It wasn't the first time Margaret needed to leave early. But this time she was more flustered than she had ever seen her. Her face was flushed. Her hair mussed. She seemed unable to look her directly in the eyes. And then when Margaret got to the door she did a double take - hesitated and went to the clothing rack. She started pulling some items off the rack. Short and racy numbers. 

"Just going to take a little something for my daughter," Margaret explained.

Which again was odd because while Margaret did give her daughter clothes off the rack - after all it was her store. However, usually they were conservative and preppy. Nothing like these. They were trendy, slightly . . . gaudy. Besides her daughter was in college and it was a week night.

Margaret blushed a bright crimson as she left the store. She went straight home and began to get ready for her meeting with Arianna. While she was in the shower she looked down at her sex. Her pubes were well trimmed, but the girl at the sorority house had told her to come prepared. To remember the rules. Did she really know all of them? Whatever the case, Margaret couldn't take the chance. She lathered her bush. Lathered it in a way she hadn't done since college- coating her whole bush in shaving cream. She picked up the razer. The rules. It was as if she were back in college, back in the sorority house. Showering so very early in the morning - so no one would see that she was shaving more than just her legs and pits like the other girls. God, it had been awful. Every day had been a terrifying nerve wracking existence. Now at least she had a measure of privacy as her curly hair fell down and washed toward the drain. Her sex smooth and bare. Everything was visible now. There was protective down. Leaving her vulnerable and h so available. The next part was even more difficult. She placed the hand mirror down on the tub. She squatted down. She could see her inflamed lips. Her engorged clit. The dark crater of her ass. She lathered it up and removed those last stray hairs near her bottom.

The rules. Oh God the rules. She thought back to her years in college. Squatting in this very same humiliating position. Always worried as she listened carefully for the door. Rubbing herr clit as fast as she could while she was squatting over the mirror. Rubbed until the orgasm approached, then stopped. She moaned out loud and almost lost her balance in the tub. Those rules should be long gone. Why had she called? She never imagined there would be a problem. She had worried for awhile after college, went to some of the sister's weddings, but never volunteered that she was a Delta. But when nothing ever happened, she grew complacent. She wasn't afraid to name drop. It even helped to get her several jobs ... and then there was also the loan. Almost unconsciously began to rub again. Approached orgasm two more times before stopping. It was getting more and more difficult to stop.

Stepping out of the shower she dried off. Drying her hair with the hair dryer, she thought of one of the other rules. Surely it didn't apply now. Surly this girl would never know. Even so, she danced the hot air over her already hot cunt. Working her passions higher and higher.

A hot slut is an obedient slut. That was what Miss Debbie used to say.

Margaret liked to be in control. But her facade of control was beginning to slip - to crumble. Just like in in college. Moaning she slipped a finger into her sex and plunged it in. Then took it out and sucked her digit clean and inhaled the fragrance. It smelled like old times. 

I'm gonna make you love it, Debbie had told her. Make you love the taste. The smell. You might be majoring in business, but you are going to have a concentration in cunt.

Debbie had overseen the studies herself. Had never seemed to tire of giving Margaret lessons in oral pleasure - Debbie receiving and Maggie always giving. And how Margaret had come to know Debbie's pussy. The taste. The smell. The musk. The iron scent that occurred every month. Four years of that cunt. Licking it. Sucking it. Worshipping it. Then finally she was free of it. Even now, after all these years...she could remember every bump and ridge. Every dark and curly hair. 

She hadn't seen Debbie's in nineteen years, oh she had guilty fantasies since then, but that was all. She had made sure to stay well away from any temptation. However, she felt sure she was going to get to know another cunt tonight. She rubbed her clit till her knees grew weak, then forced herself to stop. God, she was so hot. She felt betrayed by her body. It was this very same betrayal that had led to her sexual subjugation in the first place.

She made her face up, just like in the old days. Not the mature and appropriate manner she had done these last nineteen years. But with shiny pink lipstick. Blush on her cheeks. Pale green eyeshadow. Just a hint. A little eyeliner. She had raided her daughter drawer to find the make up. Finally, she was almost done. God the rules. How she hated them all, but one most of all. She bunched her hair up at the side of her head and put on a band. Then did it again on the other side. Pig tails. Oh how she hated them. Was there anything that screamed, no respect like pig tails?

The rest came together in her bedroom. A short pleated skirt. A sweater. Thin white socks that went to her knees. A pair of pumps. No panties. No bra.

She took a few experimental steps. Her full breasts bounced with every step. The rules. In college she hated not being allowed to wear a bra. Hated the way the other girls looked at her small breasts with superior smiles. Not a day passed where she didn't wish they were bigger. More substantial. Then they would respect her. But now? Now she had her wish, her breasts were ripe and full. Bouncy. God, they bounced with every step. Drawing attention to themselves. Instead of being proud, she was more embarrassed now than ever. She wanted her A cups back. Their size or lack there of would only be noticed if someone caught sight of a hardened nipple. Now, her breasts begged for attention with her every step. 

The worst part was that Margaret wasn't even sure how much Arianna knew. Was she putting herself through all this humiliation for a college girl's hunch? On the drive over, she considered turning around and changing back, but couldn't bring herself to do it. As she pulled up the the sorority house, she noticed that it looked much smaller. She took out her phone and began to dial. Then hit end. God, she was scared. Her hands were shaking. It took several tries before she was able to dial the phone.

"Maggie? Hang on," Arianna said when she picked up. "I'll meet you at the back door."

Shortly thereafter, Arianna let Margaret in the back door and took her to her room and locked the door.

"It's good to see you remembered the rules," Arianna said, apprising the sexy older woman's body. "But did you remember them all?"

It took everything Margaret not to flinch when the young girl reached under her skirt. Debbie used to do this all the time. Checking on her obedience, just like this young dark haired vixen was doing. Fingers thrusting into her wet pussy. Working her up. Making her breathe heavy. Making her hips pump in response. Making her nipples harden and crinkle to tight nubs. Making her tongue sneak out and lick her glossy pink lips. But this wasn't Debbie, this girl was young enough to be her daughter. Margaret should be in charge, just on age alone. Yet, standing there, hips pumping, wanted so desperately for an orgasm, Margaret didn't feel in charge at all.

"Yes Miss, I remember," Margaret said, her voice thick with lust. She remembered all the rules. Remembered them like it was yesterday.

"It appears so," Arianna said, fondling the older woman's breast through the thin fabric of her shirt. "And my how you have grown since you were in college. You were flat in your pictures. But what a big girl you are now. The years have been kind to you I see."

"Thank you Miss," Margaret said, then remembering rule number nine, always acknowledge and be thankful for every compliment - even though sometimes they felt like put downs. She blushed, adding. "I'm glad - I'm glad you like them."

"I believe you had a request you wanted to make regarding your daughter," Arianna said. "There's a rule for that too I believe."

The young girl sat down in a chair, then spread her legs. She wasn't wearing any underwear. Her lips were engorged and her dark curly hair was damp with her lust.

"Yes Miss," Margaret said, going down to her knees. It was clear that this girl knew every last rule. Rule number five, all requests had to be made to Debbie's cunt. This time it would be Arianna she made the request to.

Margaret didn't expect the hand that leapt out and slapped her face.

"Did I say you could look at me naked?" Arianna demanded. 

"No Miss but..." Margaret stammered. Debbie had been a cruel Mistress, but she had never slapped her. Her punishments always took the form of another rule added to her humiliating list. She clutched a hand to her cheek.

"Put that on." Arianna pointed to a blindfold laying on the bed.

Margaret put on the blind fold. Feeling her way along, she knelt between those legs again. It had been a long time since she had been in this very place. The last time had been the day after graduation. The day she moved out. Debbie had wanted to get her fill. Enough to last her. She had eaten her out so many times she lost count. That was supposed to have been the last time. Yet, here she was again. Kneeling in front of another woman. Blowing gently on her pubic hair. Giving her light kisses. Turning kissing to licks. Her body remembered what to do - and she did it very well.

"Oh Maggie," Arianna cooed, her tongue snaking out of her bow shaped mouth. Each hand grasping one of the older woman's pig tails. Using them to guide her ministration. Steering her like a bitch on a leash. "The descriptions don't do you justice. Your tongue is divine. You are one hot little queer."

"Thank you Miss," Margaret mumbled from down below and continued to work. She hated how the young girl was directing her oral service by tugging her pig tails. Debbie used to refer to them as her training wheels. Oh how she hated them. Hated how 'cute' they made her look. People didn't respect cute. And having her pig tails pulled, making her lick here and there, drove home just how little respect her pig tails entailed. 

After several minutes, Arianna pulled her away from her tasks momentarily.

"What was it you wanted to ask me about?" Arianna asked.

Her face soiled and her makeup a mess, Margaret proceeded to tell the young woman about her daughters troubles. How she was having a hard time with the pledging process. Could - maybe - perhaps Arianna could see fit to take it easy on her. As a favor. That was the gist. What transpired was quite different all together. Margaret was forced to ask this while licking her young mistress. She would get a few words out and then she was grabbed by her pig tails, pulled back in, forced to lick, to suck, until Arianna would push her away and ask, "Now what were you saying? Maybe you should start from the beginning again."

It was so hard for Margaret to remember her train of thought. In the old days, she usually forgot what she had originally wanted to ask Debbie for. But this time she had her daughter to think of. To keep her strong. Yet, she didn't feel very strong kneeling there, licking, sucking, and talking about her daughter while doing so. Her own sex so hot and wet...yet so frustrated and needing. It just didn't feel right.

It felt fine to Arianna. She come twice from this old MILF. God, the woman had a tongue that wouldn't quit. It was a damned shame that it had been wasted for nineteen years. Almost a crime. "I think I can help your daughter," Arianna said. "But, there's going to be a price for my assistance..and that price is orgasms. I want more. A lot more. And I want them someplace where I can moan to my heart's content. Let me go make sure the coast is clear, then I'll come back for you. Why don't you clean off your face in the meantime? If you finish that, you can work on rule number eight."

Margaret followed her young Mistress's orders. Cleaning the juices from her face and then obediently stroking herself, going just to the edge of orgasm, but backing off before she went all the way. Just like old times. When Arianna came back,she followed her young charge to the basement. She had been there before with Debbie. But this time she was more nervous than ever. Especially when the young woman made her put on the blind fold back on before leading her down those dark rickety steps. ********************* Several hours earlier....

"I'm glad you were able to meet me," Arianna told young girl. "I talked to your mom this afternoon. She was quite disappointed when she learned her daughter was thinking about not continuing her legacy here at Delta."

