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Falling Ch. 01

By: VirtualScott



Chapter 1, In which I do a good deed

I was lying on my back staring at the ceiling when the phone rang. It was too much effort to move, so I continued pondering the cobwebs on the fan overhead and waited for the answering machine in the front room to cover for me.

"Michael, please pick up!" It was a young woman's voice. "It's Stacey -- I really need to see you, and you aren't answering your cell! Please call me as soon as you can." There was a breathless pause and then she hung up.

Some women might get upset when their good-looking roommate got a call from a strange girl, but I wasn't one of them. It happened pretty often, actually, but usually Michael was there to answer them. See, he was a sex addict.

It's not what you're thinking -- he was a member of one of those "Anonymous" organizations and it had really straightened him out. He was a sponsor, too, and most of the time they were women; I guess they were less of a temptation because he was gay.

That was how we'd met, sort of. Not that I was a nympho or had a thing for gay men. Actually, with my travel schedule, I barely had any time for a social life, but when I did, I wanted a man who was ready to scratch my itch, if you know what I mean.

Apparently, Michael and my brother Peter had been scratching each other's itches, a lot. It had been a shock to discover Peter swung that way, because we were pretty close and he'd never given even the slightest hint he wasn't "normal." Sorry; that was my parents' viewpoint, not mine.

Anyway, they didn't take it well when he came out of the closet, probably because he really came out, if you know what I mean, and I guess Peter couldn't handle their rejection. Emotionally, I mean; he was financially self-sufficient by then. When he committed suicide, Michael was just totally broken up over it.

Daddy and Mommy wouldn't even acknowledge he existed, and I sort of felt we owned him and Peter more than they'd gotten. Michael had enrolled in this program and I'd moved in with him for awhile so he wouldn't be all alone. Daddy had cut me off, too, but it was something I'd needed to do. That had been two years ago; neither of us had raised the subject of my moving out again.

I liked our arrangement a lot. Aside from the benefits of sharing rent on a larger apartment than I could have afforded by myself, it was simply wonderful to come home from the trip of the week knowing there was unexpired milk in the refrigerator and my mail would be stacked on the end of my dresser. Michael told me having a totally unappealing shoulder to lean on had been literally a life saver.

It was the nicest rejection a girl could have.

The phone rang. "It's Stacey again," the woman said after the beep. "I'm sorry to keep bothering you, but I think I'm about to fall off the wagon. Please call me as soon as you get this, okay?" She sounded pretty frantic.

Reluctantly, I forced myself to sit up. The problem was, I had no idea of Michael's whereabouts. It was late Saturday morning and I'd just gotten home after spending an unwanted evening in Atlanta, courtesy of airline snafus, and he'd been gone when I arrived. I'd seen his phone sitting on the kitchen counter, probably forgotten when he set it down to write the cheery "welcome home!" note that had been waiting for me.

As if the mobile phone's electronic ears had been burning, I heard it beep in the other room, reminding its owner of waiting messages. I could guess who had left them.

I blew an errant strand of hair out of my face and leaned over to pick up the cordless handset on the nightstand. Michael had warned me, several times, not to get involved with any of his acquaintances from the program -- that they could be dangerous. I wasn't ready to go hang out with some hulking would-be rapist, but the girl on the phone didn't sound that threatening.

She sounded like she was in trouble. Maybe if somebody had been there for Peter, he'd still be alive. I couldn't just leave her hanging, waiting until whenever Michael might decide to return.

Stacey hadn't left a number, but that was what caller ID was for. I punched a few buttons and she answered on the first ring.

"Michael, thank God!" she gasped.

"I'm sorry, this is Linnea," I told her politely. "I just wanted to let you know that Michael is unavailable at the moment. Is there some way that I can assist you?"

There was silence on the other end of the line. Finally, she spoke up. "Linnea? I don't know you, do I? Are you with the, um, counseling group?"

One of the things I'd learned in sales was that it was important to be assertive and confident. Nothing spooked a prospect like uncertainty. I couldn't help this girl if she hung up on me. "Oh yes," I assured her cheerfully. "In fact, I'm Michael's sponsor." We'd spent so much time talking together about Peter that it was a very small white lie. "I'd be happy to talk with you about whatever is bothering you, and lend you my support."

"I don't know," Stacey whispered. I let the silence stretch, feeling it wasn't time to push. She let out something that sounded halfway between a moan and a growl of exasperation. "I'll take the chance. Can you meet me at the Starbucks on Third in 15 minutes?"

It was my turn to hesitate. I could make it, but not unless I went in what I was wearing. I hated the thought, for several reasons. Another one of the things I'd learned in sales was that you didn't make the deal if you couldn't get the prospect to pay attention to you. And that it was still a sexist boy's club in the executive offices.

I wouldn't say I dressed like a slut, but my skirts were shorter, my heels higher, and everything generally tighter than I would have preferred them to be. I was a cup size short of the point where I'd never have been thought of as anything except "that blonde bimbo with the rack," but I had to fight to be twice as good as my male coworkers just to stay even, and they didn't have to spend two hours every morning in the hotel exercise room working off drinks from the previous evening. I tried really hard not to be jealous of Michael, who worked from home and could wear anything he wanted.

I'd resigned myself to it on the job, but the pinstriped pencil skirt and silk shell I had on wouldn't have been my first choice to meet with some poor woman who was in a sex rehab program. Worse, it all looked slept in, which technically wasn't true, but was damn close.

My hair looked equally bad. It was overdue for a shampoo, long past the staying power of my hair spray, and showing a little more "dirty" and less "blonde" at the roots than I preferred. I'd planned to have it fixed the previous week, but Annie had been out sick and I wasn't going to trust my look to somebody I wasn't familiar with. I'd had to cancel that morning's appointment, too.

I reminded myself it was all small potatoes next to this girl's problems. "I'll be there," I promised Stacey.

"Oh, thank you so much, Linnea!" she gushed. "You're a lifesaver!" Stacey hung up before I could ask how to recognize her.

"Shit!" I vented to the empty room, and stood up. I didn't have the energy to change shoes, and I'd need all the time I had to walk the half mile in my pumps, so I left without writing a note for Michael. I'd see him in a bit, anyway.





I thought I had Stacey identified about 30 seconds after I walked through the door. There was this intense-looking girl seated by herself at a table, staring hungrily at every woman that entered the place. I studied her, trying not to be too obvious about it, while I waited in line to get my iced double espresso. Laugh if you will, but it was warm out and I needed the caffeine.

She looked like she was probably in her mid-twenties, a few years younger than myself, and might have been a vampire if it had been night instead of daytime and this had been a fantasy novel. Her complexion was pale, but she had jet black shoulder-length hair, apparently favored really dark lipstick and nail polish, and everything she wore was black. I hadn't seen so much eyeliner since the last issue of Vogue.

"Stacey?" I asked, after approaching her table.

Her eyes raked me from head to toe. "Linnea, I presume?" She suddenly smiled, her white teeth incongruous against the lipstick. "The world works in strange ways."

"Forgive the appearance," I smiled back, seating myself across from her. "You caught me at a bad time, but it sounds like you're having a worse one."

Stacey took a sip from the cup in front of her. "Yeah; thanks for coming." She stared at her hands for a moment, and released an explosive sigh. "Jesus, it's been hard! They tell you to put yourself in a good place, to stay away from temptation, but..."

I nodded understandingly. "You have to keep working at it; stay strong. There's no quick fix." I'd heard Michael say that a million times.

She looked up at me beseechingly. "I don't know if I can hold out or not. I caught myself outside a salon today; they had a help wanted sign posted. My hand was on the door. Do you know how hard it was to turn away?"

"Well, you made it," I reassured her. I absently pushed my hair behind my ear while I tried to figure out the subtext of what Stacey was saying. What would be so bad about a salon? Belatedly it occurred to me that perhaps she was a lesbian. Well, if she was, there was nothing I could do now -- and that didn't make her less deserving of whatever support I could provide. After all, my brother had been gay.

And he'd died thinking he'd been rejected by his family. I reached out to squeeze Stacey's hand reassuringly. "Be fierce! You can do it, Stacey! Just stick with what's gotten you here."

"What's gotten me here." Stacey not quite giggled. "Linnea, do you really work with Michael?" She plucked a blonde hair from her hand and stared at it.

"Well, yes, of course," I prevaricated. I didn't want to lie more than I had, but it seemed like a bad time to admit we were only friends.

Stacey coiled the hair about a finger until it formed a little loop. "I was just wondering," she said, more casually, and surprised me by popping the hair into her mouth. She washed it down with another swig of her drink.

"Yes, about two years now," I said, taking a drink of my own. I don't know what happened, but somehow my hand froze an inch short of my mouth and I poured espresso right down the front of my blouse. "Shit!" I yelped, hurriedly setting down the cup, but the damage was done.

"Are you alright?" Stacey gasped, eyes wide.

"I can't believe I did that," I admitted, feeling horribly embarrassed. "Please excuse me for a minute and let me go clean up." I rose to my feet and hurried to the women's room without waiting for her response.

A huge dark spot covered the front of my blouse when I looked in the mirror. It could easily have been worse, but somehow I'd managed to pour my drink right down my cleavage; the blouse had contained the splash, and my bra had absorbed the excess liquid.

It might already be too late, but I quickly removed my blouse and began rinsing it in the sink, hoping the stain hadn't set in the silk. A trickle on my belly reminded me of the bra and the danger to my wool skirt. Leaving the blouse to soak for a moment, I removed the bra as well, setting it aside for later.

I used a few damp paper towels to wipe myself clean, and then looked at the blouse. Fortunately, it looked like I'd been fast enough to avoid any permanent damage, but it was completely soaked. I caught sight of a diaper changing table to one side; rolling my blouse in an unconscionable number of paper towels reduced it from soaking wet to uniformly damp.

There really was no alternative, so I pulled it on and fastened the buttons, leaving it out instead of tucked in so it wouldn't get the skirt so wet. My nipples hardened immediately from the evaporative cooling, but I couldn't do anything about them, either. Looking in the mirror, I could see the points where they pushed against the damp silk, but it wasn't really risque. Pathetically, it didn't look any more rumpled than when I'd walked in, either.

After cleaning up the mess I'd made, and leaving the trash can near to overflowing, I took a last look in the mirror and pushed unhappily at my hair before leaving. Stacey was still sitting at the table, guarding my purse -- I'd completely forgotten it in my panic! -- and smiled when she caught sight of me.

"Everything okay?" she asked, handing me the purse.

"This day just keeps getting worse," I groused, and then laughed lightly so she wouldn't take it personally. "I haven't felt so rumpled since I attended school."

Stacey shook her head. "Nonsense; you're smokin', Linnea."

"Freezing is what I am." The air conditioning was blowing right on me, leaving my poor nipples feeling like tiny ice cubes. A stray draft wafted across my bare crotch, suggesting a rivulet of espresso must have made it that far after all. "Can we go outside and continue this while we walk?"

"Certainly! I'm sorry to have put you to so much bother, honestly." Her mood already seemed more upbeat.

If comic-relief was what it took, I was happy to assist. Our spirits rose higher when a man entering the store as we left crashed into a display because he was watching us instead of where he was going. I realized I needed the laughter too, after my stressful week and long flight home.

We walked aimlessly, talking about trivial things, like two old friends. Eventually I started feeling warm and called a stop at an empty bench.

"I hope I'm not getting sick," I complained, unfastening a few buttons and fanning myself. It was a warm day, but Stacey didn't seem to be uncomfortable and she was wearing layered long-sleeved tops, a leather miniskirt over knit leggings, and tall boots. 

"I'm sure it's just the sun, Linnea. I can't thank you enough for taking so much time out of your day to talk with me, when you're not even my sponsor. Is there anything I can do to repay you?"

"Oh, please, Stacey -- I was happy to help!" I objected. Then my mouth shot off before my tired brain could catch up. "You mentioned almost applying for work at a salon -- could you do anything with my hair? I don't know how I'm going to get it taken care of before tomorrow afternoon."

Stacey surprised me by leaning forward and running a hand through it. "Sure! What would you like done?" She carelessly twisted another hair about her finger and popped it in her mouth.

It felt wrong to have asked, but backing out would have been awkward, and I didn't want to offend her. Besides, I really did need to do something, and my flight out was at 5 PM the next day. "Just a trim and maybe touching up the color? I don't want to be a bother."

"You came to the right girl," she answered with a smile. It dimmed slightly. "That is, if you don't mind coming back to my place?"

Dim echoes of Michael's warnings filtered through my head, but I felt I knew Stacey so well it was impossible to take them seriously. "Let's go!"

I almost had second thoughts when we entered her tiny apartment, but then I realized the decor was just Stacey. Everything was dark earth tones, with drapes pulled across the windows and candles sitting on every unoccupied surface. However, the place was neat and tidy, with no trace of neglect.

Stacey pulled a chair out from the kitchen table, and then disappeared to collect her supplies. When she returned a minute later, she handed me an old stained T-shirt and told me I could change into it in the bathroom so my blouse wouldn't get ruined.

Grateful for her hospitality, I slipped into the bathroom and unfastened the last few buttons on the blouse. I took the foam hanger Stacey handed me and hung the blouse on it, then hooked it on the shower rod to dry some more. The T-shirt was tight and scandalously thin, but it seemed like it would serve its purpose; I didn't intend to wear it in public.

I also took the opportunity to use the toilet, but was stunned when I hiked up my skirt and discovered my underwear and hose were missing! I was absolutely sure I'd been wearing them that morning -- like I said, I was no slut -- but they were gone. Worse, I couldn't remember removing them. I just sat there on the toilet, biological needs forgotten, while my brain locked up.

"Is everything okay in there?" Stacey asked.

"Um, sure, I'll be right out," I replied, and flushed the toilet to cover my hesitation. I'd have to figure it out later.

Putting on a confident smile, I walked out to the kitchen and sat down on the chair, feeling the nubby upholstery scratch gently against my skin. A half dozen or so flickering candles added ambiance to the utilitarian ceiling light; soft music was playing somewhere.

Stacey draped a towel around my shoulders and tilted my head back to begin wetting my hair. The feel of her grooming was so soothing, and I was so tired, that I fell asleep almost immediately.





"Hey, sleepyhead -- what do you think?"

I blinked and wrinkled my nose at the faint smell of burning hair, hoping nothing had gone wrong while I'd been dozing. I looked at the mirror Stacey was holding in front of me, and then rubbed my eyes and looked again. When I'd sat down, my hair had been a medium blonde with some highlights. Now it was a bright platinum blonde, cut asymmetrically but very stylishly, and with masses of waves that added texture and color variations.

"I love it!" I gushed, and felt a wave of happiness at the sight of Stacey's pleased smile.

"I always did prefer blondes," she quipped, setting aside the mirror.

My glance fell to the bare mound between my spread legs. The familiar dark thatch I'd known since puberty was gone, leaving only ruddy swollen lips and gleaming skin. Stacey's glance frankly was predatory, and I felt a rush of moisture at the thought of how attractive I was -- and how attractive she was.

She unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor, revealing that her leggings were crotchless. The hair on our heads might have been as different as night and day, but I was thrilled to see her sex, like mine, was completely bared and dripping with desire.

"Oh God, I want you," I moaned, my mouth suddenly dry.

Stacey came a step closer and I literally poured out of the chair onto my knees so I could worship her pussy. I'd never even thought of doing such a thing before, but as soon as the first drop of her nectar reached my yearning tongue, I knew I'd be doing it a lot in the future.

"That's it, baby," she cooed as I began lapping frantically. "We both know what a girl needs."

Falling Ch. 02



Chapter 2, In which I fight and make up

I was lying on my back staring at the ceiling when the phone rang. It was too much effort to restrain Stacey when she rolled off the bed, so I went back to fingering my sloppy slit and admired the play of her naked body as she walked across the room. God she was gorgeous, I mused, feeling the passion start to mount inside me again when she turned to blow a kiss before picking up her cell.

She was insatiable, but I'd discovered I could keep up with her. Every orifice in my body ached from being violated with the toys strewn about the bed, some of them larger than any of the men I'd known, but what really got me off was the sly look on Stacey's face each time she teased another climax out of my trembling body. Well, that or the way she writhed in my embrace each time my tongue found its way into her creaming gash.

"Michael, it's about time!" Stacey told her caller. I giggled at the thought of her talking to my roommate while I fucked myself on her bed, and she shushed me before walking into the living room. "No, I got past it, no thanks to you. You owe me a coffee after the next meeting."

Jilling off wasn't as much fun without an audience, so I reluctantly gave it up and decided to hunt for some food. We'd missed lunch and dinner, and the ice cream we'd played with last night didn't really count. Still naked, I followed Stacey out into the other room.

"...suspicious killjoy," she was saying. "No, I promised I wouldn't do that." Apparently, Michael was giving her a hard time. It probably was his duty, as her sponsor, and I was glad he was looking out for her, however belatedly. "It's not like I'm not supposed to have any girlfriends! I needed a friend, and she offered to help." A low murmur was all I could hear of his voice. "Yes, completely voluntary. I swear it!"

I smirked and then caught sight of the clock. "Oh shit!" I yelped, aghast at the time. The heavy curtains had fooled me into thinking it was early morning, but it was just after noon; I'd lost a whole day! No wonder I was starving! I ran back into the bedroom, looking for my clothes, and trying to calculate in my head. I had maybe three hours to repack my bag with some clean things and leave for the airport in time to catch my flight. "Shit, shit, shit!" I muttered, heading back to the bathroom.

Stacey was off the phone. "Do you have to leave now? It's raining cats and dogs out there!" She pulled a curtain aside, confirming her statement. As we watched, a stroke of lightning lit up the sky.

"There's nothing more I'd like to do," I sighed, "but I have a trip and the traffic will be terrible in weather like this." I found one of my pumps in front of the refrigerator.

"At least let me call you a cab," Stacey relented, and started dialing the phone while I dressed.

Finally I was ready to go. "I'm sorry I have to leave like this," I told her. "I had a really good time."

She smiled. "So did I. You'll see me when you come home, right?" Her look made my knees feel weak.

"Try and keep me away!" I laughed, and then we were kissing again, as if it were the first time. Our bodies ground against each other, and it was nearly impossible to force myself to end it and walk away. I took the elevator down, but still felt out of breath when I reached the sidewalk.

The rain was sheeting out of the low clouds, but the cab was there and I dashed through the downpour to the relative safety of the back seat. The traffic was as bad as I'd feared, and I think we nearly got into accidents twice because the cabbie kept looking at me in the rearview mirror.





I walked into the apartment feeling a little bit like a drowned cat.

"Linnea? Is that you?" Michael called from his office. "Jesus Christ! Can't you turn on your phone? I've called you like a million times!"

"It is on, and hello to you too," I snarled, still in a bad mood. I opened my purse again and dug past the wallet and candle to find my phone. "Okay, so I did have it off, duh," I admitted, thumbing the power button and watching the little logo appear. "What did I miss, besides the flood?"

"It's no joke, Linnea; I was worried about you. I had no idea where you--" he walked into the living room and stopped dead at the sight of me.

"What?" I asked, wishing the rain hadn't matted down my hair so much.

"You were with her," Michael said flatly. "Christ, Linnea, I told you to stay away from these people!"

"What?" I repeated, offended. "You mean Stacey?" His eyes hardened. "She needed help and you weren't around. Nothing happened! What business is it of yours how I spend my weekends?"

"Look at yourself," he said, sounding tired. "Just look, in the mirror."

I walked into the bathroom and turned on the light, then set my open purse on the counter so I could try to tease out the curls in my hair; the weather hadn't completely killed them. "Is it about the haircut? It looked better, dry."

"Keep looking."

I blinked, and suddenly everything was different; I gasped with surprise. Instead of my silk blouse, I was wearing a really tight black knit mock turtleneck. It was so thin that it was effectively transparent, especially wet, and I could see every curve of my breasts, areolae, and hardened nipples.

My skirt was absurdly -- no, obscenely -- short, riding low on my hips and barely wider than the heavy link belt draped around it. The lips forming the "O" of surprise in the mirror were a glossy fire engine red I'd never seen before -- at least since I'd graduated from high school. I knew I didn't own any eyeliner; Stacey must have applied it.

"Oh my God!" I grabbed a tissue and scrubbed at my mouth, removing most of the color. Throwing it in the trash, I pulled out a lipstick, but forced myself to stop when I saw it was the same color I'd just removed.

"That's it, Linnea!" Michael encouraged me. "Keep fighting it. You can do it; she only had you for two days!"

"You mean one day," I absently corrected him, staring at myself again in the mirror. No wonder the cabbie had almost killed us -- I was fucking hot!

Michael shook his head gently. "Two days; this is Monday. Don't think about sex. Talk to me."

I leaned heavily on the counter, stunned. Monday? I felt disconnected from everything. "Monday?" I asked again, aloud. "Shit! I'm supposed to be in Boston today! Harris is going to kill me!" My mind raced, trying to think of some way out of this terrible situation, while my finger traced idle designs on the countertop.

"You're in luck," Michael chuckled. "This front came in yesterday afternoon, and the thunderstorms haven't really let up since then. The airline called to say your flight was canceled, and I bet you couldn't get out today, either. Don't worry about any of that. Concentrate on yourself; keep talking."

"What happened to me?" I wailed, looking at myself again in the mirror. "I thought you were the sex addict, not me." I almost thought I could feel my nipples stretching beneath my gaze, so like Stacey's... I turned away from the mirror and leaned against the counter. Michael's eyes turned aside and I realized I'd propped a foot against the cabinet under me, flashing him with my bald pussy.

"Well, I'm not! A sex addict, I mean. What did Stacey do to me?"

Michael sighed heavily. "I'm not a sex addict either, Linnea. You didn't need to know this before, but I'm in Mind Controllers Anonymous."

The thought was so outrageous that I couldn't help laughing. "What, you have a group to help you not make people do things? Can I join?" I'd be able to see Stacey at the meetings, I carefully did not say; Michael's sense of humor seemed to be entirely absent.

"I'm not joking! Listen to me, Linnea; you need to take this seriously." A pained expression crossed his face. "And can you please stop doing that?"

With a start, I realized that not only hadn't I lowered my leg, I'd been fingering myself too -- right in front of Michael! I'm sure my face went beet red. "Oh God, I'm so sorry! I can't believe I'm doing this!" I wasn't sure what was worse; that I'd been exposing myself to him like that, or that my finger was gleaming with my arousal.

My foot fell to the floor with a thud and I whirled around, both to wash my hands and so I didn't have to look at him while I regained my composure. Not only was my finger shamefully wet, there was a stray hair tangled around the tip.

With a grimace of distaste, I flicked the brown curl onto the small black tea candle flickering on the counter next to my purse, and then pumped copious squirts of liquid soap onto my hands.

"You shouldn't be embarrassed, Linnea," Michael reassured me; he had to speak up to be heard over the running water. "You're the victim here. There are resources, people that can help you; but you need to be strong." He paused for a moment before asking, "Is something burning?"

"Just a little incense candle," I replied, turning off the water and drying my hands. "It does smell nice, doesn't it?" It was a deep primal scent, of desire, of physical rut. It made me want to fuck something, preferably Stacey.

"It smells like burning hair," Michael groused suspiciously. "Where did you get it?"

"I thought it was yours," I answered, feeling confused. We looked at each other, and then somebody knocked on the door.

Michael looked like he was about to say something, but then just shook his head. "I'll get it. Why don't you go change out of those clothes before you freeze to death?"

"Good point," I agreed. If it was somebody I knew, I didn't want them to see me like this! I scampered for my room and pushed the door closed.

Whoever our caller was, Michael evidently let them in because I heard voices in the living room. A female voice, in fact. My heart started racing when I recognized Stacey's tone. I had to see her!

They were standing there talking to each other. "It wasn't any trouble," Stacey said. "You said you wanted to see me, Michael; 'when my sponsor asks, I must obey', right?" I could hear the humor in her voice.

They both looked at me as I padded up. "I guess you two already know each other," Michael sighed.

I just nodded. Stacey, apparently more resistant to his quelling expression, gave me a great big kiss. The way her hand ran down my bare flank and squeezed my butt raised goose bumps on my arms and made my breasts ache. I sneaked a peek at him when we broke for air, but he didn't seem to be upset -- just puzzled.

"Michael's told me a little about you, Linnea," Stacey told me with a warm smile. "He's lucky to have you around to help him."

"Yeah," he admitted, before attempting to return to whatever they'd been talking about before. "But look, Stacey, I wanted to talk to you because I have a problem with you, um..."

"I know," Stacey spoke up, taking control of the conversation. "Of course you have a problem, you idiot!" She gave me a quick grin. "Look, maybe I'm out of line because I'm not your sponsor, but Karen is an idiot, too! And I'm not saying that just because I think she's a frigid bitch. You cannot remain celibate for over two years and expect not to have a problem."

Wow. I felt a wave of sympathy. I knew Michael had taken Peter's death badly, but -- nobody? I didn't think I could go two days without getting some, much less two years.

"I don't think," Michael started to say.

"Really," snarked Stacey; I stifled a giggle. "Don't get hung up on the program, okay? Look; Linnea helped me, and I think she could help you with your problem, too. She's a good friend."

"I'd love to help," I gushed, feeling bad for not having done more for him already. "What can I do?"

"The trick is to work with your body instead of fighting it," Stacey explained. "You need to start by getting comfortable."

"What's the point?" asked Michael. He sounded dubious, but didn't hesitate to push down his sweatpants and step out of them. I was already naked, so I just stood there and casually examined his limp cock. My first impression was that it had been a waste to keep it out of circulation for so long.

"Just relax, and remember your time with Peter. You two were really into each other, weren't you?"

"Oh yeah." Michael let out a deep breath, and his penis stirred. "Not at first, but" -- he looked at me apologetically -- "I fixed him." His organ started inflating rapidly at the words.

I laughed at the idea, a bit breathlessly. "You couldn't make him be gay, Michael. He had to be attracted to men already; he just fell for you, that's all. I'd sit on that cock!" I clapped a hand over my mouth, embarrassed at my forwardness.

"It's okay to be human," soothed Stacey; I wasn't sure which of us she was addressing. "Remember how you felt with him, how right it was?" She was holding one of her toys; it was a life-size black cock, mounted on a sturdy handle, and its contours glistened with lube.

Memories of the feel of it inside me prompted me to start producing my own lube. It felt like it would be rude to masturbate during such a delicate moment, so I crossed my arms in front of me and surreptitiously thumbed my nipples.

"Relax," she whispered, and positioned the tip of the phallus between Michael's cheeks. With a strength I wouldn't have expected from her slight frame, she smoothly buried the black dildo inside his trembling body.

He made a sound somewhere between a moan and a cry. "Peter!"

"Let go of your problems," urged Stacey, beginning to pump him with long steady strokes. "Listen to your body." She caught my eye and gestured to his fully engorged cock.

I scrambled to comply -- not like I wasn't going to get something out of it too -- and fell to my knees so I could take him in my mouth. I admit I'd thought once or twice about what it might be like, but Michael didn't give me time to enjoy it.

I'd barely matched his rhythm when he cried out and blew two years of pent-up spunk into my mouth, leaving me coughing and dripping semen. It wasn't as nice as eating out Stacey.

Michael and Stacey looked down at me when I started giggling. I tried to explain, but couldn't get the words out. Apparently my family were late bloomers -- I'd come to the realization I was lesbian, or at least bisexual, about the same age Peter had been when he'd come out of the closet. And how ironic was it for two lesbians to help a gay guy get his rocks off?

"This isn't right," Michael gasped. It so closely mirrored my thoughts that it startled a laugh out of me that turned into a brief fit of coughing.

Stacey started working him with the dildo again. "Then step back from it and just don't think for a little bit," she suggested. He went cross-eyed for a moment, then sighed and gazed sightlessly over my head.

His cock hadn't lost any firmness after the first orgasm, but I decided I'd lost my taste for sperm. It wasn't right to leave him hanging, so I reached out and started giving him a hand job; there was plenty of lubrication. My free hand drifted south so I could give myself some much-needed relief.

"Good girl," Stacey whispered huskily in my ear. I hadn't realized she'd moved, but she was crouched behind me. Michael was impaling himself on the dildo, much more urgently than Stacey had been, and grunting with each thrust. "It's so important you help Michael the way you helped me, Linnea."

I nodded, knowing she was right. "I won't let you down -- either of you." I stood up, still holding his cock, and looked Michael full-on. "C'mon, Batman; let's move this to the bedroom." I didn't know the story behind the nickname, but Peter had used it often, doubtless an inside joke.

"Peter?" Michael asked plaintively, looking right through me as if my brother's ghost stood behind me, rather than Stacey. He started churning the cock in his ass even harder, but followed me when I tugged gently on his organ and led him to his bedroom.

I wasn't sure what to say, but apparently the sight of me -- or was it my brother? -- kneeling on his bed needed no explanation. Michael fell on me like a madman, splitting my ass and filling my rectum with his cum-slicked manhood. He reamed my back door like his life depended on it, and maybe it did.

My chute was still tender, but I started heating up with a little help from my finger. Then I thought about how pleased Stacey would be that I was helping Michael, and I started cumming like a firecracker.

He must have had a lot of pent-up energy, because it was dark by the time I finally pulled free and swayed to my feet. Michael lay sprawled on his bed, the dildo's handle still sprouting from his butt, and I was almost sure I could feel a breeze through my gaping, leaking rosebud.

I staggered back to my own bedroom, and found Stacey stretched out naked on my bed, surrounded by the contents of my purse and wallet.

"Poor Linnea," she smiled, "you look like you've had a hard afternoon. I rebooked you on the 8 AM flight tomorrow morning. Now come and get that nasty taste out of your mouth." She spread her legs in invitation, and I suddenly realized I wasn't nearly as tired as I'd thought.

I extended my tongue and let her gentle hands guide me to where I was born to be.



Falling Ch. 03



Chapter 3, In which I walk on the wild side

It had been a crazy weekend, and frankly I wasn't completely upset to be hitting the road again. In the space of a few weeks, I'd gone from definitely straight to definitely lesbian to, well, bi-confused. I needed time away from Stacey and Michael to work it all out in my head.

On the surface, things were pretty good. Stacey had moved into my old bedroom; it was much more spacious than her old apartment and I was only there on weekends. I was more than happy to share the bed, if you know what I mean. We also shared the shower, the sofa, the floor, and once, the kitchen table. We'd almost gone at each other in the elevator too; I'd resisted the temptation just long enough to make it into the apartment.

My relationship with Michael had never been better, either. We were still great friends, and he'd started calling me "Robin," which was a little weird but way better than "Peter". It was one thing to let him use my ass, but hearing him breath my brother's name in my ear while he did it squicked me a bit.

That had all changed that Saturday. He'd been upset that I'd been paying attention to Stacey, but I'd missed her all week and my butt was still a little sore from Friday, and frankly, it was a lot more fun to lick her than fuck him. They'd shouted at each other and I'd finally sighed and gone to Michael's bedroom to play peacemaker.

He'd told me that Stacey was screwing with my mind, which was silly, and that he just wanted things to go back to the way they'd been. I'd gotten dizzy for a moment, and then he'd thrown me on the bed and we had wild, hot sex. Maybe it just took me awhile to warm up to taking it back there, but now the feel of his Bat Pole stretching my Bat Cave brought me to screaming orgasms every time, no finger required.

Of course, then Stacey got jealous. I explained I was just being a friend, but she was all snarky and asked if Michael was planning to tell Karen about it at the next meeting. It was clear I was going to have to be the adult, so I dragged her back to bed for some extra-special licking -- and snuck back to Michael's room after she fell asleep. I'd felt a little bad about it, because I loved her so much and she was helping me with my "mental game."

See, I'd complained about how hard my job was, and she'd jumped in right away to explain how a few tweaks to my approach would help, and that a bigger income would really help us out. Stacey had been glaring at Michael when she said it, and I told her he was not moving out no matter how much I made, but I got her point.





Anyway, I dozed on the plane, happy that Stacey and Michael would have a chance to work out their differences without me in the middle. I knew I'd need my beauty sleep for this trip.

Texas. Everything was big there. Big heat, big cars, big hats, big egos, and big tits on the receptionist. I'd seen her before, but I paid a bit more attention now that I'd been with Stacey. Mostly, a really big commission -- if I could land the sale.

I'd been cultivating the Consolidated Group for awhile, but it was one big good ol' boys club and my competition had a dick between his legs. Luckily, Hunter still took my calls... And Stacey had reminded me that not having a dick between my legs could be a competitive advantage.

"How's our proposal stacking up, Hunter?" I greeted him after his admin showed me in. "Am I going to land you this time?"

His eyes took in my new cut and color before dipping. "You know I can't tell you that, Linnea." He almost dropped the unlit cigar he had chomped between his teeth, although I'd practiced at home and knew he couldn't see any higher than the tops of my stockings when I crossed my legs. It was still a lot more than he'd seen on any of my previous sales calls. "Ah, perhaps you can meet with my review team and discuss how your proposal stacks up against our requirements?" he offered, getting back onto our usual script.

Of course, somehow their schedules would be so full up that it would be impossible to meet during the day. That was why I had an expense account. "Maybe I could take your team out and make it a working dinner?"

"How's tonight?" he asked, without even making a pretense of checking those oh-so-full calendars.

"Perfect," I smiled. This was where I'd throw out the name of an upscale steakhouse. These guys liked their red meat, but it hadn't won me any significant business on my previous visits. "How about The Bad Hoss at five?"

Hunter took the cigar out of his mouth before it could fall and looked at me dubiously. "You, ah, sure about that, Linnea?"

What I'd heard was that it was a place where you went to get drunk or get laid, or maybe both. "Big Steaks -- Big Drinks -- Big Action" proclaimed the mug on Hunter's desk. Apparently there was no room left to add "Small Inhibitions." He'd probably gotten it on the visit where he'd sealed the deal to buy six months of supply from the other guy a week after I'd thought I finally had him signed.

"Yeah," I said, trying a wriggle I'd been practicing with mixed success. "I thought some place a little more casual might help our creative juices." I tried to project more confidence than I felt.

"Well, yeah, then! Hell, yeah! It'll be our pleasure to join you."

"I won't take any more of your time, then," I said, rising and extending my hand.

He shook it, shooting a peek down my slightly more exposed than usual cleavage, and ushered me out. I could hear him chortling behind the closed door as I walked away, smiling to myself. I had him -- hook, line and sinker.





"Damnit, Stacey!" I shouted at the suitcase in the hotel room. It was bad enough I'd let her talk me into this quasi-insane plan, but apparently she'd repacked my bag when I'd snuck out of her bedroom to visit Michael. My carefully-chosen, not-too-casual, not-too-formal outfit I'd planned to wear that night was gone.

