The Callaways:
Jean & Jim
© 2001 By Morgan.  All Rights Reserved
Preface & Acknowledgments
	This book is the third in a series but it’s the first one to be completed.  With the exception of Jim Dawson, all of the major characters will have appeared in either or both of the two preceding works.  It is being posted at the insistence of two of my fans, Heiner and Jeff, both of whom have read it.
	Unlike prior books, this one is not divided into chapters.  Rather it’s divided by triple asterisks, but it’s an ongoing chronicle.  The divisions are in the interest of ease of posting and have nothing to do with the story’s structure.
	Finally, I would most particularly thank Adrienne for her invaluable assistance in critiquing this work.  (Another reason it’s being posted now is that if I didn’t, her comments would exceed the length of the book itself.)  All I can say about Adrienne is that she has a background in intelligence and used it to good — if for me, painful — effect throughout.  I mean... is it really fair?  I mean just because a woman’s body can’t work that way is no reason to change is it?  (Don’t you just hate it when the woman is always right?  She is and I do.)
	Any errors remaining — and I’m certain there are more than a few — are strictly my own responsibility.
	If you enjoy the story — or if you don’t — please let me hear from you at <
* * *
	Hi, folks!  I’m Jim Dawson, and this is my story.  Or partially mine, anyway.
	It all began over a year ago.  At the time, the easiest description of me — and the most accurate, my lover insists — is that I was a world-class nerd.  Now why a nerd?  Well, for openers, I was a Sigma Xi math major from Yale with a Ph. D. in computer science from MIT.  Oh, yeah... and I was 31 years old and still a virgin.
	I think that last statement requires a little explanation.  It all goes back to high school, I suppose.  You see, although I’m now six feet four, when I graduated from high school I was only five feet two!  In fact, I guess I really didn’t stop growing until I was almost 24 and in graduate school.  At any rate, in high school I was a pip-squeak; the girls in my class almost without exception looked down on me both figuratively and literally.  Suffice it to say not only did I not date, I hadn’t even had my first date by the time I graduated from high school and that includes graduation itself.
	In college I did find my way out to the Yale Bowl from time to time, but that was about it.  When the game was over, while virtually everyone else was going to a party, I returned to the library, the lab, or some such.  And so it went, right through graduate school.  Although to be honest, I did actually have a date or two.  There could have been as many as four.
	However, I did accomplish one thing: I developed the ability — and the reputation — to be able to get a computer to do virtually anything.  Moreover, if I do say so myself, my programs are things of beauty.  In the trade they are termed elegant.  What does that mean exactly?  It means that it gets the job done with the fewest possible lines of code in the most straightforward manner.  The result is that it never crashes itself let alone takes down its host computer.  At any rate, after receiving my Ph. D., I was asked to join the faculty at MIT, which I immediately did.  This lasted for a couple of years at which time from out of the blue I received an offer to join a truly remarkable company, Callaway Industries of Northbrook, Illinois, as senior vice president and Chief Information Officer.
	My first assignment was to put together an MIS unit; there was virtually nothing there at the time.  At that point, I guess, my reputation in the business really helped.  In fact, I was astonished at the numbers and caliber of people who wanted to join me.  Frankly, I’ll match my team against any similar group in the world, and I don’t care where you might want to look.  They’re good!
	About the time I had most of my team on board and we had shaken down with the usual MIS work, the company hired Doug Mitchell as senior vice president – logistics.  Doug is a truly great guy!  He is West Point — number three in his class — with an MBA from Harvard.  He had been hired by Callaway after having organized and run major logistics operations for the Armed Forces, including Desert Storm.
	When I met him I knew I had met a kindred spirit.  He knew exactly what he wanted and it was my job and the job of my people to see that he got it and that it worked right.  The company’s prosperity — and the value of a great deal of phantom stock I owned — rode on the results.
	That phantom stock is worth some discussion.  I’m sure you’ve all heard about the dot-com billionaires: the ones who went from nothing to billions and back to nothing, all in less than a year?  Callaway works differently.  First of all, Jack and Kate Callaway essentially own the company outright.  Their share interest is 90 percent.  But knowing the incentive value of stock, they grant phantom shares.  First of all, they’re free; they don’t cost me a dime.  But, except for not having a vote, it’s as if I own that number of shares.  If a dividend is paid, I receive it.  But more to the point, the value of my shares exactly tracks the value of Callaway shares listed on NASDAQ.  So if I had 10,000 phantom shares and the stock price rose from 10 to 20, I had made $100,000.  And, by the way, I have a great many more than 10,000 shares.  One might say I have a nice juicy multiple of that number.
	While we’re on the subject of money, I guess I’m loaded.  Aside from my phantom shares — and that’s a mountain of net worth to put aside — there’s my salary and bonuses.  One day for the hell of it I did a calculation.  It worked out that I could cover my expenses if I earned a bit better than the minimum wage.  At the time I had a rather tacky apartment with a single bedroom in a not-so-hot town close to the office.  All I needed was a computer and the company even paid for that.  I could say that my money just piled up in the bank, and that’s exactly what did happen for a while.
	Then somehow Kate Callaway heard about it.  It seems that she has some friends in New York.  Before marrying Jack she was Kate Cornwall, possibly the top investigative reporter in TV journalism with a whole bunch of Emmies to support that claim.   In fact, just a couple of years ago she won another for the two-hour local news special she did on Caitie Corcoran.  Caitie’s husband, Bill, is one of the people who rescued the company right after Jack’s first wife died of cancer.
	Anyway, a couple of Kate’s friends might be the finest money managers alive.  For some time two of them — Bill Corcoran and Ali Clifford — split her money and had a running competition to see who could make more.  (Kate claims this makes her feel like the wishbone being pulled apart.)  Anyway, they’ve been running my money in the same way for some time now, too.  All I know is at year end I get statements for tax purposes showing short-term gains, long-term gains, and so forth.  The way it’s been going, all I have are short-term losses that reduce my taxable earned income and unrealized long-term gains that are still riding.  Every once in a while there will be a realized long-term capital gain, and it’s usually large.  And I mean big!  Anyway, I guess that means I’m wealthy, too. 
	But back to Doug and logistics.  I have to say I really drove my people and drove them hard.  Because I had no social life, the company was my life in the same way the university had been before.  To get the job done we worked nights and weekends, essentially nonstop.  But, damn it, we got the job done and done right.  Once it was installed, it ran along linking us to our suppliers on one side and customers on the other while managing our production processes and scheduling in between.  And it really worked.  At that point we decided to see if we could sell the system to others but that wasn’t really a part of my job.  That was sales.
	It was while our new system was shaking down and my people and I were largely occupied with watching the wheels turn that I got a call to see Jack Callaway.  He made it very clear that my next assignment was to get myself into shape physically.  Now in spite of what you might have heard, I could, too, raise my hands over my head three times in a row without gasping for breath.  Of course, when I first went to the company gym to work out on the exercise equipment installed there, I remember starting off with no weights at all, just the resistance of the units themselves.  However, before too long I got up to what seemed like decent weight levels.  And because of the way the place was set up — there were UV lights all over so one could actually tan indoors as a byproduct of exercising — I had even lost the bluish tinge that people claimed I had developed that came from spending my life staring at a CRT.
	I was actually thinking about getting a new wardrobe — none of my old clothes fit.  Not that it made any difference.  When I say old clothes, I mean old clothes.  All I really had were a few pairs of jeans and some shirts.  There actually was a jacket, slacks and a tie hanging in my closet that I can distinctly remember wearing at Yale and MIT on the handful of occasions when a tie was called for.  Although, come to think of it, the jacket dated from my days at Yale when I was still growing.  It’s fair to say that it was a little short.  In fact, very short.  The sleeves sort of ended somewhere between my elbows and wrists and of course I couldn’t button it, but who cared?  At that point I got another call to see Jack Callaway.
	What can I tell you about Jack?  He’s six-feet four, with blue eyes, sandy hair, a constant deep tan and a smile.  He is the happiest, most contented guy I’ve ever met.  When I went to his office that day, I got my first clue regarding the latter situation.  Sitting there in the office was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.  She looked to be about nineteen, with short hair worn in an urchin cut and with the most vivid blue eyes I’ve ever seen.  Her hair color was something else.  I guess it must have started as brown, but because of the sun, I suppose, it had virtually every color from brown to platinum blonde in it in the most incredible natural streaking I’ve ever seen.  Moreover, she was constantly looking at Jack and he at her.  It was incredible!  I knew they had been married for years but they still acted like newlyweds.
	Jack began by introducing me to his wife, Kate, who greeted me with a charm and warmth that almost knocked me off my feet.  If Kate had asked me for anything, my answer would have been yes.  For that matter, that’s still the case.  I utterly adore that woman.  Incidentally, although you’ve already heard a great deal about her, for some reason we had never previously met face to face, although we had talked on the phone quite a number of times.  Anyway, what followed was truly stunning.
	Jack Callaway started off by saying that it was his wife’s meeting, not his.  It was only then that I realized Jack was president and chief executive officer.  He was not chairman of the board; Kate was.  And this meeting was at the chairman’s insistence.
	“Did you ever see Mr. Roberts?” she began.
	It was both a play and a film; among other things, the movie introduced Jack Lemmon.  I don’t remember how I responded but it really didn’t matter.
	Kate continued, “Jack Lemmon played the rôle of Ensign Pulver whose primary duty aboard his small supply ship was as Laundry & Morale Officer.  Well, since Jack and the rest of the staff — most particularly including you — seem to do a decent job with business trivia — like making money — there’s not a lot for me to do, so I’m the company’s laundry and morale officer.
	“The laundry is no problem; we use a commercial outfit for that, so it leaves morale.  And, James Russell Dawson, in some units — yours, for instance — it sucks!”
	That statement really took me aback.  First of all, not only is Kate incredibly beautiful, she almost defines the term, lady.  She really does.  So her rather harsh language really shook me up.
	“I thought about it,” Kate continued, “and came to the conclusion that the problem is you spend too much time here at the office.  Moreover, because you do, your people do too.  Now why is that, I wondered?  That answer proved to be pretty simple, too.  Not only are you not married, you never even date.”
	Now she smiled at me with the warmest, friendliest smile I’ve ever seen.  Her voice lowered as she continued, “You don’t intentionally ride roughshod over your people and their private lives, Jim.  It never occurs to you that there are such things.  You have no life outside the company, but they do.
	“So what can we do to change things?  The obvious answer?  Start you dating, and maybe — just maybe — get you married.  With the right woman at home, you’ll be so preoccupied with getting home and getting into her pants you’ll be throwing your people out of the office.”
	Turning to Jack she asked, “Darling, when was the last time you came home and didn’t fuck me at least once before dinner?”
	Jack just grinned, rose from his chair, went to Kate and lifted her up in the air.  At that point she crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out of the corner of her mouth while Jack returned to his seat carrying her in his arms.  When he sat down again, Kate was sitting across his lap.  He tipped her head and their lips merged in a kiss.  And while they were kissing, Jack’s hand was moving up under the full skirt she was wearing.  They didn’t make the least effort to hide what they were doing, and Jack has a large hand.  When it reached her crotch, his eyes widened.
	“No, darling, no bikini,” she said.  Then with the most impish grin I’ve ever seen she added, “You can feel how wet I am already.  When we finish with Jim, you’re going to fuck me right here on your desk.  I’ve never been fucked on a CEO’s desk before, so you’re going to have to do it today.”
	Then turning back to me she said, “Jim, I guess you can see that both my better half and I are somewhat... distracted... right now.  Let me just say that when we finish up here, we’re off on our honeymoon.  We never had one when we were first married.”
	Then with a winsome sigh she continued, “We’re going out to a deserted island in the Hawaiian chain.  We’ll be there for three or four months with just a couple of knives, some fish hooks and that’s about it.  No clothing of any kind.  I guess we’ll be pretty tanned when you see us again.”
	At that point she indicated a manila envelope and said, “The stuff in there is for you to use.  Leave all your credit cards here.  There are new ones for you in the envelope.  This whole thing is a company charge.”
	Then pointing to the door she said, “There’s a lovely girl, Jean Peters, waiting for you in your office.  We hired her to help you get over your... inexperience.  Now goodbye!”
	Without another look she got off Jack’s lap, sat on the desk facing him, pulled up her skirt exposing a gorgeous pair of legs spread wide and said to Jack, “Well?”
	I beat a hasty retreat.  As I wandered in a daze back toward my office on the opposite side of the building I reflected on what I had just seen.  Clearly, Jack and Kate were going to make love right there, right then, whether I left the room or not.  Feelings at this level just did not compute in my experience.  Glancing into the envelope I found all the usual plastic replacing my own along with a note saying that if I showed my face at the office before Kate and Jack returned I would be shot on sight!
	Still bemused, I opened the door of my own office and was struck dumb.  Again.  There, sitting on my sofa was a beautiful woman.  The remarkable thing was that she was sitting exactly in the center of a piece that could easily seat four.  Her hands were folded in her lap as she sat there looking straight ahead... at nothing.
	I guess our maintenance people really do a great job.  Both the hinges and the lock were well-oiled so the door made no sound when I came in.  She must have caught my movement in the corner of her eye, though, because in an instant she was on her feet coming toward me with her hand outstretched.
	“Hi!” she said.  “I’m Jean Peters, your sex therapist.”
	I took her hand and was surprised at the firmness of her grip.  Only then did I look up and see how truly beautiful she was.  Jean has golden-blonde hair that is longer than shoulder length.  Her eyes are a brilliant blue and she was deeply tanned.  She was dressed in white; I guess it’s what women call a suit.  It had a double-breasted jacket and a straight skirt.  I’m not sure, and Jean has never told me, but I suspect my jaw must have been hanging open.  Never in my life had I been so close to such beauty!  Furthermore, she’s very tall: five feet nine and a bit; wearing two-inch heels as she was that day, her eyes were nearly on a level with mine.
	“Why don’t you sit down,” she said softly.  “Then I can tell you what Mrs. Callaway has planned.  At that point I’m almost certain you’re going to tell me to crawl back under the rock I came out from.”
	As she returned to her seat on the sofa, I took a seat in a side chair that flanked the coffee table in front of it.  “If you do that one more time,” I remarked, “you won’t be alive to do anything.”
	“Do what?”
	“Ever refer to Kate Callaway as Mrs. Callaway!  She’ll have your head.”
	Jean thought for a moment and then nodded.  “I think you’re probably right.  But what the hell...  Aren’t we supposed to live dangerously?”
	Changing the subject she continued, “You probably wonder what my job is.  I know I would if I were you.”  Then she sat up ramrod straight and said, “For most of the last ten years I’ve been a prostitute.  Now I’m a sex therapist.  The difference?  I used to charge by the trick; now I charge by the hour... but in your case, it’s by the week.  Mr. Dawson...”
	“The name is James, or better yet, Jim,” I interrupted.  “And may I call you Jean?  After all, if we’re supposed to have sex...”
	That comment evoked an adorable impish grin exactly like Kate’s as she pretended to think about it.  Finally she said, “Well... since you’re going to be fucking my ass off — or trying to, anyway — I don’t think that would be lowering the bars too much.”  With another grin she nodded her head firmly and added, “You may call me Jean.”
	At that point she proceeded to tell me about herself and her assignment.  She claimed to have become a prostitute before she was sixteen — she was then 26.
	“I’ve done everything imaginable at one time or another.  Jim, I understand you’ve never had sex with a woman.  Is that correct?”
	Sadly I nodded my head.
	“Well,” she continued, “I’ve been fucked more times than I could possibly count.  In fact I can’t even count the number of times I’ve been taken all three ways at once.  I guess the worst of all was when I took on about ten guys at once.  Three at a time fucked my cunt, my asshole and my mouth while I jerked off two others.  This continued until they all had turns and then I had to become a contortionist to try to lick up all of their cum coating my body.”  She shook her head and concluded, “It was a very good payday, though.”
	My cock was already bulging my pants, but Jean ignored it if she was even aware of it.  I never did find out which it was.  “Why are you telling me this?” I asked. 
	“So you’ll be aware of the filth that will be sharing your bed,” she replied.  
	She looked at me carefully, expecting some sign of revulsion, I guess.  She didn’t get it and looked puzzled.  For my part, I was happy I hadn’t reacted; I guess I enjoyed creating some uncertainty in her mind.
	With a tiny shrug of her shoulders, Jean continued, “The purposes of this exercise are several:
	“First, you have had no sexual experience at all.”  Looking at me sharply she asked, “Have you ever even kissed a girl?”
	I shook my head.
	“Okay,” she continued, “that makes it easy.  We start at square one and move on from there.
	“But back to the purposes: Second, I’m supposed to give you the experience you need —  as well as some confidence — so you can bed almost any girl who takes your fancy.
	“Third, I’m supposed to teach you some social graces...”  At that she laughed bitterly and continued, “Isn’t that rich?  Social graces?  Me?  But that’s the job.  What do you think?”
	“Where does all of this happen?” I asked.
	“At my apartment that’s  at Kate’s place,” Jean replied.  “Doesn’t the fact that you’ll be sleeping with a whore bother you at all, Jim?”  I guess her curiosity finally got the better of her; she felt compelled to ask.
	“Sharing a bed with one of the most beautiful women in the world is pretty exciting,” I replied as I tried to conceal my erection as much as possible.
	At that point she looked at me strangely, then rose to her feet.  After moving around the far end of the coffee table, she stood in the center of the office and just looked at me for a moment.  Without another word, she unbuttoned her jacket — there were only two buttons — and dropped it on the floor.  Jean was bare from the waist up.  But before I could even react, she had unzipped her skirt and let it drop to the floor, too.  Finally, with a fluid movement she slid her bikini to the floor and then stood up straight with her shoulders back.
	Her beauty was overwhelming.  I had heard that Playboy playmates had to have their photos airbrushed, but Jean would need no touching up whatsoever.  Her tan covered every inch of her body; there were no strap marks anywhere.  Her breasts were high and full — I later learned they were a B+ cup if she ever wore a bra — with lovely little up-thrusting pink nipples.  Her belly was flat and her legs were utterly magnificent.  As I looked at her, she just stood there motionless.  Then I became aware of wetness in her eyes; she was about to cry.
	Jumping to my feet, it took only a couple of steps to reach her and gather her in my arms.  When we were together I became aware of an utterly marvelous scent that I later learned was her natural body fragrance enhanced with musk oil.  As I held her in my arms, her face came up so she could look into my eyes.  When it did, I tipped it, tipped my head and melted my lips to hers.
	It was utterly unreal.  In the first place, I’m used to towering over women.  With Jean in heels, her cheek was against mine, I had my arms around an utterly magnificent female body that seemed to fit perfectly against my own.  And then there was the kiss.  I tentatively moved my lips on hers when I felt a probing.  Opening my mouth a bit, I felt her tongue probing deep into my mouth.  When it touched my own, I almost passed out!
	I’m sure you’ve read all sorts of stories featuring electric kisses.  Believe me, folks, the kiss Jean and I shared could have powered Chicagoland for at least a week, and that was in the middle of the summer heat wave we were in the midst of, too.  And then there were the bells!  It was utterly marvelous.
	My God! I thought.  Is this what kissing a woman is all about?  I’ve been missing this all my life?
	Jean had her arms around my neck and I could feel that I was supporting a good deal of her weight.  When we eased apart — to breathe, if nothing else — I asked her about it.
	“Your kiss turned my knees to water,” she whispered.  “I’m not sure I can even stand up by myself.”  Then she looked into my eyes.  When she did, I could see that the incipient tears were gone, replaced by something else.  It was a look I had never seen before.  Then she added, “Could I have another?  Please?”
	As our lips met again, I realized I was holding a naked woman!  But that thought was drowned out by the power of the kiss we shared.  For lack of any better idea, I began to lightly run my fingers over her bare back.  The feeling was like handling warm satin.  When my hand went lower, I could feel the swell of her bun and yanked my hand away.
	“Don’t stop!” Jean whispered, pulling away just far enough to speak.  “Squeeze it!  I’m really not at all breakable.”  Again she melted her lips against mine as I squeezed her lovely asscheek.
	Just then a youthful voice behind me said, “Darn!  I missed the whole thing!”
	“And what are you doing here, young lady?” Jean asked after easing out of my embrace.  “And haven’t you ever heard of knocking on doors before entering?”
	“Why should I?” the girl replied airily.  “We own the joint.”
I turned to see an utterly beautiful young girl.  (I later learned she was only eight years old.)  She was a bit over four feet tall (I think), with the same golden blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes that Jean had.