Stacy cringed at the thought of her mother. She had tried to prepare her for what was going to happen. That she wasn't cut out for Delta. She hadn't even told her mother everything. That she was the scum girl. Not just the Delta sisters, but the other pledges got to tell her what to do... and she had to do what they said. And they could be quite inventive. Pick up this. Fetch that. Clean so and so. Wear this stupid sign on your back. On your chest. God, it was humiliating. Most of her problems seemed to stem from Arainna, the head of the Delta house. She seemed to have it in for her.

"And I was disappointed when I heard you were telling your mother about things that went on in the house, and you know the rule. What goes on in Delta house, stays in Delta house. You weren't supposed to tell anyone..."

"I'm sorry," Stacy said, but she just had to tell someone. She hadn't even told her own mother everything. "I didn't tell her about everything. Just that I was having a hard time. That I was having second thoughts."

"No more excuses," Arianna said. She strolled over to the wall and took down a large paddle. The symbols delta delta delta were carved in the surface. "You know what happens when you break the rules Stacy. You swore you wouldn't tell anyone what goes on behind these doors."

God no. Not again. It seemed she was always breaking the rules. No matter how hard she tried.

"Twenty more for stalling," Arianna said.

Stacy blinked back the tears pooling in her pretty blue eyes. She was so tired of being spanked. Her bottom was always sore - always tender. A skinny girl, the blows seemed to hurt her more than the other pledges. It was a struggle just to sit. She reached beneath her short skirt and wriggled down her panties until they lay at her ankles. She muttered a quick ,"Please," before tucking the back of her skirt into her waistband and then leaning forward and grabbing her ankles. 




The Legacy



Arianna enjoyed the view. She marveled at how flexible Stacy was. How she could just bend down and grab her ankles without cheating like the other pledges. Loved how her pretty cunt peaked out from between her skinny thighs.

"Oh this is much more serious than that Stacy," Arianna said. "You didn't just break a rule, but the code. Take it all off. Everything."

But Stacy didn't want to take it all off. Didn't want to be spanked. Didn't want to be here in the basement with this sadist who was the head Delta house. She just wanted to quit.

"Thirty more," Arianna said.

"Please Arianna," Stacy begged. She shucked off her T-shirt, the stepped out of her tennis shoes. But not fast enough.

"Ten more." 

Stacy just needed a moment to think. Did she want to quit or not? Submit for this spanking or just walk out the door, never to return? There was no going back once she walked out. How disappointed would her mother be? So many factors to figure into her decision, yet time was in precious short supply. If she wasn't going to walk out now, she was going to have so many spanks piled up she wouldn't be able stand, much less sit. And her mom was now involved. She was disappointed. Shit! Making up her mind quickly, she quickly took off her socks, bra and skirt.

"Now put your arms behind your back." Arianna said.

Stacy reluctantly obeyed. It wasn't the usual position required for punishment. Worse, it made her already small breasts practically non-existent. At least Arianna stood behind her where she couldn't see them. However, Stacy soon had other things to worry about as something was cinched tight around her elbows. She instinctively knew this was no ordinary hazing procedure and began to struggle.

"Hey, let me go," she demanded.

"Hold still slut," Arianna said as she finished securing the bonds. "You are just making this harder for yourself."

"No. Stop. Let me mmm....."

"Sushh..." Arianna slipped the ball gag in place. She adjusted the straps over the pretty blonde's head.

Stacy shook her head at this latest indignity, tossing her blonde locks too and fro. Not only could she no longer talk thanks to the ball gag, her nose was pulled back uncomfortably and the center strap impaired her vision. Jesus! Shit! What was going on?

"This is going to be a different sort of punishment than you've had in the past," Arianna said as she put the paddle back on the wall. "I won't be using the paddle after all."

Stacy was momentarily relieved. Thinking this was going to some sort of humiliation ritual like she had already endured far too many of. Arianna hooked Stacy's arms up to a length of rope and pulled down, causing Stacy arms to be pulled up toward the eyelet. 

"Don't get bored," Arianna said, as she fastened two leather cuffs to Stacy's ankles. "We are very nearly there."

Then she looped a length of rope to the cuff and began to pull. Stacy's leg began to rise. Not just up but out. She tried to fight it, but it was a hopeless fight. The muscles of her inner thigh were no match for Arianna's strength.

Stacy stood swaying. Trying desperately to retain her balance. No easy matter with her left leg pulled up at a crazy angle, her arms pulled up behind her back, and the poor leg she was standing on balanced precariously between these two opposing forces. Her amazing flexibility actually worked against her in this case. Another girl would have never been spread to quite the humiliating degree that she was. She watched in horror as Arianna took a black leather crop out of a locked drawer. The air whistled through her nose as she gave a sharp intake of breath. No, this wasn't merely going to be an exercise in humiliation - it would be a painful lesson. Maybe the most painful of all. She trembled as she listened to the crop whistled through the air as the pretty red head took a few practice swings then flexed it between her hands.

"I like the paddle," Arianna said. "But it has no finesse. No artistry. I think this will be much more fun, don't you girl? More intimate."

Stacy couldn't see her capturer, but she knew the blow was coming. She heard the whistle. Then the sound of leather against flesh. There was no pain at first. Not for another second in time. The pain came on all of a sudden. It came on strong.

Stacy moaned into the ball gag when the pain made its way to the neurons in her brain. Then her body flexed. Ligaments straining. Seeking to escape the blow that had already fallen. Her body unaware of her helpless bound predicament. Her joints groaned as her weight was supported by her shoulders and hips. Wide-eyed, she struggled to get her right leg back under her and supporting her weight again.

"You like to dance do you?" Arianna said as she watched as her captive hopped and danced to regain her balance. The best bits of her anatomy strained and were forced open or out by gravity. "Hmmm, my little ballerina? I think we can make things even more entertaining." 

Arianna went back to the drawer and came back with several instruments. Stacy had no idea what they could be used for, but they terrified her none the less.

Arianna showed her terrified captive the small steel clamps. "Such cute little nipples. I think they are going to like these." she said as she began thump Stacy's nipples, making them harden to the size of small erasers. Then she captured the nipple and tightened it in the clamp. They hurt, but anything was a respite to the crop.

"Can you guess where the last one goes?" Arianna asked her gagged charge. "Nod if you know."

Mmmmmm- Stacy gave a moan and shook her head to and fro. God, she wouldn't dare!

But dare she did. "Let's see if we can get it nice and big," Arianna said. Her captive was spread so wide, it was a simple matter to reach between her spread legs and work on the small pearl with her fingers. Tugging it like a teat. 

Helpless. Gagged. Bound. Her most sensitive place being handled like she wasn't even a person. It should have been enough to cancel out any sexual enjoyment. Yet, somehow it wasn't. To her growing horror, she could feel her body responding. Growing tingly. Wet.

"Oh there it is." Arianna said, spreading wet pink lips, and pushing the hard nubbin out even further. "Coming out to play. I was worried at first. Worried it might be too small...like your little titties. But this is a nice big clit. A pink marble. Just the right size." Then she took it between her fingers and pulled.... and finally applied the clamp. This one was spring loaded and had rubber teeth. Just perfect for holding onto something so small, delicate, and wet.

The shock of the pleasure was enough to make Stacy lose her balance. She still hadn't got it back when Arianna hooked the first weight to the clamp secured to Stacy's tender nipple. She began to hop and rock as the weight tugged down, However, that only made things worse as the weight bounced up and down, to and fro, magnifying her motions a thousand times, and pulling her tender nipple in every direction. 

"Keep dancing my little ballerina," Arianna urged. "Dance for me."

However, Stacy had her balance back. She held perfectly still. No, she wouldn't do that again. Sweat falling in rivulets down her back and nose, she stood motionless, even as Arianna hung another weight on the clamp attached to her other nipple, then held the weight in the air and let it drop. This time Stacy was prepared, as her hardened nipple took the weight all at once. Even when it gave a small bounce and came to rest. It was quite a shock, but at least it wasn't magnified by her own struggles. 

"Only one more to go." Arianna said. 

Stacy's eyes widened in horror. She moaned a last 'Please' into her gag. She tried to hold still. Yet despite her best efforts, she gave a brief lurch as the weight was hung from her clit and then Arianna let her take the weight of it none too gently. 

The weights swung in a counterclockwise arc. The tugging was uncomfortable to say the least. Yet the sensation of the transfers in direction sent bolts of pleasure through her loins.

Arianna picked the crop back up. "This time you can dance all you like," she said as she struck delicate pale flesh.

Stacy leapt as the blow struck home, causing the weights to bounce and twirl. The swinging had been bad enough, but God, when they tugged all at once, tugged sensitive parts that ought not be tugged, it was enough to convince her...enough to convince her to hold still when the crop whistled through the air one more time. Whistled and struck her underneath her shapely bottom. Whistled again and struck her tender inner thigh. She moaned into the gag. Tears fell from her pale blue eyes. The crop struck again, this time between the cheeks of her bottom. Making contact with her clenching arsehole. Fuck! She couldn't help it. Her body flinched. The weights began to swing.

"That's a good girl," Arianna said. "Dance. Dance for me my little ballerina."

The crop fell again and again. The blows were lighter. They still stung. But not like before.

Stacy had no choice. She hated the weights hanging from her tender parts. Hated how they tugged and pulled. Hated how her muscles were useless for supporting their weight. Hated how they managed to ache yet make those same parts oh so tingly. But she had no choice. Arianna was determined to see her dance. She could be forced to do it involuntarily, the crop would see to that, or she could do it willingly and spare herself the painful crop. She had no choice. She arched her back and shifted her hips as best as she was able. The way her leg was tied, it was nearly impossible...yet if she tightened her thighs, tried to pull them together, and then swing her weight from side to side, she was able to make them swing in a controlled arch. Made them move in a lazy circle. She danced. The weights swung. Maybe this would be enough for Arianna. 

"Good girl," Arianna said, working new flesh over with the crop. Aiming carefully. Turning pale white flesh red and inflamed. Leaving a purple welt here and there, yet not hitting the young coed as hard as she had before. "Now little ballerina, dance and make them swing the other way."

Stacy did her best to obey. The crop made sure of that. The bound coed made the weights swing in one direction and then the other. She made them swing fast. She made them swing slow. To make matter worse, her body was betraying her. The tingly feeling ran from her breasts to her sex and all the way down her feet. Her juices ran wet down her thighs. She tried to will those unwelcome feelings away. Tried to imagine what she was going to do to the bitch who had done this to her. Oh she was going to fix the bitch good. This was against the law. Let's see how she liked being tied up....when she was in jail. With her mind racing it took several minutes to realize the blows had stopped. She stopped swinging the weights.