In its place, I had an oh-so-short denim skirt, a vest, and a pair of cowboy boots I'd forgotten I owned. There wasn't even a blouse! I wasted 15 minutes trying every one I had with me and confirming they all looked terrible. Another 5 minutes convinced me there was no way I could wear my bra under the vest either.

"Damnit, Stacey!" I shouted at her as soon as she answered the phone.

"Calm down, Linnea. What's wrong?" I thought I heard faint giggling in the background, but it probably was just the television.

"My outfit!" I wailed. "I invited them to this stupid bar like you suggested, and now I don't have anything to wear! I can't believe you took my clothes! This is such a disaster!"

"Just take a deep breath, listen to my voice, and relax," Stacey suggested.

I bit back the urge to scream it wouldn't help, and tried to do what she suggested. "This is a big problem," I tried again, feeling slightly calmer now that I had somebody to talk with.

"Nonsense!" she chirped back. "You were going to end up looking like a boring brood mare instead of a hot little filly. Trust me! Now, do you have it on?"

"Only the vest and my bra," I admitted.

"That's a little racy, even for me!" Stacey laughed, and I couldn't help smiling. "Put on the skirt and boots, look in the mirror, and tell me what you see."

"I look like a total slut," I complained a minute or so later. "The bra is showing everywhere."

"Take it off, then, silly! You know you don't really need it; the vest will give you enough support."

The solution was obvious enough in hindsight I felt like an idiot. I felt cooler already, and without the telltale flashes of fabric under my arms and atop my cleavage, the skimpiness of the vest wasn't so obvious. "You're right," I admitted, "that is better. As long as I don't twist or pop the top button and have a wardrobe malfunction, anyway."

"I'd like to see that," husked Stacey in a tone that left me leaking into my panties and made my nipples press against the inside of the vest. "Now, you have the special makeup, right?"

I glanced in the mirror, quickly checking my eyeliner, mascara, shadow, and candy apple red lipstick. I was about to ask her what she was talking about when I remembered. "Oh!" It was one more dubious thing she'd pressed on me, and I'd packed it just to make her happy. "I'm sorry, Stacey, but it just seems really stupid."

"I know, but do it for me, okay, Linnea?"

She was just irresistible when she put her mind to it. My fingers were sliding the small tube of lip gloss into a vest pocket before I could even open my mouth to argue with her. Besides, nothing said I had to use it. "Okay," I half-heartedly agreed.

"That's my girl," she cheered me on. "Just do what we talked about and you'll have Hunter wrapped around your finger in no time. Now have a good time!" The beginnings of a shriek of laughter were cut off by the "beep beep beep" of a completed call.





The Bad Hoss didn't look as bad as its reputation. Okay, yeah, it was a strip club, and there was a dancer working a pole alongside the bar as we came in. The front room had peanut shells and sawdust strewn on the rough-cut floor, and the ring with a mechanical horse in it was clearly the focal point of the high tables arranged around it. There were a bunch of patrons there, enjoying happy hour most likely, but nothing to write home about.

I gave the horse a second look as our hostess led us to the back of the establishment, where the floor was polished and the high-backed booths and chairs were finished in leather. The horse looked like a rearing carousel pony on some sort of motion control platform, except it was life-sized and sported an anatomically correct erection.

A round table was set for the five of us, and Hunter held my chair for me before settling into the seat to my right. Little Bill, Duane, and Big Bill rounded out our party, looking like peas in a pod. At the moment, the eyes of those peas were focused on me. I pushed away my uncertainty and gave them a wide smile.

"Howdy y'all, my name's Jenny and I'll be your waitress tonight," announced the girl standing beside the table. She clearly was from the restaurant side of the operation, and had that unofficial uniform look going on -- black polo with Bad Hoss logo on the breast, black skirt with black apron, dark hose, and black flats. She reminded me superficially of Stacey, except she was more tan and less makeup, and Stacey wouldn't have been caught dead in a ponytail or cowboy hat. "Can I start y'all with drinks or appetizers?"

"Set us up with a round of grande margaritas and some sidecars," Hunter told her. "And some nachos with extra jalapenos, while we look at the menus."

I mentally upped the length of the next morning's exercise session to three hours, and patted myself on the back for eating two granola bars at the hotel so I wouldn't be drinking on an empty stomach. When our drinks arrived in glasses the size of my hotel room sink, I knew I had my work cut out for me.





Several hours later, the wreckage of a meal that had cost several cattle and a large salmon their lives littered the table. "I trust y'all will excuse me," I slurred, apparently brain-damaged by prolonged exposure to Jenny and the bottles she kept retrieving from the wine cellar. Hunter helped me rise to my feet, and then I worked my way along the now-busy bar to the restrooms.

Thanks to careful nursing of my drinks, I was only buzzed rather than hammered. I had no idea how the men were still conscious. We'd talked around my proposal at length, but as usual Hunter carefully avoided making any commitment. I needed to do something more if I wanted a different outcome.

I stared at a hair pinched between two fingers, lifted from Hunter when he'd helped me up. What I was about to do seemed so ridiculous it was embarrassing, but it wouldn't cost me anything to try. Looking furtively around and seeing nobody, I curled the hair around my fingertip and popped it in my mouth. I grimaced at the sensation and swallowed several times before I got it down.

Then I cursed myself, belated remembering the lip balm I was supposed to have used with it. The thought of trying to obtain another hair, at risk of discovery and possibly no gain, seemed unappealing. Operating on autopilot, I applied some of the clear gloss to my lips anyway.

Jenny bustled through the door and stood beside me, looking in the mirror and adjusting her hat. I thought again of Stacey and wished I were home. Jenny looked at me uncertainly when I suddenly reached over and plucked something off her back. "Stray hair," I explained.

She gave me a look that said she thought I was drunk, and then disappeared into one of the stalls.

Hurrying before I lost my nerve, I balled up the hair, rubbed it against my lips, and swallowed it. Of course, I had no idea if anything had happened. Unless she did something totally outrageous like give me her underwear, I'd never know -- and there was no way I'd risk asking and causing a scene.

Anyway, my time for agonizing was past. The toilet flushed and Jenny emerged from the stall to wash her hands. "Can you hold these for me?" she asked, pressing a ball of black cotton into my hand before turning on the faucet.

I stood there like a dolt, staring at her while she washed her hands. The material was suffused with the warmth of her body and felt like it was burning my hands. "Why did you do this?" I asked finally, beyond curious to hear the answer.

Jenny looked over at me in the mirror. "What?" I gestured with a hand, displaying her panties. Her eyes went wide as saucers and she flushed bright red. "Oh my Lord!" she shrieked, clapping her wet hands against her skirt and then turning as if to bolt.

"Oh, please wait!" I pleaded, and she hesitated. "Here, don't worry about it, you can have them back. I just want to talk."

She plucked them from my fingers, avoiding contact, and hurriedly pulled them up her legs. "I'm no dyke, you know," she protested as I saw a brief flash of skin above her thigh-highs. "And not every girl that works here gets off on it."

I smiled, thinking of Stacey and how she'd changed my mind about that. Jenny was a cute girl, and -- no, I had bigger fish to fry. "The guys with me -- what do you know about them? Be honest."

"Hunter and the Bills?" Jenny raked me with a disdainful look. "They're regulars. Usually here with a guy named Len. They're pigs, all of them; I've had to take Big Bill's hand off my ass twice tonight." I hadn't noticed. "I hope you're a good tipper."

"What makes you think I'm paying?" I asked, curious.

"These assholes never bring their own women; they hit on girls at the bar. Besides, I overheard enough of the conversation to know you're trying to sell them something." She snorted. "How's that working for ya, sweetie?"

"Crappy," I admitted.

She laughed. "They were here last week with Len. They're only stringing you on -- he bought 'em off with a pair of blondes." Jenny looked at me again and added, with the air of somebody trying to be fair, "You're better-looking than they were."

"If I wanted to change their minds, how should I do it?"

"Are you sure that's what you want?" she asked. "You sound like you're smart enough to know better."

"Yeah," I said, starting to fume. "I'm tired of getting the runaround from these assholes."

"If you're sure," Jenny said, reluctantly. "Work on Big Bill. He's the boss, and he thinks with his cock. The others seem to follow his lead."

"Thanks," I muttered, already thinking hard. All this time I'd been meeting with Hunter, and he wasn't even the decision-maker? I didn't even notice when Jenny left the bathroom. I touched up my lips with a nice thick coat of Stacey's lip gloss and headed for the door myself.

I just about bounced off Big Bill's broad chest as I exited the bathroom.

"Hey there, little lady; we all were getting worried about you. You doing okay?" he drawled.

"I'm fine," I started to say, before he grabbed me and kissed me hard. It was a big sloppy alcoholic kiss, reeking of hard liquor, and his hands were all over me. The man must have been part octopus to pin me in place, cop a feel of my breasts, and stroke my panties all at the same time.

"Let go of me!" I hissed, not yet wanting to make a scene, but wriggling in his grip. All I succeeded in doing was popping the vest button I'd been worrying about.

"C'mon, Linnea, you know you want it, dressing like that," he rumbled.

I didn't, not from him, and not like that, although his questing fingers had awakened a needy itching deep inside my ass. "Let's just go back to the table and forget this happened, okay?" I suggested. His body blocked most of my view, but it looked like everybody else was yelling and cheering some rider atop the mechanical horse; no help there.

"Just one more kiss? I have a powerful feeling you'll like it," he insisted, and I heard him unzip his fly. His grip shifted and I found myself being pushed inexorably to my knees in front of him.

One look told me why they called him "Big Bill." He looked monstrous, erect and dripping precum, but I had eyes only for the wiry pubes peeking out of his fly. God, I hated cocksucking, but I knew what I had to do.

I started licking and sucking the tip, which was about all I could fit in my mouth anyway, and used my hands to stroke his shaft, trying to grab a hair each time I reached his root. The lighting was bad and his organ was filling my field of vision, so it took way longer than I wanted before I could snatch one without dropping it.

He let me pull off once, to lick the length of him, and I managed to pop the hair into my mouth. It was sticking there on my tongue, resisting my attempts to swallow, and then he was hauling me back into position to blow him again.

"Oh, baby, you're something special," he moaned, but I felt the hair go down with a rising surge of triumph.

I wished for him to release me, but instead of doing so, he exploded into my mouth. Some of it drooled out, but with his tube steak filling my lips, I had no choice other than to swallow most of it, to Bill's evident delight.

After I'd finished choking down his spend, he hauled me back to my feet and leaned in for another kiss. I saw my gloss and lipstick spread across his mouth and cheek, and realized what must have happened. Hoping against hope, I went at him like a wild woman, licking and sucking at his skin while praying I'd get enough to do some good.

He took it completely the wrong way, of course, and enthusiastically reciprocated. A bystander, of which there were none, would have been forgiven for thinking we were having the mother of all heavy petting sessions.

Finally, at about the point where I was ready to give up and just start screaming for help, my mental "let me go!" was rewarded with a sudden release of Bill's embrace that left me reeling. I stared at him, while he looked back at me with fire in his eye. 

"You're one sexy little number, Linnea," he leered, wiping his mouth with one arm. "No harm in a little fun between consenting adults, right?"

"Damn straight," I told him, "but I think we've spent enough time away from the others." It was almost a shame to watch him tuck away his cock, but Big Bill's body language told me it wouldn't be the last time I saw it, if he had any say in the matter.

I left my vest the way it was, knowing it would excite and distract him, and we headed back out to the restaurant. The others had moved to a circular booth closer to the bar, where there was a better view of the entertainment. We were squeezed pretty closely together, but I didn't object.

A hand twice the size of mine was already caressing my cunt, milking moisture into my sodden panties. I squirmed as a finger pushed the fabric aside, and then -- as if reading my mind -- drifted slightly lower to tease my back door. Between that and the sight of some drunken bachelorettes trying the horse, I needed to fuck something bad.




Falling Ch. 03



Big Bill was proving more resistant than I'd hoped, and I was afraid I was losing my head for negotiations. I had a sudden "Eureka!" moment, as if the alcohol had momentarily lifted a veil from my memory of the weekend I'd met Stacey.

Trying to avoid attention -- well, more attention -- I moved my hand to the vest pocket, and then froze when I realized the lip gloss was missing. Damnit! It must have fallen out during our tussle near the bathrooms. Well, I'd have to improvise.

I brushed casually at my cheek, picking up a hair that had been glued there by some residual semen; I was fairly sure it was Bill's. I rubbed it discreetly along my lip, hoping there was a remaining trace of gloss somewhere, and then let the hair fall into the decorative candle sitting in the small glass on the table.

For once, my luck was good, and I scored a direct hit. There was just a momentary trace of that familiar incense smell as it vaporized, unnoticed by any of the others. Take that, Bill, I told myself with glee. Feeling suddenly warm, I looked around for a waitress.

Duane whistled, but I couldn't tell if he was trying to get us some service, or just show approval of the bridesmaid picking herself off the floor in the ring.

Suddenly, Jenny was there. She gave me a searching look as she finished delivering a round of shots, but didn't say anything. She looked a bit out of place on this side of the room, but I realized I still hadn't paid the dinner bill.

Hunter looked like he might say something, but didn't, and Duane and Little Bill just grinned at each other. Big Bill lifted his glass. "To hot nights and hot women!" We tossed back the tequila in unison and reached for the lemon wedges.

The crowd around us roared as a new rider swung aboard the mechanical horse. She was one of the dancers, and wore nothing except a G-string and chaps, star-shaped pasties, and a white hat. She didn't just ride the horse; she made love to it. I felt like I was on fire.

"Can't see?" asked Big Bill, and then hefted me into his lap before I could answer. "How's this?" I could feel his manhood pressing against me and realized he'd already extracted it from his pants.

I smirked, knowing Stacey's magic was working, and that he saw nothing wrong with fucking me in the middle of the restaurant. I woozily tried to remember why I wanted him to do that, but the feel of his body distracted me. "Better," I panted, "but kind of uncomfortable." Plotting and scheming would have to wait, I realized. Reaching behind me, I pushed at Big Bill's erection, but it was like trying to move a slippery iron bar. "Lift me up," I ordered.

His hands circled my waist and I rose up light as a feather. I reached down and yanked my panties to the side. Big Bill brought me slightly towards him and lowered me again, right where I wanted to be.

I screamed with mingled pain and ecstasy as his enormous pile-driver forced its way into my hungry rosebud. Bill, bless his horndog instincts, ignored my screaming and wriggling, and just pulled me further onto his tool, chasing that itch inside me.

The others glanced at me, but the noise around us was overwhelming and the girl on the horse was nearing the climax of her ride. Literally, as it turned out -- some sort of off-white goo suddenly jetted from the stallion's cock, splashing copiously on the floor and splattering some of the ringside spectators. Their companions laughed hysterically and everybody else was carrying on nearly as much as me.

There was a lull in the excitement as the girl in the chaps dismounted and made the rounds of her fans, collecting cash and using a rag to wipe off -- rather lasciviously -- the front-row victims. I sat quietly, letting my body accustom itself to Big Bill's girth, and watched the wait staff work double-time tanking up the thirsty crowd.

Jenny was back with another round of shots, and clearly realized something was up when she saw me sitting on Bill's lap. I watched her steeling herself to say something about it, and visions of my carefully-laid scheme crashing and burning raced through my head.

"Not yet!" I thought hard, and slumped in relief when she subsided and just collected the empties.

"Bring the bottle," Bill told her before she departed.

We quickly knocked back the shots, and I fought to remind myself that my goal was to get them to commit to my deal, and not just get fucked blind by his thick slab of manmeat. I wriggled experimentally and, more than pleased with the result, slowly eased myself up and down the pole impaling me. Big Bill bucked suddenly, surprising a moan from me.

It attracted the attention of the others, but I didn't want him to stop -- and he didn't. Grabbing my waist again, he started working me up and down his cock. It was impossible to mistake what we were doing, and I watched shit-eating grins appear on their faces.

Only Hunter appeared slightly reticent, and he fell into line when Big Bill told everybody, "Just like I thought. If she looks like a slut and she fucks like a slut, then she is a slut." I realized I was going to be fucking everybody at the table that night, and then my breath caught when I realized I was looking forward to it.

Big Bill edged sideways into the space where I'd been sitting, making me gasp explosively with each bounce, and Hunter switched seats so I was bracketed on both sides. Duane leaned over and began sucking and chewing on my breast, unfastening the remaining vest buttons. I felt Hunter's hand probing my wet sex and pulling my soaked panties further to the side.

"Shit, Big Bill, you're cornholing her?" he asked incredulously. He looked at me and the way I was biting my lip. "I guess I had you figured all wrong, Linnea."

They began working me over in tandem -- Big Bill's cock churning away in my bowels, Duane suckling my bouncing boobs, and Hunter's finger strumming my clit. I was desperate to cum and started squealing and panting when Big Bill began double-timing me.

I felt his organ expand and begin jetting his creamy spend inside me, but he didn't let up. "You're going to town, little lady," he rasped in my ear, and I did. My thrashing sent a basket of peanuts sailing to the floor and I saw stars -- although some of them turned out to be the flash on Little Bill's camera.

When I could see again, and think, sort of, I noticed the men at several of the surrounding tables were looking at us instead of the stage. A new set of shot glasses, surrounding a bottle of Tequila, sat on the table and the thought of Jenny seeing me like this left me feeling confused. The thought of taking cock in all my holes, in contrast, left me feeling needy and aroused.

Hunter stood up to make room and filled the glasses on the table. Duane and Little Bill already had switched places; Little Bill's dick, if not up to his namesake's standard, was more than enough to make my mouth water. When Big Bill pulled me off his magnificent rod, I sagged sideways and engulfed Little Bill's prick between my lips.

"Bottoms up!" I heard somebody say, followed by the clinking of glasses. A moment later, I felt something smooth and hard push into my loosened asshole. I had time to realize it was the bottle and then the whole room started spinning. The next several hours were a patchwork haze.





I stood in front of a stone-faced Jenny, with my vest hanging open and my skirt around my waist, trying to sign the receipt while Hunter fucked me from behind. I couldn't help giggling when the manager started yelling at her for letting things get so far. 





I remembered the feel of the still-hot asphalt on my butt when I fell over with a mouthful of the manager's spunk after blowing him outside the kitchen entrance.





I couldn't explain how they made it work, but I wriggled in ecstasy when the four of them quadruple-penetrated me in the bed of some pickup. I remembered watching Big Bill bring the owner over between my spread legs so I could make things right.





When I reached the point where I could string two coherent thoughts together, it was very late, the parking lot was nearly empty, and the feel of my body told me a lot more men than just the few I recalled had sampled me. My panties were long gone, but I'd picked up a Bad Hoss hat like the strippers wore.

"You're gonna give me that contract," I told Big Bill in my most businesslike voice, and then spoiled the effect by vomiting up a load of semen on the curb beside me.

He looked down at me while he finished tucking his shirt into his waistband. "You've gotta lot of spunk, Linnea, I'll give you that." He shrugged. "Okay; Len can wait a year for his trip to Hawaii."

I blinked, not ready to have victory come so easily. "Thanks." Stacey's suggestion had worked, after all!




Falling Ch. 04



Chapter 4, In which I get the girl -- and the guy

If I got a signature to match the verbal commitment I'd just obtained, the commission alone would more than double my total compensation for the past two years combined -- and it would do great things for my standing in the bonus pool.

It didn't, however, change the fact I was totally wasted, mostly naked, and leaking semen from every part of my body. That didn't bother me, although part of me wondered if it should. The problem was that it was late at night, I was sitting in the nearly empty parking lot behind the Bad Hoss, and I couldn't remember what my rental car looked like or where I'd put my keys.

After a few minutes of thought, I remembered I'd left the car at the hotel precisely to avoid having to drive drunk. I tried a few times to button my skimpy vest, and gave up on it. I switched tracks and struggled to my feet so I could tug my denim miniskirt down over my ass.

My original plan had been to use a little of my girlfriend Stacey's magic to coerce my prospects into giving me their business, but I hadn't factored in fucking them all silly. I giggled drunkly, thinking it was pretty weird for a self-professed maybe-lesbian to have done all that. The thought I was a flip-flopper made me laugh harder, endangering my balance.

I looked up, wondering where I would find a cab, when I realized somebody was watching me.

It was Jenny, our waitress. She reminded me superficially of Stacey, although the all-black outfit seemed more a work uniform thing rather than personal choice. My impression was that she didn't have a very high opinion of me, and I was surprised to see her. "What are you doing here?" I asked.

Jenny hugged herself, reminding me it how late it was. "I don't know. Y'all got me fired tonight," she bitterly added. "But I guess I've got a soft spot in my heart. Besides, you never took back your credit card, and I'm no thief." She held it out to me.

I accepted it, sliding it into the vest next to my license, and thought a car would be more useful.

"Can I drop you off somewhere?" she asked, sounding a little reluctant.

Belatedly, I remembered swallowing one of her hairs in the bathroom about a million years ago. Stacey claimed doing that, with some special lip gloss, let her influence people. I'd been able to make Jenny show me her panties, but it hadn't worked so well with my "business associates."

"I'm at the Holiday Inn off the business loop," I told her. "I'd appreciate the ride. But can we visit the restroom first?"

Jenny shook her head, making the ponytail dance beneath her western hat. "I think we're persona non gratis," she replied, mangling the Latin. I thought her accent sounded cute. "Can you wait? The hotel's only about 10 minutes up the road."

We trudged across the parking lot to a Chevy parked near the back corner. By the time we reached it, I knew I wasn't going to make it to the hotel. "Hold on, Jenny. This'll just take a minute."

I hiked up my skirt and spread my feet a bit, and unleashed a torrent of piss onto the asphalt. I didn't feel bad about peeing in front of Jenny, since I'd already done far worse than night, and she watched me calmly as if drunken sluts relieved themselves in front of her all the time -- for all I knew, they did.

Actually, it was a little exciting exposing myself to her. Yeah, I'd probably done every man in the county, but I wanted a woman's body, too. I'd been eating Stacey every day since we'd met, and I was missing the taste of her sweet nectar. Semen was good, but it wasn't the same.

I smoothed down my skirt and we climbed into the car. A graduation tassel hung from the rear view mirror, and a faint feminine scent reached my twitching nose. Jenny removed her hat and tossed it into the back seat, then looked over at me. "Do you mind taking off your hat? I don't like to advertise, you know. Men think they can take advantage."

"I totally understand," I said, removing my hat too. I didn't even remember getting it, so she could keep it for all I cared.

We both noticed about the same time that my breasts were completely exposed. "I think I'm too drunk to fasten the buttons," I apologetically explained when she looked at me.

Jenny sighed and then leaned over and pulled on the vest until it was straight enough that she had a prayer of buttoning it. The most obvious result of this was that my nipples hardened, eager for her attention.

"You can touch them, if you like," I offered.

"I do not," she snapped shortly, roughly tugging on the vest so she could fasten just enough buttons to be decent. She managed to do it without any physical contact with me, unfortunately.

The drive passed in uncomfortable silence, but it was as short as she'd promised. "Here you are, Ms. Richwell," Stacey said, after pulling into a loading space near the door. I wondered how she knew my name, and then guessed she'd remembered it from the credit card.

"Oh, call me Linnea, please," I said. "Ms. Richwell sounds so formal."

She shrugged. "Linnea. You've got your room key, right?"

I did, happily. "Will you come up with me?" I asked, very much wanting her to, as I climbed out of the car.

"No, I should be getting home," Jenny replied, but she got out too and locked the doors.

The lobby was locked for the evening, and I dropped the keycard trying to run it through the reader. Jenny fetched it and opened the door for me. The night clerk looked at us closely, but went back to his reading after Jenny waved the card at him.

I stared at her in the elevator, remembering the glimpse of her thighs I'd gotten earlier, and wanting more. I edged closer to her, inviting a touch or a kiss, but got nothing. We walked down the hall to the room and I stepped aside so Jenny could open the door.

"Okay, you're all set, Linnea," she told me, holding out the keycard.

"Just come in!" I snapped, feeling frustrated, and tried to kiss her when she did.

She stiff-armed me away, looking surprised, and shrieked, "What are you doing?" but fled into the room instead of back to the hallway.

I locked the door and followed her into the suite, feeling hot and bothered. I'd thought I wanted to sleep, but now I realized I wanted Jenny. Sexual tension was building inside my body, and for some reason I was unable to just touch myself. I needed to have my tongue inside her. She'd be my first woman except for Stacey.

Jenny was standing in the room hugging herself and looking disoriented. I couldn't understand what was happening, but I knew I wanted her. I wanted to see every inch of her body.

I watched incredulously as Jenny kicked off her shoes and untied the short apron. She pulled her shirt over her head, revealing a basic black bra, and unzipped her skirt before stepping out of it. I remained frozen in place, unwilling to disturb anything, while she removed her underwear and bra and then sat down to skim the elastic top thigh highs down her legs.

"Ca-Can you help with my buttons, again?" I asked, feeling new moisture between my legs.

She looked like she wanted to roll her eyes, but politely rose and walked to where I stood. Jenny was so lithe and scrumptious, and the dark delta above her mound drew my eyes to it. My nipples felt almost hard enough to burst open the vest on their own, and I fought to keep my hands by my sides as she unbuttoned the vest. I shucked it onto the floor as soon as she was finished.

"What are you doing?" she asked, voice rising in dismay, and backed away from me as I fought with my skirt.

The little tease was driving me crazy. I stopped messing with my skirt and looked at her, wishing I were sober. "It's been a long day. We need a shower," I improvised.

"Not together!" she protested, looking horrified at the idea.

"Of course not," I sighed. "You go first." I needed time to think.

She edged around me and walked into the bathroom, leaving the door open when I thought hard that there was no reason to close it. I heard the shower start and carefully did not think too much about when, or if, Jenny would notice she was already naked.

For myself, I tore open a foil packet of coffee and dumped it in the coffeemaker. I needed something to keep me going and hopefully clear my thoughts. How could Big Bill have been so aroused, and Jenny so unaffected?

I walked over to her clothes and looked at her panties, searching for signs of arousal. There was nothing. I picked up the rest of her things, and looked in her purse. There was the usual junk, including a wallet and cell phone, but also my lip gloss!

Had she gone to look for it, driven by my thoughts? But why hadn't she warmed up to me? What was I overlooking? I turned and looked at the bathroom, watching tendrils of steam wafting along the ceiling, and made a connection. I'd burned Big Bill's hair! Something made my mind switch into overdrive.

There wasn't a candle to be seen, but I refused to let that deter me. Hurriedly I returned to the pile of clothes and selected a few strands from Jenny's shirt as well as a pube from her panties for good luck. The water in the shower shut off as I twisted her hairs together.

I dropped the lip gloss several times trying to extend it with one hand, but finally managed to smear some of it on the hairs. I was dripping with anticipation, so adding some of my dew to the mixture was child's play. There was a travel pack of tissue in my suitcase; I tore off a piece of one sheet and wrapped it around the hairs.

No sign of Jenny yet, but I didn't think I had much more time. Ignoring the fresh coffee in the mug, I snatched the foil packet and bent it into a crude bowl, setting the tissue bundle inside. The whole assembly went into the compact microwave next to the coffee maker and I punched the "30 seconds" button and stood back.

The oven began making frightfully loud zapping sounds almost immediately, and I could see flashes of arcing electricity through the shaded window.

"What's it doing?!" gasped Jenny from the doorway of the bathroom as ribbons of smoke began filtering into the room from the top of the door. "Lord, it's on fire!"

I darted close enough to hit the "stop" button before retreating. "It's okay, I think," I reassured her -- and myself -- before turning to look at Jenny. She was wrapped in a towel that covered everything important, but in a way that was more titillating than when she'd been completely nude.

The smoke was slowly dissipating, but I'd already lost interest in it. For the first time, Jenny was looking at me the same way I'd been looking at her. I approached her slowly, wary that I was imagining things, but she held her ground, mouth parted and pupils dilated like she was seeing me for the first time.

She trembled slightly when my hands touched hers. I gently tugged the towel free of her grasp and let it fall, revealing her beautiful body. I breathed softly on her tits and watched her soft pink nipples erect themselves into crinkled points.

They looked tasty, begging to be sucked and fondled, but I had a more primal need. I squatted before her and looked at her flowering labia, already glistening with aromatic droplets. I pressed my face against her and my tongue found heaven in those soft folds. Moisture gushed from her and Jenny moaned incoherently, obviously as aroused as I.

I felt bad for cheating on Stacey, but this girl tasted so good I just couldn't help myself. Her body was shuddering, clearly on the edge of orgasm, and I wanted to bring her there. I dipped a finger inside her, coating it well, and then worked it into her tight rosebud while I lashed her clit with my tongue.

"Oh My God!" she screamed, thrashing in a monstrous orgasm and buckling at the knees. I lapped eagerly at her sudden gush of nectar and came too without even touching myself -- she was that erotic.

"Oh my God," Jenny repeated, staring into my eyes as we knelt facing each other on the floor. "I never realized!" She pulled me into an enthusiastic kiss I was only too happy to return. Our tongues fought with each other while our hands roamed each others' bodies. "I want to taste you too, Linnea!" she exclaimed when we broke apart.

I grinned, feeling my second wind, and pulled her towards the bed. This time, she showed no hesitation in pulling off my boots and socks, and helping me unfasten my skirt.

Jenny crouched between my legs, almost drooling into my well-used slit, but I couldn't forego the pleasures of tasting her. "Turn around," I panted, and she understood immediately.

What followed was probably the best sex I'd ever had, Stacey included. It pained me to admit it because she was the love of my life, but that 69 with Jenny punched every one of my buttons, repeatedly. I fed on her mound, savoring every bit of her nectar, and teased her delightfully sensitive and accommodating asshole with a few fingers. Unlike Stacey, who was all about receiving, my Texas belle was all too willing to reciprocate fully and lavish her creative attentions on my own cunt and ass.

We passed orgasms back and forth like hot potatoes, alternately shaking in erotic ecstasy and inciting the other to scream and clutch tight. I wanted it to go on forever, but my body finally pooped out about 6 AM and we just lay in the bed, holding each other.

That lassitude was what made the buzzing coming from Jenny's purse audible. I just lay there, but Jenny sat up bolt upright. "Shit! Daniel!" She looked at me and amplified, "My boyfriend. I was supposed to be home hours ago."

"You live together?" I asked.

She nodded. "But... I love you, Linnea."

I felt a matching warmth inside me, nearly matching what I felt for Stacey. I understood how it felt to be torn. "Do you love him?"

Jenny hesitated. "I did. I wouldn't have hesitated to say 'yes' yesterday." Tears welled up in her eyes. "He's a good man; he doesn't deserve this."

Sitting up, I gave her a quick kiss. "You don't have to choose, Jenny. I won't be here forever, anyway." After another moment of thought, I added, "What do you think he would do if he knew about us?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "He's joked about inviting one of my friends into bed, but I don't think he ever thought I'd agree."

"Invite him here," I impulsively urged her. "If he doesn't understand, he's not the man for you."

She flashed me a grateful smile and scampered off the bed to collect the phone from her purse. Her fingers started flying across the slide-out keyboard. Jenny's expression morphed into a silly grin as she continued texting, and I knew she wasn't ready to leave him.

I watched her lovely body on display as she stood there, unconsciously shifting her weight and twisting a foot back and forth. The sight of her was too delicious to resist, so I slid off the bed and helped myself to another taste of her.

"He doesn't believe me," Jenny announced with mingled humor and exasperation. "Men!"

Without interrupting my slow licking, I looked up at her and the phone. As if she had read my mind, Jenny angled the phone and snapped a picture. She showed it to me; the upper part of my face was framed nicely by her breasts and it was clear where my mouth was located. Smiling triumphantly, she sent it.

Her smile disappeared a moment later. "Porn? I did not find that picture on the Internet," snarled Jenny as she typed furiously. "I can't believe he doesn't recognize me!"

I had to stop teasing her and laugh. "Let's try again." I stood up and moved around behind Jenny, wrapping one hand around her waist to keep her close, and the other around a tanned breast and stroke her nipple. "Take a shot now," I whispered in her ear.

Jenny sighed, "You are so bad, Linnea," and held out the phone with one trembling hand while she ground her butt into me. The resulting picture was a little crooked, but I wasn't going to complain.

There was a brief, if enjoyable, pause before the response arrived. I watched over Jenny's shoulder as she opened the picture. It was a close-up of an erect penis, presumably Dan's from the way she was giggling, and a brief note appeared on its heels: "20 MIN!!!"

"Just enough time for a shower," I decided. After an all-nighter of no-holds-barred sex, I was a little ripe and I wanted to make a good impression on Jenny's significant other. "Will you join me?"

This time, she agreed.

They looked so beautiful together I couldn't help but touch myself watching them. Daniel was tall and lean and had come off as a bit shy and uncertain initially, but possibly that was because we'd both been naked when Jenny'd answered the door.

He'd warmed up quickly enough under the stimulation of our tongues and his first load of the morning had emptied across both our faces. Jenny and I had turned our attentions to each other, licking each other clean, and Daniel had ended up as hard as he'd been before he'd cum.

I watched Jenny's face in the soft glow of the rising sun and started stroking myself more urgently. Her lips parted, eyes closed, she was one of the most beautiful sights I'd ever seen. Kneeling behind her, Dan was easing his lotion-slicked erection gingerly into her virginal back door.

"Oooooh my Gaaaaaawwwwd," Jenny moaned throatily. "Don't stop, Baby!"

The excitement on Dan's face suggested he wasn't planning on stopping any time soon. "You are so tight, Jenny! You're gonna make me pop in no time."

"Not yet," she pleaded, sighing again as he worked a little deeper inside her.

I knew how she was feeling. Something about being dominated by a real man, feeling his cock spreading me and spearing deep in my gut, made me light up inside like nothing except the feel of a woman's pussy beneath my tongue. I wanted Dan's slippery meat up my ass, but it was only fair to let Jenny have him first.

That didn't mean I had to sit out all the fun, I realized. I crawled closer and rolled onto my back before eeling underneath Jenny. My breath caught in my throat as I watched, up close, as Daniel bottomed out inside her stretched pink rosebud. Jenny's fragrant juices trickled down the insides of her thighs, calling me. I craned my head upwards, tasting her and watching Daniel's flesh slide in and out.

Jenny's breath gusted against my bare mound, making my clit stand up like the goose bumps on my arms. "I think I'm in heaven," she gasped between slurps at my dripping pussy. "I -- oh fuck!"