	At that point I realized that Jean not only wasn’t self-conscious about being naked in the presence of this girl, she seemed to be unaware of the fact.
	The girl moved past Jean and came to me with her hand outstretched.  “How do you do, Mr. Dawson.  I’m Susan Callaway.”  Then with her eyes wide she asked, “May I call you Uncle Jim?  It would be so neat if I could.”
	Before I could say a word, Jean exploded.  “Uncle Jim?  Good grief, girl, where did that come from?  You’re just meeting him for the first time, for heaven’s sake.”
	“But since I’m going to be sharing the bed with you guys, it would be a little odd for me to call my bed-mate, ‘Mr. Dawson’, wouldn’t it?  Particularly when we’re all going to be naked.”
	Glancing at her, I saw that Jean had an eyebrow raised as she said, “And where, young lady, did that ‘sharing’ come from?  You have an utterly magnificent suite of rooms all to yourself.  I repeat: Where did this ‘sharing’ come from?”
	“It’s my post-traumatic stress syndrome, Aunt Jean.  You know all about that...”
	“Your what?” Jean nearly screamed.
	“My post-traumatic stress syndrome,” the girl repeated.  “You know: That’s why I can’t sleep alone.”
	“Little girl, there are other people for you to sleep with,” Jean responded.  “Like two sisters, for instance...”
	As if she was speaking to a two-year-old, Susan said, “You two are the only ones left.  Steph is joined with Mike Mitchell; they might as well be Siamese twins.  Sandy is sleeping with Sam, so you get me.”
	“And this marvelous syndrome you discovered...?”
	“I didn’t; Sandy did.  She beat me to it.”  Then with the cutest grin I’ve ever seen she added, “You know, it’s really wild to see some of the things those idiot psychiatrists define as mental illnesses.  Personally, I think they’re the ones who are nuts.”  She giggled and continued, “But to your question, a person suffering from the syndrome needs constant companionship, particularly at night.  He or she shouldn’t sleep alone, so...
	“Besides,” she continued, changing the subject, “I can work on Uncle Jim’s cock after he’s fucked you a couple of times.  I’m really good at getting a guy hard again.”
	Then to me she said, “Has Aunt Jean finished telling you what a horrible person she is yet?”
	I was so stunned by the question, I think the only thing that happened was that my eyes flared.
	My reaction was answer enough for her.  “Look into her eyes deeply and tell me what you see,” she ordered.
	I turned back toward Jean and took her in my arms.  But this time, instead of kissing her, I looked deeply into her eyes.  All I saw was purity and love.  It was truly incredible.  I said as much to Susan.
	“Has she gotten around to telling you how dumb she is yet?” the girl asked, ignoring my reply to her earlier question.
	“No,” I responded with a quizzical sound in my voice.
	“Great!  Well, I guess I headed that off, anyway,” the girl retorted.  “Uncle Jim, if an IQ was converted to a temperature, “Aunt Jean’s could boil water!  She’s utterly brilliant.”
	“I am like hell!” Jean exclaimed.  “I’m barely literate.”
	“Oh?” Susan responded with an eyebrow raised.  (She looked cute as hell!)  “Dear aunt, obtaining a college degree — summa cum laude, no less — in just a few months from a standing start is not a mark of marginal literacy.”
	“It’s just a glorified community college, for God’s sake!” Jean retorted.  “Degrees from there don’t even count!”
	“Uncle Jim, do you consider the University of Illinois at Chicago to be a community college?”
	“UIC?  Of course not.  It has a truly outstanding computer science program, among other things...”
	“And her degree — with a triple major — covers computer science, English and history,” the girl interjected.
	“And if during that time Aunt Jean ever slept, no one knew of it.  I guess she’s like me and my sisters, but a bit different.  We desperately wanted to obtain an education; Aunt Jean, on the other hand, was turned off by school.  I guess she was bored to tears...  And with her intelligence it’s easy to see why.  But now with her... assignment... I guess she’s changed.”
	With the loveliest smile, she added, “She majored in computer science because that’s your field.  She wanted to be certain she would know what you’re talking about.”
	Then with another lovely grin she added, “The English and history are because you’re such a nerd, there had to be someone around who could read, as well as knowing there was a world prior to the invention of the computer.  She can even tell you what most of the big words mean, too.”
	“Okay, Imp,” Jean said resignedly.  In just a moment she slipped on her bikini, her skirt and was buttoning her top.
	“Your hair...” Susan said.
	“Oh, yeah...”  And with that, Jean gave her head a hard shake.  In an instant her hair was perfectly in place.
	As we headed toward the door, Susan remarked, “That’s another reason women hate her.  Not only is she drop-dead gorgeous, but she restores her hair with a shake of her head.”  Then with another lovely grin she added, “Personally, I think it’s neat!”
	We went down to the garage and I opened the passenger-side door for Jean.  I saw her eyes widen in pleasure and surprise when I did.  From Susan I received the loveliest smile and a very polite thank-you.
	The car was a BMW M-5.  Why I needed a vehicle capable of speeds above 150 mph just to drive to work is another question.  It just again supports the statement that men never outgrow their need for toys; the toys just get more expensive.  Jean told me that the car’s signaling system had been coded to open both the gate and garage doors.  What gate and which doors she didn’t bother to tell me.
	As I started out of the garage Susan said, “This seat is lovely, Uncle Jim, but couldn’t I ride home on Aunt Jean’s lap?  I would love to have her hold me.”
	“Just fasten your seat belt and stay where you’re nice and safe,” Jean responded.  A moment later she exclaimed, “And don’t you dare stick your tongue out at me, young lady!”
	A glace at the mirror showed that, indeed, Susan had stuck out her tongue.  But glancing to the side I saw that Jean had her harness on and was looking straight ahead.  I had never been to the Callaway home so Jean provided directions.  In the meantime, Susan had very peacefully fallen asleep in the back seat.
	“How did you know Susan stuck out her tongue?” I finally asked.  “You couldn’t have seen her.”
	“Because it’s what I would have done when I was her age,” Jean replied, “so I knew that’s what she was doing.”
	“You really love her, don’t you?”
	“Yes, I do,” Jean replied with no further elaboration.
	I guess the radio controls had been properly set because when we came up to a massive gate Jean touched a button over the mirror and the gate’s two halves swung smoothly inward.  At the same time, spike-tipped steel plates in front of the car dropped flat while another set behind the car rose into position.  Operating the way they did, only a single vehicle could pass through the gates at one time.  Interesting, I thought.
	Jean directed me to the garage door and I drove down the ramp to find a garage large enough for perhaps 20 cars; there were five parked there when we arrived.
	With a quick grin Jean declared that the car would be quite safe.  Given the security I had already seen — the gates and the 10-foot fence around the entire property — I was confident that she was correct.
	She led the way to a stairway and up to the home’s entrance hall.  There she called out, “Anybody home?”  Hearing a response she led the way into the living room.
	“My, my!” she said with a smile.  “How remarkable!  Everybody’s here, and they’re all dressed.”  Turning to me she said, “Jim, this may be the only time you’ll ever see these young people in one place, let alone dressed.  For some reason they seem to be more comfortable bare which is the way you’ll usually be seeing them.”
	She proceeded to make introductions, beginning with Samantha Callaway.  I looked at the girl, 17 at the time, and couldn’t control a whistle.  Sam is an exquisitely beautiful blonde, very tall — five feet nine — with a perfect figure.  Her hair is blonde worn very short like her mother’s and she has remarkably brilliant blue eyes.
	Then Jean moved to a couple sitting on the sofa.  The girl had auburn hair, bright emerald-green eyes and a remarkable figure for a girl so young.  Well, I guess her hair sort of started out auburn.  The fact is that she wears it in a pixie cut, and obviously spends a lot of time in the sun.  The result was that her hair had natural color streaks covering all the hues from auburn to red to strawberry blonde.  She, too, was close to five feet nine.
	“These are the Siamese twins, Stephanie Callaway and Mike Mitchell.  Steph spends her time trying to fix Mike up with other girls who she feels would be better for him.  For his part, he seems to like what he’s got.  And as you may have gathered, they’ve slept together every night for eons, either here or at the Mitchell’s.
	“Can you imagine?” Jean continued, “Coming home from a date to sleep with another girl?  That’s what Mike’s been doing for months.”
	“Sooner or later Steph will give it up,” Mike said.  “She’s utterly perfect!”
	“Perfect?” the girl screamed.  “I’m a slut!  Just look.”
	With that she rose from the sofa where she had been sitting beside Mike, stripped off the dress she was wearing and dropped her bikini.  Then she turned sideways and I saw branded deep into her ass cheek the word SLUT.  “It’s on both cheeks,” she said with tears in her eyes, “and it’s permanent.”
	Mike stood up beside her, then casually picked her up in his arms and sat down again with the now-naked girl sitting across his lap.  “Steph is utterly perfect,” the young man repeated.  “She didn’t tell you that she was partially blinded...  That she had an infernal spiked device implanted in her vagina to prevent intercourse.  She didn’t show you the scars on her crotch from myriad whip cuts...”
	“But I might not be able to ever have children,” the girl interrupted softly while snuggling close to him.
	“Then God didn’t mean for us to ever have any,” the boy replied.  “Big fucking deal!  Darling, I want as many children as you can have.  If that number is zero, then that’s the way it will be.”  With that he tipped her head and kissed her passionately.
	Mike Mitchell was sixteen at the time and Stephanie was fifteen.  Nonetheless, the kiss they exchanged was lovely.  I found that I could hear bells and almost see the electricity between them.  This caused me to start thinking about the kisses I had shared with Jean.  My initial thought had been that it must be the way a man and woman kiss, but as I thought about it, that didn’t make a lot of sense.
	“This is Sandra Callaway,” Jean said, introducing me to a golden-haired blonde with blue eyes that were duplicates of Susan’s and Jean’s own.  She was thirteen, and was developing into the same beauty as her older sister, Stephanie.”
	“I’m the real slut in the family,” the girl said.  She had risen from her chair but had her hands behind her back.
	“Sandy!” Jean chided.  “Is that any way to greet a guest?”
	“I’m sure Mr. Dawson doesn’t want to shake the hand of a whore,” the girl said.  “I just didn’t want to embarrass him.  Just look!”  With that she stripped off her dress and bikini and stood before me as naked as her sister.  Turning, she indicted the word SLUT branded deep into her flank.  Spinning, she showed me its mate on the other side.  “It was done to Steph,” the girl said.  “I did it to myself to tell the world the sort of person I am —”
	“You did it to try to save my virginity!” Susan interrupted with a scream.  “Sandy learned that they were going to auction me off... and I was only seven at the time.  She branded herself and sacrificed her virginity to save mine.  She was just twelve, but she felt she could take a man better than I could.”
	I was utterly stunned.  Then Susan dropped her pants and took off her dress, too.  There on her right flank was again the word SLUT branded deep.  “I did this to myself, too, to try to help Sandy.  She was bleeding so terribly!”
	“But how...?” I stammered.

	“It was easy, really,” the little girl replied.  “It was the same way Sandy did it.  A red-hot branding iron was secured in a vise and I just held my ass against it while I slowly counted to five.  I tried so hard not to scream while I slowly counted out loud.”  Susan’s eyebrows beetled and she added, “It was sort of funny, I guess.  It smelled like steak cooking on the grill.”
	It was all I could do to keep from vomiting at the idea.
	“But... But...  Who did this?”
	“That’s a very interesting question,” Stephanie, the oldest, replied.  “I could give you the usual bullshit we give to people, but the fact is, we have no idea.”  She paused for a moment and then continued.  She spoke slowly and painfully.  “There are four of us, two with auburn hair and two blondes.  The family resemblance among us is much too strong to be an accident.  Moreover, there are... other things... that seem to set us apart.”
	“Like the ability that’s shared by all four of the girls to memorize almost anything while hearing it for the first time,” Jean interjected.  “Believe it or not, the oldest, Sheila, was blinded by these people.  Nevertheless, in spite of being able to see only light and dark and large shapes, she attended school and did very well.  How?  She literally memorized everything her teachers said after hearing it only once.  All four of these girls — Sheila is married to Jim Callaway now, by the way — are adopted.  Samantha and Jim are Jack’s children by his first wife who died of cancer.
	“If you’re wondering how Sheila was blinded, it resulted from repeated hard blows to her head that resulted in the detaching of both retinas.  Stephanie here was only blinded in one eye.”
	“But the branding...?”
	“The three of us were together,” Stephanie explained.  “I guess we appeared from somewhere just after Sheila was saved by the Callaways.  To get even, the first thing they did was to brand me on both cheeks and later require Sandy to brand herself.  As you just heard, Susie branded herself to try to save Sandy from even greater tortures.  They were sick!”
	“What happened to them?” I asked, not at all sure I wanted to hear the answer.
	“They were both shot and killed by the arresting officers while resisting arrest,” Jean responded.  “It’s a real shame, too.  First of all, because they’re both dead — a man and a woman — we’ll never know how or from where the girls appeared.  Second, I understand that prison is a remarkably unforgiving place for child molesters, and those two just about take the all-time prize for molestation.
	“Can you imagine a twelve-year-old girl begging to be raped to try to save her little sister?  That’s what Sandy did.  But before losing her virginity, Susan had to whip Sandy’s cunt with 25 strokes, each of which had to draw blood.”  At that point Jean started to cry but managed to add, “Can you imagine girls as good as these having to associate with a piece of filth like me?”

	“Jean Peters, knock off that shit this instant!” Samantha ordered in a commanding voice.  “There’s one thing I learned a long time ago: My mother has infallible judgment with respect to people, particularly judging the good and the bad.  She ranks you at least as highly as she ranks any of the other girls, and you know how much she loves and respects them.”
	At that point Jean looked pointedly at her watch.  Glancing at mine, I noticed it was after five o’clock.  When Sam realized the time, she blushed and excused herself.  Stephanie jumped to her feet and followed Samantha out of the room.
	What’s going on? I wondered.
	A few minutes later, Sam reappeared with a tray of drinks.  She served martinis on the rocks to Jean and me and Cokes to the other young people.  Steph followed her with a tray of the most beautiful and unusual-appearing hors d’oeuvres I had ever seen.
	What followed was a truly fascinating hour as we got acquainted.  During the conversation, I realized something about myself.  I guess I am reasonably intelligent, and this causes problems for me.  What often happens is — to the great discomfiture of the people I’m with — I’ll be talking about A which reminds me of B.  Then mentally I’ll make a connection from B to Q and from Q to Y and start talking about Y.  Few people can make the connection between A — the topic of conversation — and Y.  And I certainly can’t blame them.
	But that wasn’t at all what happened that afternoon, particularly with Jean.  It seemed that to her, Y was just A1 — the two related perfectly to her it seemed.  I had never had such an experience in my life.

	The truly remarkable thing about that hour was that I had no sensation of being with kids.  But it was strange.  Susan, for example, was utterly adorable, yet she could — and did — follow the ins and outs of the conversation with ease while participating with the others.
	After an hour had passed — so quickly it seemed like only a couple of minutes — Jean rose, extended her hands to me and said, “It’s time to go to work.  Let’s go, Jim.”
	I got to my feet and followed her out of the living room into a hallway that was all glass on the north side.  Here, one had a panoramic view of the estate and the extensive woods beyond a natural meadow.  One could imagine deer emerging from the fringes of the woods to feed.  Jean opened a door off the hall and then stepped aside for me to enter.  I was utterly stunned.  It was a sitting room, not nearly as large as the living room we had come from, but more than large enough.  The most impressive element was the comfort that had been designed in.  Although there were no windows — I soon found out why — there was a very strange but pleasant odor of clean.
	When I mentioned this to Jean, she grinned and told me that the climate control system — “air conditioning” just doesn’t do it for this place — was an utter marvel.  It seems that it was modeled on the systems used in our nuclear submarines; the air was changed fifteen times an hour — even more often if there was a party with large numbers of people — and run through charcoal filters to eliminate odors and a system that destroyed any and all germs.
	Almost absent-mindedly, I reached out to touch a leather-covered sofa.  I was surprised: unlike the  leathers ordinarily used to uphoster furniture, this was a very soft glove leather.  As I would discover, it feels marvelous on one’s bare skin.  Moreover, Jean informed me, it had been treated to shed stains and particularly bodily fluids.
	Besides the sofa, there were a couple of comfortable arm chairs along with some side chairs, all covered with the same type of leather, and at one end of the room were two computers set up back to back.  At a glance they appeared to be the latest and greatest and so they proved to be.  Off the sitting room was a small but fully-equipped kitchen.
	The door facing the door in from the hallway led to the bedroom and bath.  The bed was king-sized (naturally) and the bathroom was large enough to hold a dance.  In addition to twin lavatories, it had a huge shower and a sunken bathtub which more accurately should be called a baby swimming pool.
	“It’s really neat!” Jean enthused.  “Among other things, it has its own filtering system and heater.  You can just soak for hours and the temperature of the water is unchanged.  If you want it, it also has a full array of whirlpool-bath capabilities.
	“Anyway,” she said as she concluded her conducted tour, “this is home.  Is it okay?”
	Oh, yeah.  I forgot.  I mentioned that there were no windows in the sitting room.  The reason was that the outer walls of both the bedroom and bath were glass.  Both rooms had sliding doors  opening on a patio and beyond I could see what proved to be a full-bore Olympic swimming pool, 50 meters in length by a full eight lanes wide.
	“This concludes the tour,” she said with a shy smile, leading the way back to the sitting room.
	Jean sat on the sofa and motioned for me to sit beside her.  Oh, I guess I should have mentioned that my attire that day was standard for me on a hot day in June: a pair of well-worn Levi’s and a golf shirt.  I guess I felt just a bit strange sitting beside a woman as beautifully dressed as she was.
	But I sat down anyway, and undoubtedly looked bewildered.  I really should have looked that way, because it was certainly the way I felt.  When I sat beside her, she moved close beside me, took my face in her hands, tilted it and melted her lips to mine.  I guess I was a bit better prepared for her kiss this time.
	Although our first kisses had been surprises to me, they had been filled with an unbelievable level of passion.  At first, this kiss was very different.  Although I could still hear the bells and feel the electricity flowing between us, this time her kiss was one of incredible tenderness.  Where before she had raped my mouth with her tongue, this time I could feel it probing gently in my mouth searching for my own.
	When our two tongues met, they began a dance... and I guess it was a dance of love, although I certainly didn’t know it at the time.  Meanwhile I could feel the fingers of her right hand moving ever so gently over my face and neck.  It was as if she was studying my features using Braille.  Then Jean sinuously moved her body against mine.  Not willing to let that feeling stop, I put my arms around her and pulled her body close to mine. (Rereading this sentence now causes me to howl with laughter.  I knew absolutely nothing at the time!)  But it seemed to be the correct thing to do.
	Finally we eased apart and I looked into her lovely eyes.  They were almost glazed in their appearance, but then as I could see her looking beyond me, her brows shot up and she appeared startled.  “And what, may I ask, are you doing here?” she asked.
	Turning enough to see, I saw Susan Callaway sitting on one of the side chairs watching us intently.  Moreover, the young girl was now stark naked and appeared to be utterly unconcerned about it.
	“Well,” the girl responded, “one of the idiot educationists would call this a meaningful learning experience.”
	“And what is that supposed to mean?” Jean asked archly.
	“Someday I’ll be old enough to have a date and undoubtedly it will be with some jerk who has no idea how a girl is put together, let alone how her clothing works...”  She paused, cocked her head and wondered out loud, “Now why do you suppose there are no classes in things like that?  The schools are big on school-to-work these days.  How about school-to-sex?
	“Anyway,” she continued, “since you’re going to coach Uncle Jim, I thought I might learn something too.”
	Although I had been focusing on Susan, when the girl mentioned the way a woman’s clothing worked, I heard Jean mutter, “Damn...”
	Turning to Jean I asked, “Damn what?”
	“I forgot something,” she replied sheepishly.  “I was going to buy a few bras, but I forgot.”
	“What for?” I asked, puzzled as usual.  “You don’t wear a bra, do you?”
	Raising an eyebrow she asked, “When was the last time you took a bra off a girl?”
	“The next time will be the first time,” I replied, chagrined, “as I’m sure you already knew.”
	My response evoked a warm smile from Jean and a lovely musical giggle from Susan, still sitting bare-assed naked on the chair.