The crop leapt out again. Stacy didn't have to concentrate on making the weights swing, they did it on their own. Shit! Fuck that stung!

"Did I say to stop dancing?" Arianna asked. "Keep dancing my little ballerina. Dance until I say to stop."

Stacy clenched her eyes tight. It was getting harder and harder to make the weights swing. Her breasts were fairly easy, but the weight attached to her clit. It took everything she had to clench her strained thighs, to move those slim hips back and forth to set it going again. She was as hot as a black leather seat in August, and it helped dull the pain, but even in the state she was in, having her arms tied behind her back, forcing her over, and then one leg pulled up and over in the opposite direction, to work her hips, to move her ass, it felt as if she were trying to pull her joints out of socket.

"That's a girl," Arianna said. "And remember, good girls get presents. You do want presents, don't you?"

So she danced. Making the weight swing. She could feel an orgasm just out of reach. She tried to be strong. Tried not to reach for it. But eventually she broke, she wanted it. She clenched her sex. Made the weight swing the other direction. However, no matter how much she tried, she couldn't quite get there. Not all the way. Soon the aching need for orgasm began to outweigh the pain in her joints and stretched tender bits. Spinning the weights. Twirling them even if ever so slightly as she grew more and more exhausted. Oblivious to the fact that Arianna had left her alone in the basement for the last fifteen minutes.

"Still dancing?" Arianna asked when she returned. "Oh you are aren't you? I don't recall telling you to make them swing like that? So sexy. So much sexier than you were dancing before. Did you know that dancing is the window into the soul? And my little ballerina, your soul is saying it wants something very badly."

Arianna came behind her captive. Caught her earlobe and bit it lightly, causing Stacy to moan. 

"This may hurt a bit," Arianna said, as she released the clamp on her captive's nipple.

Stacy was thinking, no, this doesn't hurt at all. But then it felt like pins and needles in her tiny buds. After that, the sensation returned in a hurry. She bit into her gag, moaning and groaning. Oh God, and then the other clamp was taken off. And she knew the worse was still to come. Worse, Stacy made her moan twice for yes, if she wanted that last clamp off. She wanted to refuse, but she knew she had to get it off, it was the only way to get free. She gave one last thought of what she was going to do to this sick bitch. Oh how she would pay, then she moaned twice for yes. Then she moaned over and over again. Twisting and turning as lightning shot through her insides.

"You've been such a good girl. I think you've earned a reward," Arianna said. "Wouldn't you like a reward pet?"

Stacy shook her head. She didn't want any sort of reward this sadist had in mind. 

"I'll be back in a few minutes..." Arianna said. "Don't go anywhere."

The poor coed couldn't go anywhere. Worse, now that the weights had been removed, her passions were cooling. As her passion subsided, the pain in her joints grew. If only Arainna would take of the gag. She was willing to let matters drop. She wouldn't press charges. Just let her out of here. She would never set foot in the Delta house again.

Another fifteen minutes had passed when Arianna returned. "Here's your reward pet," she said from behind her captive.

Stacy jumped from fright. Then her horror grew as another woman was led in front of her. At first she didn't recognize the woman. The slutty dress, thin white socks up to her knees, the heels, the lack of a bra, but most of all it was the pigtails that threw her off. Then Arianna pushed the blindfolded woman down, forcing the older woman to kneel down in front of Stacy. That woman. It wasn't. It couldn't be. But it was. 

"Lick me." Arianna said, her voice thick with lust.

Stacy moaned into the gag. Her blue eyes bulging, crossed due to the strap holding the gag in place. Her mom was blindfolded. She had no idea who she was getting ready to do this to. She didn't know it was her own flesh and blood. 

No. No. No. Stacy moaned. To her horror the cries came out as moans. 

"I'm so hot for you," Arianna said pulling the older woman by her pigtails into the sex of her own darling daughter.

"No mom,' Stacy pleaded. "It's me!" 

But all Margaret heard were moans of excitement. She began to kiss. She began to lick. To suck. She hesitated for just one moment. For just one moment reason kicked in. This pussy was much wetter than it had been just moments ago. It had the taste of salt and sweat. It didn't smell or taste like the pussy of the perfectly coiffed and statuesque brunette she had licked moments ago. No, this pussy was ripe. The clit distended to a degree she had never seen before. It reminded her of Debbie's on the few nights she had been with some young fraternity boy before coming home and demanding pleasure from Margaret. 

Margaret almost refused. Then she thought of her daughter. If this was what she had to do to help her through the pledge process, then she would. She thought of rule number two, and rubbed herself. A hot slut is an obedient slut. She forgot what she had been so concerned about and began to lick. To suck. To please.

Poor Stacy tried to battle. She tried to move away. But her body had already been through so much. She succeeded in dancing for only a few moments before coming to rest. Hanging limp limply under the harsh fluorescent lights..

She couldn't fight that way. Swinging the weights had robbed her of her strength. The only thing left she had to fight with was her mind. She wasn't going to enjoy this, but she was determined to fight. She would resist. It was bad, but it could be much worse. She could enjoy it.

Yet her mother licked her in ways she never imagined. Made her think at times she had successfully resisted, only to lick her in a new and different way that took her passions higher than ever before. She began to grow tingly all over. I can't do this. I mustn't. She told herself It is wrong. Perverted. She could feel her will crumbling. Worse, Arianna was pressed behind her, whispering in her ear. "So kinky. You love it. I know you do. What is this? Is it close? Oh it is..."

No. No. God no. Not like this. Not with this cruel girl behind her knowing what her body was doing. She tightened her body. Determined to resist. But her mother took it as encouragement, and flicked her tongue rapidly on Stacy's tender nubbin. 

No. No. Please no. But, no matter how she wished it away, the liquid lava poured through her insides, overwhelming the poor girl with pleasure. Oh how she came! Not being able to react save biting and moaning into the ball gag only seemed to intensify her pleasure. She was vaguely aware of her mom, kneeling down at her feet, softly licking and slurping up her wet nectar as she came down from her orgasm. At least...at least it was over.

"So good. Such a skilled tongue you have." Arianna said, reaching around her captive and stroking her fingers through Margaret's hair. Then reaching further down, taking Stacy's sex between her fingers and spreading those moist lips wide. "Now another..." she whispered.

The girl must be insatiable, Margaret thought. She had given the girl three orgasms...still she wanted more. But she had said she wanted orgasms. A lot of them. That was the price for helping her daughter. Margaret was determined to succeed. The older woman's skilled tongue began to move with purpose once again. If it was another orgasm she wanted, then she would have it. And maybe just maybe, Margaret would be allowed to come.

But poor Stacy didn't want another orgasm. She was still far too sensitive down there to enjoy it. It was just too much. She moaned into her gag and tried to move....but to no avail.

Arianna used this time to get to know her captive's body. She stroked the young pledge's body. Groped her. Handled her. Tweaked her. Pressed a finger into her tight ass. The shock of being explored in such a forbidden fashion caused the poor coed to gasp and moan. Arianna, lauched at how the girl's body trembled and shook as she was overwhelmed by another orgasm.

Trembling and shaking was all Stacy could do now. Once the orgasm passed, she gave a plaintive moan into her gag. No one paid her any mind. Arianna just said, "Now another..." and her mother obliged.

In less than a minute Stacy could feel the tingling return. Her resistance was for naught, the orgasms were coming faster and faster. There was nothing she could do to stop them. She had ceased fighting them. Her will had crumbled under the onslaught. Only her mother's tongue stood between her and another climax. She was totally at the whim of that magic tongue. 

She could feel the warmth growing again in her loins. She felt her insides dance, felt the hot heat. No...not again.....please mom.... Yet that skilled tongue could not be denied. Again and again she came. And though it was pleasure unlike she had ever experienced, it was just too much of it. Over and over again too much of it. To much sensation. She hung limp, letting the orgasms come when they would, oblivious to everything else, when Arainna finally said, 'Enough'.




The Legacy



Such was Stacy's delirious state, that she wasn't even aware that Arainna and her mother left the room. She made no effort to fight when Arianna returned and freed her from her bonds. Merely slumping to the floor, barely moving as she was freed from her cuffs and the cruel gag. She made no move to carry out her earlier plans of running for the phone and dialing 911. She obediently took the water that Arianna held to her lips and drank. 

"You're not still thinking of leaving are you?" Arianna said. "Your mother did so much to help you stay. Came in here dressed up like a little slut. Licked my pussy like nobody's business. What a wicked tongue she has. But I guess you know all about that now. Do you know what would be a real shame? If your mother found out just who she was licking tonight. I wonder how she would take the news?"

Not well. Stacy was still getting over it. Her own mother had licked her. Had made her orgasm again and again. No one could know. Least of all her mother. It would ruin her.

"But if you were a pledge...." Arianna continued. "It would be against the rules for me to tell anyone else what happened among sisters....and we are sisters right?"

"Yes," Stacy admitted.

"However, you are going to be a different sort of sister. Just think of me as your big sister. And you are going to have some new rules now..." Arianna handed Stacy a sheet of paper. It was old. A list of rules had been written in lipstick and pen as other rules were added on a whim. "These used to belong to your mother."

As Stacy read the list her chin began to tremble. This list covered everything from how she would address Arianna, to how she was expected to dress, to having to shave down below...dear Lord, the back too. Reading further it grew worse and worse. She was expected to keep herself juiced up and hot. And then to ask permission to come....but at the moment she didn't care if she ever came again.

"Kiss my pussy. I expect you to work yourself up, like mother like daughter." Arianna said. "I'm not going to make you pleasure me tonight, but I want to wake at 8:00 tomorrow morning to your tongue. You are to come in and sneak under my covers from the bottom of the bed and get to work. I will inspect you afterwards. I expect you smooth and ... juicy. Now, kiss me. I'll tell you when you are done."

Arianna stood with her legs slightly apart. Kneeling at her feet, Stacy couldn't help be feel tiny...so small. As she leaned in, she felt terrified. Her body still remembered the feel of her mother's skilled tongue. She had felt it. Had watched her mother rub herself, keep herself hot, just like the rules said. God, her mother had moaned with lust, wanting release as she had teased herself and tweaked her nipples while she licked. Stacy leaned in and touched her lips to Arianna's wet nether lips. The curly hair tickling her nose. 

"That's a girl," Arianna said, her lip turning up in a grin. "Now rub yourself. And I want to feel some tongue little queer."