My teeth released her clit from their gentle grip as she flooded my face with her sweet juices. Watching Jenny cum filled me with a breathless delight that only increased when she began reciprocating more actively. I guessed she'd cum again, even harder, when she felt Daniel shooting his warm spunk into her ass. Impatiently, I reached between his legs so I could tickle his sphincter with a fingernail.

I wanted my turn on his rod, too. It never crossed my mind that Jenny wouldn't share him; somehow I just knew we'd be the kind of friends who'd share everything with each other. I was less certain how Stacey would react, but surely she couldn't expect me to go for days and days on trips and not have any relief, could she?

Daniel grunted and I half-imagined I could see his balls contracting as they pumped his sticky load into Jenny. The thought of it -- okay, and Jenny's devilishly active tongue -- left me feeling like I might explode, and my toes curled just before I cried out and clutched her to me.

A girl could have worse ways to start the day.



Falling Ch. 05



Chapter 5, In which I am not a slut

I was feeling tired and hung over, the result of a sleepless night with a lot of drinking and even more sex. I couldn't exactly bring myself to regret any of it, but it was disconcerting to realize I'd slept with more people in the last 12 hours than in all of my life prior to that point.

A smile crossed my face as I thought about Jenny, the last of those partners, and then disappeared as I pondered the situation in which I found myself. I'd bewitched Jenny -- binding her affections to me with a bit of magic I'd learned from my girlfriend, Stacey.

Objectively, it was wrong to have done it, but I hadn't precisely intended her to be a sexual partner when I'd started. Having seen, up close, how much Jenny enjoyed being with me, I couldn't regret it, but the thought that she'd lost her job because of me burned in my stomach -- and it wasn't the good kind of burn we'd shared that morning. It had only been a waitressing job, but she'd depended on it and now it was gone because of something I'd done. I felt really bad about it.

I felt even worse about cheating on Stacey. She was my first lesbian experience, my dearest love, and I was sleeping around on her before we'd even known each other a month. It wasn't just the physical sex -- we'd never said we were exclusive, and she knew I let Michael fuck me. I wasn't a slut or anything. It was the emotional betrayal.

We were so compatible -- she loved to have me worship her beautiful pussy as much as I loved to be there between her legs -- that I'd never imagined it could be any better. But, somehow, with Jenny, it was. Maybe it was that we liked all the same things: eating out girls, doing anal, group sex. Maybe it was being able both to give and to receive. Whatever the case, I knew Jenny wasn't going to be just a one-night stand.

I thought again about calling Stacey, but she rarely rose before lunchtime and I still didn't know what I'd tell her. Instead, I checked the time and took a last look at myself in the rear view mirror. My makeup looked nice and professional, and I applied a last touchup with the glossy red lipstick where I'd been chewing my lip while I'd been thinking.

Climbing out of the rental car, I mentally crossed my fingers for luck and strode towards the lobby, trying to exude calm confidence. If all went well, I was about to make my employer -- and myself -- a ton of money. All it took was to a signed agreement to go with the verbal acceptance I'd gotten earlier that morning.

I'd been in this position before, and gotten screwed -- figuratively rather than literally. This time, I had two things going for me. First, instead of dealing with my usual contact, Hunter, I'd been negotiating with Hunter's boss, Big Bill. Second, I'd used Stacey's magic on Big Bill. It hadn't worked out quite the way it had with Jenny, but I was confident I could convince him to honor his commitment.

Big Bill had a nicer office than Hunter did, up a floor and definitely in executive territory. He had a better-looking secretary, too, although with Stacey on one shoulder and Jenny on the other, I didn't spare her a second glace as she walked me in.

"Good morning, Bill," I cheerily greeted him, crossing the office to shake his hand. I looked inquiringly at the stranger already seated in another of the guest chairs by the desk.

"Mornin', Linnea. You are a sight for sore eyes," Big Bill said, raking my body head to toe with a quick look. "Tom, this is Linnea Richwell, the hottest sales executive in Texas. Linnea, meet Tom; he's our Finance VP."

"Don't believe a word this man says," I laughed to Tom, shaking his hand. I knew I looked hot, but I preferred to let my wardrobe speak for itself. Just the same, I made sure he could see down my blouse when I bent over to set down my attache. "Now, are we ready to do business?"

"Well, I was bringing Tom up to speed on our 'negotiations' last night," Big Bill started off.

I sensed prevarication and started thinking hard about him just signing the damn paperwork, but like last night -- and unlike Jenny -- he seemed stubbornly resistant to my suggestions.

"...and it seemed the financial aspects were not quite clear," Bill concluded.

"Now, Bill, that's just silly," I said, smiling to take the sting out of my words. I pushed my blouse off the attache so I could retrieve two copies of the agreement. "What in this could you possibly object to?" I asked, handing each of them one of the copies.

"Nothing," Tom breathed, without even looking at the paperwork. "I owe you an apology, Big Bill. Hunter never left the slightest impression she was such a slut."

"I am not a slut!" I objected, feeling offended.

Big Bill chortled. "You were acting like a slut last night, little lady! Can you honestly tell me you aren't soaking your panties right now thinking of this?" He stroked the bulge in his trousers suggestively.

"I am sorry you have to listen to this, Tom," I apologized. It took a long moment remove my pencil skirt and show them I wasn't wearing any underwear. "No soaked panties," I emphasized. "And before you ask, this" -- I collected a few dewdrops with a finger -- "is on account of my girlfriend, not you." I blushed, realizing I'd just called Jenny my girlfriend.

"Leave her out of this!" I yelped, reading the inquisitive look in Big Bill's expression. I felt like I was losing control again, and tried to calm myself. "Look, I didn't mean to snap at you, but can we just focus on business? We're all professionals here."

Both men looked at each other and chuckled. "She didn't charge me a cent; nice dinner, too," Bill grinned at Tom.

I was going to object to his tone, but Bill gave me another one of those sweep-a-girl-off-her-feet kisses that left me panting and fumbling with the fly of his slacks.

"Jaysus," Tom exclaimed in disgust. "What kind of woman would whore herself out like this just to make a sale? Are you on drugs?"

"I beg your pardon!" I turned around, infuriated with his insulting and sexist insinuations. "I am not on drugs, I am not drunk, and I am no whore! You have no right to say those things about me!"

Tom looked at me dubiously, and I stopped fingering my dripping pussy. "You aren't doing this just to make a sale? Or because we're pressuring you?"

"No!" I snapped. "I'm doing -- it -- because -- I fucking -- want to!" There was a brief silence while I pondered my words and Big Bill breathed heavily. They didn't sound like me, but there was no denying my body was longing for a return encounter with Big Bill's hulking manhood. I decided he was just a bad influence.

The men grinned at each other, and Tom switched off a recorder I belatedly noticed he was holding in one hand. He pressed a few buttons and we listened to, "...because -- I fucking -- want to!" echo faintly from its small speaker.

"That's low, Big Bill," I told him. "Ask Hunter, or anybody; I'm always professional and I'd never stoop to anything as low as blackmail." I felt a bit guilty about trying to magic him, but it clearly hadn't worked so there was no reason to mention it. "Just for thinking that, I'm gonna leave you hanging while I take care of Tom." I released his dripping cock from where I'd imprisoned it between my breasts and left him to clean himself up; most of his load was running down my neck and chest, anyway.

"You aren't going anywhere without cleaning up first," he replied, and pulled my face into his manhood. "Try her ass, Tom," Bill recommended, earning a grateful look from me. "You've never seen anything like it."

We passed an enjoyable 30 minutes or so breaking down my proposal. Luckily for me, both Tom and Bill seemed quite conversant with it, because I rarely found myself in a position to speak. Intelligibly, anyway.

"Whattaya think?" Bill finally asked Tom. I lay on the floor, too fucked out to move; on top of the all-nighter, my body just had no stamina left.

Tom carefully jacked a final drop of semen out of his cock, just missing my eye, and tucked himself away. "Well, it's pretty close; I'd guess maybe one percent above Len's numbers. The renewal might come down a bit, but that's awful far in the future. We could go either way."

"About what I figured," Bill said, picking a copy of the proposal off his desk. "I think we'll give this a go," he mused, sending a sudden burst of energy through me. "We had to buy off one of Len's girls, and that's just pure annoyance. I feel better about Linnea, y'know? Besides," he smiled down at me, "I promised -- and it's not nice to disappoint a lady."

I just about levitated off the floor as he countersigned both copies and handed one to me. "Oh, thank you!" I squealed, giving them both quick hugs and pecks on the cheek. I knew it was a trifle unprofessional, but I just couldn't help myself.

"You'll come back to see how things are going, right?" Big Bill asked while I carefully filed my copy in the attache.

"Absolutely," I promised. "Thank you again, gentlemen. We truly appreciate your business!"

"Ah, clothes?" Tom prodded as I prepared to march out the door.

My blouse and skirt were still draped over one of the chairs. "Shit!" I yelped, realizing I was standing there in front of them naked. "I'm sorry, you must think I'm such slut," I apologized while scampering back to put them on.

"Not at all," Big Bill assured me, wearing a Texas-sized smile. I caught Tom making circular gestures with his fingers beside his head when he thought I couldn't see him, but I felt so good I just couldn't hold it against him.

"Good catch," I whispered to Tom as I exited triumphantly to start the next part of a very good day.

I drove back to the hotel and flopped on my freshly-made bed. My calendar was open until mid-afternoon and I was tired. It was tempting to just close my eyes, but I knew I couldn't put off calling Stacey any longer.

"I've missed you so much!" I cried when she answered; just hearing the sound of her voice made me wet. "Can I come home yet?"

"Poor Linnea, I've missed you too," she crooned. "How did your dinner go? I was starting to get worried."

"It was okay," I prevaricated. "I got the deal." It felt like she was right there next to me, and I dreaded what I was going to have to tell her.

"Just okay? That should be fantastic!" she said, finally letting a little emotion into her voice. "What's wrong, Linnea? You can tell me."

"I... I cheated on you," I admitted, feeling like a child caught stealing from a cookie jar.

"Oh, Baby, I forgive you," Stacey said. "We always knew you might have to screw that Hunter to make him see things the right way."

Her understanding cut me to the bone; I felt like such a traitor. "No, I fucked lots of them, all night! I don't even remember how many. I couldn't help myself, Stacey! Oh God, I'm such a slut!" I wailed.

"What?" she exclaimed. "What did you do wrong?"

"Nothing," I insisted, sniffing back tears. I just hated upsetting or disappointing her. "I did everything just like you told me. I know it worked..." I hesitated, unable to mention Jenny when Stacey already was so upset.

Luckily, Stacey was already talking again. "It's okay, Linnea; don't cry. Just tell me what you did, alright? You got a hair from Hunter?"

"Yeah," I confirmed, trying to focus on my hazy memories and stay calm. "I took it to the bathroom and ate it, but it didn't work because I forgot to wipe it with the lip gloss first."

Stacey's exasperation was obvious. "Linnea!"

"I know," I apologized. "So I put on the gloss and then ran into Big Bill--"

"Who?"

"Big Bill. He's Hunter's boss, so it was a good thing, actually. So, I got a hair from him, too, and--"

"You're sure it was from him, right?" she interrupted.

"Stacey!" I hissed, feeling a little annoyed. "I'm not stupid. I picked one of his pubic hairs while I was blowing him and swallowed it."

"Ewww, that's gross, Linnea. I can't believe you did that!"

"It wasn't like I had a choice! I told you these guys were sexist pigs. He practically raped me right outside the bathroom! And let me tell you, there's a reason they call him Big Bill."

"Too much information! Anyway, it sounds like it should have worked."

"Well," I said hesitantly, "I was concerned that too much of the lip gloss might have gotten wiped off when we were kissing, so after he got off, I licked as much as I could off his face just to be safe."

"Linnea," she asked dangerously, "where did he orgasm?"

I replied meekly, feeling she thought I'd made a mistake somewhere, although I didn't see where. "In my mouth, mostly."

"Mostly," she sighed. "So you kissed, right after you put on the gloss, and then you blew him until he came in your mouth, and then you kissed again. Is there any chance he might have gotten any semen and one of your hairs in his mouth while you two were sucking each other's faces?"

"I don't know; maybe. I was distracted!" I cast about for something more positive to say. "But I fixed it later -- I threw a hair in the candle on the table!"

Stacey's voice was dangerous, confusing me. "Where did you get the idea to do that?"

"Didn't you tell me about it?" I asked, unsure myself. "Anyway, I picked it off my face and I know it worked because when he fucked me right afterwards, he put it straight into my ass! You know how much I like that."

"What are you doing now?"

"Lying on the bed, talking to you," I said, without understanding what she was driving at.

"Where are your hands?"

"Oh!" I pulled my fingers out of my dripping slit. "I was masturbating and didn't even realize it," I sheepishly confessed. It was pretty hot to think about. As the silence lengthened, I wondered if I really was a slut, after all.

Stacey sighed. "I think those hairs probably were yours, Linnea. And they fucked you for how long?"

"All night," I said dreamily, my fingers returning to my dew-beaded nubbin. "I didn't sleep at all. And then again at the office before we signed the agreement. Big Bill is such an animal!"

"Stop it!" Stacey shouted at me, making me jump. "You're not a slut, Linnea -- yet. It's only been less than a day. You can fight it! You love me, right?"

"You know I do! I'd do anything for you, Stacey; you know I would." It was all confusing, because she seemed to be implying they'd forced me to do things, and that hadn't been true at all except maybe for that first time with Big Bill.

"Okay, listen. I need you to not have sex, or masturbate, until you get home. It's important." I guiltily withdrew my fingers and wiped them on the bedspread instead of licking them clean. "If your mind turns to sex, think about something else instead. And put on some underwear."

I got up and dug a pair of lace-waist hip huggers out of my suitcase, and then pulled them on while I listened to Stacey mutter to herself.

"You don't know where you can get a chastity belt, do you?" she asked -- I was pretty sure she was joking.

I realized I'd been rubbing myself through the thin fabric, and hurriedly brushed my skirt back into place. "No, there's nothing like that around here," I replied, smiling. That would really put a crimp in Big Bill's lifestyle!

"Well, look," Stacey said, and then paused. She obviously was thinking hard.

I looked in the mirror and realized I'd buttoned my blouse crookedly. Underneath, Big Bill's semen had dried but was still just as tasty. Flaking it off my nipple was more than a little arousing, but I managed to remember Stacey's instructions and buttoned up again.

"Okay, I need you to find a tattoo parlor," Stacey asked, surprising me. "Tell them you want to get a small ring in the hood of your clit."

"Stacey!" I shouted, both shocked and scandalized. "That's... evil," I finished weakly, for want of a better word.

"It's necessary," she said soothingly. "Think of it like a wedding ring. This'll sneak up on you, Linnea; it's how it works. The ring will be a reminder of our love and dedication. Whenever you forget and try to slide a finger, or a penis" -- I could hear her shudder -- "you'll remember."

I realized there was a difference between wanting to do anything for the person I loved, and having a specific "anything" staring me in the face. "It'll hurt," I whined, mostly out of reflex. On the other hand, I could see the logic of what she was saying, sort of, and it felt a bit like penance for being unfaithful.

"For me?" asked Stacey, using the tone of voice she knew made me drip.

"Yes," I finally agreed, and knew I'd made the right decision when I felt the warm inner glow that came from pleasing her.

"I'll be thinking of you," she crooned. "Let me know as soon as it's done -- and the sooner, the better. I love you, Linnea."

How the hell was I going to find a tattoo parlor?



Falling Ch. 06



Chapter 6, In which Jenny gets her job

I knew how to get back and forth to the airport, my hotel, my clients, and a sampling of restaurants. I'd never even gotten my ears pierced, much less thought of doing anything more radical. Of course I called Jenny.

She'd sounded a bit scandalized on the phone, but she was up for anything I wanted to do -- the magic my girlfriend, Stacey, had showed me seemed to work that way. We'd had a lot of fun together, but I couldn't forget that I'd gotten Jenny fired the previous night.

Now I had a chance to make things right. I smiled at Jenny, taking in the sight of her long legs disappearing into her short cutoffs. The curves of her breasts beneath her thin top looked pretty good, too. This time, she was riding shotgun as I drove us up the road toward the Bad Hoss.

I watched her enviously as we climbed out of the car into the baking Texan heat of the strip club's parking lot. I didn't have any casual clothes except for the miniskirt and vest that were both a little too casual and a little too soiled. My black pencil skirt seemed to suck heat into it, and I felt sweat trickling down my skin beneath the blouse.

We looked at each other uncertainly before heading for the entrance. Jenny was positive some of the girls would be able to recommend somebody that could do my piercing, and I was equally sure I could convince the manager to reinstate her as a waitress. Both of us hoped the other was right.

The Bad Hoss was dark and cool and noisy. The lunch crowd was less boisterous than the evening patrons, but the sound system more than made up for them. I could feel the bass in my feet as a rider cavorted atop the mechanical horse, never quite losing her hat as she stretched from one revealing position to another.

"Good afternoon, Ma'am," the hostess greeted us, clearly unsure of what to make of the mismatched women in front of her. Her professional smile faded when she recognized Jenny. "Hey, Jenny, I heard about what happened last night. That really sucks."

"Thanks, Gayle," Jenny answered, hanging back a little bit.

I was never going to make my afternoon meeting at this pace. "I'm here to talk to the manager about it," I announced, grabbing Jenny's hand and hauling her forward to stand beside me. "Is he here?"

Gayle's gaze dropped to our intertwined fingers, and then traveled up my body a second time, more carefully. The trace of sympathy she'd shown a moment earlier was gone, replaced by studious neutrality. "Darryl's in his office."

For a strip joint, the Bad Hoss seemed to have a lot of judgmental people on staff. I smiled nicely at Gayle, squeezed Jenny's hand, and gave her a "where now?" look.

Jenny got the hint and towed me towards the bar after mumbling, "Thanks," in Gayle's direction. She was so sweet I couldn't resist dropping her hand and copping a feel of her ass through the shorts, prompting a yelp; I could feel the hostess's eyes on us as we walked away. It was hard to remember I was there on business, sort of, and not to please myself.

Darryl looked up from his cheeseburger and fries when Jenny knocked lightly on the half-open door. He didn't really look familiar to me, at least with his pants on, but I'd been bombed out of my mind on tequila and lust the previous night. From his expression, I thought he hadn't recognized me, either. "Whatcha doin' here, Jenny?" he barked gruffly around a mouthful of cholesterol. "I said I'd mail you your check."

"That's what we wanted to talk to you about," I interceded. "I don't think Jenny deserved to lose her job, and we came here to ask you to reconsider. Surely you don't have so many good employees you can afford to cast one aside for something over which she had no control."

He swallowed noisily. "What's it to you, lady? You her mother or somethin'?" Darryl laughed at his own joke.

There was no way I was old enough, or Jenny young enough, for that to be possible, which left me feeling faintly offended. She tugged weakly at my arm, but I ignored the hint. "Just a friend," I corrected him. "And a customer who thinks it's pretty hypocritical to fire Jenny for something she can't control and then take advantage of it yourself."

"You!" exclaimed Darryl, finally making the connection. I watched him mentally undress me. "What a fuckin' slut, I tell you what," he added, shaking his head. Just hearing the word sent a jolt through my pussy. "I don't know what it's like wherever you come from, but here we've got laws against public nudity and indecency. Jenny, here, had a duty to make y'all cool it or put you out, and I had a duty to enforce those same regulations and discipline employees who couldn't."

I laughed but managed to avoid rolling my eyes. "But it was okay to let me blow you in the parking lot? Give me a break, Darryl!"

"I can't control what y'all do outside," he protested. "It's like public property, almost." I could see even he thought it was a weak argument.

"So if I were to kiss Jenny, you'd have to stop us?" She squeaked when I pulled her into my arms, but melted against my body and didn't hesitate to probe my mouth with her tongue when I followed through on the question. I watched Darryl stare greedily at us out of the corner of my eye.

He started when he noticed me doing it. "There's nothing wrong with public displays of affection," Darryl said with a leer.

It was clear it would take more to get to the sanctimonious bastard, and I couldn't really say I was unhappy to take things up another notch. I backed Jenny roughly up against the office door, incidentally slamming it closed, and began running my hands up her body while we continued kissing. She made some faint sound that might have been a protest, but her eyes were closed and she was giving as good as she got. We twisted, and then she had me pinned against the door, where I could see both her and Darryl.

I could nearly see the word "sluts" form in his mind before floating across the room to brand itself in my suddenly-molten body. My hands pushed Jenny's top higher until I could knead her bared breasts and tease the hardened nipples which capped them. She responded with a guttural moan and ground her denim-clad crotch against my thigh. I heard a button bounce off something, and then I gasped at the feel of fingers roughly twisting my nipple.

When my eyes could focus again, I saw Darryl was taking in every bit of our display and the arousal written in the lines of his body just fanned my own desire. Panting, I turned Jenny so she could see him too, and pulled her butt into me. Her initial hesitation forgotten, Jenny flung her head back and began working her own tits, milking them and rotating her ass.

I held her with an arm across her tanned midriff while I tried and failed to snake a hand into the waistband of her shorts. My mind suddenly flashed on a bizarre vision of me impaling Jenny's sweet ass with a hard cock, and the imagined sensation left me on the ragged edge of orgasm before my mind processed the non sequitur and took me out of it.

"Give her another chance?" I husked, belatedly remembering the task at hand.

Darryl choked out a short laugh. "Why should I? I see this kind of thing all the time. What do I get out of it?" The bastard was stroking himself while he sat there, but honestly, I'd have been jilling off watching us, too.

Jenny evidently felt the same way, because she wriggled free of my grasp and stalked across the office, pulling off her top as she went. Upon reaching Darryl, she spun his chair to face her and squatted abruptly before him. "How about this, big boy?" she asked rhetorically, and then bent to take him in her mouth.

"Oh, you cum-suckin' slut," Darryl sighed happily as the liquid sounds of Jenny's slurping filled the office.

I felt moisture leaking down my legs, and Jenny picked up her pace. I was breathless with desire, about to explode watching her work on him like she was some cock-hungry slut. I struggled with the invisible zipper on my skirt, cursing it for cheating me out of some hot sex, and then the memory of Stacey's prohibition returned to me. Nothing in my dripping pussy. Damnit!

Darryl suddenly pushed Jenny off his tool. "You're gonna have to give me something more than that," he said, breathing heavily. "Show me what you got, Jenny-girl."

It seemed like a remarkably stupid thing to say; was he blind? She climbed slowly to her feet, displaying her toned and tanned body. Jenny's hands unfastened the button on her shorts, and then travelled slowly up her body, skimming her sweat-slicked skin until reaching her high-slung breasts and cupping them teasingly. Her ruddy nipples looked hard enough to cut glass.

Jenny half-closed her eyes, further emphasizing the mascara and liner that made them look even more attractive than they already were, and then her hands started south again. I didn't think she'd done a striptease before, but she'd obviously seen a few of them and understood the basics. Of course, she could have just stood there and had both of us creaming ourselves.

I moved over to stand beside Darryl's chair, because it was clear Jenny was playing more to me than him, and I could see the annoyance fighting with arousal on his countenance. Congratulating myself on learning from my mistakes, I took a quick pause to apply Stacey's special lip gloss before beginning to run my fingers through Darryl's hair.

A single pass was enough to turn up several loose strands. I wound one hair carefully around a fingertip so I could brush it against my moist lips, and then deposited it carefully on my tongue. My mouth felt parched; apparently all of the moisture in it had been pulled south to my throbbing slit by Jenny's performance.

Darryl and I stared at her, mesmerized, as she finally kicked off both her cutoffs and the absolutely drenched pair of low-rise hiphuggers that had been concealed beneath them. She looked as delicious as she had earlier in the morning, and I just knew I had to suck those puffy shining folds on display beneath her neat little pubic patch.

Precum oozed from the slit atop Darryl's urgently throbbing cock, and it looked like he might blow his wad right there. "Shit, you need it bad, don'tcha?" he grunted, watching Jenny extract a gleaming finger from herself and lightly coat her nipples. He made a grab for her, but she undulated just out of reach.

"Oh, I need it really bad," Jenny teased, making my blood boil. "How bad do you need it, Darryl? How bad do you need me?" She pressed a finger against her clit, making her body jerk.

I swallowed several times, coincidentally getting the hair down, and considered pinning her on the desk and tongue-fucking her brains out. "I think she deserves her job back," I commented to Darryl, but I wasn't sure he heard me.

"Come over here and find out, you little cock-tease," Darryl rasped, unfastening his jeans and pushing them to the floor. "Sit yourself down on my maypole and we'll have us some fun, you and I."

"Give her the job," I whispered.

He lunged for Jenny and caught her, or maybe she let him catch her. She shrieked with laughter as Darryl reeled her in, but the arms on the chair got in the way and she ended up sitting in his lap, legs sprawled to one side, with his cock sandwiched between her thigh and his groin.

"C'mon, Darryl, just hire me so we can stop screwing around, and start screwing around," Jenny insisted, wriggling so one breast rubbed against his arm and her weight pressed against his ruddy manhood. "And what are you still doing with your clothes on?" she asked me unexpectedly.

I didn't have a good answer for that, so I unfastened the remaining two buttons on my blouse and slid it off. "You'll never have a better employee," I reminded Darryl, fumbling again with the zipper on my skirt. "Last night wasn't Jenny's fault."

"What does it take to get you two sluts to shut up?" Darryl asked in an aggrieved tone of voice. With a grunt, he lofted a squealing Jenny onto his desk, scattering papers onto the floor, and then stood up. "You want a job? Fine; consider this your interview!"

Jenny obligingly spread her legs wider, and he pulled her onto his tool, hard enough to make her tits jiggle when he bottomed out inside her. "Oh, fuck, yeah!" she moaned. "Pound me, Darryl!"

They looked sexy as hell, especially with Jenny squirming and carrying on like Darryl's cock was electrified or something. I knew she really liked her boyfriend, Daniel, but sometimes a girl just needed to satisfy her urges. It wasn't like she felt anything for Darryl -- she was just using him for physical gratification, the same as he was using her. The thought was so arousing.

I wanted to be used, too, for raw sex, the way Big Bill and his friends had made me the receptacle for their scum-filled cocks. "Coat her," I moaned, fingering myself urgently while I watched the pair approach their release.

Darryl abruptly pulled out. "Work for it, slut!" he hissed through clenched teeth, and then started jetting onto Jenny's writhing body. The first strand reached from her tits to her neck, and the others landed across her tummy and thighs. She orgasmed violently while working her frothing slit with one hand and using her fingers to collect the hot semen and bring it to her mouth.

My own release was so close I could taste it, but suddenly my hand froze and Stacey's commandment crashed back down on me. I wanted to scream with frustration, but my mind suddenly jumped to the solution to my problems. "I want you in my ass right now, and I'm not taking 'no' for an answer," I snapped at a surprised Darryl, elbowing him aside.

Jenny tensed and moaned raggedly when I ran my tongue up her dripping slit, and then Darryl skewered my rosebud and I was in heaven. I came almost immediately, but there was no way I planned to settle for just a single orgasm. Jenny's hands tangled in my hair suggested she felt the same way.

"Hey, Darryl, do y'all want the kegs--"

I raised my head slightly and looked up the length of Jenny's quivering body at the slack-jawed man standing in the doorway. "Don't stop!" I hissed when Darryl began to falter, and his rhythmic pumping picked up again.

"Don't mind the girls," Darryl reassured him. "What can I do you for?"

"Fuckin' A!" the stranger exclaimed. "Doin' the help in the middle of the day? What if somebody catches you, Darryl? You'd be in a shitload of trouble!" He looked furtively over his shoulder before stepping into the office and closing the door again.

Darryl chuckled. "You caught me, Larry, and I ain't in trouble. Besides, they don't work here -- just a pair of sluts looking for a good boning." He punctuated the remark with a quick slap of my ass that left it stinging.

"Hey!" Jenny and I objected in chorus. "You promised me my job!" she cried out, before I could complain about the corporal punishment.

"I promised you a job," Darryl corrected her, "and you ain't done interviewing, yet, remember?" He looked across the office at Larry, who was staring at all of us like we belonged on another planet. "C'mon, Larry, admit it. Wouldn't you like to see this little missy ridin' the stallion? Or maybe ridin' you, seein' how she's such a little slut?"

"We are not sluts, and don't slap me again," I growled.

Larry appeared dubious. Darryl looked like he was going to hit me again just for spite, but then changed his mind, and then shifted his weight like he might back away, but then went back to his methodical shafting of my rectum.

Jenny peeled with laughter and sat up on the desk so she could kiss me lightly. "I don't know why you're so hung up on that word, Linnea," she said. "We are sluts, and I like it. No, I love it."

She swung a leg over my head and eased herself off the desktop. "I admit, when I saw you for the first time last night, I was a little dubious. When I saw you sitting on Big Bill's lap, letting him fuck you like that, I was shocked." Jenny pushed a pair of fingers into herself and sighed. "But... you showed me a side of myself I didn't know existed. Something that would have repulsed me, but -- doesn't, anymore."

Had I really done that? "Jenny..." I hesitated, unsure what to say.

"I love being a slut," she repeated, and I felt my body heat in unconscious agreement. "It makes me hot when people look at me that way; when they want to fuck me." Jenny moistened her lips, staring at the increasingly prominent bulge in Larry's jeans. "Letting them actually do it is like being on fire," she sighed, and then started stroking herself.

"It's so primal, being a slippery piece of fuckmeat for anyone who wants me," Jenny mused, caressing Larry's straining crotch. "You'll fuck me, won't you, Larry? I want you to mark me with your cum; I want to feel you in every hole I have."

Larry looked like somebody who was sure he was dreaming, but he didn't put up any fight when Jenny started unfastening his pants. Instead, he pulled her into a wet, sloppy kiss and she started rubbing herself against him like, well, a slut.

I realized I was vibrating like a violin string, wildly excited both by the sight of her and the insights which, word by word, inflated my libido to unsustainable levels. I thought I literally might explode. "Oh, fuck, yeah," I gasped, shuddering as Darryl pounded me harder than ever while panting like a steam locomotive.

Jenny pulled Larry towards the desk, using his erection like a handle, and then lay back on it beside me. She spread her knees wide, both displaying and offering herself. I heard her whispering, "fuck me, fuck me," over and over, so softly I don't think the men heard her.

Larry rose to the challenge, as if there really had been any doubt, and started banging away like he thought there was a timer somewhere counting down. I looked sideways at Jenny, just out of kissing range, and saw the haze of sheer lust dulling her eyes. She blinked and focused on me, panting raggedly. "You'll clean me, after," she gasped.

The words travelled from my ears to my brain and I collapsed to the desktop, my body wracked by a massive orgasm. Darryl slammed himself into me and arched backwards, groaning, as he exploded inside me. He slipped out of me and I felt more of his spend scalding my lower back and buttocks where it fell.

"You slut," Jenny repeated, clearly amused, and I was in no position to gainsay her.

I ended up having to reschedule my meeting for the following morning and extend my trip by a day. We might have been okay, but then Dave came in to complain Larry's truck was blocking the loading area, and then Gayle came in to see where everybody was. She left immediately, but I guessed she must have said something, because Darryl -- Jenny, really -- started getting a string of visitors. Some of them just looked and left, but a bunch didn't.

The office was just a little too noisy, so I regretfully slid on my skirt and blouse and stepped into the hallway to make my calls. The travel number was easy -- nobody at the office was going to quibble over a trip adjustment with my sale to Consolidated hitting the books. I hated to reschedule with the client, but they were understanding.

Stacey was a different matter. I chickened out and slipped back into the office to drown my sorrow in Jenny's sloppy gash. She looked so happy, and sexy, in her rut that I longed to just change places with her. Darryl eyed my ass with an evident appreciation that made me feel better, but his cock wasn't able to keep up. I walked over to stand next to him while I waited for the cook standing between Jenny's thighs to finish up.

"She gets a good job as long as she wants it, right?" I asked, just to make everything had stuck. Unfortunately, I had a lot of experience with how a company could screw its employees, and I didn't mean the screwing Jenny was getting. "And full pay, too -- not a dime less than anybody else."




Falling Ch. 06



"Don't worry," Darryl assured me. "Some of the dancers make more than I do, with tips. Jenny could make a lot more." He winked.

"Look, I don't care if she is a slut," I heatedly replied, ignoring the twinge inside. "Listen carefully, Darryl." I grabbed his balls for emphasis. "You will give Jenny the same base pay as the highest-paid employee doing basically the same job. You will not skim, or force her to report, tips any differently than any other employee."

"Oh fuck, that's nasty!" exclaimed the meat delivery driver, who was smearing his jism around on Jenny's face, ignoring her extended tongue. He was looking at the cook, who was holding Jenny's legs up to provide better access to her ass, which was gripping his cock tightly.

"Yeah," the cook agreed, punctuating a thrust. "My girl would never do this. Working here just got a whole lot better!" They both laughed breathlessly.

I looked back at Darryl and squeezed until I had his attention again. "You will not -- I repeat, not -- take advantage of Jenny. We both know she has... needs." I had them too, but unlike her, I didn't have a predatory working environment. "Like you said, in private between consenting adults is no big deal. You will not pressure her, or allow anybody else to pressure her, to do anything she doesn't want to do." Frankly, that seemed unlikely, but I was covering all the bases.

"And if anybody pays you, or anybody else, to be with Jenny, you will make sure every penny of that gets to her. She is not a whore, and you are not her pimp. Got it?" I gave him a squeeze for emphasis.

"Jesus, yes!" Darryl yelped. "I got it!" He extricated himself from my grip. "You must be one hell of a saleswoman," he commented, while rubbing himself gently.

I was strangely touched by the backhanded compliment. It was reassuring to know I was more than just a good fuck. The thought reminded me of the other reason we were there. "Listen, Darryl," I said, trying to sound conversational, "do you know any of the girls who are, um, decorated down here?" I gestured vaguely at the front of my skirt.

"She wants a pussy ring," shouted Jenny from the desk. I hadn't realized she was paying any attention to us.

All of the men were looking at me; it was a little embarrassing. The attention was gratifying, but I wanted it to be because they wanted to fuck me, not because they thought I was kinky or something. I put up my chin and prepared to bulldoze ahead. "Can you just tell me?"

"C'mon, y'all, get back to work before somebody calls the cops," Darryl announced. "Don't you have some BBQ to start, T.J.?"

The guys all looked pretty fucked out, so they didn't put up too much resistance before pulling up their pants and filing out of the office. Jenny looked totally delectable, suffused with a just-been-fucked glow, and it was hard to concentrate on anything else.

Apparently I wasn't the only one who thought so. "Jenny, I need my desk back and you're purely distracting," Darryl drawled, not unappreciatively. "Why don't you run down to the break room and freshen up, and then come back so I can get you on the books again."