	“Oh, well, I guess we’ll have to do that some other time,” Jean said.  Then with another warm smile she continued, “Undressing a woman is pretty simple, and really quite easy for you.  You’re right-handed, aren’t you, Jim?”
	Again I looked puzzled.  (Those first few days I guess the expression on my face tended to alternate between embarrassment and puzzlement, but mostly some combination of the two.)  “What’s being right-handed have to do with undressing a woman?” I asked.
	With a cute little grin she replied, “It’s an old tradition.  Women had maids helping them dress a great deal more often than men had valets.  Since it’s easier for a right-handed person to put a button in a buttonhole with the right hand, women’s wear still buttons right over left, while men’s clothing is left over right.”  Then she added, “You would think that after all these years of a lady’s maid being a concept as dead as the dodo, the manufacturers would have made a change.  But they haven’t.”  She just shook her head in feigned sadness.
	“See?” piped Susan.  “I told you this would be a meaningful learning experience, and I’ve learned something new already.”
	That little girl was so damned cute!  She had the same golden-blonde hair that Jean has along with matching blue eyes and the same all-over golden tan.  There she sat upright gently playing the fingers of her right hand over her left nipple. 
	“Nothing!” she remarked with disgust.  “At least Sandy’s nipples are becoming sensitive.  When I do it, it just sort of tickles.  Darn!”
	“Don’t rush it, Susie,” Jean commented.
	I was impressed by the fact that Jean didn’t belittle the girl.  Rather she spoke to her as... a loving mother!   I was astounded.  Oh, well... at least that was a new sensation.
	“Are you just going to sit there?” Jean asked with a warm smile that took the sting from her words, “or are you going to do something?  Like opening my top, for example...”
	I can take a hint as well as the next guy.  I reached over and undid the two large buttons holding her top (jacket?) together and then spread them wide.  She wasn’t wearing a bra, of course, and the effect was like white stage curtains framing the most lovely pair of breasts I’ve ever seen.  And like the rest of her they were deeply tanned.  Her upthrusting pink nipples were the only spot of color; even her very small areolae appeared tanned.
	Taking the jacket lapels from me, she spread them open wide and asked, “Do you like what you see, Jim?  They’re small, I know, but...”
	“Small?” Susie exclaimed.  “They are like heck!  They’re perfectly sized, and your nipples are gorgeous.”  Then addressing me she said, “But what do you think, Uncle Jim?”
	“I think your breasts are gorgeous,” I responded.
	“Breasts?” Jean said with a wry grin.  “Get real!  Why don’t you call them mammary glands, for heaven’s sake?  Now what do you want to call them?  Tits?  Boobs?  Jugs?  Hooters?  What?”  Then with an adorably shy grin she added, “It’s your call.”
	I didn’t know how to respond, but I guess I managed to stammer, “I... I... I sort of like tits, if it’s okay with you?”
	“Okay,” she responded matter-of-factly, “I’ve got a pair of tits.”  Again she softened it by adding, “I would go with your decision, regardless, Jim, but I sort of like ‘tits’ too.  ‘Boobs’ remind me of a booby: a dunce.  The others always sound a little coarse.  Besides, my tits aren’t nearly big enough to be in the ‘boobs’ class.”  With a lovely winning grin she concluded, “I guess I’ve always felt that boobs begin at about a double-D cup.  I’m just sort of a generous B.
	“Which brings up another thing.  I know they’re not big enough for you, and I’m working on it, but how big would you like my tits to be?  You’re going to be living with them for several months, so...”
	“Ha!” came a response from Susan still sitting unmoving in the same chair.  “Would you kindly knock off that stuff, Aunt Jean?  I would give my right arm to have tits as lovely as yours.”
	“Yours will be much nicer,” Jean replied.  “Just look at your sister, Sheila.  And Steph.  Steph hasn’t fully developed but it’s apparent she’ll be just like Sheila: simply perfect.”
	“If you, Mom, Sheila and Sam were to stand behind a barrier with only your tits showing, no one could tell one from the other...”  But then Susan stopped abruptly and changed tack.  “No!  That’s not right.  There would be two identical sets: yours and Mom’s, and Sheila’s and Sam’s.  The difference is that yours and Mom’s are fully developed.  Sam and Sheila are still filling out.  But you’re all simply gorgeous.  Now will you kindly knock off the garbage?”
	Then with the most winsome grin I’ve ever seen she added, “I hope you’ve noticed how careful I’m being with my language.  I didn’t even say ‘knock off the shit’ which is what I was really thinking.”
	At that comment, Jean rose from the sofa and knelt down beside Susan’s chair.  She enfolded the little girl in her arms and then just melted her lips to hers.  In an instant the girl came to life and wrapped her small arms around Jean’s neck and just hugged.  From telltale movement I could see in Jean’s cheeks, it seemed that she was using her tongue to explore the girl’s mouth, searching for her tongue.
	When the two tongues met and began their dance, Susan’s body shuddered in ecstasy.  While all this was going on, Jean was caressing the girl’s body in the lightest, most delicate way possible.  It was apparent that the little girl was responding to the caresses as well.
	Finally the two separated.  Susie was breathing heavily but managed to gasp, “I adore you, Aunt Jean!”
	“And I love you very much, too, darling Susan.”
	With her jacket hanging open, Jean returned to sit beside me.  Then she turned to me, waiting.
	Very diffidently, I reached out and touched her right breast.  “That’s it, Jim,” she murmured.  Now run your finger over my nipple.”
	I did and could feel it instantly become even more erect.
	“Most girl’s nipples will be flaccid when you start stroking them,” she said softly.  “Kate thinks most guys like turgid nipples, and she showed me how to keep mine that way.  Do you like it?”
	I put my whole hand over her breast and very gently squeezed.  As I did, I moved closer and my lips met hers.  The effect was heavenly.  As we kissed, I could feel her breathing come faster and again her hand went behind my neck.  The feel of her fingers — like feathers — was like nothing I had ever experienced.  I was getting hard as a rock, and I knew Jean knew it.
	“Squeeze hard,” she whispered.  “Most girls like gentle caressers — exactly what you’re doing — but some gals like the guy to be rougher.”
	“What do you like?” I responded.
	Her reply was humbling.  “I... I... I don’t know.”  Then her eyes began to tear again and she added, “I’ve been a prostitute for so damned long, I’ve never thought about what I might like.  I’ve always been focused on the john in hopes of getting a bigger tip.”
	Caressing her tit was utterly incredible.  In spite of what she had said, her breasts were perfectly sized for me.  As big as my hands are — and I can palm a basketball — I couldn’t get my hand completely around one.  Then I squeezed a little harder.
	This provoked a gasp from Jean and I instantly released my hold.  “No!” she protested.  “Please don’t stop.  It feels utterly wonderful!”  I squeezed and she put her hand over mine.  “Harder!  Squeeze harder, please?”
	I increased the pressure and she murmured, “Better...”  At this point her eyes were closed and her head was resting on the sofa back.  For my part the sensation was incredible.  I could feel her erect nipple moving against the palm of my hand.
	At that point I guess Jean remembered where she was and what she was supposed to be doing.  She opened her eyes, blinked and shook her head as if to clear it.  “Jim, you really can’t hurt me.”  Again I could see tears in the corners of her eyes as she continued, “One thing that’s very common with prossies: Guys like to hurt us.  Believe me when I say for most of the last ten years my body has been a mass of bruises and more than a few lacerations.”  Then with a shy little smile she asked, “Squeeze my tit really hard.  Please?”
	I did and obtained a surprising reaction.  And from what I could observe, it was as much of a surprise to her as it was to me.  When I squeezed her tit hard, her pelvis shuddered.  Obviously she was as startled as I was.
	At that point she gave me instructions on how women’s skirts are constructed, buttons, hooks, zippers and so forth.  We got past that and got to her bikini.
	“This is going to require the girl’s cooperation,” she said with a grin.  “If she really doesn’t want you in her pants, she’ll likely try to keep them on.”  Then with a friendly wink she added, “At that point you have two choices.  Either rip them off — and that isn’t as easy as it looks.  Although it might be very sheer — you can often see right through it — nylon is very strong.  Or you can fuck her with her bikini still on.”  Then she showed me how it could be moved to one side or the other to create an opening.
	Again, Jean was naked on the sofa.  Now she had me sit in a chair facing her.  It was an utterly incredible experience.  Here I am sitting about a foot or so away from an utterly gorgeous naked girl, and she’s acting as casual and as natural as if she were fully dressed.
	It was as if she could read my mind.  “I’ve been a prostitute for almost ten years, Jim.  Being naked with a man is my normal working uniform.”
	For some reason her remark provoked a derisive giggle from Susan who was still sitting quietly on her chair, only now she had her feet tucked under her bottom and was kneeling on the chair more than sitting on it.
	Jean started to spread her thighs wide when she suddenly stopped, snapped her fingers, jumped up from the sofa and ran to the door.  “Samantha!” she called out.  “We need you!”
	A few moments later Sam appeared, hopping on one foot as she tried to disengage the other from her bikini.  Like the other two girls, she was now completely naked, too.  Obviously, being called in came as no surprise, but I wondered why she was taking off her clothes.   Because Jean was waiting at the doorway, the two women were together long enough for me to see that they were close to being twins.  The only significant difference was that Jean’s hair was long while Sam’s was worn in an urchin cut.  Both of their bodies were utterly exquisite.  But as I thought about it, I realized that their facial structures were dissimilar, although both were beautiful; it was their bodies that were nearly identical.
	“To what do I owe this gracious invitation?” Sam asked with a grin.
	“Well...” Jean replied, really stretching out the word, “we’re now at the point in female physiology where we’re about to look at the cunt.  And since yours is in the anatomy textbooks...”
	“Oh, no you don’t!” Sam exclaimed.  “Jim is your client, not mine.  But I’ll tell you what I’ll do...”
	She sat on the sofa beside Jean, spread her thighs wide and told Jean to do the same thing.  “Now, Jean, spread your lips wide so Jim gets a good look and I’ll do the same.  Okay?”
	Under the circumstances, there was nothing Jean could do but comply.  When she spread her right leg — the one closest to Sam — Sam lifted hers and put it over Jean’s, holding it in position.  Then she asked Susan to hold Jean’s left leg so it remained spread wide.
	With a cute grin, the girl scrambled from her chair to comply.  But first she knelt on the sofa and gave Jean a loving kiss.  As she did, I’m almost certain I heard her whisper, “I love you, Aunt Jean!”
	“Okay, Jean,” Sam ordered, “use your fingers to spread your lips wide.  Let Jim have a good look.”
	When she complied, I looked on in astonishment — I think.  Here were two utterly gorgeous blue-eyed blondes holding their pussy lips spread wide so I could get a good look at their cunts.  Before I even looked at what I was supposed to, I realized something else: First, like Jean and Susan, Sam was tanned all over.  There wasn’t anything close to a strap mark anywhere.  Both had their pubic hair plucked so that there was only a small triangular patch of golden curly hair remaining above their slits.  Beyond that, though, both girl’s crotches were deeply tanned too, as were their hands with their fingers holding their labia wide apart.
	I guess I’ve never thought much about hands, but I realized that these two were exceptional.  Both girls had hands that were perfectly formed with long slender fingers.  Simply lovely!  Glancing at Susan, I could see that, although her hand was much smaller, it would be the same when she was older.  She had the same relatively small palm with long slender fingers.
	“Have you finished your wool-gathering?” Sam asked with a quirky grin.  “I don’t want to have to sit here all evening and risk my cunt catching a cold.”
	I looked from one cunt to the other and back again.  I couldn’t see any difference and said so.
	“Neato!” Sam exclaimed, “I’m outta here!”  But she didn’t release her lips.  Instead, she glanced down at herself and then looked at Jean’s cunt.  “You missed something,” she said to me.  “Something very significant, in fact.  See this?” she asked, indicating a nubbin high in her slit.
	I swallowed hard and nodded.
	“Now look at Jean’s.”
	I did, and just shook my head.  “They still look the same to me.”
	“That’s the clitoris, Jim,” the girl explained.  “Mine is relaxed, but Jean’s has popped its head out of its hood.  See the difference?”
	Looking again, I did see a difference.  “Okay.  Her clitoris is out of its hood.  What’s that mean?”
	“It means that I don’t trust her is what it means,” Sam replied.  “She’s been telling me for months that she’s incapable of achieving orgasm — that’s cuming to you, Jim.”  Then to Jean she said, “I guess you’ll have to be the demonstration vehicle, not me.  And it just goes to show you: Marion may have thought I have a perfect cunt, but if it’s true, you do, too, Jean Peters.”  Then with another grin she added, “I think yours really is perfect.”
	The girl thought for a moment and then continued, “So I think I’ll stick around.  It’s a little hard to coach a guy when it’s your cunt that’s being eaten.”
	To Susan she said, “Go get Sandy.  I think we’re going to need her.”
	“You can’t do this!” Jean protested.  “It’s not just that you have a beautiful pussy.  It’s the fact that it’s just not right for Jim to be eating a whore’s cunt!”
	“How many times has your cunt been eaten?” Sam asked.
	“Lots of times,” Jean pouted
	“How many times by a man?”
	“What difference does that make?  It’s been eaten lots of times.  And everything filthy and disgusting has been done to it and in it!”
	Ignoring the second sentence Sam retorted, “When you’re doing an exhibition with another girl, you mean.”
	“So what?”
	“So it’s not the same thing.  And you’re about to see why.  And you insist you’ve never cum and can’t cum, right?”
	Jean was sitting alone on the sofa now, but her legs were still spread wide.  Tears began to run down her lovely cheeks as she replied, “Sam, you know damned well that I might as well be dead from the waist down.  There’s no feeling there and there never has been any.  That’s another reason for using you.  How can Jim possibly know if he’s doing it right if he gets no reaction of any kind?”  (It was only much later that I remembered the orgasm Jean had had when I squeezed her tit.)
	“We’ll see,” Sam replied noncommittally.  “All I know is that your clit is standing at attention!  You’re clearly not as dead as you think you are or would like us to believe.”
	While Susan was gone, I suddenly realized the anomaly: I was still dressed while all the girls were naked, yet no one seemed to mind or even notice.  How odd.  Furthermore, I was learning something about myself.  Although Jean was being paid for it, I felt their was a real attraction between us.  Of course, it could be just the usual result of kissing, but I began to doubt that was true.
	Susan returned with Sandy who proceeded to shed her clothes, too.  Sam told the girls that she wanted each to hold one of Jean’s arms against the back of the sofa to keep her hands out of the action.  Sandy scrambled up to kneel at Jean’s right side with Sue on the left.  Like her sister, the first thing Sandy did was to melt her lips to Jean’s in a loving kiss.  With her back to me I could see the still-livid brand, SLUT, on her right ass cheek.  What a terrible thing to do to such a beautiful girl!
	Sam then proceeded to instruct me in eating a girl’s cunt.  I licked up Jean’s slit and focused on her clit, flicking it with my tongue.  By this time I had her legs over my shoulders.  As Samantha had said, I found Jean’s juices to be lovely and sweet.  Following her instructions, I found that I was bringing Jean toward her crest.  I guess she was on the verge of an orgasm, but I really had no idea what to expect.  For that matter, I didn’t know then, nor do I know now, how I could tell she was on the edge of cuming, but I did... and still do.
	Just as I could sense her reaching a crest, Sam told me to ease up just a tiny bit.  The crest subsided.  Following Sam’s detailed instructions, I did it again and again and again.  Each time Jean reached the crest faster than the time before.  Finally, I had her right on the edge: She couldn’t go down, but I wouldn’t let her go over, either.
	By this time she was writhing in agony on the sofa and it was taking the not inconsiderable strength of the two girls to hold her arms outstretched.
	“Let me cum!” she screamed.  “James Dawson, let me cum this instant!”
	“But how can he, Jean?” Sam replied in her most-reasonable tone of voice.  “You can’t cum, remember?”
	I pulled back a bit from Jean’s cunt to get a look and was amazed at what I was seeing.  By now her clit had extended to the point of being like a baby’s penis.  It was bright red now and vibrating by itself.
	“Are you really sure you want this?” Sam asked.
	“Samantha Callaway!” Jean screamed.  “I’m going to kill you!  Just you wait!”
	“I’ll tell you what, Jean.  You ask Jim very nicely, and I’ll see what I can do.  I want you to say, ‘Jim, please eat my lovely cunt.  If you make my cum, I promise to reward you with the sweetest cum cream you’ve ever tasted.’  Now say it!”
	“That’s absurd!” Jean gasped.  “And it would be a horrible lie, too.  All there is is filth and dirt!  It’s a whore’s cunt!” she wailed.
	Following Sam’s instructions, I just maintained the girl on the edge.
	Finally she couldn’t take it any more.  “Please!” she whispered.  “God help me!  I can’t take this any more.  I’ll do anything, say anything...”  Her words just dissolved into hopeless-sounding tears.
	Sam repeated her words.
	Gasping, Jean stammered, “Jim, please eat my lovely cunt.  If you make my cum, I promise to reward you with the sweetest cum cream you’ve ever tasted.”
	At Sam’s nod, I gave her vibrating clit a sharp flick with the tip of my tongue.  That was all it took.  Her pelvis exploded as she was taken with an incredibly powerful orgasm. 
	Then following her instructions, I licked up her cream and began to probe her vagina with my tongue.  Her cum flowed in quantity, and it was remarkably sweet, as promised.  I went back to licking her slit and flicking her clit; again she came.  By now Jean was gasping for breath; her pelvis was in such a spasm that her diaphragm wouldn’t work.  I eased up to let her breathe.

	Slowly she came down from her peak and color returned to her face.  Then, at a signal from Sam I took her up again and again and again.  Finally, she was just sprawled on the sofa with her legs still spread wide and her arms flopping out in both directions. 
	She had been screaming, “Eat me!  Eat me!”, but that had turned into incoherent babblings and finally just gasps.  The fact was, though, that as her ordeal continued, her cream had become progressively sweeter.  Sam had said that the first flows had been accumulated over the years, while at the end it was all fresh... and incredibly sweet.
	Now Jean’s eyes were closed.  Whether she was sleeping or unconscious, I really couldn’t tell.  Going into the bedroom, though, I found a light blanket in the closet and covered her with it.  Then I followed Susan into the kitchen while Sam and Sandy left our apartment.
	There the 8-year-old sat me in a chair and proceeded to make me a very dry martini.  I guess I was still in a daze myself because all I did was sit there with my drink while she left the kitchen and then returned with a plastic milk case.  She overturned it and used it as a step-stool to be tall enough to cook.
	I was astonished.  She moved around as if she was very much at home in a kitchen cooking, and so she proved to be.  She had three lovely strip sirloin steaks and prepared a sauce of some kind.  Then she proceeded to prepare pommes soufflé, fried potatoes that puffed like balloons.
	It appeared she was ready to do the steaks when Jean came staggering into the kitchen and collapsed on the chair opposite me.  Susie stopped what she was doing and quickly made a martini for her.  While she was doing that, I picked Jean up, returned to my seat and sat her down across my lap.  She still hadn’t said a word.  All she did was rest her cheek against my shoulder and murmur softly.
	Lifting her head, I turned it and kissed her.  Again there was that marvelous electricity and the bells.  At the same time, it was so soft and loving; there was no passion in it, at least not on her part.
	When we parted she whispered, “Thank you, Jim.  That was a lovely kiss.  And a perfectly marvelous cunt-eating.”
	Then pretending to be angry, her tone changed dramatically and she said, “But look what you did to my poor cunt!”  Her thighs were still spread wide — she claimed she couldn’t get them any closer together — and her cunt was a brilliant red.  Her labia were still swollen and her clit — still crimson — was still protruding beyond the line of the lips. 
	Then she changed again.  “Was I screaming, ‘Eat me, eat me’?” she asked.
	“Uh huh.”
	Hitting me lightly on the arm she continued, “Well, you didn’t have to take me literally, did you?  I mean...  Just look!  At this rate I won’t even have a cunt after a week.”
	“But you’re a prostitute,” I protested.  Then I raised an eyebrow and added, “And you lied to us, too.  You said you couldn’t cum.  If you can’t, lady, that was the greatest imitation the world has ever seen.”
	Instead of replying, she just snuggled close in my shoulder and sipped her martini.
	A few moments later, Sue finished cooking and put filled plates on the table.  Only then did I notice that everything about the table setting was just lovely, complete with lighted candles.  To complete the setting, Susan even dimmed the lights.