Stacy's poor sex couldn't bear further attention, but she reached down anyway. She rubbed her aching clit obediently. Stacy stuck out her tongue and pressed it into the the hateful girl's folds. So gross. Her poor clit couldn't bear further attention, but she reached down anyway. Steeling herself, she rubbed her aching clit obediently. She gave a groan. How had it snuck out? 

"You love it already," Arianna sneered. "Well you are going to get plenty of it. But enough for tonight. Now it's time for a short inspection. Thighs apart."

Stacy moved her knees apart and put her hands on top of her head as instructed. Did her best to hold still while the hateful girl stooped down and reached a hand between her legs. Ran an finger into her opening. Touching Stacy as though she owned her.

"Nice and juicy," Arianna said. "That's how I better find you whenever I inspect you. And I will inspect you often. Now get dressed and get out of here. I'll see you at 8:00 tomorrow morning. Not a minute later."

It was over. Finally over. Stacy dressed quickly and went to her room to find suitable clothes for tomorrow. Then she had a good cry.

She may have to endure these rules, but she was determined not to be like her mom. The woman had clearly enjoyed her subservient role. Moaning and groaning while she licked with abandon. Begging to be allowed to come. Stacy didn't care if she ever came again.

But she would change her mind about that fact soon enough. She would learn that lesson the very next morning. Somehow she would manage. It was only college. Her mother had managed. Hadn't she? She would do whatever was necessary to save her mother from knowing the truth of what had happened tonight.

What Stacy didn't know was that Arianna had other plans for her mother. She never told her that she had gone down on her own daughter. That remained a secret, just as she promised. But it didn't stop her from sending a package to Jenny, Margaret's assistant manager and who also happened to be a fellow Delta. The package contained a few pictures of the sexy older woman kneeling and licking. Stroking her bare sex. Dressed like a little tart. Oh yes, and a copy of the rules.

Margaret's assistant manager Jenny handed the rules to her one night when the were closing.

Margaret took the crinkled paper with a trembling hand. Dear God, the rules had followed her. Had taken over her new life, just as they had taken over her college years. Even worse, she recognized a new not at the bottom of the rules. PS Maggie loves it up the butt. There was a cute little heart scribbled at the end of it with Arianna's name inside.

As Jenny watched the older woman look up meekly from beneath her long bangs, she knew she had won. From that moment on, Margaret owned the store, but Jenny owned her. 

The point was driven home when Margaret was ordered to strip and then Jenny had bent her over her office desk, took a dildo out of her purse and proceeded to fuck Margaret in the ass with it. 

Maggie had pleaded with her. Had told her she didn't like it no matter what the paper said. God how it had hurt. Had violated her. But, Jenny had only laughed. Spanked her and reminded her of rule number two. 

The older woman hunched her hips up and snuck her hand to her crotch. Began to rub. Was aghast when she discovered she had grown wet. Tingly. Worse, as Jenny kept working her ass with the dildo, Maggie had begun to react. Moaning. Meeting every thrust. 

"Tell me you like it," Jenny said. "I know you do. Look at you. Now tell me."

Burning with humiliation, Margaret admitted that she did like it. Upon further encouragement, with animalistic grunts and groans, further admitted that yes, she did like it up the ass. In fact she loved it. Had begged to be allowed to come, only to be reminded of rule number two.

Afterwards, she had knelt on all fours beneath her desk and orally pleasured her assistant manager. Licked her for over an hour and a half. Had pleaded her case to be allowed to drop some of the rules now that she was older.

"Please Jenny, at least let me stop - wearing - pig tails...." Maggie begged between licks. Her long tongue snaking out and slithering through pink lips, and teasing a swollen clit.

"Wearing what?" Jenny asked. 

"Pig - shlurp - shlurp tails shlurp..." Maggie pleaded. 

"But you would be so cute with little tails," Jenny giggled. "I could play with them. I could steer that sweet tongue of your around with them I bet."

God, the thought was terrifying. How could she face her friends. The other workers in the store. Her husband. Her daughter.

When she left the store later that night, her hair, thank God, her hair wasn't up in pig tails. But she left the store wearing a new outfit. From now on Jenny was going to dress her off the rack. Now she sported a racy little number that showed off her best attributes. No bra. No panties. Her knees were sore from kneeling. Her ass was also sore, even more so when she sat down. 

How would she explain her appearance to her husband or the other two girls who worked during the weekend? She had tried explaining to Jenny. Kneeling down on the floor, licking, sucking, pleasuring, only being allowed to talk every few moments between licks, it was too hard to rationalize why it would be so much better if she were allowed to obey all the other rules save the few regarding her appearance. 

Jenny only gave on one rule. The pigtails. But she added another rule in its place. Margaret wasn't allowed to have sexual intercourse with her husband without permission. How was she going to manage putting off her husband's needs?

He was surely going to want to have sex with her. Especially dressed as sexy as she was. Such a short skirt. No bra. God, we was going to want her when she walked through the door...unless...unless he was in bed. 

However, if he saw her, she was going to have to explain her changes in appearance or he would be suspicious. But perhaps she could find a way to explain the changes.

She could only think of one way. She would have to go down on him. Just like she had gone down on Jenny. She would use her mouth and tongue. She would have to go down on her knees. Unzip his fly. Ask him if her outfit turned him on. Then take his cock in her mouth. She would have to appear eager. As if it were her idea. Maybe to spice up the marriage. It would also explain her changes in her clothing choices, now that Jenny was going to be picking out her clothes. 

It then dawned on her that her subjugation would even extend to her normal relationship. How long was her husband going to want a blow job instead of straight sex? Knowing the limited number she had given him, he would probably like them for quite awhile. Dear Lord, she was probably going to have to start swallowing. Twenty years of normalcy. Boring normalcy sure, but now she was going to have to endure one humiliation after another. Only two things seemed to make it go away. The first was knowing her daughter was in college and happy. The other? The same thing that worked so well in college. She reached down between her legs and began to rub.



The Legacy



It has been a little while since my last story was posted here, I have been distracted trying to change my status from 'single' to 'attached'. No luck with that, so I had to write a story to take my mind off my lack of success. Hope you like it. CM





Elizabeth Jacobson re-read the letter in her hand. It was from the law firm of Kauffman, Greenbaum and Schwartz inviting her to attend their offices for a meeting with Mr Schwartz at 11:00 am on Thursday next. She had never heard of them and wondered what it was all about, her mind darting off into ever more bizarre flights of fantasy. Somewhere in there was the thought that it might mean that some long lost and very wealthy relative had passed away and left her with a fortune. She realised, on reflection, that she knew of no relative that was in any way, what could be called wealthy. She suspended thought on the matter until the meeting in three days' time.

Geraldine Browne looked at a similar letter and her thoughts went immediately to that of how much was involved. Her whole life was an endless quest for money. A life that resulted in three marriages to wealthy men and several liaisons with equally wealthy men, all of which resulted in the accumulation of a considerable amount of money. Unfortunately for her, this money slipped through her fingers as easily as it had come to her, and she had to rely on a new relationship to maintain her lifestyle. Age and reputation was a factor in the she now realised that no such relationship was on the immediate horizon. She now pinned her hope and an inherited windfall.

Sophie Foreman had just slit open her letter from Kauffman, Greenbaum and Schwartz and placed it in front of her breakfast, she would read it as she ate her muesli with low fat milk and coffee. Time was precious for Sophie, she had meetings all day and into the night and she could not see herself getting to bed much before midnight, such was the downside of her position as CEO of a large corporation, she had no time for any contacts outside her work, and this included her now departed family, her husband and two adult children were no longer a part of her life. She could think of no reason why she should keep this appointment but would get her PA to check her busy schedule and see if she could fit it in.

Petra Morrison read her letter on the train on her way to work. Today was looking to be pretty much like every other day for her, she would have a steady stream of women coming to her to see if she could help them with their problems that ranged from domestic violence to finding emergency accommodation. She was the manager of a drop-in centre for, in particular, women who, because of their circumstances were unable to find a way out of the trap of poverty, despair and depression. Hers was a hands-on role that reached far beyond what was expected of her and the hours she put into her job were not rewarded financially. She got her reward from the smiles of gratitude from those she was able to help.

Simone LePoidevin did not receive her letter until the next day when she flew in from her regular flight to the Paris fashion shows. Her new range of evening gowns was well received by the fashionistas and she returned with orders from some of the top fashion stores in Europe and North America. Her star was well and truly on the ascendant and she was pleased with her success. But hers was not an overnight success, it was one of hard grind and devotion to her ideals, not forgetting the long hours that meant that she had little time for any meaningful relationships. Her detractors, of which there were several, hinted at her latent lesbianism. She ignored these claims and continued to take advantage of the services of a discreet agency that had a ready supply of suitably attractive young men to cater for her sexual needs, her only stipulation was that she should never have the same man more than once. The agency was only too happy to oblige, given the fees that they charged, and the fact that she tipped generously.

The last person to receive a letter was Jennifer Roberts, a school teacher currently on compassionate leave, leave that she was using to care for her ailing husband of fifteen years. He had been struck down at a young age with Parkinson's and was rapidly approaching the terminal stages of that illness. She would soon have to make the decision of whether to place him in a nursing home, and was taking this time to see him happy before the inevitable day arrived. She felt no guilt at having to make the imminent decision, after all, the years together had been good up until just before it became apparent that everything was not as it should be. Bryan, her husband, had been begging her to place him in a nursing home because he could see the effect that his illness was having on the once vibrant and happy woman that he had married all of those years ago.

Bernard Schwartz sat at his desk pondering the day ahead. He was unsure as to how many, if any, of the women would respond to the letters. It was deliberately vague, just one of the many stipulations that had been placed on this task of executing this Last Will and Testament. It was not his job to understand the reasoning behind these strange stipulations, his job was to see them carried out. He reviewed the file on each of the women, these went some way to explaining the reasons. Some he welcomed the opportunity to meet in person, while others he dreaded that same opportunity.

The previous day he had spent interviewing the men on the recipient list in Mr Walton's Will, they were an eclectic mix of men who he wanted to support in a financial way for what he saw were their good qualities, and there were those he wanted to punish in some way for some indiscretion or other that had either affected him personally, one of his many companies, or a personal friend. Most of the men had no direct contact with Mr Walton and were surprised just how much he was aware of them and their positive or negative contribution to their lives. The women on the list were similarly a mix of those who would be pleasantly surprised and those who would be unhappy at the outcome of the interview. In a way he now understood the dilemma faced by Solomon in deciding which woman should get the child.