"Oh, thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" Jenny crowed, suddenly finding the energy to bounce to her feet. "You're the greatest -- both of you!" She skipped over and gave first Darryl and then me a quick hug and a kiss. "I'll be right back!"

I savored the faint taste of semen as I watched Jenny retrieve her shorts from the floor and pull them on. She bounced a few times to get them all the way on, which did really nice things to her boobs, and then scurried out of the office, still topless. I presumed the break room was nearby.

"Women," Darryl muttered as he sat down in his chair and surveyed the wreckage of his desktop, but I could tell his heart wasn't in it. After a moment, he spun around opened the top drawer of a small filing cabinet sitting against the wall. He retrieved a three-ring binder from it and held it out. "Here, you can start looking at these."

Curious, I opened the binder and found a full-page color picture of a naked girl. She was smiling and holding a blowup of her driver's license. "What is this?" I asked, slightly nonplussed.

"My dancers," Darryl replied, looking up from a second binder. "You wanna ask about getting' a piercing, only makes sense to ask somebody who's got one, right?" He started flipping through his binder again.

"Yeah," I allowed, following the logic. "But what are these for?" I pressed, waving the binder.

"Avoiding complications," was the terse reply. Darryl saw my expression and continued without prompting. "Look -- what was your name again? Linnea?" I nodded. "Linnea. Running this place isn't a picnic. Some girls think they want to do it, until they get up in front of a crowd. Some lie about their ages, or their names. The government gives me shit about hiring illegals; can you fuckin' believe it? One girl turned out to be a guy!" He shuddered.

"This here clears through all that crap. I know she's serious and somebody my customers will be willing to pay to look at. If the cops come around, I can show 'em a girl is willing and legal." Darryl laughed. "Or leastways had a good fake id!"

I smiled unwillingly and turned my attention back to the book. Navel piercings were common, and one woman had studs in her nipples. I sat down on the corner of the desk, fascinated by the variety of forms and attitudes on display, and beginning to understand the attraction of pornography.

Every picture was superficially the same: an attractive smiling woman holding a blown-up copy of a license next to her while standing nude in front of the door to Darryl's office. The vibes were all over the map.

Cathiryne -- where did parents learn to spell? -- looked like a cheerleader, although her birthday made her 19 at the time the picture'd been taken. She looked so innocent, it was easy to imagine her mouth forming a round "O" and her heart tripping beneath her perky little tits as she felt her first cock press into her firm body. I started dripping as I fantasized about being the first person to taste her pussy. Alas, she was decorated only by a small flower tattoo above one ankle, and I turned the page.

My eyes grew wide when I looked at Dawn's picture. She was darkly complected, obviously Hispanic, and the rings stood out in sharp contrast to her smooth skin. They were everywhere: ears, nose, nipples, navel, and in rows down both sides of her vulva. If that weren't enough, she had rings on all her fingers, at least a pair of toe rings, uncounted hoop bracelets, and a thin metallic choker. "What about Dawn?" I asked.

"Which one?" Darryl asked, looking up.

"Valenzuela," I said, showing him.

He shook his head. "Why would you want to mess yourself up like that?" he asked. "She moved on. A little too edgy for us poor cowboys -- we like our women wholesome-looking, you know?"

A few pages later I found Veronica and shifted again, wishing I could touch myself through my skirt. Her smile was broad, but the knowing look in her eyes and the way she held her body were invitations to carnal submission. She reminded me somewhat of Stacey in her fey moments, when I'd felt she could lead me to some dark place inside myself where I might not emerge. I licked my lips breathlessly and forced myself to continue browsing.

At some point I felt a soft breath near my ear and realized Jenny was leaning over my shoulder. "I've seen Bekka dance," she whispered. "She was pretty hot."

I nodded in agreement, but turned the page.

"Hattie," Darryl said decisively, slapping a hand on the page for emphasis.

"Hattie Watson?" Jenny exclaimed in disbelief. "No!"

Darryl smirked and displayed the open binder. I felt Jenny's bare breasts pressing against my back as she leaned further forward for a better view.

A young girl looked up at us, tanned and vibrant. She held her license like she might a sign for the fundraiser carwash, and if Hattie looked like the girl next door, her expression held a challenging note. She was shaved bare, which I liked, and a small ring hung neatly at the apex of her rosy cleft. I noticed the photo was dated two days after her eighteenth birthday.

Jenny began laughing hysterically, clinging to me. "Oh no," she gasped, only to break out in giggles again. "Hattie!" Finally she collected herself sufficiently to add, "I never saw her here!"

"She only danced one night," Darryl said with a wicked grin. "You didn't start 'till way after. Know her?"

I looked back and forth between them, wanting to be let in on the joke.

Wiping a tear from one eye, Jenny filled me in. "I went to school with Hattie. She was so stuck-up! I mean, her father's the minister at First Baptist since forever, and she was president of the Purity Club. I can't believe she was a dancer here!"

"Neither could her Pappy," chuckled Darryl. "He was in the next day, swearing up a blue streak, and promising I'd burn in Hell if she ever set foot in here again. Never seen either of 'em since." He considered the photo again. "Purely a shame, if you ask my opinion."

"She's probably still grounded," Jenny giggled. "Oh please, let me call her! I know she'll tell me where she got it done."

We looked at each other; Darryl shrugged. "Well..." I temporized, thinking I really didn't want to cold call somebody about that.

"Goody!" cheered Jenny, stooping to pick up the cordless phone from where it had fallen off the charger on the desk.

"You know her number?" asked Darryl, speaking for both of us.

Jenny looked at us, wearing only a few stray droplets of water and her cutoffs, which were unfastened sufficiently to give us a glimpse of her pubic curls. "Please," she said, looking at us like we were morons. "Who do you think was vice-president of the Purity Club?" She started dialing.



Falling Ch. 07



Chapter 7, In which Jenny and I come to an understanding

It was mid-afternoon and instead of walking into a meeting downtown, I was gazing out the car window at suburbia. My friend Jenny was driving, since she was familiar with the area.

I turned back to study Jenny with mixed feelings. She was an attractive girl, only a year younger than I -- I'd seen her license -- and quite vivacious once I'd gotten past her shell. Twenty-four hours ago, she'd been a waitress working the respectable side of the Bad Hoss, the restaurant and strip club where we'd met. Since then, I'd introduced Jenny to a lot of things good girls didn't do.

Jenny noticed me looking and flashed the same happy smile she'd worn when she posed nude for her application photo an hour ago, about the same time I'd learned she'd been a member of her school's Purity Club years ago. Starting that night, she'd be the Bad Hoss's newest dancer. It still seemed like a big change; I wished I was taking it as well as she was.

"Loosen up, Linnea," she encouraged me. "Estelle still works at the salon, and Hattie says she has a real good reputation. Apparently people come from all over to see her -- maybe not as far as you," she added with a laugh.

"It's not that," I assured her, mostly truthfully. My life had gotten awfully complicated since I'd met my girlfriend, Stacey. She practiced magic, which sounded preposterous, except I couldn't argue with the results. I'd never been attracted to girls before I'd met her, but she'd turned me onto cunnilingus in a big way. There was nothing that turned me on as much as licking Stacey, except maybe watching her cum on my busy tongue.

Or getting sodomized by Michael. He was my other roommate, the gay boyfriend of my dead brother, and Stacey's sponsor at some "Mind Controllers Anonymous" group. I'd been helping him grieve for the loss of my brother, but it had turned into something more than that.

In retrospect, it was clear both of them had done something to me -- besides the sex -- but I didn't care about that, it felt so good being with them. There had been some tension because Stacey didn't like to share me, but I'd been working on it. I shuddered to think what would happen if she learned the truth about this trip.

What she knew already was bad enough. I'd tried to use some of her magic on one of my big clients so I could make a sale and improve our living situation with a hefty bonus. Somehow I'd screwed up and gotten things backwards. After a long evening with my Neanderthal sexist pig clients, I was exactly the sort of cock-craving slut they imagined all attractive women to be.

I didn't regret that, either. I could remember when my attitudes had been different, but it felt like some other person -- not me. I knew Stacey wouldn't like it, but at least I'd closed the sale. Anyway, it was just sex, and not love like I felt for her. I was left with just two problems.

The first problem was that Stacey had flat-out told me to refrain from sex until I got home and she could help "fix" me. Assuming I needed fixing; I didn't really think anything was wrong with me. It was a hard thing to do, and in fairness to Stacey, she realized it. That was why she'd told me to get my pussy pierced, as a reminder.

My second problem was sitting beside me. I really, really liked Jenny; we both had the same cravings for cock and pussy and were totally compatible with each other. It was like we'd been best friends for years, and I knew Stacey would blow a gasket if she found out, because my feelings for Jenny weren't just about the sex. I loved Stacey, but I feared I was cheating on her emotionally with Jenny.

Jenny didn't know about Stacey, either. How could I share so much with her, and not tell her I loved somebody else more? I couldn't. I also worried her live-in boyfriend, Dan, might not be so understanding about her new lifestyle. He'd seemed accommodating enough in the hotel room last night, but would he be happy to learn he wasn't sharing her with just me? Men could be so funny, sometimes.

A tiny corner of my mind wanted to urge Jenny to be faithful and considerate of his feelings, but it was swamped by the rest of me, which wanted to jump right in and get fucked every which way, too.

"Cheer up!" Jenny repeated. "You haven't done anything wrong! I wasn't really happy with that waitressing job anyway, and you helped me square everything with Darryl so it's better than before." She gave me a quick look before returning her attention to the road. "And whoever you're frettin' about will understand; I just know it."

I straightened in my seat. "What?"

She laughed gently. "You look like a dog waitin' to be kicked. You think you're cheatin' on somebody, don't you? Let me guess: you've got a woman back home."

It was a little uncanny how well she'd read me. I'm sure I flushed a little. "Smart girl. Why don't you explain things to me? I'm feeling a little stuck, myself."

Jenny laughed delightedly. "I knew it! See, I knew you weren't getting this ring for yourself, not when you're still wearing clip-ons. It had to be for somebody else, and it surely isn't me. I guessed a girl, 'cause a guy would have asked for a boob job instead, and you know your way around a pussy too well."

"You think my tits are too small?" I asked, looking down at the skin exposed by my blouse where the buttons were missing.

"Lord, no," she answered. "I wouldn't change a thing about you, Linnea, except your hang-ups."

"Thanks, I think," I replied weakly.

We turned into the parking lot fronting a nondescript strip mall. Jenny navigated the lot and pulled into a spot near a beauty salon before replying.

"Look, you're from -- wherever -- and I live here. We both knew this wouldn't be more than a short fling. I know the love you feel for me, Linnea; I've felt in the way you've touched me and the way you look at me. I saw the way you went out of your way to help a girl you hadn't even laid eyes on before yesterday."

The look she gave me went straight to my heart before turning south for moister climes. She was so close to having it right, but hadn't accounted for the need to try and put things right where I'd made a mess.

"I just know that anybody with so much heart has plenty left for those she loves -- the same as I know anybody you could love will understand your needs and know that sharing with others don't mean there's less of you for her. Just like Dan and me!"

I could feel tears in the corners of my eyes, and my throat was tight. "You're a gem, Jenny," I choked out, and leaned over to hug her tightly. Her misplaced trust and optimism touched me to the quick, but I needed a friend just then.

Jenny sought out my lips and kissed me, and it might have gone further but for the seatbelts still restraining us. "We'd better go in," she said huskily, "or you're never gonna get your ring."

Regretfully, I decided she was right, and we headed into the salon.



It was a typical establishment, the kind I'd been in many times before, but I looked around with a new appreciation. Not unexpectedly, it appeared to be inhabited solely by women, nearly all of them fairly fashion-conscious. The staff were mostly on the younger side, and the clientele were a mix of coeds out of school for the summer and trophy wives who had no job to interfere with their free time.

My mouth watered at the sight of all those attractive bodies so artfully displayed, and I heard Jenny's soft sigh beside me. I belatedly understood what Stacey had meant when she'd told me about the pull of a hair salon the day we'd met.

"Welcome to Trendz! Can I help you?" asked the receptionist when we approached the front desk.

"Yes," I smoothly answered. "I'm Linnea Richwell, here to see Estelle. We called earlier."

She found my name on the appointment list and lined it out. "I'll let Estelle know you're here, Linnea. Can I get either of you anything to drink? Sparkling water or an iced coffee?" I shook my head.

It turned out Estelle was the oldest woman in the place, with a weathered face and greying hair that made her look old enough to be my mother -- not the most comforting thought. Luckily, she acted younger than she looked, giving the pair of us a friendly smile and escorting us back to a private room at the rear of the salon.

Finally, when we were alone, she got right to business. "Now, Linnea, I understand you're interested in a genital piercing?" Estelle made it sound like she did them all the time, which for all I knew, she did.

I nodded nervously. It wasn't that I was shy about exposing myself, but rather that the thought of somebody poking holes in me -- especially in sensitive areas -- scared me.

Estelle nodded soothingly. "And did you have something particular in mind, or would you like to look at some pictures for ideas?"

"I'd like a little ring, right at the top," I said. Actually, it was Stacey that wanted it, but I didn't see a reason to go into details. Her wish was good enough for me.

"That's a very popular choice," Estelle reassured me. "Now, you understand everybody is built a little differently, and I won't know for certain what options you have until I've examined you, but are you more interested in aesthetics or stimulation?"

"Oh, stimulation!" Jenny chimed in before I could open my mouth.

"Can we have a moment alone?" I asked, frowning at Jenny. She stuck out her tongue at me.

"Certainly. This is a very personal decision, and I want it to be the right one. I'll just step out for a smoke; let me know when you want me back again." Estelle rose gracefully and exited the room, closing the door behind her.

"Jenny, I'm the one getting pierced. Can I please make the decisions?" I knew the last thing Stacey would want was something that stimulated me even more.

"You'll look beautiful no matter what she does, Linnea. You're doing this for your girl, but I don't see why you shouldn't get something out of it, too," she pouted.

"It's complicated," I temporized. I tried to think what, if anything, I could say. "She -- ouch! Jenny!"

She'd reached over and plucked a hair from my head! As I watched, aghast, Jenny rubbed it against her glossy lips, popped it into her mouth, and swallowed. "How does this work?" she asked.

I looked frantically for my purse and saw it sitting in Jenny's lap, opened. We stared at each other and I started to think she hadn't gotten it right. "Can I have my purse and lip gloss back?" I asked, trying to pretend nothing special had happened.

"Just relax," Jenny said, looking slightly exasperated, and I slumped back in my chair as all of the tension I'd been holding inside me melted away. "That's better," she smiled, and I smiled back, knowing she was right. Part of it was relief at being able to skate out of a conversation I didn't really want to have with her.

"Tell me how this works," she prompted, holding my tube of lip gloss. "You did something to Darryl, didn't you?"

I abruptly changed my mind, figuring that if she knew that much, I might as well come clean. "It's magic," I responded. "No, really!" I protested, reading her expression. "If you take a hair from somebody, smear a bit of the gloss on it, and eat it, you can make them do things. I used it to make sure Darryl would give you a job."

Jenny laughed. "I knew something was up! I couldn't believe it when Darryl signed that contract -- I always hated the way he low-balled the girls there." She turned serious again. "Is it working on you?"

"I don't think so," I admitted. "I actually don't understand very much about how it's supposed to work."

"So, if I told you to squeeze your boobs, you'd do it?"

"Silly," I reproved her, "I like doing that anyway," as I proceeded to demonstrate. I was nearly falling out of my blouse anyway, since several of the top buttons were missing, so it was easy to massage myself.

"Pinch your nipples, hard"

"Ow!" I exclaimed, jolted by the sudden burst of pain. We looked at each other for a moment of surprised silence.

"Did you like that?" Jenny asked

"No," I said shortly, rubbing gently to make the pain go away. "That really hurt! I don't know what happened."

Jenny focused intently on my face. "Do you love me, Linnea? Tell me the truth."

"I'm sorry," I started, deciding she deserved to know, "but no. I really like you, Jenny; I like you a lot, for a lot of reasons." I licked my suddenly-dry lips. "But I'll always love Stacey."

Her expression turned mulish. "Have you loved her for a long time?"

"It seems like it sometimes," I laughed lightly, "but really we only met a few weeks ago! She just sort of swept me off my feet." I smiled at the memory and confided, "Can you believe I wasn't interested in women before then? I guess sometimes you just don't recognize who you're waiting for until they come along."

"I really like you too, Linnea, and I think it's mean of Stacey to make you get pierced if you really don't want to. I think she did something to you to make you feel this way, and I think it's plain wrong."

Since I'd reached a similar conclusion not too much earlier, I couldn't exactly argue the point. On the other hand, it felt disloyal to Stacey to say so, and Jenny was being way too hard on her -- I knew my girlfriend loved me as much as I loved her, and that was saying a lot.

"If I tell you to love me, will you? Be honest," asked Jenny cautiously.

"No. It doesn't work that way," I replied.

"There has to be some trick," she said, shaking her head in frustration. "I don't think there's really anything that different, but Daniel says I've turned into a slut." We shared knowing laughs that would have had any listeners tenting their pants. "Tell me why."

Her last plea echoed between my ears and I found myself talking without having intended to say anything. "There's something more. Stacey didn't tell me; I guessed. Instead of swallowing the hair, you wet it with your pussy juice and then burn it." Abruptly I decided to come clean about my most shameful deed. "I did that with one of your pubic hairs while you were in the shower this morning."

"You are so bad," Jenny drawled, but she was smiling as she said it. "I'm glad you did -- who all knows how long it might have taken me to discover how much I like being with a girl?"

"Or taking it in the ass," I added.

"Lots of things," she agreed. There was a pause, and then Jenny spoke softly. "I left something out, too, Linnea. I don't want to be just a one-night stand for you. I want to be with somebody who understands me, and my needs, the way you do. Last night you made me feel things I'd never felt before. I don't want you to go back to her and forget me."

"I could never forget you," I husked, and she cut me off.

"Don't move!"

I froze as Jenny gently caressed my cheek and then plucked another hair from my scalp. I wanted to tell her to stop, hating the thought of betraying Stacey yet again, but I felt myself lubricating as I watched Jenny wind the hair around a finger and then sensuously trace her shining lips with it.

She contorted slightly so she could slide the finger up the leg of her shorts. I hadn't been in a position to see before, but the darkness of the denim suggested Jenny wouldn't have a problem wetting her finger, and the hair, with her intimate secretions. "Forgive me," she whispered, holding the glistening blonde strand between us.

"I forgive you," I gasped, suddenly realizing I could breathe again. "Don't do this, Jenny," I begged, fearing she would take me away from Stacey, even as I longed for what the two of us might share.

"I think I have to," she finally said, and plucked a cigarette lighter from the clutter on the counter along the wall. We both watched the hair turn to curiously scented smoke in the tiny flame.

Nothing happened.

Finally, I stood up and removed the lighter from Jenny's unresisting hand. "I still forgive you," I told her, and then kissed her to prove it. "You don't need magic to have me, you little slut," I said after coming up for air a minute later. Our second kiss was passionate, almost animalistic, as we tried to force our tongues further into each others' mouths.

My hands were all over Jenny's sweet body, and on sudden impulse I trapped one of her nipples between my fingers and twisted it roughly through the thin fabric of her top. Jenny gasped and swayed in my arms, nearly collapsing, and I realized she'd orgasmed.

She blinked rapidly and stared at me with her mouth wide open, presenting quite an arousing sight. "How?" she said, and then reached into my gaping blouse to fondle a breast.

I sucked in my breath when her fingers brushed my rigid nipple, and cried out when they pinched it between them. Unlike a few minutes earlier, there was nothing but ecstasy in my voice. My nipples had never been so sensitive.

"I never told you I liked that," Jenny said, looking at me closely.

"Oh God, do it again!" I husked, trapping her hand against me with my own.

A smile blossomed on her face and spread as wide as I'd ever seen. My heart leaped in my chest to see Jenny so happy, and I knew my face mirrored hers. God, I had to have her! My entire body was trembling with desire.

"Fair's fair," Jenny said, holding me off with her arm. "Wait just a minute, Linnea," she asked, and I relented, curious what she was doing.

As I watched in basically a haze of physical need, Jenny collected a few more hairs from both of us and twisted them together into a thicker strand, which she proceeded to knot. My heart twisted at the way she absently chewed on a lip while completing the process.

The worn stump of Stacey's tube of lip gloss sufficed to coat the variegated bundle in Jenny's fingers, and she carefully inserted it inside herself before looking up at me.

Finally understanding what she was doing, I hastily pulled my skirt up around my waist, allowing her to wet our hairs even more in the secretions from my copiously dripping pussy.

"Together," I gasped, holding the lighter in a shaking hand and igniting it. I still loved Stacey, but there was no way I could give up the toothsome little minx standing in front of me.

"Together," Jenny agreed, holding the hairs in the flame; to our mutual astonishment, they went up in a sudden "poof" like flash paper.

Absently I thought there might be a reason I'd never seen Stacey do this, but then all I could think about was Jenny. It felt like the rest of the room faded away, and then her eyes grew until I could look into her soul, and knew she could see mine.

We didn't touch, but I'd never been so intimate with another person in my life, Stacey included. My heart beat faster and faster as sensations and desires flashed through my mind. I knew, subconsciously but with perfect clarity, exactly what excited Jenny, because the same things excited me.

Our sensitive nipples could bring us to peaks of delight just from manual stimulation; there was no question the feel of a penis stretching our rosebuds was far preferable to traditional intercourse, no matter how pleasurable. Our greatest pleasure was to kneel before a woman and taste her pink folds, bringing her to oral fulfillment.

We reveled in the label "slut", knowing sex, even with others, was but a tribute to the power of our bodies. However degrading in appearance, we knew the apparent submission was merely an offering to the other, made and received in perfect understanding of our mutual love and passion.

The heat and tension inside me spiraled higher and higher, and I don't know what would have happened if Estelle hadn't chosen to return.

"Are you girls alright? It's been mighty quiet," she asked, peering in the door. "Y'all haven't been smoking anything in here, have you?"

I was still holding the lighter, and Jenny's pupils were so dilated her normally hazel-colored eyes looked black. Presumably mine looked the same. "No, just finishing our discussion; please come back in. I'm definitely looking for stimulation." We both giggled breathlessly, like adrenaline junkies staggering off a violent roller coaster ride. I wanted to fuck someone, anyone. Jenny flashed me a wicked grin over Estelle's shoulder, not that she'd had any doubt what I'd do.




Falling Ch. 07



Anyway, Stacey hadn't said anything about what kind of piercing to get; if it made a difference, she should have said so. I felt curiously light, freed of worries. I still loved Stacey; nothing had changed that -- I'd get her ring because she wanted it. But at the same time, I was Jenny's juicy little cumslut, and always would be. It was difficult to describe, but my mind didn't have any trouble adjusting to it.

Estelle peered closely at me, doubtless convinced we were on drugs. "Well, okay then, Linnea. If you don't mind my taking a look, we'll see what we have to work with, okay?"

I didn't know how modest her usual clients were, but I was fighting the zipper on the skirt before she stopped speaking, and I was stepping out of it moments later. I sat back on the seat and spread myself wide, inviting her to inspect my dripping snatch. 

"I'm just gonna take care of a few things," Jenny whispered before slipping out the door.

Estelle pulled on some gloves and hooked a stool to where she could sit in front of me. "Now, a VCH -- that's vertical clitoral hood --usually provides the best results, because you get direct stimulation of the clitoris, but..."



I readjusted myself carefully on the chair and smiled at Daniel before whistling loudly. I would have preferred to be sitting on his lap, but he looked spooked enough as it was, and he'd studiously ignored my hints that Jenny wouldn't mind. He was sweet, if misguided.

When we'd walked out of the salon that afternoon, I'd sported four piercings. Two were in my ears, simple studs that any young girl might have, if she didn't have my parents. The other two weren't. Stacey's ring transfixed the hood of my clit, but it was oriented vertically instead of horizontally like the picture I'd seen. Even now, I could feel it resting lightly on my clit -- and it moved, ever so slightly, with every step I took.

It hadn't seemed fair to stop there, so I'd gotten a ring for Jenny, too. Estelle called it a triangle, but it was as round as the other (although she'd suggested a curved barbell, which I'd refused). It went horizontally just behind my clit, and I could feel it all the time, too. I thought the symbolism was just perfect: I was my clit, sandwiched gently between my two lovers.

Jenny was entranced and the only thing that prevented another makeout session was my residual soreness from the piercings and Estelle's stern warnings about giving things time to heal. Jenny said she had something for me, too, but she'd only smiled mysteriously and told me I had to wait.

I was pretty sure it wasn't a piercing, since I'd kept Estelle busy, and neither of us were really keen on them -- although I could see myself possibly revising my opinion once the discomfort had gone away. Jenny had gotten a new 'dew that gave her streaky highlights and a just-been-fucked look that made me cream just to see her, and glossy red polish on her finger- and toenails.

"Oh fuck is she hot!" I shouted to Daniel over the noise of the crowd before whistling again. Jenny was just dismounting from her first ride atop the Bad Hoss's mechanical stallion, and if she hadn't been nearly as polished as some of the other girls, in my biased opinion she was the hottest by a long shot.

"What is this stuff?" Daniel complained, poking at the thick yellowish spooge that the horse had orgasmed across our legs.

"Who cares?" I laughed. A little fake horse scum wasn't going to do my skirt any harm after the action I'd seen the previous night. "Don't tell me you weren't thinking about cumming too." I didn't take my eyes off of Jenny as she swayed across the ring towards us.

On the face of it, her outfit should have looked idiotic. It consisted of a light tan string bikini, over which she wore a little leather vest -- open in front, of course -- and soft leather chaps which served only to emphasize the skin visible aaaaaaaaall the way up the insides of her legs. They looked even longer than usual thanks to the sky-high strappy sandals, which even sported decorative spurs. Jenny's Bad Hoss hat was a twin to the one I was wearing.

Our neighbors cheered and clapped when Jenny stepped up to the railing and gave Daniel a big kiss, but they went back to raucous cat calls when she reached down and ran her hand slowly and suggestively up his leg. She smeared the faux jism more than wiped it off, and I saw him twitch when she reached his crotch and gave it a quick squeeze. Jenny gave the onlookers a wicked smile and slowly wiped her dirty hand on herself, beginning at the base of her neck and not stopping until she'd passed her navel and reached the bikini.

My eyes followed her every movement at least as intently as any of the guys, and I caught my breath as her fingertip just brushed the bikini. I'd thought it was tan, but I was wrong. The fabric was white, and so sheer it verged on transparent. I could just make out the outline of her slit, but the small patch of hair that had grown above it was gone. It made her look so... available. I practically creamed myself as I looked up and caught her knowing expression.

"I didn't want you swallowing any hairs," Jenny quipped, moving closer to me. It was a very private inside joke, but nobody else could hear it anyway because the crowd was sensing another kiss and noisily encouraging some lesbian action. We kissed hungrily, and I didn't resist when she pulled my head down between her breasts.

The place went wild, although the crowd noise was muted out by the roaring in my ears. I caught a glimpse of nipples looking fit to tear through the filmy fabric covering them and felt Jenny's heart racing beneath her skin, and then I was licking my way lower. The goop tasted like warm vanilla pudding that hadn't set, but it could have been castor oil for all I cared.

The little tease backed away from me before I finished, leaving me bent over the railing and straining to reach that tantalizing "V" below her heavy belt. "Sorry," she mouthed, her voice obscured by the hollers and carrying on coming from behind me. Jenny gave a final wave to her admirers and skipped out of the ring, sucking most of the noise from the bar.

Except in our section. I stood up, pushed my skirt back down over my hips, and then bent over to retrieve my hat from where it had fallen. "Haven't any of you seen a woman before?" I taunted the panting rednecks sitting nearby, and then pushed my skirt down again. "C'mon," I told Daniel, reaching for his hand, "I want to see Jenny!"

He looked at me like I was from another planet. "Don't you worry about getting raped?" Daniel asked while I dragged him towards the employees-only door on the far side of the room.

"Are you offering?" I asked, looking back at him over my shoulder, but he acted like he didn't get the joke.

One of the staff held the door for us, grinning. I smiled back, recognizing him from that afternoon but not remembering his name. Then I saw Jenny in the hallway, talking to one of the other dancers, and accelerated.

She saw the other girl look at me and turned around. "Linnea! Daniel! Did y'all think I was hot?"

"You little slut, you know you were!" I laughed, embracing her. "I'm dripping like a leaky faucet." My hand dropped immediately to her crotch, palming the damp fabric and the smooth skin beneath it. "You didn't even tell me! God, I have to taste you!"

I squatted and tugged the little strip of nylon to one side, revealing her bare mound and flowering labia. Jenny's scent was heaven, and her taste was better. My tongue strained to reach further into her depths and I hummed in satisfaction, letting my lips transmit the vibrations to her sensitized nerves. Jenny's body trembled in response and released more moisture to flood my mouth.

"Get a room, you two," Darryl growled, pulling me away from Jenny and to my feet. "I told you before, Jenny, keep it above the neck or you're going to get us both in trouble."

He looked exasperated when we both laughed. "I have a room," I gasped.

Jenny leaned over and whispered in my ear.

"Give her the rest of the night off," I told him, following Jenny's suggestion.

"In fact, both of you get out of here," Darryl decided. "There's no sense overexposing new talent. You only get paid a part shift," he added hurriedly. "And, Jenny?" She looked at him inquiringly. "When you come back tomorrow, try to cool off just a little, y'hear?"

She led me into the changing room, where I helped Jenny unfasten the chaps and sandals. She quickly pulled on a T-shirt and some shorts, stepped into her flip-flops, and we were ready to go.

"You two surely are somethin'," commented another of the girls who'd been watching the two of us egg each other towards orgasm without ever quite making more than casual physical contact. "Jenny, girl, what's come over you?"

"Love," Jenny sighed, at which point I just had to kiss her. She wiped away a few tears, which smeared her eyeliner, but it only made her look sluttier and even more becoming.

"Let's get out of here," I panted, reminding myself I did not want to get Jenny fired a second time in 24 hours.

Daniel was still waiting in the hallway, which momentarily surprised me. Frankly, I'd forgotten about him, which was mean-spirited of me. His face was cloudy when he saw us come out of the dressing room arm in arm, and didn't improve when Jenny announced she wanted to ride with me to the hotel, instead of with him.



"This is for you," she told me when we were alone in the car. It was a small gift bag with colored tissue stuffed in the top. "I wanted you to have something to remember me by, when we can't be together."

I removed the tissue carefully and unearthed a small plastic zip lock bag. The illumination in the car wasn't the greatest, so I turned on the dome light to be sure. I knew instantly the short brown strands within were the remains of the pubic patch she'd had removed that afternoon. "Oh my God! I can't believe you saved them; you are so sweet!" We kissed again.

"But I didn't get you anything," I protested when I could speak.

"You got me a ring," Jenny pointed out.

"Well, but I'm taking it with me," I said, feeling bad. Once again, inspiration struck. "Oh! I know! Get your phone." I wriggled enough to pull my skirt up around my waist, which didn't take much effort, and spread my knees to display my gleaming new jewelry.

Jenny angled her phone over the steering wheel and took several shots, until she had one she liked. It was a beauty, with both rings nicely on display and my glistening folds unveiled below them. She typed energetically for another minute before putting it away. "There! I e-mailed it to myself too, so I have a copy for safe-keeping. I'll always treasure it."



Daniel's mood hadn't been improved by his wait for us at the hotel. We stripped and tumbled onto the bed, but it wasn't the same as the previous night. For one, my pussy was off-limits, but that didn't turn out to be as important as I'd feared.

For another, Daniel was completely different, like a candle burning at both ends. That morning, he'd been hesitant and unsure of himself. That evening, he was masterful. He called us sluts and whores, trembling with barely-leashed emotion, and used Jenny so roughly she came twice within a minute while he pounded into her.

Then it was my turn. "Fucking slut!" he hissed, splitting my ass with his cum-slicked manhood. He grabbed my hair, pulling my head painfully back, but I managed to find a position where I could still watch Jenny.

"Is this what you want? Is it?!" he cried, voice cracking, as he thrust hard into me and then teased me by withdrawing all the way. "To watch me use some other perverted slut while you make yourself over in her image?" Daniel released my head so he could guide himself back into my rectum.

Jenny moaned. She had three fingers inserted in her ass, twisting and probing, while her other hand moved indecisively between her breasts and dripping pussy. "Fuck her slutty ass, Danny," she panted, her eyes locked on us. "Make her a slut for your cock! Oh God, baby, you look so nasty!"

"You want me to fuck other women?" Daniel asked again, sounding as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. I rocked back against him more aggressively, trying to get him to pick up his tempo again. "Next you'll be wantin' to fuck other men?"

"Fuck, yes!" she urgently husked, hands now working double-time. "I feel so hot when they use me! Uh! Uh! Uh!" I was going to cum just watching her, no matter what Daniel did.

He abruptly pulled away from me. "You already cheated on me?! I thought you loved me, Jenny!"

"I do!" she protested, pausing on the edge of release. "You can have any of my holes, Danny, any time you want them."

"I wanted your heart!" he shouted, his voice trembling with emotion. "Fine! Choose her! I don't know what's wrong with you, Jenny, but we're quits. Dress up in your whorish costumes and parade yourself in front of drunks and perverts if you like. Let them use you like a piece of meat, 'cause that's all you're good for now! You are a slut!"

Jenny moaned, "Slu-Uh-Uh-Uht!" and started thrashing on the bed, lost in a titanic orgasm.

The sight nearly got me off, but I had to twist and look at Daniel. The look in his eyes promised fire and brimstone, like we were the lowest forms of life on earth. His cock hung shriveled and limp between his legs.

"You!" he hissed when he saw me looking. "You are the Whore of Babylon, a demonic succubus! You turned this woman into something I don't even recognize. You are lower than dirt, you gutter filth!" Daniel tensed, and I thought for a moment he might hit me, but he turned and scooped his clothing from the floor, not even bothering to don it before leaving the room.

"Wow, that was hot!" sighed Jenny, still sounding a trifle shaky.

"Yeah," I agreed, "but I wish he had more stamina."

She laughed understandingly. "Poor baby! Crawl up here and let me help you; I know what a slut needs."

Boy did she. My throat felt raw before the satiation of repeated orgasms and more than 40 hours without sleep caught up with me, and we passed out in each others' arms.



Falling Ch. 08



Chapter 8, In which I share too much information



It had been another long trip, but I'd finished up in time to catch the early afternoon flight. I was fired up and eager to be home and share the good news: I'd landed another big contract, and was on the inside track to land salesperson of the year and a stupendous bonus.