	Jean took her seat beside me while Susan sat opposite.  Only then did I cut into the steak and take a bite.  “This is incredibly good, Susie!  But what’s this sauce you have on it?”
	“It’s sauce Périgord,” she replied.  When she did, I could see her lower lip trembling and tears appearing at the corners of her eyes.  “I hope you don’t mind it too much.  I guess I know how to cook a lot of things, but this is about the only dinner I can get to come out so everthing’s ready at about the same time.”
	“Absolutely delicious!” Jean pronounced.  “And are these fresh truffles I see slivered through the sauce?”
	“I hope you don’t mind...”
	“Jim, by the pound, truffles cost substantially more than gold.”  To the little girl she replied, “Darling, this meal is exquisite!”
	My astonishment continued as the girl very expertly tossed a cæsar salad and served it.  This was followed by crepes Suzette which she flamed at the table.  I could scarcely believe my eyes... or my taste buds.  This little girl had prepared a gourmet feast from a standing (or sitting) start all by herself.
	Then she put out a small plate of assorted cheeses with crackers and served coffee to Jean and me. 
	Oops!  I forgot to mention that she had previously served a chateau-bottled Bordeaux to the two of us along with the steak.  Again, Jean had done something that I was coming to see as so typical of her.  Without a word, she got another wine glass and poured half a glass for Susan.  “This is a perfect French meal, Sue,” she said, “and there’s no minimum age for drinking wine in France.”
	The girl was so utterly delighted, she was bouncing in her chair.
	For my part, it truly was the finest meal I had ever eaten to that point in my life.  After the cheese had largely disappeared, Susan again disappeared and came back with another bottle and two cigars.  Then she obtained two snifters and poured.  It was Rémy Martin’s Louis XIII, possibly the world’s finest cognac bottled in a Baccarat crystal decanter.  She looked at the cigars hesitantly and finally decided not to try to light them herself.
	Without a word, Jean took them from her and carefully lighted the larger — a Corona corona.  When it was burning to her satisfaction, she passed it to me and then repeated the exercise, lighting a slim panatella for herself.
	Along with the cigar, the cognac was a perfect ending to a perfect meal.
	Finally, with her eyes wide Susan asked, “How was the dinner, Uncle Jim?”
	“It was... satisfactory,” I pronounced pontifically.
	At that point I was astonished.  The girl was out of her chair and headed toward the door like a shot.  While I sat there like a dolt, Jean’s arm shot out, caught the girl and pulled her, struggling, close to her body.
	Then holding her tightly in her arms, she whispered, “Darling, Jim was just teasing.  It was an utterly marvelous dinner!”
	While still holding the girl tightly she looked up at me and said, “Jim, please don’t do that again.  I know you were just teasing, but you really can’t do that with these girls in a situation like this.  You see, they have two problems that aren’t very common.
	“First, there’s the matter of their extraordinary intelligence.  It is said that the beginning of wisdom is the knowledge of how much one doesn’t know.  These girls truly thirst for knowledge.  Don’t forget that the brutal treatment they sought — yes, sought! — was so that they could go to school the following week.  It was true for Sheila, Steph and Sandy: They had to have at least 50 strokes with a pussy whip on their cunts on Saturday night or they couldn’t go to school the following week.
	“It became well known to the ‘patrons of the establishment’, so they had to beg, plead and do every vile thing you can imagine just to get their 50 strokes.”  Jean grimaced and shook her head sadly.  “Of course, once they reached 50, the sky was the limit.  Typically they would then be beaten so badly, they would regain consciousness sometime the next morning still lying on the floor.
	“It was Sandy’s volunteering her virginity that saved Susan from those beatings.
	“But the second element is their personal standard: It’s perfection.”  She just shook her head and interjected, “I know and you know that perfection is granted only to God.  But these girls don’t really accept that.  Their personal standard is perfection, and anything less is just not acceptable... to them.”
	At that point she lifted Susan’s head from her shoulder where the girl had buried it and melted her lips to hers.  While their mouths were joined, Jean gently ran her fingers through the girl’s hair and very gently caressed any part of her lovely body within reach.  At the same time I could almost literally see the woman pour her love into the little girl.
	Finally she eased apart so she could look into Susan’s eyes.  “I’m right, aren’t I?”
	Very reluctantly, Susie nodded her head just once.
	“Okay, Jim,” Jean continued, “what did you really think of that meal?”
	Before answering, I extended my arms toward Susie who came running into them.  Holding her tightly I whispered, “Darling Susan, that was without any question the finest meal I’ve ever eaten in my life!  And I’ve eaten at one time or another at virtually all of the Michelin three-star restaurants.  They’re supposed to be the very finest in the world, and I’m not sure there’s even one of them that’s in your class, let alone as good as you are.  That meal was utterly magnificent!”
	“Honest?” Susie asked skeptically.
	“Honest!”
	And you know what?  I was being absolutely honest.  This eight-year-old girl who had to stand on an overturned milk crate to be tall enough to use the pots and skillets had prepared a truly world-class dinner.
	“Now will you give me a kiss, Susie, to show that you forgive me for tormenting you like that?”
	With a little squeal, the girl hurled herself at me, wrapped her arms around my neck and melted her lips to mine.  The kiss I received from that little girl was fantastic.  I could literally feel her love flowing from her lips into me.  As we kissed, I tried to do what Jean had done: As gently as I could I caressed her small body and could feel her wriggling with delight (at least I thought it was delight).
	Finally, I eased her away to repeat, “The dinner was simply perfect, honey!”
	When I said it, the girl blushed but then said, “It wasn’t perfect at all.  And all the other stuff — the Bordeaux and the cognac — were really to disguise the fact.”  Shaking her head she added, “It wasn’t a fraction as good as what Jean would have made.”
	“That’s flat not true, Susan!” Jean interjected.  “It was utterly perfect.  But how did you ever learn to cook?  I’ve never seen you make more than a peanut butter sandwich.”
	“From watching you,” the girl replied.  “You’re really great!”
	At that point Jean rose from her chair and then sat down again across my lap where she just snuggled against my shoulder while we puffed on our cigars.  My question to myself right then was whether things could ever be better?  I had had a marvelous meal that I was still savoring while enjoying a perfect cigar with a gorgeous nude woman snuggled on my lap.
	“Well, I guess it’s about that time,” she finally said, taking my hand and pulling me to my feet.  We returned to the sitting room while Susan — at her insistence — did the dishes, but then kept going into the bedroom.  The first thing I noticed was that the king-sized bed had been turned down on both sides.
	“Do you see anything strange about this situation?” she asked with a very cute but quizzical grin.
	“Huh?” was my oh-so-intelligent response.
	“For several hours now, James Dawson, there have been a succession of naked women in your life.  Now how about you?”
	At that she reached out and unfastened my belt buckle.  In moments, my pants were on the floor, followed by my golf shirt.  Then she dropped to her knees and lowered my jockey shorts releasing my cock.  While I had been hard as a rock earlier, now I was only semi-erect.
	“It’s so beautiful!” she exclaimed as she gently took its tip into her mouth.  That was all it took for me again to become as hard as a rock.
	Just then Susan came in from the kitchen.  “Aunt Jean, why don’t you lie on the bed and let Uncle Jim warm up your cunt with his tongue?  While you do that, I’ll get him ready for you.”
	The significance of her last words were lost to me at that moment, but I did what she suggested.  Jean lay on her back and spread her thighs wide.  Her cunt was still bright red — almost scarlet — from my preprandial cunt-eating.  I knelt between her wide-spread thighs and lowered my head to her cunt.  Gently, this time, I began to lick her slit and tease her still-erect clit.
	Just then I felt the most incredible sensation in my cock.  Looking down, I saw Susie on her back.  She had wriggled under Jean’s left leg and had taken my cock in her mouth.
	“Aunt Jean, he’s so big!” the little girl exclaimed.  “Uncle Jim has the biggest cock I’ve ever seen.  It’s going to be a real challenge...”
	Like the nitwit I was — and may still be — I didn’t get the significance of that statement either.
	Sue moved like a contortionist, and I realized that much of what she was doing could only be done by someone her size.  Not even Sandy, let alone Sam or Jean, could do what that little girl did.  Somehow, she managed to align her mouth and throat so that she took in the full length of my cock.  I guess she was sucking on it or something, because it seemed to be getting even longer and fatter.
	Trying to focus on something — anything! — other than what that little girl was doing, I again probed Jean’s vagina with my tongue, then licked under her still-swollen labia and finally flicked and then sucked on her lovely little clit.  Again her pelvis shook in spasm as she was overtaken by another orgasm.
	“He’s ready, Aunt Jean,” the little girl pronounced.  “And boy!  Are you ever lucky!  He’s absolutely enormous.  I could scarcely get him all in.”
	Jean looked down at me and gasped.  “My God!  James Dawson, you are enormous!  Susie’s right.  You’re the biggest I’ve ever seen.”  She looked thoughtful for a moment and then said, “I think I had better be on top the first time, if it’s all right with you.”
	What did I know?  I said, “Of course,” and we exchanged places.
	Lying on my back, my cock was vibrating and pointing up and back toward my head.  I don’t know how big I was (or am) but there have never been any complaints that I’m not big enough.
	Jean straddled my hips and put her right foot on the bed.  Later I learned that that was a first, too.  Previously, she had always been able to rise up on her knees which lifted her plenty high enough to position a guy’s cock.  I guess maybe I am a little different.  Anyway, she rose up partially on her right leg, took my cock and placed it at the mouth of her vagina.
	One synonym for fucking is “screwing.”  Well, I guess that was essentially what Jean did that night.  She put her cunt on my cock as if she was putting on a pair of very long, very tight gloves.  I could feel my cock going deeper inside her, stretching the walls of her vagina as it did.  I guess I was a little more than halfway in when I felt some resistance on my cockhead.
	Looking up, I saw an expression of pleased surprise on Jean’s face.  At that point, I decided to no longer be a lump and pulled her head down to mine.  As our lips met in a wonderful kiss, I could feel her body turning back and forth on my cock as she continued to screw herself deeper and deeper.  The kiss we shared was utterly breathtaking.  With my left hand I held her in position, while my right hand and fingers roamed all over her perfect body.
	“My God!” she exclaimed.  “Never in my life...”  Her voice just trailed off into warm sounds of pleasure.  Then she whispered, “Thank you, Jim.  This is the first time in my entire life I’ve been kissed while I’m being fucked.”
	“You’re not being fucked!” Susan piped up.  “You’re being made love to.  And it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”  She paused for a moment and then continued, “I always thought that Mom and Dad had a patent on it; I had never seen real lovemaking before.  But you know what?  I think you two might be even better.”
	Jean’s response was another incredibly loving kiss.  At that point I realized that she had managed to get my entire length inside her.  At first, she just sat there, savoring the feeling, I guess.  Then, without moving up or down, she began to rhythmically squeeze my cock with her vaginal muscles.  This caused me to pull her head down for another kiss.
	Then starting with very tiny up-and-down movements, she moved on my cock.  “I never knew it could ever be this good,” she whispered as her strokes lengthened.  Then with a little grin she added, “There’s another neat thing: You’re so damned long, rising up straight on my knees still leaves a lot of you inside.  I don’t have to worry about you popping out on me.
	“Oh, God!  Oh, God!” she cried as she moved up and down.  Now she was doing what she had said: She was rising up straight on her knees and then settling back down.
	Incredibly, I really think my cock was still growing longer and fatter in response to her cuntal stimulus.  I was at the point where I had to release and was about to when she changed her tempo so my orgasm receded.
	After I don’t know how many cycles, I was dying.  I screamed, “Let me cum!  I’ve got to!  I’ll explode if I don’t...”
	“Well...” she responded, drawing out the word, “all you have to do is say, ‘If you let me cum, Jean, I promise to flood your cunt with the most luscious cum in the world.’”
	“What?”
	“You heard me,” she responded placidly.  “And it’s such a small thing, too...”
	“Let me cum!”
	“You heard me.”
	“But I’ve forgotten the words!...”
	“Very simple: ‘If you let me cum, Jean, I promise to flood your cunt with the most luscious cum in the world.’”
	Somehow, I guess I said it.  The next instant, I utterly exploded, shooting into her cunt like a firehose.  For her part, she leaned forward took me in her arms and melted her lips to mine while I continued to pump cum deep into her body.  The instant my orgasm triggered, hers did too.
	Here we were locked in each other’s arms while my cock erupted and her pelvis was in spasm.
	Finally my orgasm slowed and stopped.  Her cuntal muscles continued to pulsate, milking the very last drops of cum from my sac.  As my cock began to shrink, she could feel it, so she flopped off me and lay on the bed beside me.  Like me, she was gasping for breath.
	As we lay side by side, only semi-conscious, I heard a lovely young voice murmur, “Yum!”
	Looking over, I saw Susie with her mouth at Jean’s cunt, licking and sucking to extract the mixture of my cum and hers.  That little girl had a mouth like a vacuum cleaner, and a tongue that could — and did — get into the smallest crevices.  While this was going on, I turned Jean’s head and again melted my lips to hers.
	The kiss we exchanged was one of a kind.  It was soft, sweet, loving and passionless.  We were both utterly drained.
	We continued our kiss until we were interrupted by Susan flopping on Jean’s body.  “That was utterly incredible!” the little girl exclaimed.  “Never in my life have I found so much cum and syrup.  You two cum in quarts!”
	“Jim, that was supposed to be the first of several tonight, but quite honestly, I really can’t make it.  Beyond that, it was the finest fucking...”
	“Lovemaking!” Susan exclaimed.  “You weren’t fucked, Aunt Jean.  Uncle Jim was worshiping your body with his.”
	“...Lovemaking I’ve ever had.”  Then with her blue eyes full of warmth and the beginning of tears, she added, “Thank you.”
	I guess right about then I fell asleep or lost consciousness.
* * *
	I was awakened later by Susan’s screaming.  “I can’t whip you anymore, Sandy!  You’re bleeding!”
	Startled, I lifted myself up off the bed.  Jean was beside me and Susie was beside her. 
	Taking the little girl in her arms, Jean whispered, “Rest easy, little one.  It’s all over.  Now take Mommy’s nipple in your mouth...”
	I could see Jean pulling Sue’s head down to her breast.
	“That’s it,” she whispered.  “Now suckle at Mommy’s tit.  Drink my luscious milk you like so much.  But you have to bite.”
	A pause.  “Bite harder!”
	Jean’s back stiffened, but her voice didn’t change.  “That’s the girl!  Now drink Mommy’s milk fresh from her tit.”
	I could see the little girl sucking on Jean’s nipple as I fell back to sleep.
* * *
	“Jim, could you give me a hand?”
	These words roused me from sleep again.  Looking up I saw Jean out of bed and kneeling on the floor by my side.
	“What’s up?” I managed to mumble.
	“I thought I could do it myself, but I can’t,” she whispered.  “Would you...?  Could you...?  See if you could sew my nipple back on?”
	That statement was more than enough to shake the cobwebs out of my brain.  I eased out of bed — Susan was still asleep beside me — and followed Jean into the bathroom.  There she closed the door and turned on all the lights.
	I swallowed hard as I realized she was holding her left nipple in position with her left hand while holding a threaded sewing needle in her right.
	“It really shouldn’t be very hard,” she whispered.  “My nipple is pretty small, so it shouldn’t take many stitches to put it back on.  Are you game?”
	“I’ll give it a shot,” I replied, “But...”
	“There are no guarantees in life, Jim,” she interrupted.  “I know that.  I also know you’ll do your very best and that’s all anyone can do.  Okay?”
	With that she sat up on the sink counter and handed me the needle and thread.  It was threaded with white thread, and she also had a pair of sewing scissors.  Then she moved her left hand so that she was only holding her nipple on with one finger.  At that point I could see that her nipple had been almost completely severed from her breast; it was only holding on by a very small flap of skin.
	I had no idea how to go about it, but I decided to take the first stitch opposite the remaining flap.  I put the needle into her breast, brought it up through the nipple and tied it off.  After cutting the thread, she took her fingertip off and I could see that the first stitch seemed to be in the right place.
	I took four more, and it seemed to be enough.  Incredibly, Jean hadn’t moved a muscle in spite of having a needle pushed into her breast and then having the thread dragged through it.  Clearly, though, she wasn’t impervious to pain; although she hadn’t moved a muscle or made a sound, she was sweating profusely at the end.
	When I thought I had done enough, I asked her.
	Looking down, she raised her tit with her hand to get a better look at her nipple.  When she did I got a better sense of her body.  Her tits are so firm, she really had a problem even tipping the nipple up to look.
	“It’s perfect,” she pronounced.  “Now will the doctor give his patient a kiss?”
	Again I took her in my arms.  This kiss was again in a class by itself.  There was no passion, just the purest love.
	But, I wondered, is this the way it always is when a guy kisses a girl?  My initial doubts just increased; our kissing was definitely something out of the ordinary.
	After putting a Band-Aid over her left nipple, Jean turned out the bathroom lights and we returned to the bedroom.  This time she got into the bed on the outside so her left side was on the bed.
	To my utter amazement, she whispered softly, “Lovely girl, now suck on Mommy’s tit.  You’ll feel so much better.”  Gently taking the girl’s head, she brought it to her right nipple.  I could see the girl begin to suckle again as I fell asleep again.
* * *
	“What did you do?”
	Susan’s scream awakened me from a deep sleep.
	“Nothing, sweetie,” Jean replied softly.  “What do you mean?”
	“I had a nightmare, didn’t I?”
	“You were screaming, Susie.  You were reliving the time you had to torture your sister before she lost her virginity.”
	“And I remember, ‘Suck Mommy’s nipple.  Drink Mommy’s milk you love so much.’  But it wasn’t milk; it was your blood, wasn’t it?  I bit off your nipple, didn’t I?” the girl screamed, then dissolved into tears.
	“My darling, I only wish I had breast milk to give you.  It’s what you really needed.  Since all I could give you was my blood, that’s what I did.”
	“But why?”
	“Because I love you,” was Jean’s simple reply.  Then she pulled the girl close and kissed her lovingly.
	What followed was unbelievable.  Jean just held the slender girl in her arms, kissed her and stroked her body all over.  I could almost literally see the torment the girl had been living with so long leave her body and her brain.  After minutes of this — I have no idea how many minutes — instead of kissing any part of the other’s body one could reach, their lips merged.  I knew that Jean was using her talented tongue to probe the girl’s mouth.  When the two tongues met, I could feel it.
	When they finally separated, Susan was breathless and Jean wasn’t much better.
	Finally, the little girl gasped, “I’m calling you Mommy from now on!”
	“But darling, you can’t!”
	“Yes, I can!” Susan insisted.  “My last name may be Callaway, but...  Mom’s really neat.  Don’t get me wrong.  But I guess there were too many of us too fast.”  The girl paused for a moment and then continued, “When we arrived, Stephanie was in bad shape and so was Sandy.  Comparatively speaking, I was fine.”
	She looked deeply into Jean’s eyes and gently ran her fingers over her ears, nose and eyes.  “Then you arrived.  We — all of us, but particularly Sandy and me — recognized something in you that we know is in ourselves.  But you and Mom sure have one thing in common: your goodness.
	“What you did for me last night is beyond belief.  Only a mommy would sacrifice herself the way you did.”  Then tears came to her eyes and she asked, “Can anything be done?  Are you disfigured for life?”
	Gently, Jean kissed the girl on the lips.  “Thank you for caring so much, sweetie.  But I think Jim... Daddy...?”
	The girl whooped and spun toward me.  “Can I?  Honest?  Could I call you Daddy?  It would be so utterly neat!”
	I was stunned.  But I guess I’ve already said that being stunned was my normal condition in those days.
	“Darling, if you would like to, nothing would make me prouder.  Just think!  The most beautiful eight-year-old in the whole world wants to call me Daddy.”
	At that the girl threw her arms around me and melted her lips to mine.  There followed a flood of the purest, sweetest love I’ve ever felt.  While I probed her mouth with my tongue as I had seen Jean do, I caressed her naked body all over.  Our tongues met and the electricity flowed.  By this time my hands had gone down to her buns and I squeezed them hard.
	“Argh!” she gasped.
	I was about to release her when she screamed, “No!  Please don’t stop!  It feels so incredibly wonderful.”  Then she leaned back and asked, “Does that mean I have a squeezable ass already?”
	I looked over at Jean.  A big help she was!  She was doubled up trying to keep from laughing out loud.  Finally she regained enough control to be able to shake her head and shrug.  Then she mouthed, “She’s your problem!”