At 10:45 his secretary buzzed him." I have a Jennifer Roberts, she has an appointment with you at 11:00."

"Take her to the board room would you please. I am expecting five other women, would you be so kind as to show them all to the board room and tell them I will be with them shortly. You could also ask if they would like tea or coffee please."

He took several deep breaths in preparation for this moment when he would speak to them all before arranging to speak to them individually. This was before he has to make the decision that he was really dreading. He wished his former client could have been a little more specific as to what he was to do.

At 11:00 he stood and took one final deep breath before gathering the files and walking to the board room. Pushing the door open he entered to be met by five pairs of eyes staring at him. He placed the files on the board table and sat down. Clearing his throat, he addressed the five women. "Good morning ladies, my name is Bernard Schwartz and I am the Executor of the estate of the late Mr Henry Walton." He looked from one to the other trying to gauge whether the name meant anything to them. The responses were mixed but they none showed that they had recognised the name. "The name of Mr Walton will mean nothing to you, but the man Mr Walton had a great influence on you in one way or another. I will give you all a brief outline of the basics of Mr Walton's Last Will and Testament and then I will address each of you individually, at which time I will discuss with you the individual stipulations as outlined by Mr Walton. Any questions?"

Before any of them could answer the intercom buzzed and he pressed the button to place it on speaker mode. "Yes Miss Kauffman."

"Mr Schwartz, I have a Simone LePoidevin here, she says that she has an eleven o'clock appointment with you."

"Would you tell Ms LePoidevin that the meeting has already begun and that she will just have to wait until we have finished."

"Listen Schwartz or whatever your name is, I am not going to sit out here while you talk to those other women, I want to hear everything that you have to say. I don't know what this is all about but let me tell you that I will not be left out."

"Then you should have made sure that you got here on time." Her file had already told him that she would, in all probability, be late, punctuality not being one of her priorities.

"How dare you speak to me like that. I'm coming in. Get out of my way sister!" She brushed past Miss Kauffman and stormed to the board room. Flinging the door open she walked into the room, pausing briefly to assess the situation before walking to the end of the table and sat, facing Bernard. "Now what have I missed?"

"Not a great deal as it happened, I was just going through the preliminaries and explaining what was to take place at this meeting." Her file also told him that her life was a series of confrontations, almost all of which she won. "As I was saying, I have the dubious honour to have been chosen to be the Executor of the Last Will and Testament of the late Mr Walton."

"Never heard of him and unless he's left me a shit load of money I don't think that I need to stay here, I have too much to do today to be wasting my time on trifles."

"I assure you that the amount of money involved can hardly be categorised as a trifle." The amount was indeed substantial but how much of it she could expect was very much up to her at this moment.

"I'll stay then. You may proceed."

"Thank you so much." Sarcasm isn't his usual style but something about her rubbed him up the wrong way. "When Mr Walton died he left a fortune of close to fifty million dollars to be distributed as I see fit but following his general guidelines, in other words the disbursement will not be in equal amounts."

"Okay, hold it now, what you're telling us is that there is in fact a shit load of money but how much we each get is up to you? Why can't you just divide it up into equal amounts, he's not going to know."

"It's not as simple as that, you see, some of you have had a negative impact on him and he sees these women as being less deserving than those who had a positive impact, he has decided that you all should get something. To paraphrase George Orwell; 'All of you are equal, some are more equal than others.' What will happen from here is that I will interview each of you in turn, and from that interview I will decide just how much each of you will get. The interviews will be short, just to confirm that the information that he has provided me is accurate, the decision on the amount will, of necessity, take a little longer. You can expect to see the amount in your account within a week. Is that clear?"

"Sure mister, just get on with it, why is it that lawyers take forever to say little?"

"I think I shall begin with you, Ms LePoidevin. If the rest of you would like to make yourselves comfortable, I will speak to each of you momentarily. In the meantime Miss Kauffman will get you tea or coffee and a light repast. Come Ms LePoidevin." He wasn't looking forward to this interview and thought it better to get it over with. He led her to his office and pointed to her chair. "Please, won't you have a seat?"

She sat and crossed her legs, the split in the front of her skirt opened revealing a large amount of a leg, even Bernard had to admit that it was impressive. "When you've quite finished perving on my legs can we get on with this, I have appointments that won't wait."

"Very well," He opened the folder in front of him. "Some time ago you were employed by Sarah Millbank Fashions as a designer, is this correct?"

"You've obviously done your homework, yes I was."

"Then you left to form your own design house."

"Again, yes. Where is this leading?"

"When you left Sarah Millbank you took designs with you."

"They were my designs."

"Legally they were not. Under the terms of your employment contract, the intellectual property of all work produced belonged to your employer. Before you claim that the ideas were yours, let me tell you that you used your employer's facilities to develop your ideas, so they remain the property of your employer. You have proprietorship of those designs produced after you ceased your employment with Sarah Millbank. We have calculated the income generated by the designs from your time with your previous employer and deducted that from the monies that you would have received from the estate, had you not stolen those designs, with interest of course."

"You can't fucking well do this, you can't even prove that I stole anything from Sarah fucking Millbank!"

"Oh yes we can, you see Sarah Millbank was suspicious of you, you were producing a lot of work at the time but showing few results. It was decided to keep track of your work output, so, every evening after you had left work, your portfolio of designs was carefully photocopied and returned. After you had left her employ a check of the designs in the portfolio was made and the missing designs were checked against the designs at your first fashion showing. Almost all of those designs were made while you were working for Sarah Millbank and belonged to her."

"If this was true, and I'm denying that it was, why was nothing done at the time?" She was beginning to get worried, could she be charged with theft as an employee at this late stage?

"That was Mr Walton's decision. He decided on a wait and see approach, you see he saw great potential in you, and would have quite happily forgotten about the whole episode if it were not for the way that you conduct your business. Not to put too fine a point on it, you have turned into a tyrant of a boss, you push your employees hard, and treat them as slaves, yours is not a happy fashion house, successful yes, your designers are good, but you do not give credit to your designers even though they deserve it, they make you a lot of money. The success of your fashion house is as a direct result of the favourable impression made at that first parade, success that was underpinned by those designs that were legally the intellectual property of Sarah Millbank Fashions. Having said that, you have not been able to maintain that initial success, and all is not well at 'Simone Elle', you are in danger of being taken over by an overseas fashion house, 'Henri', who are not interested in keeping you on in your current position. You will soon be out of a job, and let me tell you, few fashion houses will even consider you as a designer, to put it bluntly, you have shat in your own nest."

"How do you know this, it is all supposed to be a secret?"

"Like Sarah Millbank, 'Henri' is owned by a company that was controlled and wholly owned by Mr Walton."

"Fuck."

"Yes, fuck. I will take all the facts into consideration when making my decision, but let me tell you, your share will not be enough for you to stave off the takeover, but it will be enough, if used wisely, for you to live on. That will be all."

He had to make the decision of whether the loss of her company and future income was enough, or whether the deductions from her share of the estate should go ahead. He was leaning towards making the deductions based on her attitude to the revelations He had just made. If she had shown that she actually had a conscience and admitted that she had used the designs that were the legal property of her former employer, he would probably have relented. She chose to deny the charges, and now he had to wait for the expected call from her lawyer.

He sat at his desk for several minutes composing his thoughts and making notes in Simone's file. She wasn't going to be happy and he was contemplating allowing his cowardly streak to take hold and leave it to her lawyers to break the bad news to her, she would barely get enough to survive on no matter how frugally she lived, her lifestyle just wouldn't allow it.

Bernard's next choice was Petra Morrison, at least she could look forward to a substantial settlement, but he doubted that she would see much of it, her heart was too big and her passion for those less fortunate too strong. "Take a seat, please." She sat and looked at me, he could see the worry in her face. "Don't worry, I won't keep you any longer than necessary, I know how busy you are."

"Thank you." 

She said quietly. Her demeanour was that of a woman with some power and authority, but one who didn't wield that power to harm anyone. According to her notes she was almost driven to depression by what she saw in her work, that was until she came to realise that, in order to do her job properly so that she could help the people she cared so much for, she had to draw a line in the sand that separated her private life from her professional life.

"You are worried about funding for your Drop in Centre aren't you?"

"Yes the government has recently announced funding cut-backs. We were only just managing to stay afloat as it was. I've put a lot into this place and don't want to see it disappear. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to burden you with my problems."

"That's okay, we were very much aware of the plight of your centre and Mr Walton has made certain provisions for it in his will."

"But why? How does he know about it?"

"To answer that, I would like you to cast your mind back some five years and a man who went by the name 'Slick'?"

"Yes, I remember him, he was a particularly hard nut to crack, he had an arrogance that made it difficult for me to get to him and lead him to realise that he was doing himself no favours at all with his attitude to other people. It took some time, time spent trying to reach out to him, before he began to see that he could no expect people to help him if he continued to place himself above them, and that to get help he would have to first give help. He started to help out in the centre and before long the people like he had been began to respond to him. He is a changed man and is a great help to me in so many ways. Having his experience he is able to engage with those less fortunate. I like him now." What she didn't say was, 'I love him now'.

"It might surprise you to know that Slick's real name is Benjamin Walton, Ben for short. He is Mr Walton's youngest son. Mr Walton had just about given up on him, he was into drugs in a big way and the only thing that kept him out of gaol was Mr Walton's money. He went to the best school, had a good degree from University and wasted all of that on a life in a drugged haze. That was until you stepped in and saved him."

"I didn't save him, that's not what I'm about, not how I work, I gave him the tools to save himself. You know that adage that you can lead a horse to water but you can't make it drink, well we don't even lead the horse to the well, we give him the support, a nose bag if you will, a survival road map and point him in the general direction of that well, if he wants to drink he has to get there under his own steam. Don't get me wrong, if he stumbles we will help him up, but that's as far as it goes."

"When you leave here you are going back to the centre to pore over your accounts in the faint hope that you can make strategic changes to remain afloat. What I am going to tell you now is separate from the provisions that Mr Walton has made for you in his will, he has arranged for sufficient funds to be placed in an account that would generate enough funds from interest to allow you to keep the Centre in operation for the foreseeable future. There is on further thing, when you get back to the Centre you will be speaking to Ben, won't you?"

"Yes, we are discussing several issues to do with work."




The Legacy



"In the course of your discussion he will, I now believe that he's strong enough to do it, ask you to marry him. My gauging of the situation is that you have feelings for him as strong as he has for you, if so, please, put his mind at rest and accept."

"How did . . . does he? Yes I will, thank you." As he led her from his office she took his hand and Bernard turned to her. She kissed him softly, gently. "Thank you so much, not for the money, but for your understanding."