Thanks to some coaching from Stacey, I'd learned that a little more T&A went a long way. A modest outlay for edgy outfits, stockings instead of pantyhose, and so forth, had turned into whopping increases in signed business.

Some of my competitors and colleagues had cried foul, but I chalked it up as envy. I mean, what really was the difference between outsourcing to a stripper or escort, and doing it myself?

I hadn't tried really cheating -- with magic -- since the one trip to Texas. It hadn't worked out so well, and Stacey had decided it was too risky to keep trying. Besides, it felt good to know I'd won all the business on my own without any tricks, no matter what the whiners said. If I put out to close a deal -- and honestly, it was as much pleasure as business for me -- why, I was only doing what they'd always accused me of anyway.

Stacey put up with it all as a necessary evil, because I was supporting us and I always came home to her. She'd never asked me, so I felt no compulsion to tell her I was still in regular contact with Jenny, my secret lover.

I pulled out my phone and looked at the latest picture from her. "Creaming for you," she'd texted, along with the close-up of her sexy pussy peeking out from beneath a super-short flouncy miniskirt. She'd kept the hair off, just like I did, and her tan lines had faded almost completely.

"You slut," I typed back. "Maybe next month! XOXOX." I liked to send her creampie shots when I was on the road; if our schedules matched, we'd have phone sex every night I was away. I was really looking forward to my next trip to Texas, and not just because the weather was turning.

I'd come to realize that while Jenny and I were sharers, my roommates -- although I loved them both dearly -- were more self-centered. I could spend hours with my head trapped between Stacey's thighs, giving her a leisurely tongue bath and bringing both of us to one climax after another, but it was the only time she let me touch myself.

Then there was Michael. It was kind of hard to explain, but he used my ass for gay sex. I'd been reluctant at first, but the feel of him sodomizing me really got me off now, and I'd made it clear to Stacey that I had no intention of denying him.

Anyway, it was obvious Stacey was jealous of the time I spent with Michael, even though I was careful to make sure I spent equal time with both of them. I'd tried doing a three-way once, but it hadn't been a success. The sensation of eating out Stacey while getting cornholed by Michael had me cumming so hard I'd actually peed myself, but the two of them had glared at each other the entire time.

Maybe I'd try it again with Jenny, if we could find a willing guy. I laughed, earning a curious look from the cabbie. She and her boyfriend, Daniel, had broken up, but I was pretty sure finding a man we could share wouldn't be a problem.

Part of it was that Jenny was just so easy-going once you got to know her. Stacey wasn't really a bitch, but she had higher expectations. It was hard to listen to complaints about how we didn't have a car, and how the apartment was too small, and so on. The car, anyway, felt like a senseless waste of money for a city girl, but Stacey thought we deserved one. I felt bad about disappointing her, but it had only motivated me to work harder. I was hoping news of my latest successes would help cheer her up.

"I'm home!" I called, guiding my roller bag through the doorway. I took a deep breath, savoring the scent of Stacey's candles. They littered our apartment since she'd moved in, but it smelled like she'd lit more of them than usual. It was a little like a cigar lounge, except it didn't make me want to cough. I inhaled deeply again, and then let my accumulated tension flow away as I exhaled.

"Linnea! We were just talking about you!" Stacey called from the couch. The sound of her voice made my heart take flight and my cunny drip. "Look who came to visit!"

My jaw dropped. I hadn't seen or spoken to my parents in three years, and there they were, sitting on our couch. Thank God I was wearing the skirt without the dried semen on it! "Daddy! Mom! This is such a surprise!" I was happy to see them, but couldn't help feeling a little put out that I'd have to wait awhile longer to get fucked.

"I see you're working hard to be as big a disappointment as he was," Daddy groused. I don't think he'd said Peter's name since meeting Michael, except probably to tell his lawyer to stop the trust payments. "Have you no shame?"

"Oh, Edward, we haven't seen Linnea since forever. Can't you withhold judgment for a few minutes?" Mom always was playing the peacemaker. She looked at me closely as we hugged and commented, "You're looking -- cosmopolitan -- dear."

Warned by her tone of voice, I gave myself a quick once-over. I wasn't much wrinkled, and I'd fixed my hair and lipstick in the cab. My sheer blouse showed my breasts to good effect, and my nipples were erect with anticipation as usual. The skirt wasn't my favorite, a little longer than I now preferred, but there was nothing wrong with it. It didn't feel like my stockings or garters had shifted.

I looked quizzically at Stacey and shrugged minutely. She wasn't showing any signs of disapproval, so I just let things slide. "You're looking good," I told Mom, only half-lying. She was still in good shape for her age, but her breasts were sagging and her bush really needed to be cleaned up.

Then I just couldn't wait any longer and moved over to Stacey and gave her a big honey-I'm-home kiss. I clung to her, sucking on her tongue and pressing my tits against hers, until she gently pushed me away. Still arm in arm, I turned back to look at my parents.

Daddy glowered at me while he continued stroking his erection, but it was his usual expression, so I didn't take it personally. "Is it true?" Mom asked. "You're with this girl?"

"Show her," the girl in question urged, so I unzipped the skirt and stepped out of it. Not wanting to wrinkle it, I laid it across the arm of the couch, taking care not to disturb the candles smoking on the side table.

I stepped in front of my audience and spread my legs slightly. Mom squinted at the rings shining in the uneven light of the candles; Stacey casually hooked a pinky through one and pulled me forward so Mom could see better. There were two rings cradling my clit: one in front that ran vertically through my hood, and a second horizontal ring actually set behind it.

Both of them brushed my clit every time I moved. Now that I was fully healed, they made my morning treadmill sessions more pleasurable, and the sensations I felt when somebody fucked me were really intense, although I still liked anal better.

Stacey had seemed a little annoyed when she'd first seen them, but they were a part of me now. "She got them for me," she told my mother, which was true as far as she knew.

"You're so bare," Mom whispered, extending a finger to trace the skin around my leaking pussy. "You haven't looked this way since you were a little girl!" She pulled her hand back like she'd gotten an electric shock, and looked up at my face. "We're so pleased you finally found somebody, Honey," she gushed.

Daddy appeared significantly less impressed. "I--" he snarled, but then the lines on his face eased and he began fisting his erection eagerly. He orgasmed, apparently not for the first time, and relaxed even more. "I knew those things they were saying about you couldn't be true?" His voice sounded uncharacteristically disoriented.

"What things?" I asked, ready to get angry, but Stacey shushed me. I looked to Michael, my other roommate, for support, but he was staring at Daddy and it took forever to get his attention.

"Linnea," Stacey asked, "why don't you and Michael get dinner ready? There are some things waiting in the kitchen." She was truly hopeless when it came to anything domestic. "I'd like to spend a few more minutes getting to know your parents better." She gave me a cheerful smile before plopping back down on the sofa between Daddy and Mom and waving her hand at Michael. "Go on, shoo!"

I hurriedly wheeled my bag into the hall closet and removed my blouse and stockings so I wouldn't get anything on them, before heading back to the kitchen to join Michael. "Is everything okay?" I asked him.

Michael shook himself and grinned sheepishly at me. "I guess I'd just forgotten how good-looking your dad is, Peter; the nut didn't fall far from the tree, eh?"

Most often he used a nickname, but sometimes he still called me by my dead brother's name. Michael had a misguided notion he somehow was responsible for Peter's suicide, and I was just helping him through his grieving process. Somebody seeing it for the first time might have been spooked, although I was beginning to suspect Michael had forgotten I wasn't Peter.

I thought about his observation. Daddy was handsome, I supposed, although I'd never viewed him in that light. "Why is he masturbating?" I whispered, although it probably was unnecessary. "Couldn't he just fuck Mom?"

"It's a Stacey thing," Michael replied. "I've got to hand it to her; she's really slick. You should have seen them when they first got here; I think it was worse than when you introduced me that first time! He barged in the door, already pissed off, looked around, and went ballistic. I thought he was going to kill her!"

Stacey was an indifferent housekeeper, but a quick glance around didn't suggest anything worth getting worked up over. The candles cluttering every horizontal surface made the apartment look smaller than it was, but it was homey. I knew there were paint spots on the carpeting from when we'd redone the walls and ceiling, but even the nearly black pigment didn't show clearly in the dim lighting. "Why?" I finally asked, stumped.

"Who cares?" sighed Michael. "But you know Stacey; she can talk anybody into anything." I smiled in silent agreement. "She finally convinced them to sit down, but he was interrupting nearly every sentence she got out."

I'd never won an argument with Daddy that didn't involve walking out on him, so I could sympathize. "What did she do?"

He gestured expansively. "She finally screamed at him that if he didn't agree with something, he should just jerk off instead of being such a jerk about it." Michael paused a moment, letting my suspense build. "I thought he was going to slap her senseless, but then he got this funny look on his face and started pulling on his dong, and wham! He's blowing all over the place."

"Speaking of which," I said suggestively, and slipped my hand past the elastic waistband of Michael's pajama bottoms to find him more than half ready. I had a lot more experience now than when he'd taken me the first time, and there was still something about Michael's cock that felt better than any of the others I'd tried.

He looked in the direction of the front room. "Do you think that's smart, with your parents here?"

"Who cares?" I asked, mostly meaning it. Feeling frustrated, I reached out and yanked down his pants, revealing his ruddy cock. I gave it a little squeeze and twist at the top, something I'd learned Peter used to do all the time.

Michael rewarded me with an indrawn breath and a big drop of precum. "What if your dad catches us?" he asked, but perversely his organ got even stiffer. He shuddered as I continued stroking him, collecting more of his precum and slicking it back along his hard shaft.

"Just fuck me," I pleaded, turning so he could see my ass. "C'mon, Batman -- to the Bat Cave!"

The old joke, together with the familiar stimulation, finally got him moving in the right direction. I sighed with satisfaction and braced myself against the table as Michael began working himself into my heinie. "Fuck, yeah," I grunted, bucking back against him. "Pound me, Michael!"

"Do you need any help, Dear?" Mom called from the front room.

"No!" I shouted, chastised. Just because I was a slut didn't mean I needed my parents watching me. Daddy would probably try to ground me for life, even if I didn't live with them any longer! I giggled involuntarily, imagining how I would explain that to Jenny.

"This is so wrong," Michael panted in my ear, but I felt him swelling inside me, and I had a death grip on his arm that prevented him from escaping. My free hand teased a nipple, bringing me closer to release, but I eased up, riding the edge of my incipient orgasm.

As had been the case before, the arousal seemed to fuel my brain and I found myself connecting the dots I hadn't even realized were in front of my eyes. My mind's eye imagined Stacey talking to my parents -- ordering them to subvert their resistance into physical self-gratification.

I remembered the way I'd felt when Jenny and I had experimented on each other, and the feedback cycle of desire and arousal that had sucked us down to the primal cores of ourselves. "Orgasm" was too pedestrian a word to describe the sensations I'd felt when the two of us inadvertently mindfucked each other into the sluts we were now.

Just the echo of that memory was sufficient to leave me shuddering and screaming beneath Michael's thrusting body. "Don't stop!" I screamed, when I felt him hesitate.

"He'll kill us!" Michael objected, but he kept going.

"Maybe he'll thank us," I quipped. If arguing with Stacey made Daddy masturbate, what would happen if he caught Michael screwing me in the ass? Wow, that was an exciting thought. "Fill me up! I want to feel you leaking out of me all night!" I fingered my rings, teasing my excited clit until it was nearly unbearable. I didn't think Michael could hold out much longer, either.

"Linnea Grace," Daddy's voice boomed in well-remembered tones of infinite disapproval, "what are you doing?"

"Oh fuck!" Michael shouted, and then he unloaded what felt like a gallon of scalding semen into my clutching ass.

I rode that wave, literally, and a twist of a ring was enough to have me screaming and seeing stars. I really hadn't been looking forward to having my parents see me this way, but after the way it had set Michael off, I couldn't complain.

"I see the reports of your sluttish behavior are not overblown, after all!" Daddy was saying when I could concentrate on him again. Paradoxically, he was jerking furiously on his erect organ. When Michael unsteadily pulled out, and they could see where his cock had been, Daddy's face turned red for a moment and his cock spurted onto the floor.

Mom's hands fluttered uselessly at her sides, but I could see the gleam of moisture on her inner thighs. She gaped at me like she'd never seen me naked before. Had their orgasms felt as great as mine?

Michael stared at me as if he were seeing me for the first time. "Linnea? Fuck me!" He sat down heavily.

"I thought you were going to set the table, not serve yourself as the main course," Stacey commented, her voice a bit on the cool side. She set a pair of black pillar candles on the table with the others, and relit one that had gone out.

"Only an appetizer," I giggled, rolling to my feet and feeling curiously unchastened. Still riding my endorphin high, I abruptly decided to see how many times I could get the others to climax. Everybody should have as much fun as I was.

I didn't know what, if anything, Stacey had planned, but I realized everybody would be happier if we all could get along. Maybe after a few more orgasms, they'd even loosen up! If it weren't for the fact of my existence, I'd think neither of my parents had ever done it. I giggled again.

Singing "I Kissed a Girl" to myself, I started examining dinner. Of course, Stacey hadn't cooked. The counter overflowed with delivery boxes from the high-end catering outfit a couple blocks over -- she'd probably spent more than if we'd just gone out somewhere nice, although it felt more intimate being able to eat at home. There was a pair of wine bottles that were both dusty and French, a nice touch.

Stacey was way overdressed, no matter how I looked at it. I hadn't seen that blue dress before, but it probably was expensive couture, judging by the way it looked on her. Everybody else was naked; that made it easy to tell what they were thinking.

I'd thought I might feel uncomfortable around my parents, but the opposite was true. I felt free, totally uninhibited, and unaccountably excited. Usually I thought in terms of maneuvering people into doing what I wanted, or satisfying my own personal urges. This time I was just trying to arouse them, albeit in a backhanded way, and it was a blast. I wondered if Jenny felt that way when she performed, and resolved to ask.

Our small table was strained beyond capacity, so like a good hostess I got the others arranged around it and set a place for myself at the end of the counter. I'd thought perhaps to sit on Stacey's lap, but apparently she wasn't in a cuddling mood that night. It made it easier for me to ferry food back and forth between the kitchen counter and the table, anyway.

I took every opportunity to touch them as I served. Nothing gratuitous, but the swell of a breast against a shoulder, a nipple in the back, or the swell of my butt at their side. When I sat on my bar chair at the counter, I kept one heel propped on the top crossbar, giving everybody a clear view of my drooling sex and the rings decorating it.

Stacey watched through narrowed eyes, and Daddy was eating one-handed by the time I'd cleared away the salad course. Michael had started out really stiff, but relaxed after I flashed my butt at him a few times; he still looked a little disoriented and said hardly anything.

The only light came from the smoky candles flickering in the center of the table, giving everything an intimate, womb-like ambiance. Conversation flagged until Mom, having dropped her second fork, asked me about my trip.

"I closed the deal!" I answered with understandable pride. "I don't think Alan can catch up, even if he kisses the ass of every CEO in New York. I'll have the best sales year in the company's history!"

"We're worried about you, Linnea," Daddy said, trying to keep his eyes on my face. "The grapevine says you're making a lot of waves at the office." He was trying hard to sound like a concerned parent, but he didn't have a lot of experience. The way I was slowly teasing a nipple probably didn't help, but he deserved it.

"Ha!" I contemptuously laughed. "You know as well as I do all those chauvinist dinosaurs care about is money -- and getting laid, usually not by their wives!"

Mom shot me a stricken look and started rocking slowly in her seat, while Daddy just frowned. I belatedly realized that shot might have landed unintentionally close to home.

"Sorry, Mom," I said, genuinely apologetic, "but, Daddy, you know it's true!" I set down my own fork, thoughts of provocation temporarily forgotten. "Look, last week I got a query from a client about some 'followup paperwork' we'd sent out. I wrote better in fifth grade!"

"I followed up and found out it had been done by Alan's 'Marketing Assistant'. It turns out this girl is barely 19, doesn't even have a GED, and gets paid nearly as much as my base salary last year!"

"Well, I'm sure--" Daddy started.

"She's qualified?" I dryly finished his sentence. "Her qualifications are that she's had more work done than Barbie. And she breathes." I stood up and let them look at me again. "Alan figured he could swap her in for me, and nobody would notice because we both have tits and long legs and put out. That's the way they all think!"




Falling Ch. 08



There was an appalled silence. "So what did you do?" asked Michael, who was the best listener of everybody there, even in his unnaturally subdued state.

I absently touched myself in fond memory and smiled. "I told her -- Candi, with an 'I', if you can believe it -- that I knew she was fucking Alan, and that she was going to fuck me, too."

"Then I bent her over my leg and spanked her once for every screw-up in that contract; that was a lot. I told her I had higher standards than Alan and if she made more mistakes, she was going to get spanked again. And if she ever sent something to one of my clients before I reviewed it, she wouldn't be able to sit down for a month!"

I looked around at the audience. Daddy's hand clearly was at work under the table, and it was Stacey's turn to be frowning darkly. "You know, it's sad," I reflected. "I don't think Candi ever had a mentor before me."

"Some of your coworkers are accusing you of sexual harassment," Daddy said.

"That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!" I jerked straight upright. "Do I look like I need to harass anybody to get laid?"

Michael snorted. "Linnea, you sound like your father." He sighed. "Don't you see anything wrong with forcing Candi to have sex?"

"And why did you do it in the first place?" Stacey venomously hissed. "Cheating, on me?"

"I wasn't cheating!" I objected, stung. "It was just business; everybody does it -- she doesn't mean anything to me!"

Mom made the tiniest little squeak and dropped her fork again.

Daddy smiled thinly. "Perhaps you have a better grasp of realities than I've given you credit for." I saw he was stroking himself again, which meant it wasn't exactly unqualified approval.

"Then there's no reason to not to give Linnea access to her trust fund, is there?" Stacey's smile was all saccharine sweetness.

Was that all this was about? Money? Wasn't I doing well enough on my own? I looked back and forth between the pair of them, reading Daddy's answer in the frenzied motion of his hand, and felt my temper getting out of control.

"What?" I snarled at him. "When y'all fuck every woman who'll spread for you, you're Giants of Industry, but if I do the same thing, it makes me a slut? Well, I have news for you -- I am a slut, and I like it!"

I caressed myself lasciviously and relaxed my sphincter enough to release some of Michael's sticky load. Turning enough to be sure they could see it leaking down my thigh, I collected a generous amount on a fingertip and brought it to my mouth, licking it clean before continuing.

"A slut! I like getting fucked, and I'm not going to pretend otherwise. Not for you, Daddy, and not for anyone else. If I have to fuck and suck to get an even break, I'm happy to do it, and at least I'm doing it to get ahead instead of just to hold people under my thumb." I glared at all of them. "And whom I choose to sleep with is my own business -- so get over it!"

Michael alone looked supportive. Mom was jerking spasmodically and pulling on the tablecloth. A jet of Daddy's sperm arced from his lap and landed across one of the candles and the edge of Michael's plate.

Stacey was preternaturally still in her seat at the head of the table, but abruptly rose and beckoned to me. "Linnea and I need a moment alone. Come!"

I was moving before I could even think about it, and followed her into her bedroom.

"Perhaps I'll start some coffee," Michael said behind us.

Stacey turned and scrutinized me carefully. "What's wrong with you, Linnea? You can tell me."

"Nothing's wrong," I objected. "You know I love you, Stacey." I leaned in to kiss her, but she pushed me away.

"I thought we'd worked through this," she sighed. "The feelings those men in Texas forced on you are wrong, Linnea. You are not some plaything for men to use. None of those urges have come back, have they? Tell me the truth."

"I don't think about them at all," I said, smiling. It was the truth, as far as it went. By the time Stacey had been satisified that I no longer cared what Big Bill wanted, it had taken my hair months to regain its former length.

"That's good," she said, loosening up and stroking my hair. "But I thought we had a special relationship. I was very hurt to hear you slept with that Candi girl, Linnea. Are there others you've been with?"

"Dozens, maybe a hundred by now." I laughed nervously, uncomfortable with where the conversation was headed. "You know that. But none of them will ever change the way I feel about you, Stacey; I love you."

"I know," she sighed. "Give me a little lick?"

Smiling happily, I collapsed to my knees and helped her lift the hem of her dress above her hips. I kissed her gently, almost reverently, and then caressed her folds with my tongue before settling in to milk the juices from her body. As Stacey's taste intensified in my mouth and her fingers ran through my hair, I finally felt like I was home again.

She stepped back before orgasming. Looking up, I realized she'd snipped a small lock of my hair while I'd been distracted. While I continued to kneel before her, she performed the now-familiar ritual of doubly-coating the hairs and holding them to the candle on the nearby dresser.

What happened next surprised me. Instead of dropping the lock in the candle, Stacey held it over the flame until it was burning steadily, and transferred it -- still alight -- to her mouth. I heard a hiss and she grimaced in pain before swallowing, and then a wave of warmth flooded my body.

I gazed happily up at Stacey, lost in her beauty, as her voice floated down to me like pronouncements from Heaven. Every syllable squeezed moisture from my pussy.

"You love me absolutely, Linnea," she whispered. Crooned? Sang? The movement of her dress rustled in the room like wings of angels. "You'd do anything for me, because helping me makes you feel so good, doesn't it?"

"Oh, yes," I moaned, nearly orgasming just from the feel of being able to answer her question.

"And you'd never keep secrets from me, would you? You'll always tell me everything."

I nodded eagerly, desperate to please her.

"Why do you call yourself a slut? Who told you to do that?"

"Nobody! It's what I am," I explained. "I love the feel of people using my body for sex." The faint annoyance on Stacey's face brought tears to my eyes. "I can't help it!" I waited, holding my breath, for her to say something.

The silence stretched while she just looked at me. Finally Stacey sighed. "You are a slut," she agreed, and I heaved a deep breath of relief. "But you're my slut, Linnea. From now on, you won't do anything with anybody else -- or yourself -- unless I tell you to. I know it will it be hard on you, but being obedient when you want to be bad will show me how much you love me."

"Yes!" I gasped urgently. I was dripping on the carpet, and realized I'd been about to touch myself. Jerkily I pulled my hands to my sides and sat on them, feeling another rush as I denied myself as Stacey had asked.

"Have you been with other sluts?"

"Several!" I answered eagerly, thinking maybe she wanted some of them. "Candi is--"

"No," Stacey said, and I cringed. "Have you been with other sluts who were just like you? Who got off on exactly the same things you do?"

My throat seized up and I hesitated, torn by indecision. The moment I'd dreaded for months was upon me. My heart felt as if it were being torn in two, and Stacey's eyes narrowed. "Yes," I moaned, and swayed as heat built inside me, but still my subconscious fought to remain silent.

"Who?" Stacey knelt to look me straight in the face. "Telling me will make me very happy." She ran a finger teasingly down my body, raising goosebumps on my arms and legs. "Tell me who it is, Linnea." She pressed lightly on my rings.

I was crying without remembering why. I brokenly whispered, "Jenny," and screamed as Stacey smiled and a massive orgasm rolled my eyes back in my head. I lost my balance and slumped bonelessly to one side, but Stacey caught me in her arms.

Eternity passed, but it must have been shorter because nobody had come looking for us yet. Stacey held me, gently stroking me like a cat, and my flesh felt like it was on fire everywhere it touched hers.

"Tell me about Jenny."



Falling Ch. 09



Chapter 9, In which I am not such a bad girl

It was weird enough to be having an impromptu dinner party with my estranged parents, but I'd just found out my girlfriend, Stacey, was scheming to restore my access to the family trust. Daddy and Mommy had cut me off after I'd moved in with my deceased brother's gay boyfriend -- they weren't what you'd call broad-minded.

If that wasn't enough excitement for one night, I'd just confessed to Stacey that I'd been having a long-distance affair with a stripper in Texas named Jenny. Stacey was the jealous type, and my revelation hadn't gone over well. The only reason she hadn't completely lowered the boom on me was that she was juggling so many things at once.

Stacey could do magic, you see. It had something to do with hair, and some sort of special "lip balm" she had, but done right, she could skew what people saw and thought, or even wanted. I'd tried it once, but only managed to turn Jenny and myself into sluts.

Just at the moment, my parents were seated at our dinner table, either not noticing or not caring that everybody except Stacey was naked, and masturbating instead of arguing. Daddy didn't think much of anything I'd done the last few years, so he'd been doing a lot of jerking off.

Stacey and I had been talking in her bedroom; she'd used a new trick I'd never seen that left me falling all over myself to confess my history with Jenny -- doing anything Stacey asked felt way better than masturbation.

Our roommate, Michael, finally looked in to see what we were doing. There was a lot of tension between him and Stacey, mostly centering on me. That was because he loved drilling my asshole with his stiff cock, and she didn't like sharing me. Stacey couldn't complain too much since she was the one responsible for confusing him into thinking he was fucking my brother, Peter, when he cornholed me.

Also, Michael was Stacey's sponsor at their "Mind Controllers Anonymous" self-help group, although frankly I wondered if the pair of them hadn't fallen off the wagon, so to speak. Since I'd had like a hundred times as much mind-blowing sex since meeting Stacey as in my entire life before, I wasn't going to complain; what consenting adults did was their own business.

"You're going to do everything you can to make sure you regain access to your trust, right Linnea?" Stacey not-quite-asked as she helped me to my feet.

I nodded eagerly, anxious to try somehow to make up for my betrayal and express my love and devotion to her. The jolt of arousal that accompanied my agreement was a bonus.

Michael eyed my disheveled condition. "Are you sure you're okay, Linnea?" They'd probably heard me screaming.

Stacey patted him on the shoulder, palming a hair and transferring it to her mouth so skillfully that only somebody watching her closely -- like me -- could see it happen. "She's fine. Why don't you go back and keep Peter company?" Her mouth twisted into sort of a smile. "That horny bastard's probably jerking himself off now that you've been out of sight for 15 seconds!"

"But--" My mouth froze under Stacey's wilting stare, and closed with a quiet sigh of pleasure. I watched Michael blink slowly and begin hardening as he considered what she'd just told him.

He grinned and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

"Stacey!" I gasped, once we were alone again. "Daddy will kill Michael! Why did you do that?"

She smiled at me, but it didn't reach her eyes; clearly I wasn't forgiven. "Didn't you tell me your father's inability to deal with your brother's homosexuality was the reason for your family problems? I think once he works through that, he'll be much more comfortable with us."

"Well..." I couldn't really fault her logic, but it still seemed a bit mean-spirited, even if Daddy probably deserved it.

"I want your father and Michael to really get to know each other," Stacey emphasized, evidently growing a little impatient with me.

"Oh!" Maybe they would end up killing each other, but once she'd put it that way -- "Okay." Agreeing felt so good it was easy to ignore the feeling I somehow was being disloyal to Michael.

This time Stacey's smile looked genuine. "Let's join them, shall we?"

I hurried along behind her, hoping she'd ask me to do more things.

That turned out not to be a problem. If I'd been teasing Daddy and Mommy earlier that evening, it was nothing compared to what happened after we returned. Stacey seated herself at the head of the table, and commenced ordering me about as if she were the Queen. I, of course, was only too happy to comply with her every request, and my parents were too distracted by Michael to pay much attention to us.

Michael's cock stood rigidly at attention, its tip glistening with precum, as he moved about to refill everyone's coffee cups. Daddy and Mom clearly were a little uncomfortable with the display, especially because Michael had a certain look in his eyes, which remained resolutely focused on Daddy the entire time.

Between sensuous licks of Stacey's toes, I watched the storm intensify. Daddy scowled at Michael and fisted his meat, which only excited Michael more, which prompted Daddy to stroke himself more urgently. Their pas de deux was punctuated by occasional faint squeaks from Mom.

I forgot to breath, or lick, waiting for the inevitable explosion. Stacey appeared equally interested and didn't reprimand me for my lack of enthusiasm.

Finally, Michael reached out to grab Daddy's cock. "C'mon, Peter; I can help you with that," he grinned.

"You..." snarled Daddy, his face dark and angry, and then he suddenly paused. A look of confused horror and pleasure crossed his face, and he spurted several jets of semen onto an excited Michael. It frankly was rather impressive, considering his age and the fact I knew he'd cum several times already.

"You're a nasty boy," Michael leered, and stroked himself briefly before returning the favor. Since he was younger and fresher, and standing up, Daddy got a generous coating of spunk across his chest and face.

Mom's arm trembled like she was having a seizure. "Oh my God!" she gasped, before staggering to her feet. "This is obscene!" She jerked again and then stumbled from the room.

"I don't think she's ever masturbated," I whispered when Stacey looked at me.

Stacey appeared at a loss for the first time since I'd met her. "What is it with your family?" she muttered under her breath, before addressing Daddy more forcefully. "Gay sex is pretty hot, isn't it? You were wrong to take away Linnea's access to her trust, and you want to give it back, right?"

Daddy stuttered, "N-n-n--" and started fisting himself again, harder than ever. Then my view was blocked when Michael leaned over and kissed him, right on the mouth.

I gaped at them until Stacey nudged me with her foot.

"Go find your mother. Fucking show her how to jill off; demonstrate if you need to." I nodded eagerly, feeling like I was in heat. "You can let yourself cum once after she does, and again when she agrees to release your trust fund."

It seemed a bit, well, mercenary, to keep focusing on the money, but I knew it meant a lot to Stacey. It nearly broke my heart to think Mom had lived her life without experiencing the joy of a good self-induced orgasm, and I mentally kicked myself for not thinking of her plight sooner. I would have been lying if I'd said the prospect of having permission to diddle myself didn't excite me, too.

Mom was looking around the living room, probably for her clothes, when I caught up with her. She whirled to face me, tears in her eyes. "Linnea, why are we acting this way? What's happening to me? It's so" -- she struggled with the word -- "wrong!" She panted, hands trembling uselessly at her sides.

"Oh, Mommy!" I thought about hugging her, but she flinched. "It's not wrong; people masturbate all the time -- you should try it." I demonstrated by sliding a finger into my slit, which nearly made me jump. I was dying for relief anyway, and the knowledge that Stacey wanted me to do it ratcheted my arousal even higher.

"It feels so good," I urged, working the finger deeper and using it to transfer moisture to my clit, coating it and my rings until they gleamed. "Look; it's not so hard." That was unnecessary advice, as Mom was staring at me like she was seeing me for the first time. I caressed my breast, but regretfully left my nipple alone -- just a brush told me any more contact would set me off, and it was too early.

"You look like a little girl!" she exclaimed, eyeing my bare mound. "And those rings! It seems -- sluttish," Mom said. She was big on elliptical arguments, preferring to avoid outright confrontation. "Sluttish" really meant "totally inappropriate and not something my daughter should be doing, much less myself." Regardless, her hand had drifted near her bush, but she was poking at herself the same way she'd use a broom to dislodge a dead spider from a window.

She was just so weird sometimes. "It's not sluttish," I protested, trapping her hand in mine. I guided it to the juncture of her thighs, getting only token resistance, and rubbed it along her cleft several times. Her eyes widened, but she didn't pull away, even when I levered her index finger deeper and pressed it firmly where her clit should be.

"Oh!" Mom gasped, and I grinned. She sounded like a kid who'd tried a bite of something new and found it tasted better than expected. I moved her hand a few more times, and she kept stroking herself after I let go.

"It feels good, doesn't it?" I panted, stroking myself again to demonstrate. It really did, but when I layered on top of that the pleasure of helping Mom, and the arousal of doing what Stacey had ordered, it was nearly orgasmic. I really wanted to jam a finger or three in my ass, but I wasn't sure Mom was ready for that.

I took a deep breath and gently guided her towards the sofa. She twitched, perhaps thinking I was going to try something else, but let me sit her down without any resistance. Mom's finger didn't miss a beat. I sprawled happily in the armchair, making sure she could see everything I was doing, and resumed pleasuring myself.

Daddy shouted something from the dinner table, but the living room was quiet except for the liquid sounds of our fingers. "I can't believe you never got yourself off," I told Mom.

She raised her eyes briefly to my face. "It's not very ladylike," she demurred, but I noticed her finger started going a little faster.

Whether it was solely Stacey's magic, or Mom was getting into it, or a little of both, I decided to treat the situation like one of my phone sex calls with Jenny. It didn't take long for me to forget myself entirely and just let the memories and fantasies spill from my mouth.

"...and he was packing a bulge like you wouldn't believe! I mean, my ass was just aching for him! I was so tempted to follow him into the men's room, but my connection was tight and his wife looked pretty territorial. Not that she wasn't pretty tasty-looking, herself," I sighed.

Mom squirmed on the couch. "Oh my God," she whispered in an unreadable tone of voice, never taking her eyes off my dripping slit.

Did the thought of making it with a woman make her hot? I could sympathize with that! Smiling to myself, I shifted my monologue. "Yeah, she was wearing those yoga pants -- you know the skin-tight ones that hit really low on your hips? She couldn't have had more than a thong on underneath it, and I bet she was shaved." I moaned at the thought of how sexy a bare girl was; so did Mom.

"It's just so hot to see a clean pussy," I breathlessly continued. "The way a girl's smooth skin feels under my tongue -- it just draws me in. I can eat out Stacey for hours." I was so wet I had to stop and suck on a dripping finger. "If that woman hadn't looked like such a bitch, I bet I could have turned her gay -- or at least bi -- without even trying."

The mental image of the nameless woman writhing on my tongue superimposed itself over Mom, and I started to buck. Just as quickly, she morphed into a stern-looking Stacey and I jerked my hands away, feeling unsatisfied and hotter than ever. I was being a good little slut, but I wanted to cum badly and Mom still was holding up the show.

"O-oh, Linnea," Mom gasped, "When did you stop being the daughter I raised? You never" -- she had to catch her breath and force the word out -- "used to do things... like this." Her face was red and her body glistened with sweat, and she arched away from the seat beneath her in an unconscious attempt to bury her hand more deeply within her.

"Like jill off?" I laughed. "Mom, I started doing that when I barely had anything to shave down there!" She looked stricken, and I thought she was going to orgasm, but didn't quite make it. "Oh yes, I'd pull up my demure nightgown late at night and diddle my juicy little cunny with a finger or then a little candle, holding a pillow over my face so I didn't make a sound."

It hadn't been the happiest time of my life. "God, I was so screwed up! I spent my high school years convinced I was going to go to Hell for doing something everybody was doing." I loved my parents, but I realized this had been simmering inside for a long time. I stood up, channeling some of my energy into nervous pacing.

"I'd like to go back in time and tell that girl not to be afraid. I'd love to taste her creamy little gash and show her how to use her body and enjoy it without fear." I glanced at Mom, who looked like she'd forgotten how to breathe. "I know a girl who was Purity Club Vice President; I sucked on her cunt while a guy took her anal cherry at the same time! Not so pure now, eh?"