	“Well...” I finally replied, “I don’t know if it’s squeezable, but it’s certainly spankable.  Which reminds me: If today is the day you start calling me Daddy, it must mean that it’s your birthday as far as your mother and I are concerned.  And you do know what happens on a birthday, don’t you?”
	Susan’s eyes were wide as she slowly shook her head.
	“You get one spank from each of us for each year you’ve lived, plus one more to grow on.”
	“Are you teasing me?” she asked with one eyebrow arched in the cutest look I’ve ever seen.
	“Honey, was I teasing her?”
	“No, darling, you certainly were not,” Jean replied.  (Those were the first terms of endearment we ever exchanged.  I don’t know how she felt, but it made me feel just great!)  To Susan she said, “Your dad was absolutely correct.  One for each year plus one to grow on.”  Then with loving smile she added, “Now who would you like to spank you first?”
	“That’s nine spanks?” the girl confirmed looking at me with her eyes wide.
	I nodded.
	“From each of you?”
	I nodded again.
	“Well, since I’m over here anyway, I guess you might as well start, Daddy.”
	With that she took my right hand and held it in both of hers.  She turned it over and looked at my palm, then wiggled so she could put it on her left asscheek.  “Oh, dear!” she whispered.  “I think this is going to hurt.”
	She looked up at me with tears at the corners of her eyes and said, “I’m ready for my birthday spanking, Daddy.”  Then she lifted my hand to her mouth and kissed my palm all over.
	As I said earlier, I do have large hands.  I could just about spank both of her buns at the same time.  But looking at her at that moment I doubted if I was capable of spanking her at all.  She was just so damned beautiful!
	Susan positioned herself across my right leg with her ass in the air.  Then to my utter amazement, I saw her buns relax as she said, “I’m trying to make my buns as soft as I can for you, Daddy, so you don’t hurt your hand.”
	Instead of spanking her, though, I began to caress her beautiful bottom as gently as I could.  And Susie has an utterly gorgeous bottom: deeply tanned with skin as smooth as satin.  But then intermittently I gave her a sharp spank.
	“Please, Daddy, no!” the little girl screamed.  “If you’re going to spank me, just do it.  But this isn’t fair!  I can’t get ready...  And your caresses feel so wonderful...”
	Crack!
	At that — I guess it was number five — her pelvis shuddered in orgasm.
	Her head came up and she looked at me with her eyes wide.  “Daddy, you made me cum!  At least I think that’s what happened.”
	Twisting her torso she looked over at Jean and asked, “Was that an orgasm, Mommy?  And does this mean I’m... I’m... a masochist?”
	“Yes, sweetie, that was an orgasm.  Did you like the feeling?”
	“Utterly incredible!” the girl replied.  “But... masochist...?”
	“Don’t worry about it, my darling,” Jean replied softly.  “I’m afraid it just runs in the family.  When you see Dad spank me — as I’m sure you will sometime — based on what happened last night, I won’t just cum, I’ll ejaculate.  I’ll shoot my cunt syrup all over the place.  Maybe we’re both masochists, sweetie, but I can live with it and I’m sure you can, too.”
	After the fifth spank, Susan got off my leg and hobbled around to the other side to better expose her other bun.  I really think the hobbling was for effect; I really don’t think I was spanking her very hard.
	Before lying over my leg, though, she looked at my cock and her eyes widened.  “Did I do that to you, Daddy?  Did spanking me give you that luscious erection?”
	Turning toward Jean she asked, “Does this mean that I’ll have to have a spanking before you two make love?  Just so Daddy is really, really big and hard for you?”
	“Well...” Jean began thoughtfully, “it’s probably not necessary.  You’re also very good with your mouth.”  Then her eyes became piercing and she demanded, “Did you take your father’s cock all the way in?”
	“Was that wrong?  Didn’t I do it right?”
	“No, it wasn’t wrong, although I’m not sure the child welfare people would agree.  But how could you?  You’re so small and he’s so big!”
	“It was really neat!” Susie responded with a bright grin.  “And he’s so huge, I’ll bet that if he fucked me in the ass he would open a hole from my mouth to my asshole.”  With that she climbed over my leg and again softened her buns.
	This time she came with every spank.
	When it was over, I lifted her up and she sat across my lap.  Turning her head, I kissed her gently, but that wasn’t what she had in mind.  This time it was my little girl’s tongue that probed my mouth.  (“My little girl”!  And you know what?  That’s what she was... and still is.)  Our mutual love just flowed back and forth for minutes.  What an utter delight!
	“I love you so much, Daddy!” she exclaimed as she eased off my lap and went to her mother.
	Jean then did exactly the same thing to Susan that I had been doing.  The only difference was that Susie had an orgasm with every one of Jean’s nine spanks.  When it was over, the two just kissed and cuddled.  The two naked girls together were a sight to see.  Two deeply tanned blondes, both with identically brilliant blue eyes, just caressing and cuddling.  As far as Susan was concerned, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a happier, more contented child.
	“Is it my turn now?”
	I spun around and found Sandy sitting on a boudoir chair, just watching.
	“Hi, Sis!” Susan exclaimed.  “Guess what?  It’s not Aunt Jean and Uncle Jim any more.  They’re Mom and Dad now!  Isn’t that super?”
* * *
	If Susan was a gorgeous child, Sandy was an incredibly beautiful young lady on the cusp of womanhood at age 13.  Already her breasts were forming, and it was easy to see that she would be Jean’s twin.  Her mother’s twin.  As I reflected on it, it was utterly astonishing.  First, in appearance the three women would be identical.  Sandy was already five feet six on her way to her mother’s five feet nine.  Like Jean, she had golden blonde hair that was even longer than Jean’s.
	Later I learned that the girls had the same ability with hair that Jean had: Regardless of the styling, if it became mussed, it was restored to perfection by a hard shake of the head.  It turned out that this was an ability that the slave girls — Sheila, Stephanie, Sandra and Susan — all had.  Somehow they had managed to convey the ability to Jean.
	The relationship, though, was truly uncanny.  There was no blood relationship between the girls on the one hand and Jean and me on the other, and yet...  What Jean did for Susan only a mother would do.  When Susan kissed me, there was love and joy, but so much more.  I really felt that this gorgeous girl was my flesh and blood.  But how could that be?  And yet the feeling was so strong and it wouldn’t go away...
* * *
	“Does that mean I’m in this, too?” Sandy asked hesitantly.
	“Would you like to be, Sandy?” Jean replied softly, although the girl’s question had been addressed to her sister.  “Would you like to be a slut’s daughter?”
	“No!” Sandy nearly screamed.  “You are not a slut!  You’re the most beautiful, the kindest, most loving...”  Just then the girl noticed the Band-Aid over Jean’s left nipple.  “What’s that for?” she asked.  It was obvious she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to hear the answer.
	“That’s where I bit Mom’s nipple off last night,” Susan croaked.  “Can you imagine?  I was having a nightmare so Mom put her nipple in my mouth and told me to bite hard.  I did.  Then she told me to drink her milk, warm from her tit.”
	Now the little girl was bawling, but she managed to continue, “But it wasn’t milk, it was her blood.  Can you imagine the agony she went through for me?  Having me bite off her nipple so I could drink her blood from her tit?  But that’s what she did!”  With that the girl turned toward Jean who held her tightly and whispered endearments in her ear while she gently stroked the lovely naked body in her arms.
	“Susie didn’t bite it off,” I told Sandy.  “She almost did, but not quite.  I sewed it back on later and now we just have to keep our fingers crossed.
	“You never had a chance to answer, Sandy.  Would you like to call Jean, Mom?” I asked.
	“Will you be my dad, too?” the girl responded without answering my question.
	“Would you like me to be?”
	“Oh, Daddy!  Yes!” she screamed.  Then she sat across my lap and proceeded to melt her lips to mine.
	It was an utterly lovely kiss.  It was similar to the kisses I exchanged with Jean, but different.  Then I realized what it was.  First, it had the same love as Jean’s but without her maturity.  Beyond that, though, it didn’t have the passion that I always sensed when I kissed Jean.  But our kiss was simply marvelous!
	Following this, Sandy received fourteen spanks from me and the same number from Jean.  Like her sister, after the first few, she came on every one.  With tears flowing freely from her eyes, she came back to my arms to cuddle.  Sandy was utterly beautiful and was sitting across my lap hugging me and kissing.  And as I’ve already said, her kisses were something else!
	Just then Jean hit me on the arm with her fist and demanded, “Well?”
	“Well, what?” I responded, bewildered as usual.
	At that Sandy giggled and whispered, “Dad, Mom wants her ‘good morning, lovely Jean’ lovemaking.”
	Sandy’s giggle was the happiest, most musical sound I’ve ever heard.  Moreover, I realized it was the very first sound approaching laughter I had ever heard from the girl.  Later I learned it was the first such sound she had made subsequent to her release from her slavery.
	“Huh?” I responded with my customary quick wit.
	“She wants to be fucked!”
	At that Jean rapidly nodded her head up and down.
	“Neato!” Susie exclaimed.  “Can I warm you up first, Mom?”
	“Thank you for the thought, sweetie, but I’m about to float away as it is,” Jean replied.
	Taking the hint, I was about to move between Jean’s wide-spread thighs when I felt the most wonderful sensation in my cock.  There was Sandy with my cock in her mouth to the hilt.  I could feel her tongue moving up and down my hardening shaft and even flicking out to lick my balls.
	“What are you doing with my lover?” Jean demanded.
	All Sandy could do was to shake her head slightly which is what she did.  For my part, she was quickly bringing me to a boil.  My cock got bigger and harder, then I exploded in her mouth.  Just as I exploded, the girl let out almost my entire length leaving just the head in her mouth.  She was swallowing as fast as she could, but a little seeped out anyway.
	Did that end it?  Oh, no!  I had barely finished cuming when she took my cock from her mouth and admired it while licking what had escaped from her cheek.  Then she popped it back in and repeated the process.  How I got so hard again so fast, I didn’t know, nor do I know now.  But I did.
	At that point, she pulled me by my cock between Jean’s legs.  When she did, Jean raised her hips and the girl eased the head of my cock into her waiting vagina.
	Remembering the night before, I knew that Jean was going to be tight and she was.  While I took short strokes going deeper into her gripping passage, she was wriggling to recreate the screwing motion that had worked before.  At that point I leaned over and Jean raised her head from the pillow to meet me in a kiss.  This time it was almost pure passion and it left me light-headed for a moment.
	Sandy had moved up on the bed and was lying beside Jean on her left side while her sister was on the right.  The three snuggled while I stroked in and out, now reaching her full depth.  Jean even had raised her legs and rested them on my shoulders so I could obtain the deepest possible penetration.
	“How’s it feel, Mommy?” Sandy asked.  “By the way, the reason I had Dad cum in my mouth was so he wouldn’t get off too fast when he’s in you.”  Then the girl grinned and added, “Golly, his spend is yummy!  I just love it!  Have you had him in your mouth yet?”
	“No, sweetie, I haven’t,” Jean replied.  “I would far rather... have... it... in... my cunt!”  Her last words came in a scream as she reached her first orgasm.
	Now I was taking very long full strokes and could feel Jean rising quickly to another peak.  “Now you see what it is that women have to put up with,” she said with another scream as again an orgasm overtook her.  “We’re just depositories... for a man’s... fluids!”  Her final scream was triggered by her third orgasm.
	Looking up, I saw that the two girls were just grinning.  Clearly, neither thought her mother was in great need of sympathy.
	Sandy had done her work well.  She had certainly taken the edge off my need to cum, so I was able to continue to fuck Jean, bringing her to orgasm faster and faster until it was essentially continuous.
	She had been screaming, “Fuck me!” but then the words became unintelligible.  Now she was making inchoate noises and gasping for breath.  At that I eased up to allow her to breathe again, then brought her back to her orgasmic heaven.  I don’t know how many cycles I took her through or how long she was in orgasm, but finally I couldn’t hold out any longer.  Driving my cock into her to the deepest extent possible, I really unloaded.  My pulsating cock was all that was needed to bring Jean to her ultimate orgasm: she passed out.  Nevertheless, her cunt muscles continued to milk my cock for the last drops of semen.  Finally, I collapsed on top of her, trying as I did to stay away from her damaged left tit.
	“That was so neat, Daddy!” Susan exclaimed.  “And boy, did you ever make Mommy happy!  She was in heaven without having to die to get there.”  Then with the cutest look on her face she added, “At least I don’t think you killed her...”
	Finally Jean recovered consciousness.
	“How was it?” I asked.
	“For your second time, it was pretty good,” she managed to gasp out with a little grin.  “In fact, darling, it was utterly great!”  Then she stretched looking like a tigress as she did.  “But now it’s time to get rolling.”
	With that she bounded from the bed and headed for the bath.  The girls left in the direction of their own rooms and I followed Jean.  After brushing my teeth, I was about to shower when Jean told me that that came later.  She led the way out of the suite and down to the exercise room.  Like our bedroom, it opened out on the pool deck.
	To say the room was fully equipped would be an understatement.  I had thought that the equipment at the office was overdoing it bigtime, but I realized that the Callaways had every piece of equipment at home that we had at the office.  The only difference was they didn’t have multiple pieces of the same unit while there were several sets of multiples at the office for the most popular ones.
	Without another word Jean went to what was the first unit in her series, checked the weight settings and proceeded with her program.  As she moved the unit I received confirmation of what I had already suspected: She was in incredibly good shape and very strong.  I was astonished at the size of her muscles that became prominent as she worked.  Then I had the bright idea of checking her weight settings... and almost died.  I had guessed her weight at about 125 against my 210 or so, but she was moving more than twice the weight I used and I thought I was in good shape.
	Resolving to do something about that, I increased the weight I normally used and started my own routine.  As I got started, the two girls came in and they, too, began to work out.
	It was funny, I guess.  There we were, four of us, exercising strenuously, switching machines, all without saying a single word.  Oh, well.
	Finally I finished and was thinking about breakfast.  Oh, no.  Jean just led the way out to the pool and dove in.  Then she began what I came to think of as her “swimming to Michigan” routine.  (Later I found that this was a term that Samantha first applied to Kate Callaway, but that was subsequently picked up and applied to all the women.)
	Jean just flowed smoothly through the water going back and forth in the 50-meter pool.  I took another lane and started swimming, then heard two more splashes as the girls joined.  Awhile later there were more.  Samantha, Stephanie, and Mike were all now moving up and down, but there was still one lane open.  Remarkable!
* * *
	The next weeks were among the most contented of my life.  The Chicago area was in the grip of a record-setting heat wave but for me it was an utter delight.  First of all, it seemed we spent most of the daylight hours by the pool.
	I found I just loved to watch Jean no matter what she might be doing.  Everything she did she did with an unconscious grace.  Her body, I found, was indeed female perfection.  She has long, utterly gorgeous slender legs, a very trim bottom, and luscious tits with their nipples always erect and tilted upward.
	Thankfully, my needle-and-thread work on her nipple got the job done.  After a week, she had come to me with a pair of needle-nosed sewing scissors and told me it was time to remove the stitches.  Swallowing hard, I had cut each one and then pulled out the thread.  Once again, she didn’t make a sound although it had to hurt like hell.
	When it was over, she again had trouble lifting her very firm tit up enough to get a good look at her nipple.  Finally, she solved it by going into the bathroom and examining herself in the wall mirror and then using a magnifying makeup mirror.
	“It’s perfect, Jim!” she screamed as she ran out from the house.  “And just look!”
	I looked, but didn’t see anything.  “Look at what?”
	“My nipples, turkey!  Don’t you see?  They’re both fully erect, and they match.” 
	Then she called Susie over to show her.  The little girl started crying with relief and Jean just hugged her tightly.
	I learned something else: Susie had not been lying when she said that her superb meal was only a weak imitation of what Jean could do.  That woman’s cooking was utterly fantastic.  The very heavy exercising was one way of keeping the weight off.  For that matter I had been steadily increasing my weight loadings and after a few weeks got to double Jean’s.
	It must have been effective because one day she dropped to her knees beside the mat I was lying on and gently ran her fingers over my shoulders and upper arms.  Now, for the first time in my life I had prominent muscles.
	“Yum!” she murmured.
	“What’s that mean?” I asked.  (I’ve been trying to tell you that I’m very slow about some things.)
	“Just ‘yum’,” was her only reply.
	Then there were the games.  Aside from the computer flight games at which Jean killed me with monotonous regularity, we played with the two girls.  It was hilariously funny teaching Susan and Sandra Bridge.  It proved to be a very rapid learning experience for both of them... at a quarter a point.  (No, not a quarter of a cent, a quarter.)  A rubber score of 2,000 points is not uncommon, and that cost each of them $500.  They learned incredibly fast.
	We also played board games, with Monopoly being a favorite.  One day the four of us were playing and Susie landed on the Luxury Tax square.  At the time she was the runaway leader with houses and hotels all over the board.  She announced that her tax was $370.
	“Susan?” Jean asked instantly with an eyebrow raised.
	“Oh, darn!  Mom, you’re too good.”  Then with a disgusted grimace she admitted, “$375.”
	As fast as Susie is in mental arithmetic, it was clear that Jean was at least as fast.
* * *
	Then there were Sundays.  Jean insisted that the four of us go to church every Sunday.  The usual sequence in the pew was Susan, Jean, me and Sandy.  While three of us participated, Sandy spent the entire time on her knees with an utterly anguished expression on her face.  It wasn’t uncommon to see tears flowing down her lovely cheeks.
	Clearly, Jean had been aware of what had been going on, so one Sunday, rather than returning home, she suggested seeing the priest about confession.  The four of us went around to the rectory and were ushered in to the office where the priest who had just finished the Mass was waiting.
	“Father,” Jean began, “this girl would like you to hear her confession.  But before you hear hers, please hear mine.  And I would like these people to hear it, too.”
	While public confession is rare in the United States, it’s fairly common in Europe and therefore is an accepted Church practice.  The priest reluctantly agreed.
	Jean dropped to her knees in front of him and proceeded to unload.  She literally took us back to when she was only 15 and brought us forward, blow by blow, to the very recent past.  The girl spared herself nothing.  If anything, she seemed to be going out of her way to paint her actions in the blackest possible manner.  Furthermore, as she continued the narrative, tears were streaming down her cheeks.  Since she was kneeling on a bare wood floor, her knees had to be killing her because it went on for about an hour and a half.  Notwithstanding, she continued with her back up straight, her head up, and the tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks to the floor.
	While this was going on, the girls had moved closer to me and I ended with my arms around them both.  Tears were streaming from their cheeks, too, but these were tears of sorrow for what their beloved mother was doing to herself.
	Finally it came to an end.  Only then did I see that the priest’s eyes weren’t dry.   I had to blink a few times to see it, because mine weren’t very dry, either.
	I was surprised by what came next.  Instead of completing Jean’s confession, the priest asked, “Isn’t the purpose of this to hear this girl’s confession?”
	“Yes, Father,” Jean murmured.
	“Then I’ll hear her now,” he said.
	I helped Jean to her feet and then to a chair — the only time that’s ever happened — because after an hour and a half, her muscles refused to work.  She sat down gracefully and gratefully, giving me a loving thank-you.
	Sandy dropped to her knees occupying the place where Jean had been for so long.  After her introduction, she told how she had branded herself, begged to be whipped, and pleaded to be raped.  As we listened to the girl, I could no longer control myself.  I was weeping and Jean came into my arms, weeping too.  After blinking a couple of times to try to clear my eyes, I looked at the priest and could see that tears were rolling down his cheeks in twin streams as he listened to this beautiful girl abase herself.
	Finally it concluded as Sandy croaked, “For these and all the sins of my past life I am very sorry.”  Tears were pouring unchecked down her cheeks as she looked up at the priest.
	He helped Sandy to her feet and back to a chair.  Again I was surprised when he turned to Susan and asked, “How about you, young lady?  Would you like me to hear your confession, too?”
	“Oh yes, Father!” the girl exclaimed.  “Will you please?”
	With that she took Sandy’s place and began.  She told how she had mutilated herself by branding, how she had taken many men in her mouth and eaten more cunts than she could count, all in hopes of trying to spare her sister some torture.  Finally, she, too, finished and looked up at the priest with tears flowing down her cheeks but with hope in her eyes.  It was this hope that had been totally missing from Sandy’s.
	It took awhile for the priest to be able to speak.  While he was regaining control, he had helped Susan back to a chair and then again took his seat behind a large desk.  Finally to the two girls he said, “You would like absolution for your sins, wouldn’t you?”