"He and his father had patched up their differences some time ago and he had been telling Mr Walton what a good job you were doing, and what a wonderful person you were, he told him in private that he loved you, and how the supporting hugs you gave him seemed to be getting more personal. He was sure that you loved him, but that neither of you had discussed the matter. I looked into it and have seen the way that the two of you look at each other and the way that you work so well together, it was obvious to me that you were in love, but that neither of you had any real experience in that area, you had done a great job keeping the two aspects of your life separate." She kissed me again and, with that she was gone, but Bernard knew that it would not be the last time that he would be speaking to her. 

Bernard re-read the file on Sophie Foreman before he called her into my office. What he couldn't understand was that she had virtually divorced herself from her family to chase power and wealth, it wasn't as if she didn't already have that, her husband Robert was an extremely wealthy man in his own right and would have given her anything she desired. It was her quest for wealth that brought them together in the first place, she had worked her way up to the top within his company before they married and she took time off to present him with a son and daughter, Mike and Jacinta. Having decided that her maternal role was complete when Jacinta was old enough for pre-school, and there were people who could be paid to look after them, she returned to work, having accepted a job offer from a family friend that would see her with more power than she could achieve working with Robert. He was philosophical about the move, acknowledging that she had a greater drive to succeed than he had. He had long ago decided that gathering around him an efficient and loyal team and allowing them greater responsibility along with a profit sharing arrangement, ensured that he achieved his corporate goals without placing himself under any undue stress. Family time was important to him and he made sure that he was there for the kids when they needed him and vacations were a family affair.

He was also philosophical when Sophie announced that she wanted to end their marriage. He suspected infidelity with her boss but made no effort to prove it, and wished her well for her future. The divorce was amicable enough, she didn't get what she demanded, totally unrealistically, but then she was kite flying and knew that. She saw the children over ever increasing intervals until it was mutually decided that she no longer had any reason to see them. The kids had accepted that this time would come, the distance between them and their mother had widened too far to be bridged.

Sophie looked at her watch as she sat down. "I won't keep you, I just need to discuss with you what Mr Walton had left you and why." Bernard told her.

"Cut to the chase, what's the bottom line?"

"The bottom line, as you put it, depends very much on the outcome of this interview, these are Mr Walton's specific orders."

"Who the hell is this Mr Walton? I've never heard of him, at least I don't think so."

"Mr Walton has played a very important role in your life, the fact that you haven't heard of him is not surprising, you see he was very much a behind the scenes man who ran many businesses without interfering in their operations un-necessarily."

"Okay, so he had some connection with me, get on with it."

"Don't you want to know how your path and his have crossed?"

"He obviously didn't want me to know about it then, so why should I know now?"

"Because the how and when are important to this outcome."

"Well get on with it then, tell me all of the gruesome details."

"Very well. When you returned to work after your daughter was old enough to attend pre-school you were employed by Standford Manufacturing."

"Yes."

You had been there only a short time when your boss Tom Bevan was divorced by his wife, and the grounds of his infidelity with you was the motivating factor. Why do you think she did that when infidelity never occurred?"

"How should I know?"

"Because you told her that it had. Tom wanted you to give evidence to the effect that the rumours were untrue, but you refused, why was that?"

"I didn't want to get involved in their personal dramas." 

"But you were already involved, you'd inserted yourself into their lives for one reason, and that was to undermine his reputation. He was seen as being an un-repentant cheat because of his refusal to acknowledge that he had been unfaithful to his wife. This damaged his reputation to the extent that he was asked to resign from the company. You achieved you goals when you replaced him as the Managing Director. Your attitude to business has been as ruthless since then, you have shown no loyalty to either your employers or employees, you have cut deals outside the company framework that earned you a great deal of money, money that should by rights have gone to the company."

Sophie couldn't believe what she was hearing, not because it wasn't true, but because she had thought that she had covered her tracks and no-one knew of these deals. "Where did you get this bullshit from?" 'That's it' she thought, challenge these details, go on the attack and hope that this sanctimonious lawyer wasn't certain that the facts were true'.

"This 'bullshit' as you call it, comes from within the very company of which you are the Managing Director. You see Stamford Manufacturing is a subsidiary company of Stamford Holdings, a holding company owned entirely, until his death, by Mr Walton. He has known about these deals for some time and had chosen not to interfere because you were still doing your job for the company better than your predecessor. Unfortunately for you, following his death it has fallen on me to straighten out his business affairs, and I am not as forgiving as he was. We have calculated the loss to Stamford Manufacturing of those deals that should have gone to the company, and have deducted that amount from the monies that he has left you in his will. Why did he leave you anything, you might ask, and my answer is I don't know. He was prone to making these seemingly illogical decisions from time to time, and we never interfered with them. This was one of those decisions, but I have chosen to interfere because I firmly believe in people only getting what they deserve. You asked earlier for the bottom line." I slid a sheet of paper across the desk to her. "This is your bottom line, for once in your life accept it with good grace because you have no moral right to any more."

Sophie snatched up the sheet and looked at the figures. She couldn't be sure of the absolute accuracy of the figures but realised that to challenge them would reveal her disloyalty, and this would cost more than a few dollars discrepancy. It would be best to keep her mouth shut. She stood up and glared at Bernard before stalking out of his office with as much dignity as she could muster.

'I don't deserve this torture?' Bernard thought to himself as he gathered the papers and placed them back into Sophie's file before taking Elizabeth Jacobson's file and skimming through it to reacquaint himself with the details before calling her in.

Elizabeth was nothing special, she was not glamorous, not overly intelligent and certainly not wealthy. She had, however, lived a life that wasn't without drama, she was a hard working woman who had a good marriage to a similarly hardworking man. They were not wealthy by any means, but by careful budgeting they managed to buy their modest suburban house and had almost paid off the mortgage when their mortgage contract had been sold to another mortgage company. The interest rate on the existing mortgage was within their modest budget until then, but was immediately raised to the point that they were no longer able to service the loan as well as eat. In desperation her husband Wayne found a better paying job on and offshore oil platform to earn enough to cover this debt, but this took him away from home for extended periods of time. They were on top of the repayments and were close to paying out the mortgage when disaster struck. Wayne was one of three workmen who were killed when, in a severe storm, part of the platform superstructure was torn free and slammed into them, throwing them all overboard. While the incident was witnessed and rescue efforts began immediately, the crew were unable to save them and they disappeared from sight. No trace of them was ever found.

This was where everything got messy. Wayne worked for a sub-contractor, and following the accident, when Elizabeth made an insurance claim, the company's Insurer claimed that the accident was an 'Act of God' and refused to pay. Elizabeth was faced with a dilemma, to fight this decision she needed money that she didn't have. Her Legal Aid attorney suggested that she re-mortgage her house to raise the funds. "But Wayne and I have struggled hard all of our lives to put a roof of our own over our heads. He had to get a higher paying job to service the loan after the Sub-Prime mortgage implosion. If I re-mortgage the house I will not be able to service the loan, but if I don't, I'll be on the streets and living rough. I need to think about this."

"Very well, but don't take too long about it, we will have to move on this matter soon."

That was where the matter now stood. "Won't you take a seat." Bernard indicated the chair opposite his. "Mr Walton has left a sum of money to you in his will. The actual amount of money involved is dependent on the outcome of this interview."

"How does this mysterious Mr Walton know me? I've never heard of him."

"You worked as a cleaner in an office building in the city, correct?"

"Yes."

"One of the offices on the third floor was that of Walco Holdings. Well that was the hub of the whole Walton financial business."

"That tiny little office? Why it was nothing more than a desk and chair and a computer."

"That was all Mr Walton needed to run his organisation. That was one very powerful computer and with that he was able to keep track of all of his business interests. It was his way of ensuring that he attracted minimal attention."

"He certainly succeeded. We. The other cleaners and I often discussed just what went on in that office. We had to clean it at a certain time each day, we couldn't enter it before that certain time, and had to be out of by a certain time. I remember walking past the building late at night and seeing the light on and wondering what he could be doing so late at night."

"He was probably dealing with one of his many overseas interests. Now to the matter at hand. You are in some financial bother just now, you're having problems getting a financial payout over your husband's fatal accident and the Insurance Company is playing hard-ball, does that sum it up?"

"Yes, how do you know all this?"

"Mr Walton kept track of every employee, from the Janitorial staff to his top Executives."

"I worked for him?"

"Yes, he owned that building."

"Wow, I would never have guessed that he was the building owner. I never actually met the man, so I don't even know what he looked like."

"That was the way he liked it. What he has done for you is to leave you a substantial inheritance."

"Enough to pay out the mortgage? I hope it's enough, then I won't have to bother with the legal hassles with the Insurance Company."

"Not only has he left you a substantial amount, but he has already paid off the mortgage, the house is yours, and, he has negotiated with the insurance company and they have seen the wisdom of paying out the full entitlement owing on Wayne's insurance policy."

"What? I can't believe this, I don't even know this Mr Walton and he's done all of this for me, there must be a catch, surely."

"No catch, no strings attached. What are you going to do with the rest of your life?"

"I'm going to keep working as a Cleaner, my workmates are my friends and I don't want to let them down. I will be able to take a proper vacation instead of sitting at home, because I can't afford to go away anywhere."

"You're a very sensible lady Elizabeth, Mr Walton knew that, it's in this file that you would do exactly that. I wish you well for the future. I'll see you out." 

As he held the door for her Elizabeth took his hand and kissed him. "I wish that I could thank Mr Walton personally but I can't, so you'll have to do. Thank you, Mr Schwartz."

"Bernard, you may call me Bernard."

"Thank you Bernard." With that she was gone. This outcome more than made up for the previous, Elizabeth was truly deserving of the full amount.

The interview with Elizabeth made him feel much better with himself, here was a woman who struggled all her life and been dealt a blow by the greed of others but instead of deciding that she deserved the break given to her and kicking back to enjoy life, had decided instead to go back to work because she would be with friends.

Bernard's next interview was going to be an interesting one. Geraldine Browne had pretty much wasted her life. Here was a woman who had it all going for her, looks, personality and talent.

While she was still at school she entered a talent quest and won. This led to a recording contract and record sales for her first album were phenomenal. Her fame attracted men, wealthy men, who lavished her with gifts in return for her being seen with them at functions. Soon the men demanded more than just being seen with her and at eighteen she had her first abortion.