Mom looked like she was cumming her brains out, joints locked and trembling violently with her hands trapped between her legs. I knew Stacey'd be happy, but just then I was still caught between my wave of indignation and happy memories of Jenny, the ultimate Forbidden Subject.

"I have orgasms every night. I love being with other women as well as men. I've fucked people I didn't know or wouldn't even recognize again. I've done it in public, and in groups, and even used the missionary position once in a while. I admit it -- I'm a slut, and I like it!"

Hands on hips, I stood in front of Mom and stared at her. "But that doesn't make me a bad person, Mom. I'm still the same daughter you had, and I still love you and Daddy just as much as ever. But I'm not going to hide the way I feel, like Peter did." I spread my glistening labia with one hand and deliberately inserted two fingers deep inside myself. "And if I feel like getting off, I'm not going to hide in my bed!"

"Oh! Linnea!" Mom gasped brokenly. Her wide eyes followed every slightest movement of my hand. "You'll always be my little girl, Sweetie. It's just..." Her body tensed and relaxed again, and then she licked her lips. "You're so forward!"

I smirked, thinking of Jenny. My pulse quickened, and I twisted a ring, applying delicious pressure to my throbbing clit. "We're all sluts inside, Mom. Masturbation's the least of it! I heard other girls talking back in school, and it's even worse, now. You know how early girls lose their virginity?" I thought about Jenny and I finding another girl, but the image stubbornly kept morphing into an imperious Stacey.

Mom looked from me to her hand, which was trembling in the vicinity of her thigh. "They fuck in high school?" She made the question sound more like a statement, and even now I was surprised to hear her drop the F-bomb. Her hand darted to her slit like a frightened animal seeking refuge. "That's so -- huh -- wrong!"

It became clear how things were going to go. "I wish I'd experimented more," I said, honestly. "There were a few girls who were, you know, like Stacey." Abbie Givens had been Goth before it was fashionable, and there'd been whispers. The thought made my insides clench.

"With other girls?" Mom panted, obviously aroused. "The little sluts! Did they sh-sh-sha-shave -- Oh my God!" She was eyeing my bared mound with obvious desire.

Sure, I'd do anything for Stacey, but that didn't mean I was excited about the idea of making it with my own mother; that was just gross. I wasn't sure if Stacey had planned it that way or not, but Mom apparently had discovered a way to break through her mental block against self-gratification.

Now I just had to think fast enough to get her thinking about something besides me. "Do you think Daddy was right to cut me and Peter off from the trust?" I asked, mentally holding my breath.

"Oh, yes, Sweetie," she answered automatically, just as she'd always supported him, and then she thought about it, fingers slowing. "Well, no. No, it seems wrong."

I smiled as she started getting into herself again, and I knew I was going to be cumming soon. "Isn't it right for Daddy to do that if he thinks I'm a bad girl? The kind who sleeps with other women, shaves herself, and gets pierced? A slut with absolutely no morals?" Actually, I had plenty of morals, but Mom's face was beet red and she was whipping up lather between her legs.

Mom threw her head back, her eyes glazed but still watching my bare slit, where I was matching her stroke for stroke. "Fuck! Fuck! No, no matter how nasty! It's too harsh!" She exhaled explosively on the last word, climaxing again.

My legs felt like rubber, but I wasn't quite done. "Will you come and tell Stacey that, right now?"

Her eyes grew wide, and for a moment I thought I'd blown it. "Like this?" She gestured vaguely at herself, and I had to admit she was a sight. Her normally well-groomed hairdo was a distressed, sweat-soaked mess, red blooms decorated her face and chest, and her crotch reminded me of a hair-clogged bathtub drain. "Why not?" she smiled, surprising me and climbing wearily to her feet.

She surprised me again as I turned to exit the room. "Mom!" I wriggled away from the hand on my ass using a move I'd perfected in bars during my college years.

"Oh, loosen up, Linnea," she told me when I looked back at her. "Isn't that what you were telling me?"

"Not that loose," I retorted, suppressing a mild shudder.

Mom's smile was tinged with regret. "Maybe it's too late to start over with you, Linnea, but there must be other--" The pair of us stopped dead in our tracks and gaped.

"I -- am -- not -- your -- boyfriend!" Daddy shouted. He punctuated every word with a pile driver thrust of his cock into Michael's ass. As we watched, another water glass toppled and rolled off the table. Stacey sat calmly at the head of the table, capturing it all on my phone. "Fucking homo! You've destroyed my family!"

"Hypocrite!" Mom screamed, freezing everybody. "I see the reports of your sluttish behavior are not overblown, after all," she added with a biting sarcasm I'd never heard from her.

Daddy looked confused, which was new. He opened his mouth, but no words came.

"I certainly see no reason we should not grant Linnea's request for her trust money," Mom continued in a calmer, if no less determined, tone of voice.

Stacey smiled approvingly and I collapsed in a wave of ecstasy.

"Absolutely not!" barked Daddy, barely audible through the roaring in my ears. Michael moaned, too, I think.

In contrast, every word Stacey spoke reverberated through my being, urging me to crawl faster to my rightful place between her legs. "I think you'll change your mind, unless you want this video to go viral," she threatened. "Linnea's been such a good girl; surely you won't deny her her due?"

Thoughts of the rest of them already had fled my mind. I looked up at my beautiful Stacey, filled to bursting by the sound of her luscious voice. A tiny nod was all the permission I needed to thrust my head under her dress and worship at the fount of her womanhood. I felt light-headed, suffocated between her thighs, but I was exactly where I wanted to be.



Falling Ch. 10



Chapter 10, In which Stacey is a hater

I suddenly awakened, gazing silently at the ceiling of the darkened bedroom. The soft sound of Stacey's breathing came from atop the bed, but that wasn't what had roused me. I listened carefully, feeling aches in every inch of my body.

Some of it was sleeping on the floor; the comforter puddled beneath me didn't do much to disguise the unyielding hardwood beneath it. I suspected I'd have felt the same way if I'd been in my usual location on the sofa; most of the damage had come from straining muscles I didn't even know I had as Stacey had teased me through an unending series of titanic orgasms.

My face heated at the memory, which was impressive considering I was a self-professed slut. Perhaps it was because none of the climaxes had been of the usual physically-induced variety; perhaps it was because my parents had witnessed most of them. Perhaps it was something deeper.

The soft hum repeated, disrupting my thoughts, and I recognized the sound of my phone in vibrate mode. I rolled silently to my feet, stifling a sigh as I flexed my protesting core muscles, and crept out of the bedroom without disturbing the rhythm of Stacey's sleep. Where had she left the phone?

I found it sitting on the counter with my keys. The display glowed brightly, displaying only three uppercase letters -- "JTX". As I looked at it, the phone vibrated again, triggering a rush of moist heat inside me. I bit my lip and couldn't resist the temptation to stroke my suddenly-throbbing clit.

"JTX" was Jenny in Texas, the stripper with whom I'd been having a torrid, if long-distance, affair. Like me, she was a slut who delighted in giving and receiving sexual pleasure, and if there were any two more compatible people in the world, I'd have to see them to believe it. The problem was that I was desperately in love with Stacey, and she was the jealous type.

Stacey had found out I'd been cheating on her the previous night, and it had been as bad as I'd feared. Jenny was safely out of harm's way in Texas, but I'd been right there to soak up all of Stacey's hurt and wrathful retaliation. I'd been mind-fucked to the point where I didn't even really care anymore, mostly. Just doing what Stacey wanted was enough to get me off.

The phone buzzed again and I gasped, my finger twisting the rings that trapped my clit between them. Touching myself that way definitely was not on the list of things Stacey wanted, but just now, the top of the list was "don't ever have anything to do with Jenny again."

Since I'd been talking and texting with Jenny every day for months and loved her just as much as I loved Stacey, I really wanted to answer the phone. Knowing that I was denying myself the pleasure of doing so, just because Stacey wanted it, had me wound up tighter than if the phone had been a vibrator buried in my sensitive ass.

The phone went quiet and reported, "Missed calls: 4". I'd been a good girl, and not answered. The thought left my knuckles white on the counter and my knees gave out. Liquid heat coated the fingers of my other hand and I moaned raggedly, unable to stave off my orgasm. I listened, but the rest of our apartment remained quiet.

A short buzz jerked me back to my feet. "JTX: r u there?" I moaned again, creaming like cheap bacon on a hot griddle as I swayed on my feet, caught between competing imperatives.

I knew I couldn't go on this way. I loved Jenny -- closer than a sister, more than a lover, like we'd become two halves of the same person. I didn't want to see her suffer at Stacey's hands. But the way it made me feel to obey Stacey -- it was like being fucked in the brain by Aphrodite. I knew I couldn't resist. A growing part of me thought Jenny would like it, too.

A shaking hand reached out and -- after two tries -- turned off the phone. Moisture trickled down my thighs like I'd peed, and no caress was needed to tease myself into another massive climax. I huffed for breath and pulled on my stiff nipples, trying to prolong the pleasure, but the physical sensation subsided beneath the knowledge that Stacey did not like me masturbating.

I mewed like a kitten as my hands fell away and the heat of obedience roused me once more. At some point I'd fallen on the floor, but I didn't remember it. I panted breathlessly, realizing that it wouldn't be long before I stopped thinking about what Stacey wanted and just did it -- like Daddy and Mommy and Michael.

The thought of that happening to Jenny was unbearable. I had to act while I still could.

A moment of careful listening confirmed the apartment was still silent. Quiet as a mouse, I crept down the hall to the closet which was where I kept my belongings. Burrowing through it on hands and knees, I found the unfashionable boots buried in a back corner.

They should have been donated or tossed years ago, but now they served a more important purpose. Stretching my fingers, I reached down the length of the left boot and hooked out the small zip lock bag stuffed up by the toe. I smoothed it gently, almost tenderly, on the floor and gazed at the hair clippings sealed inside.

Jenny had saved her pubic hair when she'd shaved it off, and given it to me just before we'd parted. In my hands, it was a silly sentimental keepsake; the ring riding beneath my clit was a more tangible expression of our mutual love.

In Stacey's hands, the hair was a weapon of unimaginable power. I didn't understand it, really, but she could work magic and hairs were the talismans she used to bend people's perceptions, thoughts, and desires to her will. They were the difference between a Jenny safely beyond Stacey's jealous vindictive rages, and a Jenny who might find herself doing... anything.

Perhaps it was unkind of me, but I did not imagine Stacey doing anything nice to Jenny. I loved both of them more than I could describe, and I couldn't let it happen -- no matter how much Stacey might disapprove. If I were lucky, she'd never find out and the issue wouldn't come up; if not, well... I'd take my punishment. Stacey loved me too, in her way, and hopefully it wouldn't be too bad.

Shaking aside my introspection, I picked up the bag and padded quietly to the bathroom. Offering silent apologies, I opened the baggie and carefully emptied its contents into the toilet bowl. I couldn't chance missing even a single hair, so I ripped the bag into pieces and dumped it in, too.

Relieved to have succeeded, I flushed the toilet and blinked rapidly as I got blinding light instead of the expected rush of water. I realized I was standing in Stacey's bedroom with my hand on the floor lamp chain.

Stacey sat up in bed and looked over at the contents of the popcorn bowl sitting on the chair in front of me. "And what do we have here?"

"Nothing," I mumbled, sounding as guilty as I looked, I'm sure. "Just some trash."

She leaned over and picked up the bowl, looking at it with interest. "Hair, and not your color, either. Whose hair is it, Linnea? Tell me."

The habit of obedience was already too strong to resist a direct request. "Jenny's," I gasped. The gasp was from the sudden heat inside me, not reluctance. "She shaved her pussy for me, and gave me the hairs," I added with a rush, feeling a bit juicy for being so helpful.

"How convenient," Stacey drawled, looking pleased -- I hoped it was with me. "Be a good girl and go fetch your phone, will you?"

By the time I returned with it, Stacey's lips were gleaming in the soft light and I could smell the hair in the pillar candle next to the bed. She spread her legs in wordless invitation and I fell to my knees and began tonguing her. Every twitch and soft sigh she made sent cream trickling down my inner thighs.

Well before either of us was satisfied, Stacey pushed me away, and then snipped a small lock of hair from my head. "I hope we won't be doing this too many more times, or you'll need a shorter cut," she quipped.

I hoped so too, since I owed my current style to her and knew it already was just the way she wanted it. I nodded, uncertain what she was driving at. I settled for watching attentively as Stacey trailed my platinum strands along her lips before sensuously swallowing them. I had to admit everything she did was sensuous.

"Listen carefully, Linnea," Stacey commanded, and of course, I did. "I know you love me, and want to please me, and doing what I want excites you, right?"

"Oh, yes," I panted, melting in her regard.

"Now I understand that you have minor attachments to other people, and occasionally you might want to do things for them on your own initiative. Things that might be different than what I would want."

I nodded, relieved she was being so understanding.

"Well, from now on, Linnea, if you do something -- or even think about doing something -- that you think might displease me, you'll lose control of your bladder, right away. Then you'll come and find me, before you do anything else, so we can decide together on the best thing to do."

"Thank you, Stacey," I whispered, glad that she trusted me to police myself. "I love you so much!"

"I love you too, Linnea," she told me, with an amused smile of approval that made me so hot I wanted to finger myself.

Instead, a small trickle of urine splattered on the floor. My face reddened while Stacey regarded me with a raised eyebrow.

"Already?" she asked, sounding faintly disappointed.

"I just thought I'd like to touch myself -- I wasn't going to do it!" I wailed. "I know you don't like me masturbating."

"Poor baby," she crooned understandingly. "You'll get better with practice. Now clean that up before it ruins the floor."

I didn't want to risk another accident, and I knew how Stacey's mind worked, mostly. I scooted backwards a little and bent to the floor, licking my piss from the polished hardwood. There wasn't really much of it, and the lack of comment was all the approval I needed. This time I concentrated only on the joy of making Stacey happy.

When I was finished, I looked up to see Stacey finish coating a healthy-sized lock of Jenny's hair with the nectar leaking from her labia. Half of the lock went into her mouth, to disappear down her throat. She held the remainder of the tuft over the candle.

I wet myself again, drawing Stacey's ire. "Oh, please!" I begged. "I love Jenny so much; can't you do what you did last night, to me? I know she'd love you, and she's so wonderful, you'd just adore her. We could all be together."

Stacey's expression was answer enough, and a powerful yellow stream gushed to the floor as I persisted in my entreaties. "Please, if you love me?"

"Love?" Stacey laughed harshly. "Jenny doesn't love you, Linnea; she's a home wrecker! Look at yourself! She's been trying to lure you into her web since you met, tearing us apart. Even now, when we should be together in perfect love, this Jenny is between us, hurting you. Why else would you be crying and pissing yourself like a baby instead of orgasming with me?"

She threw the hair into the candle, and I felt something break inside me. "Trust me, Baby; I know what's best for both of us. Today you're hurting, but some day you'll thank me for this. Now, call her."

I really wanted to call Jenny. I wanted to hear her voice one more time. I could tell her to run, to hang up; my empty bladder clenched. I turned on the phone and moaned with the pleasure of obeying Stacey. The phone booted in slow motion, each block in the progress bar marking time in my internal struggle. I was obeying; I could still save Jenny; the moment of decision was still in the future.

"Stand up!" barked Stacey; I complied without thinking. "Walk over here. Wipe off your legs on the sheets. Sit beside me."

Too late, I realized the series of innocuous commands had reasserted the habit of obedience and fanned the furnace of my body to nearly unendurable levels. When Stacey touched me, her hand felt like a branding iron resting on my thigh.

"Call her," she repeated.

It was Stacey's name I moaned as my trembling fingers hit the speed dial. I loved Jenny, but my body wanted Stacey more. I felt like a traitor. I felt like an incipient supernova.

"Linnea, you little slut! Where have you been?" Jenny's voice was a balm on my aching heart.

I cried, but my tears were silent because I knew Stacey wouldn't want the distraction. My teeth drew blood on the back of my hand when I exploded a millisecond after handing the phone to a triumphant Stacey. I tried to quiet my breathing so I could hear their conversation.

"Is this Jenny?" Stacey asked carefully.

"The one and only," Jenny laughed. "Hey, are y'all one of Linnea's friends?"

"Listen," Stacey said abruptly. She stared at the phone with ferocious intensity, her eyes almost seeming to glow in the dim light.

"You have never met a Linnea. You will gag uncontrollably any time you ever try to say the word 'Linnea'. Women repulse you; you cannot bear to touch or clean or groom yourself in any way. You only enjoy fried food, and cannot stop eating until you have vomited. Sex does not excite you unless you are paid for it, and then it is unbelievably arousing. When I hang up, you will immediately drop your phone in the nearest toilet. Enjoy your new life."

Stacey hit the end button and carelessly tossed the phone over her shoulder onto the bed.

"Jenny," I whispered, stunned at the totality of Stacey's retribution.

"There is no Jenny," Stacey told me. "Forget her; she's in your past." She swung a leg over me, muzzling me with her pussy, which was leaking more than usual. "But we'll always be together to look out for each other, Linnea. Now, clean me up, and since I'm in a good mood, I'll return the favor."

She was as good as her word. I extended my tongue, tasting her and feeling the pleasure return and suffuse my body. Just then, mindless rut seemed particularly attractive; the knowledge that Stacey wanted it for me just made it easier.

I rode the wave of orgasms higher and higher. It was so much easier to let Stacey make the decisions, and it felt so much better. I loved being her slut.



Falling Ch. 11



An interlude, In which I am oblivious

Jenny stared at the phone in her hand. "Well, shit," she said finally, after a moment of reflection. "If that's your girlfriend, Linnea, she's a raving bitch."

She'd felt bad about the baggie of hair because it clearly meant so much to Linnea, but that girl had just been too naive in some ways, and much too trusting. Jenny had already lost her heart to the blonde, but that didn't mean she was going to be a slut for just anybody.

Unfortunately, it sounded like her paranoia hadn't been misplaced. They'd had a good time thus far, but apparently Linnea had slipped up somehow.

Darryl shouted at her from the bar. "Jenny! Five minutes! Get your pretty little ass out here before these folks tear the place down, d'ya hear?"

Jenny tossed her phone back in her locker, and took a final gulp from her water glass. She hadn't finished her grilled chicken salad, but the call had pretty much killed her appetite. She didn't even know where Linnea lived, really, beyond her area code. That was just the first problem.

Still, the show had to go on... The brunette pulled on her white hat and headed for the arena, her excitement already growing at the thought of the spectators waiting for her.



Pierre Fontaine stared at the phone in his hand. It wasn't the first late-night call he'd received from Edward Richwell, or even that unusual. When you were an attorney for the obscenely rich (if not so famous), it was part of the job. The request was, however, unexpected -- and inconvenient.

"Why now?" he asked himself, setting the handset back on the cradle. He'd been so sure that the Richwells would never relent and reconcile with their wayward daughter, at least as long as Edward was alive.

If Pierre had been a betting man, he'd have gambled that those trusts -- now one trust, after Peter's death -- would sit, gathering dust, until the interested parties were all dead and the funds dispersed to charities. In fact, he had taken that wager and started transferring some of the money to his favorite charity -- himself.

Edward's sudden decision, just communicated, to re-establish Linnea's access to her trust fund put the attorney in an uncomfortable position. He wasn't a fool, and his tracks weren't obvious, but it suddenly was more likely that somebody curious might notice the dollars didn't add up.

Pierre thought again about the call. Edward had sounded... strange. Almost flustered. Perhaps, with a little careful urging, he'd reconsider. Yes, a return call in the morning might do the trick. Feeling better already, he returned to bed.



Xavier Norris stared at the phone in his hand. He hadn't heard from Michael in over a month, and now this. It had sounded like a cry for help, to somebody who could read between the lines.

No recovery program was easy, but the job Mind Controllers Anonymous entrusted to its sponsors was more difficult than most. A drunk could get behind the wheel and do untold damage, but a rogue adept could do far more -- and in a way that might not be discovered until the impact had spread exponentially.

Like anything else, it was impossible to help people who didn't want to be helped, and "convincing" them was morally and ethically indefensible. Nurture, yes; confine, if necessary; coerce, never. Sponsorship wasn't a job for wimps.

With a sigh, Xavier scrolled down his contacts list and made the first call of many. Whatever was going on, waiting never made things better. In addition to trying to make contact with Michael, he needed to get somebody working on tracking down everybody Michael had sponsored and making sure they were okay, too.

It was going to be a pain. Michael had been a popular guy before he'd dropped off the map. Xavier shook his head regretfully. "Hey, Kim, I think we have a problem..."

Chapter 11, In which I become stinking rich

"...and that's why I believe I would be the logical, and best, choice to manage my parents' conservatorship," I concluded the story -- and my presentation. Stacey nodded approvingly, and I fought to keep my hands properly clasped at the small of my back and not gasp at the wave of heat that raced through me.

The three-member panel assembled by the court looked less impressed. "Your contention is that, having used 'mind control' to bring about their present condition, your deep familiarity with the situation for which you are personally responsible makes you uniquely qualified to administer their personal and financial affairs?" Vasily, the grey-haired banker and chairman of the panel, sounded like he was chewing rocks as he spat out the words. I imagined he was upset at the thought of losing control of my parents' fortune.

At least he'd gotten past the whole "mind control" thing. I'd been shocked that Stacey had made me bring it up at all, and they'd been shocked that I'd made such a tasteless joke. Stacey had been forced to demonstrate, which I'd belated realized had been the point.

The sexist bastards had been surprised and embarrassed to find themselves masturbating uncontrollably in front of us -- and each other -- but they'd already forgotten they'd agreed to give us what we wanted. As soon as the meeting was over and they'd cum, they'd forget the mind control stuff, too. I hadn't heard what Stacey had said to the court recorder, but I doubted the transcript really matched what we were saying.

Stacey had gotten so pushy. I might have used "bitchy" or "controlling", but I loved her for who she was, warts and all. Perhaps my love and support had made her less sensitive, and she'd just come a little more out of her shell. Besides, this wasn't about Stacey, or even me. It was about my parents.

"'Present condition' sounds so cold and clinical," I objected. "They need the loving care and stability of a warm family environment." And round-the-clock supervision, I thought, but everybody in the conference room already knew that.

Daddy had always been stubborn, and I think he had as much trouble getting past my relationship with Stacey as he'd had with Michael and Peter. He'd gone ahead and revised my trust, but since he'd also become a compulsive masturbator, some doubters thought he might not have been of sound mind. He certainly wasn't now; all he did was stroke himself, especially if anybody asked him about it or he saw me and Stacey together.

He often had to be restrained to keep from rubbing himself literally raw, and the doctors mumbled under their breath about priapism and tried different medications, so far without effect.

Mom had become rather a free spirit, coming late to the sexual revolution and eager to make up for it. In times of stress, she tended to proposition women -- the younger, the better. Although she'd been banned from all of the local college campuses, we'd been able to keep it out of the papers. The first time Daddy had been restrained, she'd gone downstairs and asked to be driven to the nearest high school. Luckily the driver had called me instead.

"And are you in a position to provide this care?" asked Megan, breaking my train of thought. The lone woman on the panel, she seemed more sympathetic to us, but maybe it was just my imagination.

"Yes, Ma'am," I replied confidently. "I have resigned from my job so I am available to devote all of my time and energy to supporting my parents in their time of need." Whenever Stacey didn't need me for something, of course, but I didn't see a reason to mention it.

"Resigned?" laughed the greasy weasel at the other end of the table. "That wasn't the way I heard it!" He reminded me of my worst clients. I wasn't sure why Daddy had ever retained him as the family attorney, and his cigars clashed horribly with Stacey's candles.

I wanted to walk down to Pierre and smash his face into the table, but it would be unprofessional. "Resigned," I repeated firmly. "I have copies of the relevant documents, if you would care to review them."

A resignation was still a resignation, even if it was under threat of termination for cause. Somehow Alan had talked Candi into filing a formal complaint, which was doubly unfair because Stacey wouldn't let me be with anybody any more. It was depressing to have risen so far and have to throw it all away, but the truth was that it had been getting harder and harder to balance my work and personal life, and it was a relief to be able to concentrate on Stacey.

I'd agreed to resign with a clean record, and give up the severance I didn't really need. They'd agreed to bury the investigation and forego the unwanted publicity that would have come with it. The rumors about Daddy and Mom had added an air of legitimacy to the usual "for personal reasons" excuse.

"That's unnecessary, Pierre," admonished Megan. "Don't be nasty."

"Quite," rumbled Vasily. Looking like he was having teeth pulled without anesthesia, he continued, "I believe, then, we are in agreement. Having found no basis for disqualification, and in light of your position as next-of-kin and confirmed successor trustee, this board is compelled to recommend the court grant your petition for conservatorship. However irregular," he concluded, eyes sliding sideways from me to Megan.

She was, perhaps not coincidentally, the judge who had ruled in our favor on the matter of my father's fitness to amend his arrangements. "I'd like just a few moments to examine some things with you, Linnea," she suggested.

"Of course, Ma'am," I replied, after a quick glance at Stacey. I'd gone through some rough patches before becoming "housebroken", as Stacey put it, and this would be a bad time to have an accident.

The men were already departing, probably to hurry to the restroom and relieve the erections that were tenting their trousers. The recorder's fingers kept tapping irregularly on the steno machine. Stacey rose and began collecting the candles that dotted the room, while Megan walked around the table to examine me more closely.

"That's quite a becoming look, Linnea," she complemented me, and I swelled with pleasure. When we'd met at Daddy's competency hearing, I'd still been wearing diapers, which had limited my wardrobe options. Since I didn't wear much at the apartment, this really was the first chance I'd had to get dressed up in nice clothes since I'd resigned.

The knit dress was my favorite shade of red, the liberated woman's equivalent of a power tie. It was short and tight, precluding any possibility of sitting modestly, but I hadn't planned on sitting much, and I wasn't very modest. The front was cut so low it covered only the sides of my breasts, but that was what the equally red lace bra was there for. Because it was a business meeting, I'd left the ruffles along the top turned up so they covered my nipples, mostly.

I'd learned to keep my hair the way Stacey liked it, and I knew my makeup was perfect, because it was permanent -- except for the lashes, which were reapplied each month. Matching white lilies inset with diamonds adorned my ears, the black choker circling my neck, and the stays of my garters. It was all expensive, but Stacey always reminded me it wasn't fair to get things just for her on our shopping trips.

I'd chosen to continue the lily motif, so a daylily pattern threaded through the expensive silk stockings attached to my garters. I didn't have to walk much, meaning higher heels weren't a problem. I'd literally orgasmed just from the look in Stacey's eyes when I'd presented myself to her that morning.

So I knew I was pretty hot that day. Nevertheless, I was sure Megan was commenting on my bell; the tip hung a little below the hem of the dress if I didn't remember to keep it tugged down, and I'd seen her staring at it during the meeting.

It was silver, in the shape of an elongated flower with the stamen forming the clapper, and exquisitely tuned. A fine chain attached it permanently to the ring resting beneath my clit. It swung gently with every movement I made, generating a pleasing sound. In my more whimsical moments, I imagined it sounded like Stacey whispering, "Mine." It always made me wet to think of it, which meant I was wet all the time now.

The bell alerted Stacey anytime I tried to touch myself. Mom said it was "excessive," the once she'd seen it, but she didn't really understand the depths of Stacey's insecurity and how much my affair with -- that other girl -- had hurt her.

Playing around because Stacey wanted me to was another thing entirely. I wished Megan would bend me over the table and work me, but my experience was that she was an investigator rather than a doer. I settled for pulling up the hem of my dress so I was completely exposed.

Sure enough, she pushed gently at the bell, listening to it ring, and ran a finger up the chain to my clit. I trembled but kept my hands clasped behind me, knowing my poise would please Stacey.

"You're so precious," Megan told me. "Dewdrops and all." I'd been leaking down the chain, and a few droplets of my desire had beaded on the bell like a flower collecting dew in the early morning. Not a single drop of it was urine, at least so far.

I watched Megan nervously. At our last meeting, she'd attached binder clips to my nipples and played with them, seeing how far she could stretch my breasts and watching my expression as she finally pulled hard enough to pop them off. Obviously I'd do anything for Stacey, but I wasn't looking forward to it.

Worse, Megan hadn't looked above my waist since the meeting broke up. As I silently looked on, she slid a binder clip off the file that had been sitting on the table in front of her chair and flexed it experimentally.

"I think we'll need to do a little more research," she decided, slowly licking her lips. I cringed inside but maintained my poise as she reached towards my bare crotch and defenseless clitoris. I ruthlessly crushed the urge to pull away, even without a warning twinge from my bladder.

Stacey finished blowing out the last of the candles, momentarily enveloping us in dissipating smoke. "I'm afraid Linnea and I have other engagements," she remarked regretfully. "I hope you can continue your investigation on your own, for the time being."

"Such a shame," the judge commented, holding her hand in place. "Other people have been doing interesting research, too. I was hoping to have time to share some of it with you." Her tone of voice was suggestive.

"Really?" Stacey looked up from the dazed-looking court recorder, and walked over to join us. "Perhaps we can spare a little more time to discuss research, after all." She aimed a stern look at me, and then stared at the older woman.

Megan's lips parted slightly and she leaned forward to study me more closely as her hand resumed its forward motion. She suddenly sighed with satisfaction and relaxed, but the burst of pain I'd braced myself for didn't come.

I looked down and saw the clip was attached to the ring piercing the hood of my clit. Astonished, I looked up at Stacey, who gave me a slow wink. My heart threatened to burst; I should have trusted her to look out for me!

"Exquisite," said the judge. "I really don't understand how you do it, Stacey." She brushed the clip with her finger, watching it wobble, and glanced at my face. "She's so stoic." Megan looked a little disappointed.

"Practice," Stacey said shortly. "Now, about that other matter?"

"They've been asking about your friend, Michael. A warrant to search his apartment for 'contraband' crossed my desk this morning."

"Is he okay?" I asked before I could think. I hadn't seen him for weeks. Stacey shot me an annoyed look and the weight of her displeasure squeezed a tiny burst of piss from me.

"Which apartment?" Stacey asked, which seemed weird since we had only the one, and Michael had lived there for years; we were the relative newcomers.

"The one on Fourth," replied Megan, and both of them smiled.

I couldn't stay silent, not if it involved Michael. "That's crazy!" I objected. "He doesn't live over on Fourth; he lives with us, on Fourth." It didn't sound right. "8310 Fourth Avenue." I added the clarification firmly, but felt suddenly uncertain. I'd lived with Michael for years and knew our address like I knew my name -- and it was... 8310 Fourth Avenue?

Stacey smiled at me, clearly amused. "Good; I expect we'll be out of the place on Washington before they realize their mistake. And it's in his name only, anyway; right, Linnea?"

I nodded, feeling a glow of accomplishment at my contribution. "That's it, Fourth; I feel so stupid! Yeah, Michael never changed the lease after Peter died. He is okay, isn't he?"

"He's fine, Linnea," Stacey answered, looking and sounding bored. "He went back to his buddies in the program, and they probably put him in rehab." She redirected the conversation to Megan. "Anything else?"

There was a faint tugging, and I realized the judge was pulling on the binder clip. She'd also produced a straight pin from somewhere. "Just one more probe?" she asked hungrily.

"Oh, be quick. We have a lot to do today."

I watched nervously as Megan unconsciously bit on her tongue and pulled a little more on the clip. Her hand whipped in, stabbing the pin deeply into one of her fingers holding the clip rather than me. "Oh, yes," she cried, "look how beautifully she moves!"

Megan twisted the pin in her finger and pulled harder on the clip, staring at me with undisguised lust. I leaned back slightly, bracing myself, and the clip eventually slid off the ring and snapped free.

Stacey silently opened her mouth, and I finally got the hint. "Ooooooo," I moaned in my best slut voice. "Oh, my clitty!" I still couldn't figure out if I was supposed to be aroused or in pain or what, but apparently it was enough.

"Linnea, I could just eat you up," Megan panted, devouring me with her eyes. I was increasingly less certain that she was seeing the real me standing there. "You have to let me see you again, alone."

Had she forgotten Stacey was standing right there? I looked at my lover, trying to understand what she wanted me to do. "I'm really busy," I prevaricated, "but you make me hot, too. Let me call you?"

"Don't make me wait too long, or I'll find you in contempt," she husked, pulling the pin free. She was trying for sultry, but all I got was "scary."

I made a beeline for the coat rack before something else could happen.

"Very nicely done," Stacey told me as I was helping her into her fur. My legs almost buckled. Creaming myself like crazy, I hurried to put on my own leather coat and follow her.

"We're moving?" I asked while we waited for the elevator.

"Of course, silly! We'll live with your parents; how else will we look after them?"

Apparently Megan had shaken me more than I'd realized -- I'd completely forgotten the point of the hearing! "Oh, Stacey, I love you so much," I told her, my heart swelling. "Thank you from the bottom of my heart for helping; I know you don't have to."

"It's my pleasure, really," she said, smiling back at me.

The driver had just handed us into the car when I had another thought. "You wouldn't really make me see Megan again, would you?"

Stacey barked out a laugh. "Her? No, I'll find her somebody else." She paused a beat and added, "At least as long as you still love me!"

I was pretty sure she meant it as a joke, but I was stung at the thought she could ever doubt my love for her. Luckily, I knew just how to prove it. I slid off the seat and worked my way around between Stacey's legs; she smiled at me and exposed herself.

My tongue darted out to taste her. If I did a good enough job, she might let me cum, too. In the meantime, there was no place in the world I would rather have been.



Falling Ch. 12



Chapter 12, In which we move up in the world 

It was difficult getting used to living on three whole floors instead of a single apartment. There was so much more to take care of! At least I had my own room again, even if it was rather cramped -- it just made sense to use the old servant's quarters because they were so conveniently located.

I hurried downstairs, my mind swirling with lists to organize and tasks to accomplish. It was obvious I needed more help; it was just too much to take on by myself. There weren't enough hours in the day! The stress was getting to me, and I wasn't sleeping well most nights.

Daddy had seemed worse, today. He'd gone into a paroxysm of masturbation at the sight of me, although I couldn't imagine why. Nothing about me had changed; I wasn't even naked.

The snow-white crinolines and lace "apron" served primarily to highlight the elaborate cutwork of my very short black lace dress, and a stiffly boned black leather bustier held everything in place and presented my breasts to their best advantage. The lace on top came barely high enough to conceal my nipples and tease them with every movement; the crinolines peeked out beneath my hem and were just long enough to keep me decent while standing, without obstructing access to anything.