	“Oh yes, Father,” the two responded in unison.  However, Susie’s was both a more certain response and a more hopeful one.
	“I would like to give it, but I can’t,” the priest said softly.
	The girls — particularly Susie — looked crestfallen and Susie looked genuinely shocked.
	“But... But...” she cried, “I thought that God would forgive a sinner if she was truly  sorry for her sins...”
	“That’s true,” the priest replied, “but neither of you have committed any.  Your souls are pure.
	“What did I hear?  I heard a girl describe how she tortured herself, pleaded with others to torture her still more, abased herself to an incredible degree, but for what?  To try to spare her young sister from a rape that was inevitable.  Then there’s the sister who permanently disfigures herself to try to save her older sister.
	“Girls, there is no sin!”
	Gently he continued, “I am not a priest here in the parish.  I only come to say Mass on Sundays.  I am a professor of moral theology at the diocesan seminary here in Chicago.  I have my doctorate in the subject.  What I heard were not sins.  They were both incredible examples of personal sacrifice to help someone else.  This was sacrifice of a type and at a level that is almost beyond belief, but I’m certain you could both show me the brands on your flanks to prove it.
	“All I can say, Sandra and Susan, is that you are both blessed in the sight of Almighty God.  There is no sin!” he repeated emphatically.
	“But I pleaded with people to rape me, to whip me...” Sandy insisted.
	“Why?” the priest asked quietly.
	“To... To... To try to keep their attention away from Susie,” the girl stammered.
	“I rest my case,” the priest concluded.
	Then to Jean he said, “There’s something here I just don’t understand.  Both of these girls are your image; in just a few years they’ll both be your twins... or triplets... or whatever.  Why did you do what you just did?”
	Then he stunned us all.  “This isn’t the first time you’ve confessed those sins, is it?”
	Jean just gasped and turned gray under her deep tan.
	“I thought not,” the priest continued.  “I didn’t think there could possibly be two utterly beautiful blue-eyed blondes in the Chicago area who had done all the things you did.”  Then with a warm smile he continued, “Jean, your first confession has become famous in the diocese, and its fame is spreading.  Your confession is held up as the model of true contrition and sorrow for one’s sins.  But why did you go through it all again?  I really can’t give you absolution, because those sins have already been absolved.
	“I must say, though, that when I first heard the story, I was quite skeptical.  I was convinced that the priest who heard it from you was... embellishing, shall we say?  But now I know first-hand that, if anything, he downplayed the reality.
	“Now tell me.  Why did you do it?”
	“So these girls could learn what a horrible person the woman they insist on calling ‘Mommy’ really is!  I’m an utter disgrace to the human race!” Jean screamed and then collapsed in a paroxysm of tears.  In spite of her struggles, I managed to take her into my arms and hold her tightly while she cried her eyes out.
	Susie then told how Jean had insisted that she bite off her nipple so she could drink her blood instead of the mother’s milk she didn’t have to give.  Sandy told how, with the exception of being branded, Jean had experienced every single thing that had happened to her, and more than once as he had just heard.
	“She’s my mommy and I adore her,” Sandy wailed.  Susan repeated the same thing.
	“Jean,” the priest said, “I think Sandra has said it all.  You have personally experienced everything that’s ever happened to her, except for the branding.  And unlike many, you are neither appalled nor repelled.  You truly know what it’s like.  Beyond that, though, it’s clear that both of these girls are extremely bright as are you.  As I said before, physically they’re both going to be your duplicates.
	“But beyond that, Jean, there is your incredible love.  You truly love these girls as a mother loves her daughters.  Truly, you are their mother.  And I think it’s just great.”
	Finally, with a very warm smile he asked, “Now is there anything else I can do for you?  Because if not, it’s long past my time to eat, and I’m hungry.”
	“We haven’t eaten, either, Father,” Jean replied, “and I’m sure to get a very well-deserved spanking for starving my family, too.”
	The priest looked at me with his eyebrow raised in a question.  I quickly nodded in the affirmative.  “Well... James, I could not imagine a more shapely bottom for you to be spanking.”
	“You sure got that one right, Father!” I replied with a grin.
* * *
	The next episode involved Mike Mitchell and Stephanie Callaway.  It turned out that for most of the prior year, Stephanie had devoted herself to fixing Mike up for dates with the very best girls in the school and anywhere else she could find them.  Mike went along with it with all the enthusiasm one might have for having impacted wisdom teeth removed.
	Finally, though, he had had enough.  There was a big 4th of July party set for another student’s home that also had a swimming pool.  It was a semi-cooperative affair with the kids who wanted to attend putting up $20 per person for a band that had been hired, for food, and so forth.  Mike had paid the money and told Steph that he was going to go with her.  He said it with such emphasis, there really wasn’t any room for argument, but Stephanie tried anyway.  To every objection she raised, he had an answer.  The result was that they were going to go to the party, even though Stephanie was in tears when the argument ended.
	I was lying on a mat by the pool late one morning with Sandy beside me on one side and Susie on the other.  About 25 yards away, Jean was talking to Stephanie.  Both were on their backs on mats, but now they were propped up on their elbows.  It was obvious to me from the tears I could see glistening on Steph’s cheeks that Jean was reading her the riot act about something.
	“Damn!” I muttered.  “I wish I could hear what Jean is saying.”
	“It’s funny as hell,” Sandy responded.  “She’s telling her that she has absolutely everything a guy could possibly want in a girl.  ‘You’re beautiful, Steph.  The most gorgeous girl in the school.’
	“How can you know that?” I asked in amazement.
	“Because I’m listening to them is how,” Sandy replied reasonably.  “Oh, dear!”
	“What was that about?”
	“Steph just said that I’m more beautiful than she is and experienced besides.  I would give Mike the fucking of his life.”  Then in spite of the tears that had begun to roll down her cheeks at the words, she brightened and continued, “But Mommy said, ‘She is like hell prettier than you are.  Sandy will be one of the world’s outstanding beauties, Steph, but she’s only 13.  She’s just started to take on a woman’s form...’
	“Dad, is there any hope for me?” Sandy asked, turning toward me while cupping her forming tits.  She pulled on her nipples making her already-erect pink nubbins still longer.  She still had a ways to go, but she would eventually be as perfect as Jean.  (The significance of those words didn’t register in my brain at the time.)
	“You’re going to be perfect, Sandy.  But Steph is ahead of you.  I guess she’s about 75 percent of the way there; you’re maybe one-third.  How’s that?”
	“Better than nothing, I guess...  Uh, oh!”
	“What was that about?”
	“Mom’s beaten her into submission about going to the pool party, and now the subject has turned to bathing suits.”  Sandy giggled — an utterly beautiful and happy sound — and continued, “If Steph had her way, she’d wear one of those bathing costumes from the 1890's, but Mom is insisting on a bikini.  ‘But they’ll see my brands!’ Steph protested.  ‘That’s too damned bad.  They’re there and they’re real.  Stephanie Callaway, you have an utterly perfect figure, perfect skin and a glorious tan.  You’re going to flaunt it.  And that’s final!’
	“Boy, I guess Mom really told her!”
	“How do you know all this?” I asked.  I had heard about Sheila’s acute hearing, but everyone put it down to her period of blindness.
	“I’m listening to them is how,” Sandy replied.
	“But how?”
	She turned toward me and said, “Because we’re not really human, I guess.”  At that she got off her mat and lay down on top of me.  “Do you mind, Dad?”
	“Are you kidding?” I replied squeezing her buns and provoking a marvelous contented sound.
	“We — Sheila, Steph, Susie and me — have talked about it.  There are just too many holes.  We’ve come to the conclusion we’re from someplace else.
	“First, there’s the fact that none of us — not even Sheila — have any memory of what came before our slavery.  For Sheila that lasted for a couple of years, yet that only takes her back to age 13 or so.  What happened before that?  She doesn’t know and none of the rest of us know, either.
	“Then there are some of our peculiar abilities.  It’s funny really.  It’s as if I have an automatic tape recorder running in my head.  When I hear a conversation or something, it’s automatically recorded.  And I mean it’s automatic.  I never even think about it.  Not only is it recorded, it’s indexed in some way.  I can go back to any event and play it back verbatim.”  Then she looked at me and added, “But again, there’s nothing from before our slavery.
	“Actually, that recording ability was really handy for Sheila.  When she started singing, it never occurred to anyone to wonder how she knew all the songs.  It was pretty simple.  While Sam was at cheerleading practice, Sheila would go to the library to study.  There they have a whole bunch of folk music recordings.  Sheila would do her studying while she wore earphones listening to the folk songs.  It seems as if the recording function bypasses the brain somehow; most of the time she had no memory of ever hearing of the song, let alone hearing it, least of all knowing it, but if it was one she had recorded, it came up instantly when someone mentioned the name.
	“Our hearing facility is different, though.  That’s a conscious function.”
	“How far can you hear?” I asked.
	“I don’t really know, Dad.  It’s greater than 100 yards, though.  It seems that if I can see it, I can hear it.”  Sandy grinned and continued, “It’s really sort of neat.  I’ll look at someone speaking and the antenna or whatever locks on.  I can turn around, the person can move almost anywhere, but I’m still hearing what’s being said.”
	This was an incredible conversation.  “Why do you think you’re from someplace else, though?”
	“The abilities we have, coupled with another thing: Sheila’s experience.”
	“What about Sheila’s experience?”
	“She’s not too sure, either, but she was enslaved for almost two years and almost starved to death, too.  The rest of us were only in captivity for a few months, and that didn’t start until Kate Callaway freed Sheila.  That seems to have been the trigger for the rest of us to follow along.”
	Utterly weird, I thought, yet it all seemed to fit together.
	“What the heck,” Sandy continued, “we may not be human but we’re close enough for all practical purposes.  We can breed with humans, for example.”
	“How do you know that?”
	“Because Sheila’s about to give birth to Jim’s child is how I know.”
	“What?” I exclaimed.  “I never heard a word about her being pregnant.”
	“And you still haven’t.  Okay, Dad?  The only ones who know are my sisters and me.  Please don’t tell anyone else,” she pleaded.
	“But if she’s about to give birth, Jim must know,” I insisted.
	“Why must he know?”
	I made a motion on my abdomen indicating a swelling belly.  All that did was to provoke another lovely giggle from Sandy and from Susie, too, this time.  Clearly, she had been listening to our conversation.
	“That’s another reason we don’t think we’re human,” Sandy continued.  “Humans swell and gain weight.  We don’t swell and don’t gain weight.  In fact, if the infant weighs nine pounds, we’ll have lost about 11 pounds after delivering the baby along with the packing material and stuff.”  Then she pouted and added, “But we can’t even look forward to having big boobs, either.  Our nipples get a little fuller is all, and the baby has all the milk it can drink.”
	“How do you know this?” I insisted.  “After all, Sheila hasn’t delivered yet.”
	“That’s true, but we just know.  I do know that when Dad fucked her brains out last Christmas, she was already in her second month.  That’s why she was so happy.  Birth control is fine, but it’s a long way from perfect.  This way she’s certain that her baby is Jim’s, not Jack’s.  And she still hasn’t gained an ounce.”
	“But why hasn’t she told Jim?  He’s going to be the father, after all.”
	“Two reasons: First, he might stop spanking her.  I guess we’re all a little masochistic or something.  Anyway, Sheila often will do something that provokes a spanking.  Jim will really wale her bottom, then she’ll insist that he fuck her in the ass.  She says that the combination of his cock stretching her ass and his body slamming into her tortured buns really sets her off like a rocket!  She says that she’s usually out like a light at least until the next morning.
	“Second, what she really wants to do is to give birth by herself and then greet Jim that evening cooking in the kitchen with the infant nursing at her breast.  He’ll utterly freak!  It will be just so great!”
	“By herself?” I asked incredulously.
	“Sure,” Sandy replied insouciantly.  “Why wouldn’t she?”
	Then she grinned and explained, “I guess we’ve sort of streamlined the birth process.  First of all, it’s less painful — and less time consuming — than a normal bowel movement.  I’ve already told you about the weight gain — or lack of one.  Anyway, the delivery works the same way.”  Then she paused and looked a bit puzzled but continued, “It’s funny.  These are just things we know.  I don’t know how we know, but we just do.”
	Smiling happily now she continued, “The neat thing about that one is that it’s one of our transferrable skills or abilities or whatever.”
	“What’s that mean?”
	“It means that Sheila has given that ability to Mom and Samantha.  They’ll be pregnant and deliver the same way we do.  And we’ve given it to... someone else.”
	“Who?” I asked.
	“Dad, ours is a very strange relationship.  You see, I’m telling you things you’ve never heard before because you asked.  I must tell you anything you want to know.  I can’t lie and I can’t hold back.”
	“But you just did.  Hold back, I mean.  You just said ‘someone else’ without a name.”
	“Dad, that’s the only exception.”  Then she looked at me strangely and added, “You know, grownups are awfully dumb sometimes.”
	That comment provoked a derisive laugh from Susie who added, “They sure are, aren’t they?”  The little girl appeared to be sleeping on her back with her head resting on the mat and her arms outstretched.  Her legs were spread wide apart; she was almost doing a full split while lying on the mat.
	“Why are your legs like that, Susie?” I asked.
	“So my inner thighs and pussy will tan, too,” she replied with her eyes still closed.
	“But why?”
	“So I’ll be as pretty as it’s possible for me to be for you and Mom,” she replied softly.  “I know my body isn’t very much so I try to make myself as pretty as I can.”  She lifted her head up to look at me and added, “Is that wrong, Daddy?”
	“Sweetie, you’re utterly gorgeous.  But beyond that you’re the most loving and lovable girl your mother and I could even imagine.”
	“Uh, oh!  Now she’s done it!” Sandy interrupted.
	Although she had been focusing on Susie and me, apparently her hearing was still tuned to Jean and Stephanie.
	“What’s going on?” I asked.
	“Steph just announced that she’s not wearing a bikini and that’s final.”  The girl grimaced and said, “She’s going to have a very tender ass in a minute or two!”  Then she shrugged and added, “I guess it’s a good thing that bruises clear up on our bodies quickly.  Otherwise she would be showing the livid marks on her ass from Mom’s beating at the party.”
	“Beating?” I exclaimed.  “What beating?”
	“Oh, Dad...!” Sandy replied in an exasperated tone as if she were addressing a thick-headed four-year-old. “Just watch.”
	So I did.  Jean had lifted Stephanie off her mat, put her over her legs and was waling the tar out of her.  Even at our distance, though, I could see that Steph was trying to soften her buns as much as she could.
	“‘What are you wearing to the party?’ Mom is demanding,” Sandy reported.  “‘Not a bikini!’ Steph is screaming.  ‘You’re going to wear what I say, do what I say, and there will be no argument, young lady!  Do you understand?’  Oh, dear!  Dad, she’s really mad now.  And she’s beating the shit out of poor Stephanie.  Dear sister won’t be able to sit comfortably for a week!
	“Oh, dear!  Now Mom’s spun Steph around on her lap so she can beat on her other bun just as hard.  Steph is really screaming now!  I’ll bet you can hear her from here, can’t you?”
	In fact I could.
	“That’s about it,” Sandy reported.  “I guess Mom... persuaded her... that resistance on this one is futile... and very painful.  ‘I give up!’ Steph just screamed.  Mom’s still beating her but asked, ‘What’s that mean?’”
	Sandy gave me a quick grin and said, “Dad, do me a favor?”
	“What’s that, honey?”
	“When Mom gets that determined look in her eye, would you please kick me in the ass or something and tell me to shut up!  It’s going to be her way, anyway, but I’ll avoid being beaten bloody in the meantime.”
	I grinned at her, winked and nodded my head.
	“‘I’ll do whatever you want, whenever you want, with no if’s and’s or but’s,’ Steph  screamed.  ‘Are you sure?’ Mom demanded.  ‘I swear it!  Only please stop!  I can’t take it any more!’  That poor kid is really hurting badly now.  Mom has really been slamming her and she’s strong!”
	“‘Oh my God!  What have I done to you?’ Mom just screamed.  I guess she finally realized that she’s really been hitting her hard.”  Then Sandy grinned and said, “But I think Steph will feel better soon...  Or at least be feeling something else to take her mind off her pain.”
	Jean was kneeling on the mat between Stephanie’s legs and had raised her legs over her shoulders bringing her pussy within easy reach of her mouth.
	“‘Stephanie Callaway, you’re a masochist too!’ Mom whispered.  ‘Your cunt is sopping!’”
	I watched as Jean really worked on the girl’s cunt.  Soon it wasn’t necessary to have Sandy’s blow-by-blow; we could all hear Steph’s screams of ecstasy as Jean brought her to orgasm after orgasm.  Then I think she bit down hard on Steph’s clit and I know she spanked a bruised bun hard at the same instant.  Steph went off like a rocket!  The poor girl looked like she was coming apart as it appeared that every muscle in her body was in spasm.  Then the girl just went limp.
	Jean continued kneeling there for a few more moments, then picked the unconscious girl up in her arms as if she were weightless and carried her over toward us.
	“Come on, girls.  I need some help with your sister.”
	With Sandy and Susie trailing behind and me following, we trooped into the house to the bathroom.  There Jean lowered the girl into our baby swimming pool referred to by some as our bathtub.  Jean sat on an inside ledge with Steph’s head on her shoulder.  While the girls used musk oil to massage the girl’s body, Jean just kissed and fondled her all over.
	Slowly, Steph regained consciousness and began returning Jean’s kisses with her own.  Then she pulled away slightly just enough to bring Jean’s eyes into focus and asked, “Aunt Jean, do I really have to wear a bikini?”
	Jean just raised an eyebrow and looked meaningfully at the palm of her hand.  That was a revelation, too; her palm was scarlet.  She must have really bruised it.  It had to be hurting like hell, too, but Jean had never let on.
	Steph saw it and her eyes widened.  “Oh, God!  Did I do that to you with my hard ass?  Aunt Jean, I’m so sorry!”  With that the girl took Jean’s hand in hers, brought it to her mouth and proceeded to kiss and lick it.
	“I really tried to keep my buns soft for you,” the girl insisted.  “Honest I did.”
	“I know you did, sweetie.  And I’m so sorry for hurting you so!”
	Then both started to weep while kissing each other everywhere.  I’ll never understand women!  Here one is crying because she spanked the other so hard, while Steph is crying because Jean hurt her hand doing it.
	Following that episode, Jean took Stephanie, put her on the massage table and proceeded very tenderly to put pain-reducing ointment over her now-scarlet buns, then put her to bed.  The girl fell asleep instantly.
* * *
	Over the next few days, things really moved fast.  First, Jean hauled Stephanie off to shop for a dress and a bathing suit.  The dress didn’t concern me, but I was involved with the bathing suit.  They came back with two.  Or really, one and a half.  The one was a luscious white bikini.  The “half” was a monokini that was really a fabric-covered U-shaped spring.  A wider part covered her slit — mostly — while the thinner end followed the crack of her ass.  That one didn’t last very long.  When she put on the bikini and came into the living room to show it to us, she was tugging on the loin piece to get it higher.
	“What are you doing?” Jean asked.
	“Trying to get it up, Aunt Jean,” the girl replied.  “I don’t really want to have to trim my pubic hair any more than it is and it keeps spilling over the top!”
	Jean went over to where she was standing, moved the tiny thing down and then carefully flicked some of Steph’s cunt hair so it flowed over the top.  “It’s perfect, sweetie!” she exclaimed.  “How many of your friends have sun-streaked pubic hair?  It’s perfect!”
	“But...” the girl sputtered.
	“Look at it this way: You’re wearing far more than you usually do when you’re swimming, right?”
	“Yes, but...”
	“So what’s the problem?”
	“Then there’s my dress...”
	“What about your dress?”
	“We didn’t buy a bra, and I’ve been looking at it...  I can’t figure out what possible sort of bra I could wear.”
	“That’s simple enough,” Jean replied blithely.  “You just don’t wear one.”
	“But my nipples will show!” the girl wailed.
	“I guess they will, won’t they?” Jean conceded.  “It is sort of thin on top.”  Then with a lovely warm smile she added, “Just don’t forget to keep them nice and taut.  It’ll drive the guys wild!”
	And that ended that.
	The next thrilling episode in this saga took place at Andy Shepherd’s.  (That’s André’s to everyone else in Chicagoland, the most elite beauty salon in the area.)  Although normally Andy — André being his professional name — only supervised his staff of highly skilled stylists, the Callaway women were his personal clients.