Her first marriage was to Alistair Madison, the youngest son of Boyd Madison, a wealthy businessman with interests in mining. The resources boom had seen his stocks rise and him being in the Forbes Top Ten several years running. Boyd encouraged the marriage between his son and Geraldine, believing that the responsibility of marriage would curb his son's wild ways. The opposite was the case, the young couple were seen at wild parties at which various recreational drugs were consumed in vast quantities and casual sex was the norm. It took an overdose before Geraldine realised that this lifestyle was not going to last and she checked in to a fashionable Re-hab Clinic. This achieved a lot of media coverage that didn't sit well with her parents who had been constantly bombarded with requests for gossip on her high profile lifestyle. They had a long talk with her while she was at the Clinic, the result of which was that she filed for divorce even before she had checked out.

"I want to get back into singing." She told her mother. "It's all I know."

"Are you sure? Wouldn't you be better off finishing school and looking for another career?"

"I want to get back into singing." She told her agent.

"You do realise, don't you that while you were having a great time partying hard and getting off your face on god knows what drug, your record company cancelled your contract and I doubt if anyone else is interested."

"I don't care, I want to try. While I was in re-hab I wrote several songs that I think will do well. The least that you can do is to set up a recording session and see what they sound like."

"Very well, I'll see what I can do. I can't promise you anything."

"Just fucking do it."

Even he had to admit that the songs that she'd written were good, and he arranged for a full on recording session, he booked the studio and session musicians to lay down her new songs plus some of the old stuff and a couple of covers. He managed to find an Indi label that would release the album and the sales were encouraging. A tour was booked.

Geraldine had just emerged from a rehearsal when she bumped into Byron Porter coming from a long lunch. He was feeling good about himself, just having managed to stitch up a business deal that would make him even wealthier than he already was, she was feeling good about herself, the rehearsal had gone well and the band were at last playing as a unit rather than a group of individual musicians. The tour was to begin in three weeks and was expected to last for a couple of months. It never happened. By the time the start date had come around Geraldine was married to Byron Porter and on her honeymoon abroad. Her agent threw up his hands and washed them of Geraldine, she was on her own. The musicians threatened legal action to recover the wages that they'd been promised for the tour. Byron took care of that matter and returned to his wife in Greece where she had been sailing around the Greek Islands on a chartered yacht. The combination of sun and sea and the sight of handsome bronzed sailors proved too much for Geraldine and by the time he had re-joined her she wasn't there.

The divorce was a media sensation, there were claims and counter-claims. He said that she had not wanted to have sex and she claimed that she was reluctant to let him shove his cock in her after it had been in some man's arse. He paid her a generous settlement and they never spoke to each other again.

Husband number three was the lawyer that she hired to take on her former agent for breach of contract. It took all of his considerable court-room eloquence to convince the Court that it wasn't she that had broken the contract as claimed by her ex-agent. When he presented her with his bill for services rendered she claimed that her money was tied up and she could not access it, but . . . 

He accepted her conditions and they were soon married. This one lasted much longer than her previous efforts, mainly because he had her convinced that any indiscretions on her part would see her out on the streets without a cent to her name. She believed him and did her best to be the model wife he wanted. It lasted for seven years before he tired of her unsuccessful efforts as a wife and divorced her before she found out that he was having an affair with his secretary.

By this time her star was on the descendant. No-one remembered the name of Geraldine Browne and her talents had been well and truly shuffled off to the remainder bins in record stores, not even Amazon had copies.

What had followed were several non-committed relationships of diminishing financial benefit until now. She had not had any man in her life for at least six months and was wondering where she would get the money needed to live her extravagant lifestyle. Her parents were disgustingly healthy and looked as if they'd even outlive her. This then, was the shipwreck that sat opposite me. 

"Geraldine, what does the future hold for you? Where do you see yourself in say, ten years?"

"How the fuck should I know, I don't even know where I'll be next week."

"So, the marriages and the other men have not left you well off? I would have thought that with a couple of million dollar settlements and living with men who could support you would have resulted in you having some money in the kitty."

"There might have been if the bastards actually supported me, in most cases I had to pay my own way, one way or the other. There's nothing left and my rent's a killer, believe me. If I don't come up with something and soon, I'll be getting kicked out."

"You could try somewhere cheaper, surely you don't have to live in something that you can't afford."

"I have to keep up appearances."

"Why? Do you think people will care how you live or where you live? A lot of really talented singers and actors have had to slum it from time to time. It's no big deal." 




The Legacy



"That's easy for you to say, I bet you've been living in the same house with the same wife for a hundred years."

"That's where you are so wrong. I have been living in the same house for the past ten years but not with the same wife, in fact there has been no wife for that long. The house is nothing to write home about but it is comfortable and suits my lifestyle. I have a few friends who I see on a regular basis but there's no woman on the horizon."

"You're not gay are you?"

"No, I'm not gay, just disillusioned when it comes to women, and knowing your situation has done nothing to improve my outlook."

"So you hate women?"

"No, I don't hate women, I'm just not prepared to open my soul to one at this time. Now, I think that we should get down to business. Mr Walton has made certain provisions for you in his will. He has left you a modest sum of money, but more importantly he has left you a house. There is nothing owing on this house and you don't have to pay rent or anything like that. The money, if spent judiciously, should last you for quite a few years. If you wish I can set up an investment account that will guarantee you a reasonable fixed income. Changing to a more realistic lifestyle should allow you to live quite comfortably. What do you think?" 

"If you gave me all of the money right now, how much would I get?"

"Enough to keep you in your current lifestyle for six months, probably, certainly no more."

"Okay, give it to me, all of it."

"Are you sure that's what you want?"

"I'm sure, just give me the fucking money so I can get out of this shit box and live again."

He unclipped the cheque from the note that Mr Walton had left that told him that she would do exactly that. He handed it to her and she left, no good-byes, not even a see you later, she just left and he turned his attention to the last file. This one was going to be hard going.

"Please, be seated." She sat opposite him, the worry clearly etched on her once beautiful face. Jennifer Roberts could have been any number of things, an actress was what everyone predicted at school, but she chose Teaching because she loved it. In teaching she found a worthwhile outlet for her acting skills, using them to inject interest into what could have been boring lessons. Then she met her husband Bryan, a fellow teacher just as enthusiastic about his chosen career. Their marriage was a marriage that was the envy of those that knew them, and saw the way that they interacted in every aspect of their lives. And then Bryan was diagnosed with Parkinson's, a degenerative motor neuron disease for which the only outcome is death. "How are you holding up?"

She looked shocked that I should know about her husband. "I have good days and I have bad days, and lately there have been more bad days than good. How did you know about me?"

"Mr Walton had a file on you. I'm sorry to hear about Bryan, it must be hard seeing a once vibrant personality so cruelly crushed like that."

"But I've never heard of this Mr Walton, why is he interested in me?"

"He is interested in what you are doing, where other spouses might have thought about placing their partner in a Nursing Home to die, you have chosen to look after him at home for as long as possible."

"Believe me I've had to give it a great deal of thought, Bryan keeps telling me that it would be best for me to put him in a home, but I don't want to see him become another vegetable just slowly rotting away. Having said that, I'm seriously considering it as an option."

"I know, and I'm not going to do or say anything to dissuade you from the decision you make, I'm not even going to tell you that I personally think it would be a good thing to do. I know that you feel strongly that keeping him at home is the right thing to do, but think of all those students out there who are not gaining the benefits of your considerable teaching skills."

"I miss the kids so much, and that's what is making me swing in that direction. I don't know, I'm torn in two by this decision."

"I have spoken to the Principal of your school and, while she is understanding and compassionate, the Education Department is not, you have two months of your compassionate leave left and then your contract will be cancelled. You have two months to make your decision. Now I can give you a little extra time financially with what you get from Mr Walton's Will, but I cannot influence the Department to hold your position for you indefinitely. Whatever your decision, you will be financially well off."

"Why, why would he do this for me?"

"Mr Walton was watching TV one night, a rare occurrence if I might say, when he saw you being interviewed about Parkinson's and its impact on the family of victims. He was taken by your compassion and your willingness to give up so much for Bryan. He made the decision that he would help, in some way, your situation. He was unable to help medically so he decided on financial assistance for you and to donate money to help research into this debilitating illness."

"I'm glad he was watching TV that night, because I haven't had much support as a result of that interview, it's almost as if people are not interested unless it affects them personally."

"It might seem that way, but let me tell you, it is difficult for people like you to attract contributions, not because people don't want to give, but the competition from other worthy causes is really fierce. There's simply not enough money to go around."

"So where do we go from here?"

"When the final disbursement is made you will have your bequest transferred into your bank account. Don't worry, we have your banking details, don't ask how we got it, but you are the only person that I've told this to, I wouldn't want any of the others to know that information."

"I don't mean to sound pushy, but how soon will you make the decision?"

"In your case the decision has already been made, it is just the actual amount that is uncertain. It won't take long."

"Thank you, you have been very kind and understanding." She stood to leave and Bernard stood with her.

"Jennifer,"

"Jenny, please."

"Jenny, would it be forward of me to say that if you need anything, anything at all, feel free to call me." He handed her his personal card, not his business card. "This is my home number, you can call any time, if I'm not there the machine will pick up the call and I'll get back to you as soon as I can, that's a promise."

"Thank you . . . Bernard, I can call you that, can I?"

"Yes, you may call me that."

"Good-bye Bernard."

Bernard sat at his desk and wondered what had just happened. Here he was, a professional man, undertaking a formal task and he was . . . was he actually flirting with Jenny? He smiled to himself and returned to his files and the job at hand.

The following day he spoke briefly to Roger Bennett, a lawyer representing Simone lePoidevin, who was contemplating suing for the shortfall on the amount that she thought that she was entitled to. "I'm afraid that Ms LePoidevin will be disappointed if she proceeds, you see, if she does we will have no option but to see that she is charge over the theft of the intellectual property of her former employer, we have very strong evidence of that theft and she will not only spend some time in gaol as a result, but her reputation as a designer will be shot to pieces. Her company is about to be taken over by Henri, and she will be out of a job. She is getting sufficient from this estate to be able to live on, if she's careful with her money. If she tries for more she will end up with nothing but a legal bill she won't be able to pay. I suggest that she should reconsider."

"Thank you for that, I will advise her accordingly, the evidence is that strong, is it?"

"Photographic evidence of work done by her while employed for Sarah Millbank becoming the focal point of her first fashion release, I think that will hold up in court, and then there's the employment agreement that clearly stated that all work carried out while in the employ of the company remains the property of that company. She signed that agreement."