I would have been just as happy to stay naked, but it amused Stacey for some reason, and that was good enough for me. The only downside was that I had to budget over an hour each morning just to get dressed. In all honesty, it probably was due more to the long black-lacquered nails adorning my fingers than the clothing; I was still getting used to them.

My bell jingled lightly in time with the click of my stilettos on the floor. Maybe Daddy didn't like the hose? I'd forgone a pattern in favor of a smoky grey that I thought Stacey would find attractive. Well, that and I'd ruined the patterned pair with an ill-considered grip.

Mom was more civil. A quick glance, a dismissive "I'm sorry, dear, but you're too old for me," and she had turned back to her Internet porn. I wanted to stay and talk, try and get her to socialize more, but I was late already.

Luckily for me, so was our applicant. I was able to greet her at the entry lobby after she'd been waiting less than a minute.

"Good morning," she chirped, clearly nervous. "I'm Irene Calzetta. I have an appointment with Ms. Richwell regarding her executive assistant position." She was thin, with breasts that looked a little large on her body, and curly hair about the same color mine had been. Her makeup was a little much for this early in the day, although I thought it was becoming and knew Stacey would like it, too. I bet myself she was wearing the only suit she owned. Somebody should have told her to remove the piercing in her eyebrow. Another college student looking to jump-start her climb to the top, I imagined.

I didn't bother explaining that I was Linnea Richwell, since it just confused them when Stacey did most of the talking. "Good morning, Irene. May I take your coat?" She accepted, like they all did. "If you'll wait here, I'll announce you."

Once in the cloakroom, it didn't take a moment to hang the coat and find a few hairs. Curling them carefully in my hand, I paced quickly down the hall to Daddy's -- no, Stacey's -- office and let myself in without knocking.

"I masturbated in the shower again, and our ten o'clock is here," I addressed Stacey, ignoring the girl who was kneeling in front of her. Miriam had appeared unexpectedly last week, apparently the result of a chance meeting. Both of them were naked and the room smelled of desire; Stacey wriggled contentedly as the girl's tongue stud stroked her clit, but eyed me with a trace of annoyance.

I missed being in that position, but I knew that Stacey still loved me, and it was important for me to have time to do all the other things nobody else could. It just made sense for me to take care of Daddy and Mommy, and handle the deliveries, and do the cleaning and laundry, and make our meals.

Stacey was such a trooper to help out with the... My thoughts hit a rough patch. Well, she helped out a lot, and was making an effort to master management of our finances, although she seemed to be fixated more on the balance of the money market account and the credit limits on our cards than rate of return or expected cash flows from our portfolio.

"Oh, Linnea," sighed Stacey, "what am I going to do with you? Why can't you be a good girl, like Miriam?" She sighed again, this time with pleasure, at Miriam's continued attentions.

"I can't help myself," I said remorsefully. "I miss you." She'd tried over and over to help me, but nothing seemed to do the trick. The decorative bell hanging from the ring behind my clit had been effective in the old apartment, but my parents' place was just too big. The reflexive jets of piss when I disobeyed or disappointed her had worked for a while, but I'd grown accustomed to them.

Once again, I'd found myself standing in the shower, doing myself and cumming like a total slut. The urine and warm water had run down my bare legs unnoticed while I energetically fingered my tits and ass and felt a yearning for something I couldn't quantify. I thought -- hoped -- it was Stacey.

That brought me back to the problem of finding some additional helping hands so we'd have more time for each other. I knew Stacey was pleased with Miriam, but there were aspects of life that couldn't be solved with a tongue stud, and we couldn't just wait around, hoping we'd run into somebody suitable.

Stacey had sounded dismissive but agreeable when I'd suggested a job posting. With the economy the way it was, we'd been deluged with applications. Naturally I'd had to read them all myself.

She apparently chose to accept my not-quite-apology -- or Miriam was distracting her. "What -- aaaaah -- do you think about this one?" Stacey asked.

"She seems like a good prospect," I offered, belatedly handing over the hairs. "I think she might clean up quite nicely." I hadn't had time to re-read it and couldn't remember the details of Irene's resume, but nobody made it to an interview if they were an idiot or unsuitable. The point of the interview was to do the weeding that we couldn't do otherwise -- no unattractive women, no men, and no high-profile candidates.

It was all very sexist and politically incorrect, and illegal to boot. I'd tried to speak up once early on, in defense of a rather homely girl, but arguments with Stacey always ended with me peeing myself and capitulating. Besides, as she'd lost no time in pointing out, it was exactly what the men did when they thought they could get away with it. I'd had to settle for hoping one of these attractive young girls had a brain in her head. Unlike Miriam.

Stacey pushed Miriam away for a moment so she could swab the curled hairs in her sex and then deposit them in the large candle burning on the desktop. I never tired of watching the process that had brought me to my true love.

Miriam returned to her oral worship. "Show her in, then," Stacey ordered.

I nodded and made my way back to the waiting room. "Ms. Richwell will see you now," I announced to Irene upon my entrance.

She jumped to her feet, a bundle of nerves, and I watched her eyes widen as she really saw me for the first time. "Does everybody dress like that, Ms...?"

I realized I'd forgotten to introduce myself, and the poor girl looked confused enough already. I remembered my first interview; I'd been a wreck too. "Miss Lily," I said, thinking of my bell. "And the dress code is quite casual."

Irene's mouth opened, but no words emerged.

"Can I get you anything, Irene?" She closed her mouth and shook her head. "Well then, if you'll follow me?" I jingled down the hall, the muted sounds of Irene's boots a pleasing counterpoint, and watched her out of the corner of my eye.

We'd just arrived at the office door when she reached out to touch my arm, pulling back her hand afterwards as if I'd been a live wire. "Please, Lily, can you tell me anything that will help me with this interview?"

I turned to face her and raised an eyebrow in wordless inquiry.

"I mean, I don't want you to do anything wrong! But the Richwell Trust is rather diversified, and Ms. Richwell also is caring for her parents. The posting didn't say much more concrete than 'assistant'. Should I focus mostly on the business side of things, or the personal?"

"An excellent question," I responded, meaning it. "You should ask Ms. Richwell, but for myself, I would emphasize the personal aspects -- after all, we're people first, aren't we?"

"Thanks, Lily!" she told me, sounding sincere. "Pull yourself together Irene; you need this," she whispered to herself, and then squared her shoulders.

I pretended not to hear her, and led her into the smoky office. "Ms. Richwell, this is Irene Calzetta. Miss Calzetta, Linnea Richwell. Is there anything I can get either of you?"

Stacey looked up from her overstuffed loveseat. Miriam was engaged in applying lotion to Stacey's thighs, a process that seemed to involve equal amounts of licking and massaging. "Thank you, --"

"Lily," I interjected, winking at her.

"Lily," continued Stacey, wearing a sly smile. "Can you help Irene with her coat?"

The girl started in surprise. "I'm sorry; I forgot I still had it on," she apologized, rapidly unfastening the buttons on her blouse. I accepted the blouse and suit jacket from her, and put them on hangers so they'd stay neat.

Now clad only in a pair of those ubiquitous stretchy low-rise slacks and her Victoria's Secret bra, Irene settled into the guest chair facing Stacey. Miriam, having taken a good look at our guest, turned back to her work.

Stacey wriggled upright enough that she didn't have to crane her head to watch Irene. "Well, Irene, tell me about yourself."

"Certainly, Ms. Richwell."

"Oh please, call me Linnea," Stacey smiled, and I stifled a giggle at the joke.

"If you insist -- Linnea," the girl acquiesced. "Well, I have my Bachelor's in psychology, and I've started on my Master's degree. I have a minor in Business Administration, and I was an intern at Koslov and Associates the last two summers. I think my experience and education would make me an excellent choice for your executive assistant."

"Very impressive," Stacey commented, looking at me.

"Why?" I mouthed silently over Irene's shoulder.

"Why?" Stacey parroted, looking blank.

"Excuse me?" asked a confused Irene.

My bell jingled softly as I repressed the urge to stamp my foot in frustration.

"I think Lily has a few questions," Stacey prompted. I sensed she was losing interest in the process, because she pulled Miriam's hands up to her breasts and sighed as the intimate massage resumed.

Irene looked around like she'd forgotten I existed, and I walked over to stand beside the sofa in front of her.

"I believe what Linnea meant to ask was, 'why are you not concentrating full-time on your studies?'"

The young blonde sighed. "I wish; it's just too expensive. It isn't worth being in student loan debt for the rest of my life." She smiled hopefully. "Ideally, I can find a job with flexible hours that will allow me to pursue my studies at the same time."

I nodded sympathetically. "Doesn't Koslov have an education reimbursement program?"

"Only for full-time employees. I wasn't making enough as an intern to pay for it myself, and they aren't hiring until business picks up."

"Couldn't you fuck somebody for it?" Stacey asked bluntly.

"What?" gasped Irene, looking scandalized. She blinked rapidly, and for a moment it appeared she was looking at Miriam.

"Sta -- I mean, oh shit!" I yelped. I caught myself too late; trickles of golden warmth marred the insides of my thighs. Wonderful, I thought; now none of us looked very professional. At least I had diverted Irene's attention away from Stacey. "And what did you do at Koslov?"

Irene hesitated for a moment and deflated. "Busywork, mostly. Oh, I could give you a song and dance about corporate synergy and leveraging human capital, but anybody with basic English literacy could have done it. I learned a lot about how a business actually operates, though."

It all sounded regrettably familiar to me. "And you have a psychology degree? Is that where you're doing your graduate work?"

"Yes, it is," Irene confirmed. Ducking her head, she added, "My concentration is in Human Sexuality."

I looked at her more closely.

Stacey pushed Miriam away from her and sat up, obviously curious. "Really?" Stacey asked. "What made you interested in that? And why don't you undress while you tell us?"

"Well," Irene temporized while she unfastened her bra, "it's just something I've always been interested in." Her breasts were large enough that they sagged slightly without support, looking out of place on her slight frame.

"Are those tits real?" asked Stacey, evidently following my train of thought, if not my sense of decorum.

"Of course," replied Irene, who this time looked only vaguely affronted -- mostly, I thought, by the insinuation. "I think I got them from my mother's side of the family." She leaned forward to pull off her short boots, giving us a view of how her tits hung from her chest, and then stood up to unzip her slacks.

"Anyway, sex seems like such a basic part of the human psyche, I felt it was worth making the effort to understand more about it." The coed shimmied the slacks down her legs and stepped out of them. "To try and learn what makes us tick, so to speak."

Belatedly I realized she was waiting for me and collected her garments. All that remained was a lace thong matching her bra. She had a cute little butt, I thought, inspecting her while I hung up the slacks.

Stacey leaned forward. "And what makes you tick, Irene? What untold secrets do you have inside of you?"

Irene hesitated, which was impressive in its own way. Stacey was such a smooth operator that most people didn't even realize she was stretching their boundaries. "I'm into anal," she confided in a barely-audible whisper.

I flashed on a memory of all my times with Michael, and how much I'd come to enjoy feeling him sodomize me. I watched Irene pull on her thong, sawing the fabric between her folds before pushing it down her legs, and wished I had an excuse to touch myself. The unworthy thought caused me to leak another small squirt of urine.

"That's it? You're just into anal?" Stacey asked intently. Luckily for me, she was so focused on the girl that she hadn't noticed what I'd done; I'd have to bring it to her attention later, but not in the middle of an interview.

"I mean really into anal." Irene sank back into her chair and pulled up her knees against her breasts, rocking slightly from side to side. "More than anybody else I know, and I've talked to a lot of people. I look at people's butts all the time; the sight of a thong sliding into somebody's crack gets me creaming. Nothing makes me hot like the feel of something stretching out my asshole." Her voice grew slightly louder, a byproduct of her obvious enthusiasm. "There's something so dirty, so nasty about it, it always gets me off."

I was getting hot just listening to her, and I noticed her nipples were erect.

Irene wasn't finished sharing. "I think there's something wrong with me. I've tried lots of things and lots of ways, but I can't orgasm unless somebody else -- a cock, tongue, or finger -- is penetrating my ass. I'm a freak."

A wave of sympathy suffused me, but Stacey stifled a laugh. "Have you ever met a black guy named Nathan?" She quickly composed her expression. "Never mind; you wouldn't remember."

Stacey abruptly stood up. "I think you'd be a fine match for us, Irene. The job is yours, if you want it."

Irene leaped to her feet, hands clasped in joy. "Yes!" she shouted, and then more sedately, "Oh, yes, I accept! Thank you so much, Linnea -- you won't regret it!"

I was a little nonplussed by the decision. It wasn't that I wouldn't have hired Irene, but that Stacey hadn't asked me before doing it. We were supposed to be helping each other out, but she was acting like she was in charge! First this Miriam girl out of nowhere, and now Irene before we'd done even half of the interviews I'd scheduled!

My gaze settled on Miriam, who remained curled on the floor; she was fingering herself languidly, her face still shining with Stacey's dew. She seemed to think I was running a bed and breakfast, and now it appeared I had somebody new to break in, too. I felt like things were getting worse instead of better.

God knew I loved her before all else, but I was going to have to have a heart-to-heart with Stacey before this got even more out of hand. She was a great lover, and a great hair stylist, but she didn't know crap about running a business. How many more freeloaders would we end up with?

"Just one formality to take care of," Stacey continued. "A quick drug test to make sure you're clean -- you are, aren't you?"

Irene nodded earnestly. "Sure. Where do I go?"

Stacey walked over to her. "Right here!" She plucked a strand of hair from the surprised girl's head and examined it in the dim light. "Now, Irene, you'll be working very closely with Lily." I jumped as she yanked a hair from me, too. "Very closely. She's a critical part of my team, and the workload really has gotten to the point where she can't handle it by herself."

I began to sense where Stacey was headed, and watched with rising anticipation as she spun our hairs together into a single strand and wound it about her finger.

"I'm sure I'll enjoy working with Lily," Irene told us, still beaming.

Stacey smiled knowingly. "I'm sure you will. Did I mention she really likes anal, too? She's not supposed to touch herself, but I don't have time to supervise her as much as I should; that will be one of your responsibilities. Lily will show you to your new office and take care of any other needs you might have."

The beginnings of a frown appeared on my face. It sounded like Stacey thought I was going to be Irene's assistant, instead of the other way around. That seemed... not right?

"She's very talented with her tongue, by the way," Stacey commented as she moistened the coil in her sex. She deposited it carefully atop the flame flickering on the large desktop candle, and I blinked back a brief wave of dizziness.

She handed the candle to Irene. "This is for your desk. That's all, then. Go settle in!" Wearing as wide a smile as I'd seen in some time, she returned to the sofa and pulled Miriam's face roughly into her crotch.

A little nonplussed for some reason, I collected Irene's clothing and led her out of the office and down the hall, mostly on autopilot.

"Oh my God, Lily, that went so much better than I expected!" Irene erupted once the door was closed behind us. "I just wanted a job, any job. I'm, like, Linnea Richwell's executive frikkin' assistant, can you believe it? I even have somebody working for me!"

There was a pause, and I could feel Irene's eyes on me. "What are you, anyway, Lily? My secretary or something? You dress like a maid in some guy's wet dream."

My mouth worked several times, but the reflexive answers stuck in my throat. "I'm not a maid; I'm a slut," I finally replied. "Everybody says so." I felt hazy on the details, but I knew it was true.

We pulled up in front of Da--Mr. Richwell's library. It had been converted into an office for... My thoughts petered out again. Linnea had the old office, and nobody else needed one -- of course, this was for Irene. "This is yours," I told her, leading her in.

Irene put the candle on the desk and looked around while I tried to decide what to do with her clothing. I'd have to check with -- Linnea -- to find out if she should have a bedroom. Finally I settled for draping the clothes over a chair; the blouse went slithering to the floor and I bent to retrieve it.




Falling Ch. 12



"You look cold," Irene told me.

I realized she'd been looking at my butt, exposed beneath the crinolines and dress. The thought made me wet. Well, wetter, anyway. "You should talk," I teased back, hoping I'd read the humor in her voice correctly.

She ran her hands quickly down her body and looked a little concerned. "I do feel a little underdressed," she admitted. "I hate to ask, but do you have some mascara and eyeliner I could borrow?"

"Sure," I said, feeling breathless. I felt good being able to help out, and she'd look even hotter with a little more definition around her eyes. "Do you want me to just bring them here?"

"How about I just come with you?" Irene decided. "I'd like to see a little more, and I want to know where to find you."

I gave her the nickel tour; actually, it was the Richwell place, so it was more like the $5000 tour. Irene asked a lot of questions, but she always seemed to be looking at my ass; I put an extra sway into my step and put a lot more English into opening the doors than was needed.

"This is Mr. Richwell's suite," I told Irene, before opening one of the double doors. "It's very important he remain restrained at all times." I led her in. "Good morning, Mr. Richwell. I wanted to introduce Irene Calzetta; she's Linnea's new executive assistant. Irene, this is Mr. Richwell."

"Goddamn it, Linnea!" he raved. "What crap is this? How dare you profane my house with another of your sluttish, gold-digging 'friends'?" His hand strained for his beet-red erection, but was brought up short by the Velcro wristband.

"Oh, Daddy," I sighed without thinking. A sudden hard spank on my ass made me jump.

"Lily!" Irene looked appalled. "Show Mr. Richwell some respect!" She looked apologetically at the man in the bed. "I'm very sorry for Lily's behavior, sir. We won't disturb you any longer."

A firm hand steered me back out the door, but not before I saw Mr. Richwell's cock squirt onto his stomach. "I'm sorry, Irene," I said. "I wasn't thinking -- I don't know why I said that."

"It's okay," she replied. "He probably won't remember us in 5 minutes, anyway. But don't let yourself forget who he is or why he deserves our respect. None of this would be here if not for him."

"You're right," I admitted, feeling chastised. I tried to imagine what running everything single-handed would have been like, but failed. "Can you imagine?" I asked sheepishly. "It's taken three of us to replace him."

"Don't get too full of yourself, Lily," Irene admonished me, but she was smiling. "I'm sure the Richwells had maids before you."

"Sluts," I corrected her automatically. I tried to feel affronted, but couldn't really argue the point. I settled for heading more directly for my room.

"You live here?" Irene asked, sounding surprised. She looked at the bed and small desk, which was covered with papers. Clothing overflowed the small closet and dresser, and it would have been worse without the laundry downstairs.

"Of course," I replied, trying to straighten a few things. I hadn't expected a visitor. "You could ask Linnea for a room, too, if you wanted one."

Irene was picking up resumes, portfolio reports, and medical bills. "That might be nice," she said absently. "Is the rent much?"

I was embarrassed to say, "I don't know. I guess it's included." I couldn't even remember the number on my last paycheck.

"Oh, you poor girl," Irene laughed, not unkindly. "No wonder Linnea was so desperate for help! Running something this size isn't something you learn in consumer math. You almost had me fooled in the interview, but Linnea thought up those questions you asked, didn't she?"

"I -- yes," I admitted. She must have.

"Well, just run all these down to my office when you get a chance and I'll start sorting them out. I'll make sure there's nothing too embarrassing before discussing them with Linnea."

I'd somehow thought of myself as important and indispensable, but Irene's absent questioning had pierced my bubble of self-delusion. It was right that I was only Irene's assistant; I was lucky Linnea hadn't decided just to fire me! I choked back a sob as I wet myself.

"Lily! Did you just pee on the floor?!"

Blushing and looking at the floor, I nodded. Was it possible for me to screw up even more?

"God, you're a kinky slut," she commented. Her voice didn't hold the condemnation I'd expected. "Well, tell me where you keep your cosmetics and then go clean up."

I realized her good opinion was critical if I didn't want to lose my job. "In the top drawer of the dresser," I said, and then knelt to start licking. There really wasn't that much there.

Irene's brows rose, but she didn't comment. After watching a moment, she turned away and moved to the dresser. "What is this?" she asked me after rummaging inside. She held up a large black dildo. "Not mascara, I think," she smirked.

"It's not mine," I protested without thinking. "It belonged to a friend. Linnea" -- I stumbled on the name -- "doesn't let me masturbate."

"So I recall," Irene said, examining it closely. She sniffed, and then tasted the tip of it. "She said you liked your ass filled, too, didn't she?"

I think the heat in the room went up about ten degrees in half as many seconds. It was impossible to miss the signs of Irene's arousal; her nipples stood out and her lips glistened. I was just as excited.

"You've had this in your ass, haven't you, Lily?" she said, approaching me with feigned casualness.

"Maybe," I whispered. I honestly couldn't remember. Did I know a Michael?

Irene laughed again, misunderstanding me. "You don't have to lie to me. As long as I'm holding it, it isn't masturbation, is it?"

I felt the tip of it trace a path along my bun to the crack of my ass, and arched my back, extending my butt as high as I could. "Please," I gasped, on fire. I couldn't remember the last time I'd cum, but it felt like a lifetime ago.

She probed further, teasing my anus but holding the dildo so loosely I couldn't push it into my needy back door. "Your ass is so hot," Irene sighed breathlessly. A hand flipped up the hem of my dress, completely exposing me, and Irene landed a few lazy lashes with the length of the dildo, making my bell jingle and my pussy drip.

For my part, I moaned and closed my eyes, straining to offer myself to her more fully.

Her hand caressed my sensitized skin, and then dipped between my legs to probe briefly within my swollen folds. The fingers slowly retreated, tracing cool trails on my heated flesh. I dry-humped the air, helpless to control myself.

"Needy little Lily-slut," Irene teased. "Your sweet rosebud is just aching to suck this bad boy in, isn't it?" The dildo was back, pushing ever so slowly into me, but her hand was there to keep me from thrusting myself onto it.

I rested my head on the floor and panted. It wasn't just the physical stimulation, although that was damn good -- Irene clearly knew her way around an ass. It was her running commentary and the manner in which she simultaneously admired and teased my burning body.

She twisted the intruder within me, angling it from side to side, filling and stretching me deliciously. "What a greedy hole you have, Lily," Irene husked. I could smell her arousal beside me. "You look so perfect; you were made to take cocks, to swallow them in your hot ass. Big cocks, forcing themselves into your tight butt. Oh God, it's so much better than your pussy, thrusting in your ass, your dirty ass, fucking your ass!"

Irene's hand was trembling violently, which only made her reaming feel even better. I would have fallen over, but the only thing not on the floor was my skewered rear end. Creaming and gasping for air, I teetered on the edge of a gigantic orgasm.

"Jenny," thought my traitor mind, and I lost it completely.

Feeling me go, Irene stepped up her assault and began pistoning the dildo fiercely into me, so aggressively I thought her fist might leave bruises on the bottom of each stroke. She was panting raggedly and mumbling, but the only word I could make out was "ass" -- which she used repeatedly.

I could have wallowed that way for much longer, but Irene unexpectedly released her grip and I did fall over, with the dildo still buried inside my rectum. I looked up at her and saw she was crazy turned-on.

Her naked body was covered with a light sheen of perspiration; her face was flushed and the color extended well down to her breasts. The nipples capping them extended rigidly and she was so wet between her legs an onlooker would have been forgiven for thinking she, not I, had peed herself.

Those oversized globes mesmerized me, but Irene had other ideas. "I need you, Lily," she panted. "God, how I need you." She pushed urgently at me until I rolled the rest of the way onto my back, and then swung a leg over so she was crouched atop me.

"Rim me," she ordered. "Work that slut tongue up my ass. Hurry!"

I remembered what she'd shared. I wasn't supposed to masturbate; she couldn't. Well, not and get off on it, anyway. Of course I would have helped, even if my continued employment hadn't depended on brown-nosing my boss. The thought prompted a giggle I couldn't stifle.

"Lily!" Irene impatiently hissed, and ground herself against my face.

She was such an easy lay. I'd barely gotten the tip of my tongue into her before she exploded like a bomb. "Don't stop!" she screamed, loud enough I could have heard her from down the hall.

I started sawing my tongue in and out of her pulsing back door, to Irene's evident delight. In a way, it really was the same as eating out -- Linnea -- and I'd been able to do that for hours. I wasn't getting as much out of it as she was, but doing such a good job of servicing her was turning me on again.

Greatly daring, I surreptitiously reached for my throbbing clit. I was disappointed, but not surprised, when Irene redirected it and pinned my hand beneath her leg. That just intensified my delight when she began to caress the rings around my clit. I bucked underneath Irene and started sucking and blowing, repaying her attentions.

When Irene finally stood up, I figured the honors had been about even. "We'll be doing more of that," she told me with a big smile of approval. "I can see you'll be an excellent assistant, Lily."

"Thank you, Irene," I responded while climbing to my feet. "I think I'm going to love working under you, too." I winked and she laughed. She just seemed less tightly wound than Linnea.

"Oh, no!" she scolded when I started to remove the dildo from my butt. "Leave that alone; here." Irene pulled me in front of the full-length mirror on the wall and brushed at my dress until it was straightened, and then pulled gingerly on the black cock until it was about half out and the end protruded slightly from my crinolines. "That'll do, for now. Your ass looks so good with something in it."

"Okay," I said, wondering how long she'd expect me to keep it in. Oh well; she was the boss. "Anything else?"

"Well, no masturbating, of course. And perhaps you should ask Linnea about a room for me, and access to the expense account. We'll need a few changes." She stopped me before I could take the first step. "No, on second thought, I'll speak to her myself after I get fixed up. Have lunch ready in my office at noon -- something light; maybe a half sandwich and some vegetable soup."

Luckily she hadn't asked for anything weird. I answered, "Sure," sounding upbeat and positive. "For two?" Irene nodded and turned back to the cosmetics; I started for the kitchen in a good mood. It was early still, but I thought I was going to enjoy being Irene's assistant; I'd have to thank Linnea the next time I saw her.



Falling Ch. 13



Chapter 13, In which we have callers

The numbers didn't make sense. True, I was just the house slut and I was more than a little distracted at the time, but somehow I just knew the monthly outlays were more than double what they should have been.

"Am I boring you?" Irene asked. "I could get the hook."

My bladder clenched at the faint disapproval in her voice and I wet myself. It didn't happen very often, but it wasn't so unusual that it was worthy of mention. I'd just clean up when she was finished with me.

At the moment, I was bent over my boss's desk, unaccountably fixated on some of the paperwork on it, with my black dress and white crinolines pushed up to reveal my butt. Irene crouched at my side, breathing heavily, while she slowly tugged on the string until another bead emerged from my back door.

It might have seemed strange to anybody who didn't know us very well, but as Linnea was fond of saying, we were a match made in heaven. I was a slut, so I could get off on nearly anything, but I found anal sex especially arousing. Irene, on the other hand, couldn't get herself off except by doing anal -- with somebody else.

She liked to get herself warmed up by doing something with my ass, and then I'd finish her off, usually with my tongue. We were just about at the point where we'd switch, but something had thrown me off and Irene knew it. "Maybe you just need to keep these a while longer," she mused.

I could feel the warmth of her breath on my cheeks as she deftly poked the beads, one by one, back into my rectum. This set was constructed like Ben Wah balls, so I knew I'd have a good time. I wasn't allowed to masturbate, but Irene -- unlike Linnea -- didn't mind if I managed to orgasm when I wasn't between her legs.

Shaking my head at the odd turn of thought, we traded places. Linnea Richwell was way beyond hot and the thought of servicing her was enough to make me drip, but she was totally out of my league. She was Irene's boss, and also the sole trustee of the Richwell family trust, which was saying quite a lot. It wasn't like Linnea didn't know who I was -- the staff wasn't that large -- but she could have anybody she wanted; I was barely on her radar.

I was glad I worked for Irene. She was big on discipline and etiquette, but there wasn't a mean bone in her body. I slowly pushed her designer skirt up to her hips and buried my face between her cheeks. Yum, I thought, wetting my tongue in her moist pussy before concentrating on her wonderful rosebud.

Suddenly Irene was pushing me away; I sat back on my heels and followed her gaze to the office doorway.

"Oh, geez, I'm really sorry, Irene, but..." Cammy, the new girl, looked more than a little flustered. I think she'd been hired on as an intern or something, but "intelligence" or "decisiveness" weren't words that came to mind when I thought of her. Unlike, say, "juicy" or "delectable."

"What's wrong, Cam?" asked Irene, as she brushed her skirt down and turned so she could sit on the desk. It was one of the things I liked about Irene; she was always so considerate and professional.

"There are people here," Cammy said, twisting the end of a jet-black pigtail around one finger. From where I knelt, her slick cunny was easily visible below the ultra-short black and navy plaid skirt. She was clean-shaven, like the rest of us, but had on black knee socks instead of stockings and garters like Irene and myself. Her thin black blouse had only a single button fastened, about in line with her navel.

It would have been easy to mistake her for just another Catholic schoolgirl, except for the size of the breasts spilling out of her top and the super-refined makeup on her face. Young girls always went with too much color; only after you'd been around for a while did you realize that unrelieved black, and plenty of it, was the ultimate in sexy looks.

Well, okay; I did wear candy-red lipstick, because it went so well with my platinum blonde hair, but the heavy mascara and eyeliner was de rigueur. Even an airhead like Cammy had figured that out.

"What people?" asked Irene, bringing me back to the moment. "What did they want?"

"I don't know," Cammy whined. "They just wanted to talk to Ms. Richwell, and they won't leave." She meant Linnea; although Linnea's parents also were in residence, nobody came to see them except doctors -- especially psychologists. But we knew them all on sight.

Irene snorted. "Fat chance of that happening." Linnea was so busy nobody got on her schedule without a lot of advance notice; it was why she had an executive assistant. Except the executive assistant wasn't exactly a shiftless idler, either. "I've got to review the budget with her now, too," she reminded us, although I knew her schedule already. "Can you deal with this, Lily?" she asked me.

"Absolutely, Irene," I immediately responded. The warm glow of arousal within me ticked higher, fanned by my instant obedience. "I'll run them off if they're solicitors, and get something on your calendar for later if it seems appropriate. Okay?"

"Fantastic, as always," she approved, patting me gently on the head. "Cam, I want you to go with Lily. Watch what she does, so you can handle this by yourself next time."

"You are so hot, Lily," Cammy told me as we walked down to the entry foyer. "I don't know anybody with a bell like that." The bell in question hung from a ring just behind my clit. Shaped like a lily, it chimed in pleasing counterpoint to the clicks of our stilettos on the hardwood floor.

"Thanks," I said, a little uncomfortable with being the object of such adoration. "You're pretty hot, too."

"Aren't I?" she preened. Lowering her voice a tad, Cammy confided, "Linnea thinks I should get my tongue pierced, like Miriam."

"Wow," I responded, a bit breathlessly. "That's a big step up, for an intern." I envied her a bit for attracting Linnea's notice; the thought she could do something to herself for Linnea made me gooey inside.

Cammy's voice got even quieter. "Yeah. I'm a little nervous about it; I never did girls before I started here, you know?"

"Don't worry about it," I reassured her. "Sometimes it just takes a while to figure out what's right for you."

"But I want to be good," she protested. "Can you give me some tips? Everybody says you're like this major slut."

I sighed, feeling perversely pleased, even if it was clear Linnea didn't share that opinion. "I'd think Miriam would be a better person to ask."

"She's lazy," Cammy whispered, looking about for eavesdroppers. "She licks for hours, and sometimes I think Linnea forgets she's there!" A little more loudly, she continued, "Irene is always talking about what a great assistant you are, and everybody can hear it when you're doing her! And you don't even have a stud. I want to be like that."

I felt guilty for thinking such mean things about her, earlier. Anybody who shared my opinion of Miriam couldn't be all bad, and I liked to see new people with drive who wanted to improve themselves and get ahead. "I don't know what I can do, Cammy, but I'll help out. Maybe we can talk to Irene about it."

"You're the best!" she squealed, and then pounced on me for a big wet kiss. Her tongue was aggressive and her lips tasted of licorice; I couldn't resist sliding my hand into her opened blouse and copping a feel of her tit. Unlike her, I had the discipline to break contact right away; Irene expected me to take care of our visitors, not screw around with the other help.

The pair waiting for us in the foyer didn't look like a traditional couple. The guy was a solidly built Hispanic who probably weighed about the same as Cammy and I put together. His companion was a short-haired Asian who, although tall, was thin as a rail. I figured her for a woman, mostly on the basis of the way her short hair was styled; she didn't have makeup or anything in the way of a bust. They turned to face us as we swept through the inner door.

"Cammy! Please relight these candles, right away," I said, displeased to find them all extinguished. Linnea was real big on candles; I knew better than most, since I spent a lot of time each day making sure they were replaced before they burned down. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting," I addressed our visitors.

"It's no problem," the man said. "You don't have to keep those burning on our account."

"They were all lit," Cammy groused, quietly, but she was already lighting the first of the big wall sconces.

"Well," I said, seeing things seemed to be under control, "I'm Lily. How can I help you today?"

"My name is Kim," the woman introduced herself, "and this is Xavier." They both bowed briefly rather than offering a handshake. "We were hoping to see Linnea?" She coughed lightly even as I was inhaling to get a deep breath of the newly-renewed scent of incense.

"I'm so sorry," I apologized. "As I'm sure Cammy told you, Ms. Richwell is extremely busy and doesn't have room in her schedule for walk-ins. Perhaps you could make an appointment for a future time; may I ask what this is regarding?"

Annoyingly, Xavier chose to answer my question with one of his own. "Are you her assistant?" he asked, staring intently at me.

I stepped ruthlessly on my inclination to inflate my importance, since I didn't know who they were and didn't want anything inappropriate to get back to Linnea. "No, I'm Irene Calzetta's slut. Irene is Linnea's executive assistant." The two of them exchanged a glance. "I'm quite capable of getting you on Linnea's calendar," I insisted.

Xavier pulled a photo out of his shirt pocket and held it out to me. "Do you know this woman, Lily?"

Accepting it, I moved a little closer to one of the windows where the light was better. Cammy leaned over my shoulder to look too, but she remained quiet so I didn't say anything. The woman in the picture was somewhat attractive, but dreadfully plain. She was smiling, but didn't seem to have any makeup beyond some timid lipstick. Medium blonde hair that looked like it had never seen anything except a brush came about to her shoulders. The picture was cropped so it wasn't really possible to see what she was wearing or where she was.

"She's kind of a dog," Cammy whispered, pressing herself lightly against my back.

I shushed her as I handed back the photo. "I'm afraid not," I shook my head, feeling my earrings swing. "Is she what you wanted to speak with Linnea about?"

Kim and Xavier traded that look again. "Are you sure?" she asked me.

"Absolutely," I replied. "Look, are you the police or something? Who is this woman?"

Xavier opened his mouth first, but Kim blurted out, "Nobody," before he could put a word in. "We're very sorry to have disturbed you, Lily. If we could ask just one more question?"