	I guess it must have been funny as hell.  Jean took all the girls over that time: Samantha, Stephanie, Sandy, and Susan.  She explained to Andy about the very peculiar facility the girls had with their hair, a facility they had transferred to both Sam and herself.  However, I learned later from Susie that when Jean had mentioned herself, she had looked a bit odd, although Susie couldn’t quite figure out why.
	This seemed to solve a great problem for Andy, though.  All the women, from Kate down, had utterly gorgeous hair.  But they also had a solid requirement that no hairdo could require any nighttime maintenance; if it didn’t hold together in bed, it was worthless.  Learning that regardless of the hairdo, a quick shake would restore it made Andy wild with excitement at the prospect.
	He used poor Stephanie as his test vehicle, creating ever more elaborate hairdos, then scrambling them with his hands, only to have Steph restore them to perfection with a single shake of her head.
	To Andy it was the most fantastic thing he had ever seen.  Moreover, the hairdo held in place without spray, setting gel or anything else he previously might have used to essentially glue hairs in place.
	Anyway, by the end of the afternoon, all of the women’s hair had been restyled.  When I first set eyes on Jean, she was looking at me with her eyes wide and tears starting to form at the corners of her eyes.
	“My God!  Honey, what have you done?”  With that her tears really started to flow, but stopped suddenly when I continued, “You’re magnificent!  My God, your hair is utterly gorgeous.”  A beaming smile replaced her fear in an instant.  All of the women were utterly gorgeous.
	This brings me to the big evening, or more accurately, big afternoon.  Because the party was a pool party, barbecue and dance, it was scheduled to begin at 3:00 in the afternoon.
	Starting right after lunch, Jean and the girls had taken their sister off.  There was a bath, a musk-oil massage and I don’t know what all.  All I do know is that Mike Mitchell was due to pick her up at 2:30; his mother desperately wanted to see Steph before they went to the party.  Anyway, a little after two o’clock, Stephanie appeared by herself.
	“How do I look, Uncle Jim?” she asked tremulously.
	I had been watching a golf match (I think) and was looking in the opposite direction.  Responding to her question, I turned around and then did a double-take.  Rising as if in a daze — which is an accurate description of my condition — I moved toward her, then just stopped and looked.
	“Stephanie Callaway, it’s absolutely impossible for a woman to look any better than you do right now!  Impossible!”
	Then I moved closer and studied her face.  Her emerald-green eyes were bright, but they seemed to be set off somehow.  I have very sharp eyes, but even after moving very close there was no sign of any makeup, yet I had never seen the girl look so good.
	“What have you done, Steph?” I asked, utterly bewildered.  “You have to be made up, but there’s no trace of anything.  Sweetie, you’re stunning!”
	“It’s Aunt Jean,” Steph replied with a lovely and loving grin.  “Andy Shepherd says she’s the finest makeup artist alive.  And it’s all waterproof, too.  He says he’s never seen anyone in her class where it comes to highlighting features without leaving a trace of having done anything at all.  But do you really like it?”
	Instead of answering, I took the girl in my arms.  When I did, she raised her head and melted her lips to mine in one of the most loving kisses I’ve ever had.  Then I reached down and pinched her lovely bottom.
	“Ouch!” she squealed.  Then she grinned and added, “The bruises don’t show anymore but I’m still pretty tender down there.”  Another grin and she added, “Good grief, Aunt Jean really hits hard.  She may be even stronger than Mommy, and she was really mad.  I couldn’t sit comfortably for a week, and I still feel it when I sit down.”
	When we parted, I saw Jean and the girls standing in the doorway, watching.  Jean was so happy she just might have floated away.
	When the kids left she told me, “Jim, that was the nicest thing you could have done for that girl.  She was so worried, but you said all the right things.”
	Then she gave me a kiss that melted me to the floor, along with the promise of much better things to come later.
	When Mike arrived he looked at Steph and was dumbstruck.  Finally he was able to say, “Steph, I knew you were beautiful, but my God!  I’m escorting the most beautiful girl in the world!”
	“Oh, Mike!” she exclaimed.  “I’m so happy you like the way I look.”
	Then she melted her lips to his.  This time we could all hear the bells ringing and feel the electricity between them.  The flow of pure passion was palpable... and lovely.  Then Mike pinched her bun, but instead of squealing like she had with me, she just crushed her body closer to his and moved sinuously against him.
	Later, when I asked Jean about the difference in reaction to the pinches, all I got was a disgusted look and an even more disgusted, “Men!”
	I didn’t find her response very informative.
	Mike had only obtained his driver’s license a short time before, but for the occasion the Mitchell’s had allowed him to use their Mercedes convertible.  It was all I could do to keep from laughing out loud as Mike treated Stephanie like the finest china, holding the door, helping her in...  It was wonderful.
* * *
	What follows was gleaned from Mike, Stephanie and others after the event.  But for ease of narration, rather than have strings of quotes within quotes, I’m going to take the rôle of narrator for a while.  Just so you know what’s going on...
* * *
	As he had promised, Mike first drove back to his house so his mother could see Stephanie.  When they entered the house, Karen Mitchell, Mike’s mother, screamed, “I don’t believe it!  No woman can possibly be as beautiful as you are today, Stephanie Callaway!  You are utterly gorgeous.”
	She took the girl in her arms and melted her lips to hers.  Again there was an exchange of the purest love that left Karen weak-kneed.  When they finally separated, Karen screamed for her husband, Doug.  When he came into the room, his reaction was the same as mine.
	Then Karen said, “Effective immediately, Stephanie Callaway, I am not ‘Mrs. Mitchell’!  Clear?  You can call me Karen, Doug’s hot cunt...  I don’t care, but not, ‘Mrs. Mitchell’!”
	“Could I call you Mother?” Stephanie asked softly.
	“Oh my God!” Karen screamed.  “Can you?  Young lady, I would be the proudest woman on the planet if you called me Mother.  I can’t believe I could possibly be so lucky!”  With that she took Steph by the hand, sat in a wing chair and sat Stephanie on her lap.
	What followed must have been funny.  There’s Karen crying her eyes out because she’s so happy, trying to hug Stephanie as tightly as she could, but at the same time desperately trying to keep her tears from falling on Steph’s dress.
	“My darling daughter!” she exclaimed.  “Thank you, dear God, for giving me this angel as my daughter.  What have I done to achieve this incredible fortune?”
	“You really like the way I look, Mother?” Steph asked softly.
	“Like?  Like?” Karen almost screamed.  “Stephanie Callaway Mitchell, to say you look beautiful is like saying the Mona Lisa is a picture.  Both statements are true, but so understated as to be lies.  Young lady, it’s impossible for a woman to look more beautiful than you look right now.  Understand?”
	Remarkably, it actually seemed to be penetrating to Steph that she really was beautiful.
	It was repeated with Doug Mitchell who was left reeling by the power of Stephanie’s kiss.  As they prepared to leave, Karen announced that she was going to talk to Kate Callaway as soon as she returned about adopting Stephanie as her own daughter.  “That’s in case my son is so damned dumb he manages to lose you.  He might, but I certainly won’t.”
	Then her parting comment, “Have a wonderful time, kids.  And Stephanie...  Knock ’em dead!”
* * *
	Mike was standing by the swimming pool with his friend, Sean Farrell.  Sean was not only Mike’s friend, he was his football-field protector.  As a right-handed quarterback, Mike was potentially vulnerable to being blind-sided from the left.  Sean, the left tackle, was charged with his protection.  And, like Mike, only 16, Sean was already six feet four, 235 pounds and still growing.  It’s fair to say Sean was well suited to his mission.
	The pair were eyeing Diane Collins and Candy Price.  The party was at the Collins’ and it was Diane’s pool.  However, in size it was less than a quarter of the Callaway’s, being 25 yards by five lanes compared to the Callaway’s 50 meters by 8 full-width lanes.  In appearance the two girls were quite similar.  Diane was five feet five with brown hair and brown eyes; Candy was about an inch shorter but with the same coloration.  Both girls were wearing Speedo one-piece racing suits, and from the pale skin that showed whenever a strap shifted, it was apparent that the suits were the girls’ normal swimming attire.
	Then Stephanie appeared in her white bikini.
	“My Lord, she’s gorgeous!” Sean whispered reverently.
	There was one oddity in the relationship between Mike and Sean.  For several months, Sean had been coming up to Mike and Stephanie and asking, “Is he treating you right?”  When she smiled and assured him that Mike was, he wandered off again.  But he kept asking the question for no good reason that Mike could figure.
	Then Mike heard Sean say with his voice cracking, “What a terrible thing to do to such a perfect girl!”  Looking up, Mike was amazed to see tears flowing down the young giant’s cheeks.  It was obvious he was referring to the still-livid SLUT branded on Stephanie’s flank.
	Looking up, he saw Diane and Candy looking at Steph with jealousy that was palpable even from the distance.  Clearly, they hated Steph’s guts, Diane most of all.  Mike knew why, of course, and could scarcely keep from laughing.  Diane was one of the very long string of girls — essentially every female with two legs in the school and adjacent territories — with whom Steph had fixed him up.  Moreover, he knew that Diane had a mad crush on him.  But for his part, even putting Steph out of the picture which was an impossible thing to do, he really couldn’t stand the girl.
	In Mike’s opinion, Diane Collins was the classic rich bitch.  She was a snob.  She lorded it over everyone, and particularly looked down on the “little people.”  What Mike found so funny was that Stephanie’s family wealth was greater than the Collins’ by at least two orders of magnitude, but beyond that — although Mike didn’t know for sure — he was almost certain that Stephanie’s personal wealth exceeded that of the Collins’.
	Steph ignored the looks of jealousy — and, Mike thought, possibly hatred on Diane’s part — and dove into the pool.  Easily, she stroked up and then back.  He noticed that Diane was watching her closely.
	When Steph finished her lap, she was standing in the shallow water and checked to ensure that her bra was still in place.  Diane came over and said, “How about a race?”
	Seeing the look in Diane’s eyes, Steph replied, “Sure.  But it looks like you want to make a bet.  Do you?”
	“I sure do!” the girl responded, scarcely able to control her glee.  “If I win, I get to go out with Mike for the next 30 days and you don’t get to see him at all.  How’s that?”
	“What distance?” Steph asked without responding to the wager.
	“A hundred yards,” Diane quickly replied.  “That’s four lengths of the pool.”
	“But what do I get if I win?” Stephanie asked.
	Clearly, even the possibility of losing had never crossed Diane’s mind so the question took her aback.  After thinking for a few moments she said, “I’ll be your personal slave for 30 days.  How’s that?”
	After looking thoughtful for a few moments — which Mike knew was as phony as a three-dollar bill — she said, “Okay.  It’s a bet.”
	By this time many of the other partygoers had changed and were out on the pool deck.  The word of the bet spread like wildfire.
	One boy said loudly enough for many to hear, “What’s Stephanie thinking about?  Diane will kill her!”
	“Jason,” Mike said to the boy, “you’re the inveterate gambler at school, I hear.  Want to make a bet on Diane?  If the odds are right, I’ll take it.”
	“Ten to one?” Jason asked.  He was prepared to go much higher, but as far as he was concerned offering only 10-1 made it a true sucker bet, a license for him to print money.
	“Okay,” Mike said, “for $10.”  The two boys shook on it.  Moments later, Mike had made nine other similar bets with others.
	“What in hell are you doing?” Sean asked him in shock.  “You don’t have that kind of money to lose, Mike.  You’ve bet $100!”
	“But they’re going to lose $1,000,” Mike replied with a grin.
	“How can they?” Sean asked.  “Diane’s ranked in the top 10 among juniors in the state and she’s captain of the swim team!”  He paused and added, “And she has her own pool to practice in, too.”
	“Just watch,” Mike replied without further comment.
	Because Mike was the object of the wager, Diane asked him to call the start.  Diane was in lane 2 with Stephanie in lane 4.  As the starter, Mike was standing between them.  Because Diane was a competitive swimmer, the pool was equipped with regulation-size starting boxes that the girls were using.
	“Take your marks!
	“Get set...
	“Go!” Mike yelled.  Diane was off like a shot while Stephanie just stood there watching her go.  “Stephanie Callaway, you’re a witch!” he whispered.
	Steph turned, winked and then went off the box like a shot.  Her dive seemed to carry her nearly half way down the pool.  At the first turn, Diane was more than a body length ahead, but Stephanie made a perfect racing turn and got a powerful drive off the wall to take the lead.
	With a very powerful kick and a perfect stroke, she seemed to extend her lead on Collins with every stroke.  As she drove for the finish she was ahead by almost the length of the pool.  Reaching the wall, she was about to pull herself out when Mike motioned across his chest.
	Steph just winked and he pointed toward the wall where Steph’s bikini top was floating close to the gutter.  Stroking over, she picked it up and carefully fitted it to her beautiful breasts.  She was pulling herself out of the pool when Diane finished.
	The girl had to rest on her arms at the wall before she could gather enough strength to get out.  When she did, she just stood there as an expression of stunned amazement spreading over her face.  It was only then that the significance of her loss sank in.  She was Stephanie’s slave for the next 30 days.
	Steph was just watching, scarcely able to control her own amusement.
	“You won,” Diane said in a voice that cracked and was barely above a whisper.
	“Guess so,” Steph agreed.
	“And I’m your slave for the next 30 days?”
	“That was the bet,” Stephanie agreed.
	“How about a rematch?” Diane asked, hoping against hope to avoid slavery.
	“At what distance?” Steph replied in a flat tone of voice.
	“How about a distance race?  How about 1,000 yards?” the girl replied.
	Although she was a sprinter and 100 yards was her best distance, Diane felt that she spent enough time in the pool that she could easily take this girl at a longer distance.
	“What’s the bet?” Steph asked without acknowledging Diane’s response.
	“Double or nothing,” Diane instantly replied.  “If you win, I’m your slave for 60 days.  If I win, we’re even.”
	“Done!” Steph replied, extending her hand.  Diane took it and the girls shook on the bet.
	Meanwhile, the others were in a state of utter shock.  The captain of the swim team had not only lost, she had been slaughtered.  While Diane was trying to cover her loss, so were the people — including two girls, one of whom was Diane’s best friend, Candy Price.
	When to a person, they, too, wanted to go double or nothing, Mike just shook his head and said, “First you have to pay off on the first round.  Then I might — or might not — talk about another bet.”
	The guys went back to the house and returned with the money they had lost.  The two girls claimed not to have the money with them.  Jason, the gambler, went 10 to 1 on $100 this time.  The rest of the guys just wanted their hundred back, so they went 5 to 1 on another $100, just trying to get even.  The other girl called it quits, but Candy joined Jason, going 10 to 1 on $100.  Mike took all the bets with a grin.
	As the two girls moved toward the starting boxes, Mike followed while Sean Farrell came along behind.  Sean was in an state of utter shock.  First, although he had thought Stephanie was the most beautiful girl in the world, her incredible beauty that day had taken him aback.  But then there was her decisive victory in the race.  To the young man, it didn’t compute.  While Diane Collins was shorter, she was also quite chunky with well-developed shoulders and upper arms.  Stephanie Callaway, on the other hand, showed no muscles at all, just utterly flawless skin except for those horrible brands on her flanks.
	Moreover, the boy thought, there’s no way she can take Diane at a distance in her own pool.  He had noted that Candy Price, Diane’s best friend, put her money where her mouth was, and as a member of the swim team knew first-hand how good Diane really was.
	Again, Mike was the starter.  With the girls on the starting boxes, Stephanie called out, “Does anyone have a stopwatch?”
	One of the boys had a stopwatch function of the waterproof watch he was wearing.

	To Diane, Stephanie asked, “What’s your best time for 100 yards?”
	“Fifty-three seconds,” Diane replied.
	“Okay, then,” Stephanie answered, “to show you what a sport I am, I’ll make it easy for you.  I’ll give you a 53-second head start.  Fair?”
	Diane was stunned.  She was being offered what amounted to a 100-yard head start in a 1,000 yard race.  “Hell, yes, it’s fair.  Done!”
	With that the girl thought she had it iced.  There’s no way I can lose, she thought, when Callaway is giving me that kind of edge.
	The kids betting with Mike checked and he assured them that the bets were still on in spite of the change in the race.
	It was all he could do to keep from laughing as Steph sat on her box, reaching down to dangle her feet in the water while Diane took her mark.  Again Mike ran through the starting sequence and on his word Diane was off the box like a shot.  Stephanie appeared to be having fun just splashing water with her feet.
	After half a minute, she languidly rose to her feet, shook her arms which was her concession to warming up, and just stood there.  Mike was watching the LCD numbers on the stopwatch, and when they showed 45 seconds, he said, “Take your mark.”
	Stephanie moved to the front of her box and curled her toes over the edge.  Then she turned and grinned at Mike. 
	At 51 seconds Mike called out, “Get set...
	“Go!” he yelled as the display showed 53.
	This time, though, although she was off the box like a shot, Stephanie appeared to be languid as she stroked up the pool.  It was to be a 40-length race.
	“What is she doing?” Sean whispered in Mike’s ear.  Only then did Mike realize that Sean cared for Stephanie and cared for her deeply.  “She’s up against a girl who has her own pool, for God’s sake!”
	“Relax, Sean,” Mike whispered in reply.  “The Farrell information network might have slipped on this one.  So does Steph.  Except hers is 50 meters, not 25 yards.  Moreover, it’s eight lanes, not five.  In other words, friend, Stephanie works out every day in a real Olympic pool.  Okay?”
	“But the difference in development!” Sean insisted.  “Did you look at the muscles on Diane?”
	“Sean, old buddy, how much weight do you use when you work out?”  When the giant replied, Mike continued, “Steph uses nearly 50 percent more weight than you do.”
	“You’re kidding!” the boy protested.  Then he looked closely at Mike for the first time.  “But wait a minute...  You’re really bulging with muscles, too.  How come?”
	“For self-defense,” Mike replied with a grin.  “I guess I’ve sort of figured out that I can hold my own with Steph at about double her weight... and weight loadings about 50 percent above hers.”
	“My God,” Sean murmured, “I guess it’s really true.  But what you’re saying is that it’s Diane who’s overmatched?”
	“You got it, old buddy,” Mike replied with a grin.  “And she’s way over her head.”  He thought for a moment and then added, “It’s going to be interesting to have Diane as our slave for the next 60 days....”  After another pause he continued, “But I’m sure Steph has some interesting things in mind.”
	Meanwhile, the two girls were moving through the water and were a study in contrasts.  Diane Collins was churning up the water, essentially in a sprint mode which it was unlikely she could maintain for 40 pool lengths.  Stephanie, on the other hand, was moving smoothly and seemingly effortlessly through the water.  Only the roiled water in her wake gave testimony to her power.  And she seemed to gain at least half a body length with every stroke.  Moreover, in spite of Diane being the sprinter and well-trained in racing turns, Stephanie appeared smoother and had a far stronger drive off the wall, gaining significantly on every turn.
	At 400 yards Stephanie passed Diane and just increased her lead.  In fact it became apparent to everyone that Diane had set an early pace she was physically unable to maintain.  Stephanie, on the other hand, looked like she could maintain her pace all day.  Mike in fact, knew that she could, having seen her more than once in her “swimming to Michigan” mode.  When Sean asked about it, Mike told him about her occasional marathons and the fact that, according to her, it gave her time to think.
	The two guys had been counting laps and when Steph touched the wall at the end of the 40th lap, he yelled at her that it was over.  Then he handed her the bra from her bathing suit that he had retrieved earlier from the pool gutter.
	Instead of quickly putting it on, though, Stephanie just stood there at the end of the pool with her nipples as hard as pencil erasers and asked, “You like?”
	“Damned right I like!” Mike replied.  “Now get dressed!”
	“You’re no fun!” she retorted while putting on her bra.
	Mike reached down and pulled the girl from the pool and into his arms.  Again, he felt that wonderful electricity when their lips merged.
	Meanwhile, Diane Collins had given up after swimming only 34 lengths.  At the end, the exhausted girl was just wallowing in the pool, while Stephanie wasn’t even out of breath.
	“How was it?” Mike asked.
	Sticking out her tongue, Steph replied, “Yucky!  First of all, it seemed like I was pushing off a wall after only about three strokes in each direction.  Second, I can’t stand all the chlorine.”
	Followed by Sean the young couple went over to a couple of pool chairs.  As they passed a group of guys one called out, “Hey, slut!”