A week later Bernard left his office and headed home, in one way satisfied by the outcomes of the interviews and the decisions made as a result of them, although there were some decisions that would not be well received by the recipients, in his letter to each of them he had set out in detail the reason for the decision. Others he was pleased with, Petra would be pleased that she no longer had to worry about funds to run her centre. She had rung the day before to tell him that she and Ben had spoken at length about their feelings for each other and had spent the night together. He had proposed as anticipated, and the relationship had been consummated. The big surprise for her was when he told her that he intended to give her extra funds to expand the centre to provide more professional counselling services for clients and that he would undertake a post-graduate degree in Psychology so that he could become part of the professional side of the Centre management. She told me that, with his experiences as an addict, he would provide a better insight into that aspect of their operation. I chose not to tell her that, at the first sign of Ben relapsing and going back to drugs his financial lifeline would be terminated, she didn't need that sort of pressure on their relationship. 

Elizabeth, when she called a week later, told me that she was happier than she had been in years and had taken her work friends away for a weekend break at a holiday resort where she told them of her good fortune and assured them that she would continue working because she valued the relationship she had with them. They had a great time and had a hard time resisting cleaning their rooms before they left.

That left Jenny. The news from her was not good, Bryan's condition had deteriorated to the point where she had no option but to place him in a Nursing Home. She hoped that he would not have to suffer that indignity for too long. As it happened, the deterioration was caused by an aneurism in his brain and he died a couple of days after his admission. Bernard attended the funeral and spoke to her for a long time afterwards. He arranged to send her away on a short vacation but on the second day she rang him at home and told him that she wished to see him.

"Bernard." They sat in the dining room of the hotel that they were both staying in, separate rooms of course, they had reached the coffee and nibbles stage of the meal. "I can't make up my mind about you, on the one hand you are this very formal business type, Lawyer type, who just seems to view anything outside his immediate sphere of interest to be of little to no importance, while on the other hand you are a kind and thoughtful man. You didn't need to come to Bryan's funeral, I didn't expect you there, but not only were you there but you showed a deep compassion and interest in the proceedings, more so than many of our relatives. And talking to you afterwards was a revelation, you never asked a direct question about how I was feeling, or my life with Bryan, you just seemed to steer the conversation to allow me to open up my innermost feelings and let me grieve. Thank you for that."

"It was nothing, I was genuinely concerned about you and how you would handle the situation, after all you loved Bryan deeply. I was envious of your feelings toward him, I've never experienced that."

"You were married once, didn't you feel that with your wife?"

"No, ours was more a marriage of convenience, it was decreed that she and I should get married. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't unhappy, just not happy, there is a difference you know."

"How did it end?"

"She died, she killed herself, at least that's what I believed. The police said that it was an accident, her car ran off the road and hit a tree."

"You don't believe that?"

"No, she never drove without her seatbelt on, but this time she wasn't wearing her seatbelt and died because of that."

"Were there any indications why she should kill herself?"

"I felt that I was to blame at the time, you see I was away at a legal conference when she had a miscarriage. I wasn't there to support her, I had put work ahead of family."

"But you weren't to know that she would miscarry."

"I was actually, you see there had been bleeding on and off for a few days, I was worried but she told me to go anyway. Against my better judgement I went. I've never forgiven myself. The conference wasn't all that important or interesting, so you see it was my fault."

"No it wasn't, you were reluctant to go but she told you to. What else could you have done?"

"I could have stayed at home and supported her."

"Look, we're going round and round in circles here with no resolution in sight. I think that you should try to forget the whole thing and try and get some sleep."

He tried, he read the Gideon Bible for a while (Old Testament of course) but couldn't get interested in it. He turned on the TV but most channels were broadcasting sport of one form or other, or else it was one of the seeming thousands of ubiquitous CSI type police dramas where Forensic experts can take a minute DNA sample from a crime scene and in the space of an hour come up with the person's identity, age, full medical history and, not only time of death to within minutes, but the cause of death. None of this worked, his mind was churning over what was happening. Here he was in the same hotel as a woman that he was developing strong feelings for, and he couldn't understand why.

There was a knock on the door and when he opened it Jenny was there. "I couldn't sleep, I think I am missing love and attention, and need a cuddle, and you are the only person that I know here."

"Come in." He closed the door behind her. "I couldn't sleep either. I couldn't stop thinking about today, how good it was to just sit and talk with you, how easy it is to relax with you. I haven't felt this way for years because I haven't allowed myself to feel this way, to be quite honest, at first I was scared of you because you're a woman."

"I know how you feel. I haven't had a decent conversation with a man, at least a two way conversation, for a long time. It was hard work understanding Bryan when he talked and it was frustrating for him, I could see that he was trying to say something but the mouth just wouldn't co-operate. In the end I stopped trying to understand him."

"I had a similar problem, first it was with Rachel and then with Ben, our son, I just drifted away from both of them because of work. After Rachel's death I placed Ben in the care of a Nanny, it was she that supported him through his childhood and University, then he went off the rails, got into drugs and stuff until he was living rough on the streets."

"That must have been hard for you."

"I tried to reconcile with him but he wasn't interested, he turned his back on me."

"Where is he now, is he still following that lifestyle?"

"No, thankfully, he has met the most amazing woman who has shown him that there was a better life for him, he now works with her and I believe that they are planning to get married soon."

"That sounds great, and do you see him now?"

"Yes, he and I now have a good relationship."

"Bernard, will you do something for me?"

"Yes, certainly, what is it?"

"Will you sit next to me and hold me."

"Do you think . . .?"

"Please." He sat next to her on the sofa and she came into his arms. "That feels so good." She whispered.

"I agree, but should we be doing this?"

"We're not getting any younger you and I. I have this feeling that we will inevitably move on with our relationship, so let's cut to the chase, Bernard, do you feel what I feel about us?"

Bernard took her face in his hands and raised it to his, he kissed her, holding his lips to hers for some time before pulling back far enough to speak. "Does that answer your question?"

Her mouth pushing against his and her tongue forcing its way between his parted lips was answer enough for him. The held each other for some time, content to just hug and kiss, until Bernard released his hold on her. "I would like to do more than this, I would like to . . . ."

"You don't need to tell me what you'd like to do, please, just do it." They parted and Bernard's hands moved to the buttons on her blouse. He was surprised to find that she wasn't wearing a bra. "Once I made up my mind to come to you I didn't have time to put on any superfluous clothing, just enough for decency's sake, you'll find that I'm not wearing any underwear either."

"Would you like to go somewhere more comfortable?"

"Lead the way." In bed they began to explore each other's body, caressing, pausing to concentrate on a part that brought a reaction from the other. Bernard spent quite a lot of time with her breasts, admiring the shape of them, admiring the feel of them and when he sucked on a nipple, admiring the way it hardened under his tongue. Jenny too, had found places of interest, his cock for instance, growing impressively as she stroked it and kissed it. She offered her pussy to his tongue and sighed as it entered her moistness. Her parted legs were an open invitation and he accepted it, sliding his rampant cock into her moist and waiting pussy. "Please, love me, make love to me."

Bernard was slow, his gentle thrusts waking the latent sexuality in both of them until, with a final increase in power and speed he reached his climax, flooding her with his come just as she, her hips thrusting up to meet his lunges, came in step with him." 

Bernard rolled off her and took her in his arms. "Would Mr Walton approve of what we have just done?" She asked just before she kissed him.

"Can I let you into a secret?"

"I don't like the sound of this, go on, what is it?"

"There is no Mr Walton."

"What?"

"Well, there is a Mr Walton, but not a person Mr Walton."

"Now you've got me really confused."

"That's the point, confusion. You see Mr Walton is what I call my computer. Hidden away in a storage room attached to my office is a rather large computer server that controls my entire business operations. I give Mr Walton instructions on business matters and he relays those instructions by way of encrypted emails to the company or person involved, and any correspondence from them is sent by similarly encrypted messages. I must admit that the reasoning behind this deception came from my cowardice."

"Cowardice?"

"Yes, you see, when I had to make a decision that impacted negatively on a person or a company, I was able to hide behind the persona of Mr Walton. 'The decision was his', I would tell people. 'I am just his Lawyer doing my job.' That way I could divorce myself from direct responsibility. As time went by I gained the confidence that I could stand by the decision myself, but by then the persona of Mr Walton was so firmly entrenched into the company structure and recognised by the business community world-wide, that I saw no reason to change it. You are the only person that knows my secret, not even Miss Kauffman knows, and she is my closest business associate. I have been working toward the time when I can leave the running of the various companies in the Walton portfolio to the people that are presently running them. I know that I can trust them, and that they will not betray that trust, and I will be able to sit back and enjoy my part-time retirement. My business at present needs me for no more than an hour a day." 

"But don't you work as a Lawyer?"

"My position with Kauffman, Greenbaum and Schwartz is now finished, I have resigned from my legal practice and it will be run by Maurice Kauffman and Morton Greenbaum, I was just the Junior Partner in that firm and played a small role in their overall business. The partners are blissfully unaware of Mr Walton."




The Legacy



"Okay, the six million dollar question is just how much money do you have?"

"Do you mean how much does my company have or how much do I have personally?"

"You personally?"

"Let me see, my personal wealth is one house of modest proportions in a nice suburb, nothing pretentious, but comfortable nonetheless, a second hand Citroen C6 diesel car that is very comfortable and quite inexpensive to run. I bought it second hand because the depreciation on new cars like it is ridiculous. It has long been my policy to buy near new second hand luxury cars that have already depreciated in price but not value. My bank account is modest and my salary is similarly modest, my Executives receive much more than I do. As long as my simple needs are met and I have sufficient for a few luxuries from time to time, I am content. I do have a considerable amount of personal wealth tied up in various Trust Funds that I can call on if necessary, I think the amount in Trust would comfortably run into seven figures."

"So you're happy in your present situation, but will you be happy now that you and I have gotten involved? Will you be able to spare time away from your business for me?"

"As I said, it only needs me for one hour each day, my Executives can run the business quite satisfactorily, and that is why I chose to kill Mr Walton off. I'm sure that you will allow me that time away from your presence."

Her hand was on his cock, lovingly on his cock. "Are you sure about that? You do realise that I have a lot of catching up to do sexually, don't you?"

"You brazen hussy," his finger was inside her pussy that was still sticky from their very recent efforts. "But then, so do I." He pulled her into his arms and kissed her until they felt him stirring once more, "I'd almost forgotten just how good this is. Jenny, will you marry me?"

"Yes Mr Walton, I will."

"Mr Walton is dead."

"I know, rigor mortis has set in." She whispered as she opened her legs and led his now hard cock to the Promised Land.