I nodded politely. "Certainly." Frankly, I was tired of them and wanted them to leave, but Irene and Linnea always stressed to the staff that we shouldn't make any waves; the Richwells had enough problems without making it onto TMZ or the cover of some tabloid.

"Who's this?" Kim held out another picture.

"Please leave, now," I said firmly after just a quick glance. I was more certain than ever the pair of them were muckrakers of one sort or another. "You are no longer welcome here."

"Oh, wow," said Cammy, trying to peer over my shoulder again. "When was that?"

"Cammy," I sighed, but they were already focused on her.

"Do you recognize them?" Kim asked, brusquely pushing past me to shove the picture in front of Cammy.

"That's it! Out!" I shouted at them, pushing the Asian towards the elevator. "A little help, please?" I muttered over my shoulder.

Cammy jumped and leaned over to hit the elevator call button. Meanwhile, Xavier had grabbed Kim and hauled her away from us like we had leprosy. "We're leaving!" he assured me, backing towards the elevator. "I'm sorry; we didn't mean to upset you."

I glared at the pair of them until the closing doors blocked them from my sight, and then took a deep calming breath. "It would have been better to just stay silent, Cammy."

She didn't look too repentant. "Well, they weren't going to let you get close enough to get a hair without being distracted, right? Besides, I was curious -- I've never seen Linnea with a guy."

With another sigh, I looked at the dark hair pinched between my fingers. Xavier hadn't let me get near him -- whether intentionally or accidentally, I wasn't sure -- but Kim hadn't been so lucky. My mind shied away from thinking about the picture, but Cammy wouldn't let it go.

"She was dressed like a bum, too. I guess that was before she moved here, right?"

"It's none of our business," I protested, she was right. The casual clothing in the picture wasn't anything like what Linnea wore now -- when she bothered to dress. She'd been standing with a good-looking man who looked vaguely familiar, and holding up some little trinket. It looked like the commemorative pins some places gave out, but... I shook my head and pushed the troublesome thoughts away.

"The candles were lit when you met them originally?" Cammy nodded. "Then I suppose we'd better go tell Irene. I didn't like the feel of those people." None of it really made sense to me, but Linnea was very possessive of her candles and had a fetish for collecting hairs from visitors. It had never been a problem before, as far as I knew.

Irene's office was still empty, so we continued on to Linnea's office and I knocked gingerly at the door before entering. I hated to disturb them if their meeting was still in progress, but Irene was a stickler for good communication; it was another of the things I really liked about her.

"Oh, wow," Cammy sighed from behind me, and I had to agree.

Linnea was standing in the middle of the room, head back and eyes closed, looking like the earthly incarnation of Aphrodite. The perfection of her jet black hair and black-rimmed eyes, their thick lashes fluttering above her pale cheeks, made me want to dive between her legs and worship her while fingering myself violently.

Unfortunately, that spot already was occupied. Miriam knelt in front of Linnea, her tongue and fingers busy. The sloppy liquid sounds she made had me trembling. Behind, I could see Irene's head bobbing against Linnea's buns and I knew she was working her tongue deep into her boss's ass.

I knew I was setting a bad example, but nobody alive could have been unmoved by the scene before us, and I was a slut. "Fuck," I moaned, turning to Cammy, "Do me! Work my tits!" I covered her glossy lips with my own before she could reply, and then pressed her up against the door, cupping her wet gash with my hand.

Technically, I wasn't masturbating, and Cammy -- as an intern -- probably was supposed to do what I told her, even if I was just the house slut. She didn't put up any resistance, anyway. I tasted the black licorice of her lip gloss and watched her eyes half close as two of my fingers glided deep inside her hot pussy and my thumb started massaging her trigger.

It was my turn to gasp into her mouth when she brushed the lace back from my nipples and captured one of them between a thumb and forefinger. My tits and nips were super-sensitive, and if Cammy hadn't known that before, she did after a single twist had me cumming in her embrace.

I tensed against her, a corner of my mind trying to keep my bell under control, and concentrated on giving as good as I got. I hardly ever had the chance to do a girl this way, and watching Cammy's body language go from pleasure to reluctance to disbelief to mindless lust was a real trip.

Was Mrs. Richwell's predilection for young girls genetic? The thought was so inapropos on so many levels it almost took me out of the moment, but Cammy's teasing fingers and tongue got me over the hump and we both saw fireworks again.

"What, Lily?"

I belatedly realized the others were looking at us and the only sound in the office, besides our heavy breathing, was the faint music of my bell as it swung between my thighs. I looked fearfully at the trio near the desk, but Linnea seemed to be riding a just-been-fucked high and Irene gave me the faintest of winks, as if she sympathized with my desires.

"There's something fishy about the couple that was just here," I said, speaking to the gap between Linnea and Irene. I wasn't sure which of them I really was supposed to address, although I wished it were Irene.

Already Linnea's fuse seemed to be burning down. "What couple?" she snapped, smoothing down the hem of her expensive-looking dress. "When?"

Irene gave me an approving nod and I clutched to that lifeline, fighting my nervous bladder and telling myself I hadn't done anything wrong. "Just now," I stammered. "They were looking for you, but wouldn't say why. We told them to leave, and they finally did."

"They put out the candles in the foyer, too," Cammy added, "but Lily had me relight them right away."

Linnea's gazed locked onto the intern. "'We?' You were there?"

Cammy nodded eagerly. "Yes. I answered when they first arrived, but they were like pushy so I went to Irene, and she sent Lily to help me."

"You are not supposed to be answering the door!" Linnea yelled.

If she'd been talking to me that way, I would have wet myself like a baby, but her displeasure seemed to just roll off of Cammy. "But they kept ringing the doorbell!"

Irene sighed and interjected herself into the conversation. "It's probably my fault, Linnea. My morning meeting with Lily ran a bit long and I hadn't released her yet. Cammy was just trying to help. What's the problem?"

Linnea couldn't entirely suppress a smirk; it wasn't much of a secret what went on during our meetings. As if she could talk, although that wasn't something I could say in my position! Linnea sighed and sat down in her chair. "You say they were asking for me? Did you recognize them?"

"No, I mean, yes, well..." Cammy unconsciously swiveled a foot on the floor, trying to work it through. "They wanted you, definitely. There was a picture and everything. And I don't think I've ever seen them before at all."

The girl was sweet, but she absolutely could not carry a story. I hoped Linnea wasn't considering her for anything too important. Taking a deep mental breath, I spoke up again.

"Their names were Kim and Xavier. They did ask to speak with you, but the photograph they showed us first was of some other woman, a little plain but not unattractive, whom we did not recognize. Subsequently, they asked us to look at a second picture, of you standing with some man and holding what looked like a charm. You were dressed quite casually."

Linnea didn't look as surprised as I might have expected. "A thin Asian woman, and a big Hispanic guy, right?"

Cammy and I nodded in unison.

"Damnit." Her anger didn't seem to be directed at us. "I don't suppose you managed to get any hairs from them?" It was clear Linnea's expectations weren't very high.

"Yes!" Cammy cried, bouncing up and down excitedly. I held up the short dark hair, still pinched in a death grip so I wouldn't lose it.

I tried to adjust Linnea's expectations, which I feared we'd accidentally just inflated, and share credit where it was due. "Just from Kim; Cammy did a nice job of distracting her. Xavier wouldn't let either of us get anywhere near him."

Linnea still looked happy as she casually pushed Miriam aside with a foot and strode over to collect our prize. The quick kiss she gave each of us left me swooning with pleasure. By the time I recovered my senses, she was back at her desk and frowning again.

"Are they a problem? Do we need to contact the police?" Irene asked.

"Nooooo," Linnea said slowly, still thinking.

I turned to herd Cammy (and myself) out of the office; we'd done our duty and clearly it was a job for the big girls now.




Falling Ch. 13



Clearly, I was wrong. "Lily, please stay a moment. The rest of you, go get a coffee or something; we need a few minutes alone."

Everybody else looked as surprised as I felt, especially when it became clear she meant Miriam, too. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen Linnea without the dark-haired girl in attendance, and I couldn't think what in the world Linnea would want with me. I hesitantly approached the desk and listened to the door closing behind me.

"You'd do anything for me, wouldn't you, Lily?" Linnea asked. The force of her presence was nearly overwhelming.

"Oh, yes!" I gasped, falling helplessly to my knees as the strength went out of my legs. The feel of that word leaving my lips was nearly orgasmic.

She looked down at me, her face wearing a Mona Lisa smile. "There's something only you can do for me, Lily. I want that hair from Xavier."

My mind raced. Of course I wanted to please Linnea, but I couldn't imagine how I would possibly track down this Xavier, or steal a hair from him, or why Linnea thought I was uniquely qualified to do so. "Why? I mean, how?" I asked, feeling miserable and stupid.

"It'll be easier than you think, Lily," she said, reaching down and lifting my chin with a finger. "You remember that woman, the one in the first photo he showed you?"

I nodded hopefully.

"Well, you're going to pretend to be her, and get close to him."

"That's ridiculous!" I blurted unthinkingly. I cringed, but Linnea only looked amused, so I went on. "I don't look anything like her. He'd never believe it, even if I did find him. And why would he talk to me? They wanted you."

She giggled! "You'll be close enough. I'm pretty sure that if you just make yourself available, they'll find you -- no effort required."

"You mean, go out?" I couldn't remember the last time I'd been out of the apartment. There was so much to do, I literally didn't have time for anything else except eating and sleeping. If it weren't for the Internet, we all would have been naked and starving.

Linnea nodded. "Yes. I know how hard you work, Lily. Take a night off. If nothing happens, that's perfectly fine -- you just get a little break. But I'm betting you'll run into Xavier. Call it a hunch."

"But what if he asks more questions? Or..." I struggled to articulate my nervousness. "If something happens?" Xavier hadn't struck me as violent, but he probably could break me like a twig if he felt like it.

She grinned at me. "I'll send Cammy with you for backup. You can have a girls' night out; get to know each other."

I had a mental vision of Cammy staring at me in confusion and twisting a pigtail around a finger while Xavier stuffed me into some anonymous panel van or something. It wasn't very reassuring. On the other hand, Linnea was the boss and she got to make the rules. "Okay," I agreed, trying to downplay my reluctance.

"Sweet Lily. Come and thank me for being so nice to you." She lifted the hem of her dress.

Nesting between her smooth thighs and extending my tongue to taste her felt like coming home again. All my doubts faded in the face of the pleasurable task at hand.



Falling Ch. 14



Chapter 14, In which Cammy comes out

Cammy found me primping in my tiny bedroom. "Hey, Lily, are you almost ready to go?"

"Just about," I replied, checking my hair a final time in the mirror to make sure every platinum blonde strand was in its expected place. It was a process I could perform in my sleep, and thankfully about the only one I needed to worry about; the remainder of my makeup was permanent.

I appreciated the convenience. I knew I was the low girl on the totem pole, just the Richwell house slut, but I couldn't escape the feeling the entire place would implode if I wasn't on hand to keep things moving along. When the job required long hours and high-maintenance uniforms, anything that saved time was a winner in my book.

"What are you going to wear?" Cammy asked, twirling a finger in one dark pigtail and aimlessly twisting a foot back and forth.

She was the new intern Linnea Richwell had hired, and I hadn't made up my mind if she was going to make my life easier or harder. Cammy seemed to be the latest in a series of ditzy eye-candy staffers that Linnea was prone to hiring.

I'd mumbled about it, ever so indirectly, to my boss, Irene, the only person in the place who seemed to have a shred of business sense. She'd smiled, told me not to worry myself over the business end of things, and reminded me that if Linnea wanted to hire every centerfold model in the city, it was her prerogative.

Cammy wasn't a model, that I knew of, but she was undeniably attractive. All of us were, the same way we were all lesbian or at least bisexual. Although Cammy had admitted she hadn't been with a girl until she'd started her internship! All of us sported the same look -- heavy mascara and eyeliner, glossy lips, and bared pussies -- that drove me, at least, wild with desire.

Speaking of which... "Come over here, Cammy." I watched her sway across the room on her deliciously high heels, the hem of her short plaid skirt almost high enough for me to see her bared cunny. A single button struggled to hold her sheer black blouse closed over her midriff. "Are you wearing that tonight?"

She giggled. "Do I look like somebody who wants to get raped or arrested?"

I suppressed a quelling look. Her outfit wasn't particularly unusual; it didn't show anything more than my uniform did, although just at the moment I was still naked after having gotten out of the shower.

We hadn't even left, and already Cammy was getting on my nerves. The evening ahead was starting to look worse and worse to me, but people didn't say "no" to Linnea. At least I didn't, unless I wanted to wet myself uncontrollably. I couldn't understand how she thought any of this was a good idea.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd been outside the Richwell residence, but Linnea had tasked me with tracking down this mysterious man who'd been sniffing around asking questions about her that morning. I didn't know anything about him except his name -- Xavier -- but she seemed confident I'd be able to do it.

Assuming for the sake of argument I was successful, my assignment didn't end there -- I had to get one or more of his hairs, preferably without him noticing, and then return them to Linnea. He was a hefty guy, probably twice my weight, and there was no question who would come out on the losing end if we got into a tussle. Linnea's response to that consideration had been to stick me with Cammy for backup.

Listening to my "backup" worry about getting raped while tugging on her pigtails wasn't helping my confidence. It wasn't the raping part -- I had a sincere appreciation for the male anatomy and not much chance to indulge it. It was the disappointing Linnea part; my bladder was twitching just thinking about it.

Without any preamble, Cammy abruptly announced, "Linnea's really upset with you!"

I lost it completely and a heavy stream of urine jetted from my urethra. It traveled only a short distance before encountering the delicate bell hanging from my clit ring and then spraying all over my legs and the floor. I'd have to get the puddles cleaned up before they damaged the hardwood flooring, but first I needed to apologize to Linnea about whatever I'd done!

"Hey, cool down," Cammy told me, blocking my path to the door. "I was just kidding, okay?"

My heart settled back into something approaching a normal rhythm. "Jesus, Cammy! Why did you do that?" I glared at her, my annoyance at having to spend time cleaning up overcoming any embarrassment.

"I could see you were nervous," she said, giggling again. "You wouldn't want to be fighting it all night, right?' Her eyes dropped. "Besides, it was so cool; your bell tinkles when you tinkle!"

It was hard to stay upset at somebody who was so irrepressibly upbeat. That still left the floor, but I realized the solution to that problem was staring me right in the face, so to speak. "Just clean up the floor and don't do it again."

She snagged my damp towel off the foot of the bed, dumped it on the floor, and then pushed it around in vaguely mop-like fashion. I would have used my tongue, but that was Cammy -- unconventional and resourceful. She'd been clever enough to help me snag a hair from Xavier's companion, too. Maybe she'd be more help than trouble, after all.

"Now my legs -- and no towel," I told her.

Cammy grinned and knelt, obviously aware of where I was headed, and all too willing to oblige. I was forbidden to masturbate, but I needed to get cleaned up and technically it wasn't self-administered. Part of my conscience thought that maybe Linnea wouldn't see it that way, but she had Miriam licking her all the time, and my bladder was empty anyway.

By the time my legs passed muster, they were trembling. Cammy was admirably methodical, and by the time her kitten tongue finally reached my dripping pussy, I was leaning against her in order to maintain my balance.

Her questing fingers found the string trailing from my ass. "What about this?" Cammy asked, tugging gently in case I didn't understand.

Irene had pushed the anal beads into me that morning, and then forgotten about them. I hadn't, but I knew there was no way I'd get the entire string out without cumming. "I think you'd better take them out," I said breathlessly.

The intern smirked, and began pulling -- slowly. She blew gently on my bell, making it chime, and then turned her attention to my throbbing clit as the first bead emerged.

I gasped convulsively as Cammy's tongue pushed at my clit and the two rings that trapped it, sending jolts of arousal through my body. My labia glistened with desire, and I couldn't hold off an orgasm when the next bead popped free. If she was as new to this as she claimed, I shuddered to think how good Cammy would be after some additional practice.

"Get on the bed," I panted after I could think straight again. I loved everything the brunette was doing, but I wanted more and I was desperate for the taste of her pussy.

She quickly looked up at me, understood what I wanted, and then scrambled into position.

I climbed on top of her and flipped up the plaid skirt so I could admire her bared mound. It looked almost as inviting as Linnea's, and a moment later I discovered it tasted just as good, too.

Cammy made broad strokes of her tongue down the length of my pussy, now that my bell was hanging out of the way, and started jiggling the string of beads.

There was no way I was going to let a beginner show me up, even if I wasn't at least as aroused by the giving as by the receiving. One thing I knew my way around was a pussy -- why, I'd been servicing Linnea even before Miriam! -- and I was delighted to demonstrate the extent of my knowledge.

"Fuck! Fuck! Oh, fuck!" I heard Cammy gasp before she retaliated by yanking the remainder of the beads free in one inexorable pull. My bell was clinking almost continually, tossed up and down by the frantic jerking of our bodies. I thought for sure I was going to explode, and take her with me.

I wasn't sure if Cammy had cum once or twice, but we were both flushed and sated by the time we were breathing normally a few minutes later. "So, what are you going to wear?" I asked from where I'd collapsed beside her on the bed.

"Jeans," she said, making it sound like a question. "We don't want to attract too much notice, right?"

"Um." I grimaced. I wore shorts when exercising, primarily to keep my bell from getting tangled in any of the equipment; jeans were a nonstarter, if I'd even owned any. It seemed like the dresses I wore during the day were out.

Feeling suddenly grumpy, I rolled onto my feet and surveyed the sorry state of my wardrobe. "I don't have anything!" I complained.

"What about that skirt?" Cammy asked, standing beside me. "It looks cute."

I looked where she was pointing but didn't see anything. "What?"

"The denim one," she prompted. After a minute without any response, she reached out and snagged a garment.

The light must have been bad, because I literally hadn't seen where Cammy had gotten it from, but I had to admit the little denim miniskirt looked fiendishly attractive once I'd slipped it on. "I didn't even remember owning this!" I told Cammy after checking the mirror. For some reason, just the sight of me in it made me feel more upbeat.

I couldn't feel bad, even after both of us failed to locate a top that passed muster. I had a pair of staid three-inch heels that would be okay, but I couldn't very well go topless.

"Don't worry," Cammy reassured me. "I have a top you can borrow. Just use this for now." She handed me her black blouse, which was tighter on me than it had been on her, but apparently we'd torn off the button she'd been using anyway, so I just used the next one down.

I put on some costume jewelry Linnea had loaned me, and I was ready to go.

Almost. "Do you have your ID?" Cammy asked.

"No." I looked at her blankly. I knew I'd put my license... I shook my head, frustrated. I was sure I had one -- well, pretty sure -- I knew how to drive, even if I hadn't done it recently. Now that I thought about it, my credit cards were in the same black hole. "I don't know where anything is; they must have gotten lost in the move."

Cammy looked at me a little strangely. "You don't have anything?" She giggled then, and added, "I guess we'll just have to go somewhere that won't try to card you."

I smiled back, feeling better. "Linnea did give me some cash!" I tucked the bills into one of the skirt's diminutive pockets. I touched up my lips with a tiny super-wet hot pink gloss, and tucked it into the other pocket. "I'm ready!"

"Let's get my stuff and we can go," she replied.

We trooped down the back stairs to the exercise room. It had a large bathroom, verging on a spa, and a small bank of lockers. I hadn't realized, until she started changing, that Cammy didn't arrive in the same clothes she wore during the day.

My eyes went wide when I spied the pistol in the bottom of her shoulder bag. "Cammy, a gun! Isn't that dangerous?" I had a scary mental vision of her giggling while randomly shooting holes in things, including me.

She giggled, not reassuringly, and finished pulling on her jeans. "Don't worry," Cammy smiled, "I'm a cop."

"You are not!" I blurted, totally off balance.

"Am too!" she replied, sticking out her tongue at me. Reaching into the bag, Cammy fished out an official-looking badge on a lanyard, displayed it to me, and then pulled it over her head.

I couldn't see any reason for her to pretend to be a police officer if she wasn't, but it just seemed so bizarre. "Well, but Cammy, if you already have a job, why would you want to be an intern here? Not that it probably isn't safer than getting shot at all the time."

"There isn't a lot of shooting," Cammy replied. "I work in Vice." We both looked at each other for a moment before bursting into peals of laughter.

"No," I gasped helplessly, "they didn't send you here, did they?" She managed to nod, setting us both off again. It was so ridiculous! Finally I got myself under control, not wanting to disturb the Richwells with our noise. "I'd think Vice would be a lot more fun than here; sometimes when Irene gets busy, I feel like I'm going to burst."

Cammy let a trace of unhappiness show as she pulled on a knit shirt. "It's not what you think, Lily; there's a lot more talking and less doing, if you know what I mean." She gave me a grateful look. "You made me cum harder than I have in a long time."

My cheeks heated a little; I felt embarrassed to be thanked for something I'd done mostly for myself. "But why here?" I asked, refusing to let myself be distracted. "There's nothing weird going on, and I'd know it if there was."

"I know," she agreed, stepping back into her shoes. "I've told my Captain that until I'm sick of it, and he just tells me to keep digging."

We shook our heads at the institutional idiocy of management and headed for the lobby. "Well, that's just dumb," I spoke up again. "Maybe somebody's lying to him; the Richwells have a lot of money and I suppose a few enemies, too." It was a novel idea; Linnea was overpowering at times, but how could anybody not love her?

Cammy snorted. "More than a few. The parents have reputations, although I suppose you know that."

I nodded. Both of them were perverts or sex maniacs, which was why Linnea was running everything. I'd never seen Mr. Richwell when he wasn't jacking off and cursing up a storm, and Mrs. Richwell had a thing for young girls, which through continuous efforts had so far remained unrequited. The family fortune had been sufficient to keep them out of the public eye, but it didn't surprise me the police were aware of the situation.

"But there's a lot more," the brunette continued. "Rumors of girls gone missing, prostitution rings, kidnapping, you name it. We had somebody at the precinct swearing up and down that Linnea was being held hostage and we needed to rescue her." She smirked at me and I laughed at the thought of it. "Right. I've been all over that place, and if somebody had a harem stashed somewhere, I would have found it."

The thought of having a harem, or being in one, actually was a little arousing, but I tried to concentrate on the problem. "Do you suppose Xavier and Kim are related to this somehow?"

There was momentary silence while we rode the elevator down and Cammy let out her pigtails and collected her hair into a loose ponytail. It and the expression on her face added nearly a decade to her apparent age. "I don't know," she said finally. "I distrust coincidences, and the Captain thinks with this much smoke, there has to be fire somewhere."

My misgivings about our outing were coming back in a rush. Maybe I wasn't cut out for this -- I knew how to be a house slut, and enjoyed it. What if I got kidnapped, or worse? Who really knew what this Xavier character wanted?

"Don't worry," Cammy said, apparently reading my thoughts on my face. "I'll take care of us." She hesitated. "Just don't go around telling people I'm a cop, okay? Linnea knows, of course, but I don't know who else is really trustworthy."

I nodded and smiled. "Sure. But, Cammy -- how do you know you can trust me?"

Cammy giggled. "You're an open book, Lily. Everybody knows you're kind-hearted, and I've seen the way you look up to Irene and Linnea. You can't even think of disappointing them without peeing yourself -- there's no way you could betray them and hide the fact."

She had a point. "Okay, but--" I realized I'd stopped in front of the building like I thought a car was going to be waiting for me or something, and hurried to catch up with Cammy. A few passers-by eyed me, giving me a bad moment, but then I realized they were just watching to see if my boobs were going to fall out of Cammy's blouse or not. I didn't see Xavier anywhere.

"Don't you have a partner?" I asked when I caught up again. An extra pair of eyes in the back of my head would have felt pretty good about then.

"Not on this assignment," Cammy said, looking momentarily morose again. "You may have noticed Linnea doesn't hire many men. I don't think it's a problem, but we probably shouldn't discuss any of this in public."

We talked about inconsequential things on the ride across town, like what Miriam's tongue piercing must feel like or the relative merits of mascara and false lashes. Cammy made a terse call to somebody, reporting no progress but mentioning she was following up on a possible lead. It was sort of nice, being out for a night on the town with a girlfriend. Well, acquaintance.

"We aren't being followed," she commented at one point after I'd looked behind for about the hundredth time. "I've been watching, and I'd know."

"This is it," Cammy finally told me, standing in front of a little walk-up duplex. "Just don't say too much, okay?"

"I'll be good, I promise." I gave her a quick hug since she seemed a little nervous, and we walked up onto the porch.

"Mommy!" screamed a little toddler, before we'd even made it through the door. "Mommy's home!" He propelled himself straight at Cammy, and she swooped him into her arms and then lifted him for a sloppy kiss.

"J.J.!" she cooed. "How's my little man? Did you miss me?"

A man, this one full-sized, stepped out from the kitchen and gave us an appraising look. "An unexpected dinner guest, Cameron? Couldn't you have called?"

Cammy lowered the boy back to the floor. "Sampson, this is Lily; she's an associate of mine. Lily, this is my husband, Sampson, and my son, J.J." Perfunctory introductions completed, she turned back to face him. "We won't be able to stay for dinner; I have something to do tonight."

The man's face clouded over; I had the feeling I'd offended him somehow. "Yeah, I know," he grumped. "You don't get to plan your hours."

J.J. was less restrained. "She has a jingle bell!" he announced to the world, before raising his curious eyes to my face. "Are you an elf?"

He was so precious! "No, I'm a slut," I corrected him, unable to restrain a smile. "Do you like it?" I asked, raising the hem of my skirt so he could have a better view of the bell.

"Jesus Christ!" Sampson exploded, making all of us jump. "J.J.! Get away from her, right now!" He looked daggers at both me and Cammy. "What are you doing? Don't you have any decency?"

Cammy grabbed my arm and hauled me out of the room before I could respond. "I'm sorry," she apologized, "but he's been so up-tight and grumpy lately. It's not your fault."

"Do you pay your associates by the hour?" her husband shouted from the kitchen. Cammy ignored him and slammed the bedroom door behind us.

"No, it's okay. I should have thought. J.J. is still a little young, isn't he?" I giggled at my joke, but Cammy just looked depressed. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

She flopped on the twin bed, staring at the ceiling, and her eyes looked suspiciously wet. "I don't know. Do you ever feel like your life is just completely off track?"

I sat beside her and clasped her hand. "What do you mean? Sampson's just upset with me. I'm sure everything will be fine."

"It's more than that," Cammy sighed, sitting up and staring morosely into space. "I think I'm starting my midlife crisis early." After a moment of silence, she continued, "It's been really rough with Sam; our sex life is in the dumps and we just get on each other's nerves all the time."

"Maybe I could help," I offered. "Do you think he'd like a three-way?"

Cammy's mouth twitched, but didn't quite reach a smile. "That's sweet, Lily, but he's not the problem -- I am." She took a deep breath. "I'm just not attracted to him anymore, or any man."

I nodded understandingly.

"Ever since I met her, all I can think about is Linnea. I get all distracted and flustered just thinking I might see her -- I know you must think I'm an airhead. I've had these dreams, too. It's not fair to Sam, but I can't help how I feel."




Falling Ch. 14



"But, Cammy," I protested, "it's completely normal to feel that way. Linnea is so hot I think you'd have to be dead not to want her." Just talking about it was making me wet. "You know everybody else thinks so, too. When she let me lick her this afternoon, I could have stayed there all day!"

She sighed. "Stop it! You're making me jealous -- and horny." A smile reassured me she was just teasing. "I think I'd give almost anything to trade places with Miriam; that's why I've been thinking about getting a tongue stud. But when I mentioned it to Sam, he looked at me like I was crazy!" Cammy appeared to be at her wit's end.

"You're not crazy!" I told Cammy, hugging her for extra reassurance. "And you don't need to have a tongue stud to be twice the babe that Miriam is." Our embrace grew a little tighter.

Cammy wriggled just enough that she could look me in the eyes. "You think you're just a slut, Lily, but you're more than that. Something about you always catches my eye, and I think you have more heart -- and more brains -- than anybody else at the Richwells'. Even Linnea!"

I thought she was going to say something more, but instead she kissed me hard. My mind was whirling, trying to take it all in. I was afraid maybe Cammy was crushing on me, confused by her conflicting feelings for Linnea and Sampson. My heart was curiously empty; perhaps the depth of my adoration for Linnea had left me incapable of feeling romantic attraction towards another.

Physical desire, however, I could do. I kissed Cammy back and palmed a tit through the fabric of her shirt, squeezing it until she moaned around my tongue. She reciprocated, the gaping blouse providing easy access, and my back arched as I reacted to the stimulus of her rough fingertips on my turgid nipples.

We broke apart by mutual consent and began fumbling with our clothes. I was lucky; the button on the blouse was already gone, so it was the work of only a minute to slide it off and cast it aside. Cammy was struggling with her jeans, the strength of her desire making her clumsy.

"Let me," I insisted, batting her hands away and quickly stripping the soft denim down to her knees. At that point, there was no way I wasn't going to bury my face in her creaming snatch and eat her out. I was rewarded with her sweet moisture and a loud moan.

A sharp rap on the door interrupted us. "Are you okay in there? You're upsetting J.J." Sampson sounded suspicious.

"We're fine," Cammy gasped, and then sucked in her breath as I blew softly across her wet pussy.

I stared at her, willing her to take a chance, reach out and invite him in. The moment passed.

"We should get moving," Cammy shakily announced.

The slut inside me wanted to argue, but the rest of me remembered what Linnea wanted -- and I wasn't going to find Xavier between Cammy's thighs. Reluctantly I let her go and climbed to my feet while she kicked off her jeans.

Cammy opened the closet door and revealed a wardrobe lifted from a pervert's wet dream. "You didn't think I worked undercover in my uniform, did you?" she smiled, clearly pleased by my obvious delight. "Here's the top I was thinking of."

It was sparkly and metallic, but ran smoothly through my fingers like silk or satin. Once I got it on, I understood why Cammy hadn't worried about the sizing; for something with so much fabric, it covered surprisingly little. The drape was feminine and attractive, but came below my breasts in front and nearly to my waist in back and under my arms. The fabric hung from the tips of my nipples, emphasizing them and gently teasing me into the bargain.

By the time I'd finished admiring myself in the small mirror on the back of the door, Cammy had finished changing. "You like?" she asked, turning so I could see the full effect.

"I thought you were going to wear jeans," I replied. "Not that I'm complaining." The skin-tight leather shorts had no inseam to speak of, sat low on her hips, and had a big chrome zipper that ran from the front down between her legs and all the way up the crack of her ass. A pair of matching leather triangles more or less covered Cammy's tits. The chains holding them in place didn't look adjustable, except for the hook clasp between the cups, so it must have been made for her.

"It's your fault, for getting me worked up," laughed Cammy. "I couldn't wear anything as boring as a pair of jeans now -- especially with you looking as hot as you do." She pulled a pair of boots from the closet and stepped into them; they came up past her knees.

I swallowed as I watched the curve of her ass beneath the shorts when she reached down to zip up the boots. "How is this going to help us find Xavier, again?" It was really hard to stay focused with her in front of me.

"Trust me," Cammy said. She tucked her badge down one boot, and opened a gun safe I hadn't noticed in the back of the closet. "Remember, we're trying to let him find us, right?" She exchanged the handgun from her bag for a smaller pistol that went into the other boot. "We'll just hang out at some places that Linnea goes to; if he's looking for her, he'll probably know them, too."

She pulled on a little bolero jacket that matched the rest of her outfit. "How do I look?"

"Ravishing, I think. But your makeup needs a lot of work." The thought prompted me to pull out my gloss and bring my lips back to their full luster.

My brain finally caught up to her earlier comment. "Linnea goes out to clubs?" It was hard to think of her anywhere except running the Richwell Trust from her office, but I supposed she deserved time off just like anybody else.

"Sure," Cammy said, tracing her eyes carefully with liner. "I think we'll try 'Slutz' first -- it's a lesbian fetish club. You know Miriam used to work there?"

"Really? I thought she was born between Linnea's legs"

"I think I detect a faint hint of jealousy," jibed Cammy, smirking. "She was a bar girl, I hear."

"And now she makes a living licking Linnea," I sighed, and shook myself. "Talk about deja vu!"

"What?" Cammy asked, looking over at me.

"Nothing. Here, let me help," I said, taking the mascara brush from her to cover my momentary discomfort. "You'll be all night."

"Mmm. Obviously you've had more practice," she complimented me a few minutes later.

"You'll pick it up," I assured her. "I didn't learn it all in a day, either."

"That's reassuring," Cammy said dryly. She paused and looked more closely at me. "What did you do before, Lily? Before you started working for Irene? You're the only person at the Richwell residence we couldn't get a background on."

Her question took me by surprise. "I've always been a slut," I whispered, my heart suddenly pounding in my chest. Trying to remember more hurt; a dribble of urine leaked from my empty bladder. "I -- Linnea is my life," I blurted, feeling obscurely comforted by the statement.

Cammy reached out and brushed my cheek gently. "You don't have to talk about it," she assured me.

I shuddered and took a deep breath. "Maybe later," I prevaricated, hoping I wouldn't ever have to think about it again. The past meant pain and hurtfulness and loss. "Let's just have fun tonight."

The brunette winked at me. "It's a deal. And now, for the crowning achievement..." She lifted a tousled auburn wig from a stand on the closet shelf and set it atop her head.

It looked wild, like she'd just left an orgy, but it wasn't right. "Oh, no," I said impulsively, "your own hair is so much prettier, Cammy!"

She looked in the mirror for a moment, and then put the wig back on its stand. "I guess you're right," she admitted. "But not like this." Cammy unfastened the ponytail and teased her hair out with her fingers. "I don't want to wash it. Damn."

Her dark locks were dirty, and unfortunately looked more like bad bedroom hair than good bedroom hair. "Maybe the pigtails?" It was the way I was used to seeing her.

Cammy giggled, suddenly sounding like the intern I knew, and held her hair in two handfuls on either side of her head. "Oh, you watch!" she giggled again, quickly brushing out her hair before beginning to braid it. "I am so going to get carded tonight!"

"Don't let Mrs. Richwell see you," I told her when she finished. Cammy looked absolutely adorable, and I already knew I wasn't going to make it through the night without doing her again. "And stop playing with that unless you intend to use it!"

She stopped flicking the zipper on her shorts and stuck out her tongue at me. "Ready?"

I checked my pockets for the lip gloss and cash. Courage, I wasn't so sure of, but I had Cammy. "Ready."

We exited the room and I wondered what she was going to tell her husband, but it turned out not to matter.

"Ladies," Xavier greeted us from his comfortable sprawl on the sofa, "I thought we might have a little talk."