	That was all it took for Sean Farrell.  Standing over the guy like an avenging angel — Sean would have easily made two of the boy — he thundered, “On your hands and knees, worm!”
	With his teeth chattering in fear, the boy instantly did what Sean had ordered.
	“Now, if you want to live to see another sunrise, you’re going to crawl on your hands and knees to where Stephanie is sitting.  Then you’re going to kiss her feet and beg — and I mean beg — her forgiveness for that insult.  Now move!”
	The boy did as he was told.  Utter silence had descended around the pool as the guests watched him crawl to where Stephanie was sitting, kiss her feet and say in a quavering voice, “Miss Callaway, I’m terribly sorry!  Please forgive me.”  He had decided — correctly — that referring to her as Stephanie would not have been a very smart move.
	“It’s okay, Jack,” Stephanie replied softly.  “All you did was read what’s branded permanently on my flank.”
	It wasn’t over, though.
	Standing there watching the whole affair was Sean Farrell.  Slowly he began, “I’m going to tell you all a bit about Stephanie Callaway.  But first I need to tell you something about my family, the Farrells.  I guess we’re all over this area — the entire Chicago area — like fleas on a dog.”
	This comment would have triggered laughter, but Sean was still shaking with anger so good judgment prevailed.  No one made a sound.
	“And like the fleas,” the boy continued, “we’re essentially invisible.  We hold down all sorts of support jobs: x-ray technician, file clerk... those sorts of things.  And we’re very big on law enforcement at all levels.  What does this have to do with anything, you wonder?
	“Well, I’ll tell you what it means.  It means that Farrells are in positions to find out almost anything about anyone.  That’s how I know about Stephanie Callaway.”
	He paused and looked around at the group now gathered around him.  Continuing, “First of all, you probably know that Steph is adopted.  But before that, she was saved from a group of savages who were holding Stephanie and her sisters prisoner.  They’re the ones who branded her.  I know this because an uncle of mine was in the squad of police officers who shot and killed those monsters.
	“What had they done?  One thing they did was to plant a fiendish device in her vagina.  It was a folding metal plate with about a dozen nails sticking out in all directions to hold it in position.  More than once, her owner whipped her abdomen to drive the nails into her body.  It must have been like being knifed from the inside.  Why the device?  Because Stephanie wasn’t willing to sacrifice her virginity, so her owner announced that if he couldn’t take it, no one would.  A highly skilled surgeon removed it at the hospital without doing any internal damage...  We all hope.”
	Stephanie had begun to cry as Sean was telling his story so Mike lifted her from her chair and sat her across his lap.  It must have been the right thing to do because she just cuddled close as he held her tightly in his arms.
	“They made her get 50 whip strokes every Saturday night in... in... in her private parts... in order to be able to go to school the following week.  She was forced to do the most degrading things to get the number to 50.  After that, she was just brutally beaten to the extent that she usually regained consciousness Sunday morning sprawled on the floor and covered with filth.”  Sean sadly shook his head and added, “She was forbidden to bathe or shower, either, so it just stayed there.”
	Now his blue eyes were piercing as he continued, “Just think!  This girl every week suffered the tortures of the damned.  For what?  To go to school!  Can you believe it?  Many of us — Hell!  Most of us! — would do anything to stay home.  But Stephanie and her sisters suffered to be able to go to school.
	“But that’s just background.  Why do I feel as strongly as I do?  Because of what she did for the Farrell family.”
	At that he turned to Stephanie, smiled warmly and said, “On behalf of all the Farrells, Stephanie, all I can say is thank you.  I’ll add one more thing: As far as the Farrells — all of the Farrells — are concerned, you walk on water and don’t get your feet wet.  Am I making myself clear?”
	“Yes, you are,” Stephanie softly replied, “but this is so unnecessary...”
	“It’s necessary as hell!” Sean interrupted.
	Continuing his tale, Sean said, “But what did she do for the Farrells?  My dad is a heavy-equipment operator and he’s very good.  He’s so good, in fact, that at least once a year he’ll get a special overseas assignment to move something or position something that no one else can do.  I guess he’s in the top 10 in the world at what he does.
	“Then Dad was very seriously injured in an automobile accident.  Of course, the drunken jerk who hit him had no insurance.  The union medical plan covered the medical bills, but except for unemployment there was really no money coming in.  Before the accident I guess we were doing pretty well financially.  Dad made excellent money and the money for those special assignments — thousands of dollars at a shot — went into my college fund.
	“My parents were — and are — determined that I’m going to be the first Farrell to go to college, so they were saving for the day.  Then came the accident.
	“We have one of those deals linking the family savings account to the checking account.  If checks come in that exhaust the checking account, money is automatically transferred from savings to cover.  Well, my mom almost died when she looked at the first statement that came in while Dad was still in the hospital.  The savings balance had dropped like a stone.
	“When the next statement came in, Mom didn’t even open it.  Instead, she was just sitting at the kitchen table staring at it when I got home from school.  She told me she didn’t have the guts to open it while she was alone.  Then with me sitting next to her, she opened it and looked at the savings balance.  It was the same as it had been the previous month with only the usual interest added.  ‘This can’t be!’ Mom exclaimed.  ‘We’ve been spending money like there’s no tomorrow!’  Together we looked at the statement in detail.
	“What we found was that beginning about a week into the new accounting period, the checking balance was down to zero.  But as additional checks came in, there was money deposited to cover them.  But from where?  It sure wasn’t from our savings.
	“This is where the extended Farrell family comes into the story.  The first thing Mom did was to call our bank.  They immediately reported that they had noticed what was happening, but they had received an order from the largest bank in Chicago to do what they had been doing: drafting on another account.  However, the Chicago bank refused to provide any more information other than to say that the transfer order was to stay in place indefinitely.
	“Here’s where the back-office Farrells come in.  When our bank drew a blank, Mom started calling family.  A couple of days later, we had our answer: the money was coming from Stephanie Callaway’s personal account.”
	Sean paused and looked around, then continued, “This isn’t Callaway family money, or Callaway Industries money...”
	Hearing the words, Callaway Industries, Diane Collins went white.  For the first time she realized that Stephanie, a girl she had always looked down on, was far wealthier than her family.  The realization was a major shock.  Moreover, it finally sank in that she was now enslaved to Stephanie for the next 60 days and Steph had every reason in the world to hate her guts.  Diane began shaking in fear.
	“... this is Stephanie’s own money!” Sean continued.  “But that isn’t the end of the story.  This continued for several months and was a godsend.  It enabled Dad to take his time and fully recover from his injuries before he went back to work.  Without it, knowing him, he would have struggled back to work while still in bad shape because above all he had to provide for his family.  Well, Stephanie Callaway took care of that.
	“When he went back to work, his first order of business was to start repaying Stephanie the money she had loaned us.  Or try to, anyway.  The first effort was a transfer back to Stephanie’s account of $1,000.  Her bank wouldn’t accept the transfer.  Instead, a thousand dollars was deposited in our savings account.  This repeated three more times.  Dad finally gave up when the amount reached $5,000.”
	Now Sean was much more relaxed.  He grinned and interjected, “Know what?  There’s more money in our savings account now than there was at the time Dad was injured.  And it’s all Stephanie.”  Looking around at the now-enthralled group he added, “I hope you noticed Stephanie’s behavior while I’ve been talking.  You see, this is the first she knew that we knew where and from whom this money had been coming.  And it’s so typical of her, too.  She wants no thanks and no credit for any of her acts of charity.
	“What do I mean by that?  It’s funny, really.  I can be in the cafeteria line at school and if Steph’s ahead of me, I can see it just by looking at the plates on the trays in front of me.  What’s that mean?  You look down the line and you see food slopped on the plates and almost literally thrown at the kids.  But if you see a tray with the food arranged as if they’re going to take a publicity picture of it, that’s Stephanie’s.”
	Hearing Sean’s words, Steph muffled a giggle in Mike’s broad chest.
	“Is there any more?” Sean asked rhetorically.  “Hell yes, there’s more.  I’m sure you’ve seen the food service women glaring at us.  Steph?  ‘Good morning, Miss Callaway!’ along with a big smile.  When was the last time you’ve ever heard one of them say Miss?  If they say anything at all it’s likely to be, ‘Hey, kid, you’re taking too much.’  But why is that?
	“It’s because if one of their children is sick, a toy will appear to cheer the child up.  If there’s a family problem of any nature, help arrives.  Moreover, Steph knows them all.  She’ll say, ‘Mrs. Johnson, how’s Billy coming along?’
	“Know what?  Many of those women are refugees from welfare and are single mothers; they’ve never been married.  But regardless of their marital status, if they have a child, they’re Mrs.  The women know and know that Steph knows their true condition.  But it sure makes them feel better about themselves.
	“The bottom line?  Without a single exception, they love Stephanie Callaway!  And she’s following in the footsteps of her older sister, Sheila, who’s now at Yale with her husband, Jim.  The Callaway girls have been doing the same thing for years.
	“But is that all?  Hell, no!  For example, you all probably know Miss Rogers who works in the school office.  She lives alone and had a house cat, Smokey, she just adored.  Well, cats aren’t the most long-lived creatures and Smokey died shortly before school ended in June.  Miss Rogers was distraught.  So what happened?  The doorbell rang one Saturday morning.  Miss Rogers opened the door to find an adorable gray kitten in a basket at the door.  Around it’s neck was a red ribbon with a note attached.  It said, ‘My name is Smokey II.  I can’t replace Smokey, but I hope you’ll let me love you.’
	“She sat down, stroked the kitten and just cried and cried.  I’ve heard that the kitten is utterly perfect.  Nothing in her apartment has been scratched and there have been no accidents.  As much as she loved Smokey, Smokey II is a far better-behaved cat than the first one was.  And where did Smokey come from?  I’ll give you one guess.  Why?  Because Stephanie Callaway wanted to ease the heartbreak of a lonely woman is why.
	“Oh, yeah...  How do I know all this?  Because another Farrell works at the pet shop that scoured the whole metro area for the perfect gray kitten is how.  And you know something else?  For the price she paid to get the perfect kitten, she could have bought hundreds of them.  But it was important to help a lonely woman with a lovely — and loving — kitten.”
	Turning to Steph, still cuddled close to Mike, Sean lowered his voice and said, “Stephanie, we really love you.”  Then he grinned and added, “But what do you see in that lug, Mike Mitchell?”
	“He may be a lug, Sean,” Steph replied with a loving grin, “but I’m stuck with him.  It’s just one of those things.  But what about you?”
	“What about me?” the boy asked.
	“Have you ever had a date?”
	Her question took Sean full aback.  “Huh?  Uh... No...  I guess I haven’t,” he finally stammered.
	As she went back to cuddling she murmured, “Hmm...  Guess we’ll have to fix that.”
* * *
	Stephanie went back into the house to shower and change while Mike and Sean collected their wagers.  Everyone paid up except Candy Price.  With tears in her eyes the girl admitted she didn’t have anything close to the $1,000 she had lost.  The result was that she agreed to work it off by being Mike’s slave for the next 60 days.
	When they finally returned home, the couple were accompanied by Diane and Candy.  Diane had made some excuse to her parents, and Candy told her parents she would be spending the rest of the summer with Diane.
	All this time, Jean had been pacing the floor like a nervous cat.  When she heard the sound of the basement door opening, she almost jumped to the ceiling.  But when the couple came into the family room, Jean relaxed with a wonderful sigh of relief.  Stephanie looked as beautiful as she did when she left the house and far happier besides.  Moreover, it was clear that her days of trying to fix up Mike Mitchell were over; she was Mike’s girl for life.
	As for Diane and Candy’s slavery, that’s a story for another time.
* * *
	In mid-July (of what turned out to be the hottest summer on record in Chicago), Jean decided it was time to work on my wardrobe.  (Work?  Start one is a far more accurate statement.)  She learned that J. Press had a traveling sales team in the area and hauled me off.  I guess she figured that with stores in New Haven and Cambridge, they would be tailors appropriate to my academic background.  It was funny, really.  I might as well have been a spot on the carpet for all the attention that was paid to me.  Instead, Jean and the salesman consulted on materials and the composition of my wardrobe.  I guess it was only through the grace of God I didn’t end up with white tie and tails.  (Honestly, I think it’s only because the salesman neglected to mention the idea to her.)
	Suffice it to say that by the time she was done, it might have been the largest single sale in the store’s very long history.  But it was done and I have to admit it was pretty painless for me.
	A few days later, I was in the mall by myself.  I really don’t remember, but maybe I was there for a haircut.  At any rate, I finished up whatever it was and was just walking along when I see three golden heads in the crowd ahead of me.  (Believe me when I tell you that golden hair like that is not common!)  Like so many other days that summer, that day was a scorcher, too.  I closed the distance while still keeping people between me and them and used my height to confirm that, as I thought, the three golden heads belonged to Jean, Sandy and Susan.
	Jean and Sandy were sights to see.  Both were wearing short-short Levi cutoffs along with shot-to-shit chambray work shirts that had seen their best days years before.  The sleeves had been torn off at the shoulders and the tails were tied under their breasts.  With the shorts starting very low on their hips, there was a great expanse of perfectly tanned skin showing between.  Susan looked cute as hell wearing similar shorts but with a sleeveless top with tiny embroidered flowers on it.  Like the others, though, she had the tails (ends?)  tied under where her tits would be someday.  She was adorable.
	It was apparent that the girls were having a wonderful time together.  Even from more than 20 feet away, I could hear the lovely sound of their musical giggling.  Oh!  One more thing.  Jean had her golden hair back in a pony tail as did Sandy.  This made her look like a well-developed teenager.  But as I said, the girls seemed to be having a wonderful time together.
	I was still behind them when they reached a newly-opened fine jewelry store, a branch of Tiffany & Company.  Later I learned that the store was an experiment.  It was the first unit in the Tiffany chain that wasn’t located in a prime downtown shopping zone.  In fact, they did have a store at 730 Michigan Boulevard, too.  The experiment was to determine if a suburban mall — even a very upscale one — could support a store like theirs.  As it happened, Jean and the girls did their best to assure the store’s success.  After looking at the jewelry in the window with appropriate oohs and aahs, the three girls went inside.
	Fortunately for my spying, Tiffany’s was located on an interior corner so it had window walls on two sides.  I was easily able to find a vantage point from which I could observe them but they couldn’t see me.
	It really must have been funny for the very well-dressed salesman.  He really didn’t know quite what to do.  Here were three urchins dressed in clothing that appeared to be — and may well have been — Salvation Army rejects, but who seemed to be very interested in fine jewelry.  The guy was smart.  I guess the folks downtown had been pounding it into the heads of the new staff that unlike downtown, in the suburbs it’s very dangerous to judge people by what they’re wearing.
	He had taken the lesson to heart, and after taking a deep breath, I could see him — and reading his lips on this occasion — hear him say, “Good afternoon, ladies.  Welcome to Tiffany’s.  How may I help you?”
	An exchange with Jean ensued followed by his going off and coming back with a collection of gold collars.  Jean took one look at the first batch and shook her head.  Off he went again and came back with another group.  Again the shake of Jean’s head, although it didn’t come quite as fast as the first time.  Clearly, she had dismissed the first offerings out of hand.  Again the salesman went away.  This time it took significantly longer for him to return.  When he did, I noticed another salesman had taken position where he wasn’t involved in the transaction but was close enough to cover it.  Apparently the items he had with him had come directly from the store’s vault.
	This time, using mirrors in the store, I could see Jean’s eyes light up.  Clearly, this was more like it.  She took one collar and fitted it around Sandy’s neck.  It was utterly magnificent, and Jean’s eyes flared.  From the nodding of heads, the man had made a sale.  Then she found another and fitted it around Susan’s neck.  Jean was disappointed.  Then the salesman spoke.  The problem was that the collar was too big for Susan’s small neck.  I guess what the salesman said was that the collar could be shortened with the removed pieces put aside so they could be reinserted when she grew.  This time, Jean’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree and she clapped her hands in delight.
	As Jean started to reach for her purse to haul out her overworked charge card, Sandy spoke up.  The salesman turned his attention to her, and showed her a collar that was the very finest the store carried.  Taking it, Sandy fitted it around Jean’s neck.  Then she turned to Susan who was absolutely beaming with happiness.  The girl just rapidly nodded her head up and down.  Again, reading lips, I could see Sandy telling the salesman, “We’ll take it!”
	At that point, Jean moved down the counter with the salesman and whispered something to him.  He quickly nodded and produced a pad which Jean used to write something.  The man read it, whispered to Jean — I guess he was checking to ensure he was correctly reading what she had written — and then smiled.  At that, she produced an Amex Platinum charge card and he closed out the sale.
	But the fun wasn’t over quite yet.  While the salesman had been with Jean, Sandy had pulled a checkbook from her purse.  The man went off with the two collars for Sandy and Susan, presumably to be engraved, with Susan’s shortened — I was surprised, but evidently they had an engraver and jeweler on the premises — and then returned.  In response to her question, he calculated the full price and she wrote out a check with the salesman’s eyes widening as he watched.  Clearly, this was not what he expected to see at all.
	Fortunately, the salesman was standing where I could see him clearly.  Since the transaction was so simple, as far as knowing what he was saying was concerned I might as well have been standing right in front of him.  After finding a phone number he called and asked for the bank’s Private Banking Division.
	After identifying himself, he said, “I have a check here from a young woman, Sandra Callaway...”  That’s as far as he got when his eyes widened in shock.
	“But I haven’t told you the amount...”  Greater shock.
	Obviously, the bank officer had interrupted him to say that the check was good.  To the second question, I could almost hear him or her emphasizing, “It’s good!”
	Gingerly, the salesman hung up the phone and treated Sandy and Susan with a level of respect that I’m certain was unique in his experience dealing with a girl who had scarcely reached her teens.  This time it was the girls who moved down the counter with the salesman to get away from Jean.  Again there was a routine with the paper and a consultation between the sisters, evidently deciding what exactly they wanted the engraving to say.  (Later I learned that Tiffany had thrown in the engraving free.  Given the prices of the collars, it was a trivial concession indeed.)  Finally, the girls agreed  on the wording and again the salesman went off with the necklace.
	The man was smart.  Clearly, Jean and the girls had indicated they wanted to wait for their purchases.  Moreover, he had just conclusively established that they represented money with a capital M.  And since they would be in the store waiting...  This time, when he returned there was an armed security guard with him.  Whatever he had with him represented serious money.
	This time he spread a large white velvet mat on the counter top and began to display what he had brought back with him.  It turned out that each was a set of very fine jewelry, one set with diamonds, the second with rubies, and the third with sapphires.  Each set had a necklace, a bracelet and earrings.
	At one point Susan turned so I could partially see her face.  Her eyes were wide with awe.  Sandy took the diamond necklace and fastened it around Jean’s neck, then stepped back.  It was utterly magnificent.  Then she put on the bracelet and earrings.  The effect was truly remarkable.  There is this utterly magnificent woman in ratty clothes while hung with diamonds.  But it fit, somehow.  Then I realized that it was Jean’s beauty and grace.  Regardless of what she might be wearing, she was all class and it really showed.
	The exercise was repeated with the red rubies and blue sapphires.  The blue of the sapphires turned out to be an exact match to the blue of her eyes.
	Just then another salesman came out from the back with three jewelry cases: the collars.  I really don’t know how their salesman felt at that moment; I don’t know if he was killing time, practicing, or thought he might really make a sale.  My best guess is that he was thinking of the future — Christmas in about six months — and trying to cement a relationship with potentially very lucrative clients.
	At any rate, he gave two of the cases to Jean and one to the girls.  Jean opened a box, checked the engraving, and then held it around Sandy’s neck.  It was perfect.  Instead of fastening it, though, she gave it to the girl.
	Sandy took it with her eyes wide and turned it over.  She read the engraving and utterly came apart.  “Mommy!” she screamed, then flung herself at Jean who took her in her arms and held her tightly.  Then the two exchanged a kiss that left the salesman agape.  I could feel the power of their kiss from where I was standing, so I’m certain he sure did.
	The inscription read, “To my darling daughter Sandra, from her mother with all the love I have to give.”
	The scene repeated with Susan whose collar read the same as Sandy’s with the name changed.
	Then the two girls gave Jean her collar.  She turned it over, read the engraving, and absolutely came apart.  She began to bawl like a baby.  Instantly, the two girls were in her arms hugging and kissing her and crying, too.  Her engraving read, “To Mommy, our true mother, from Sandy and Susan with our eternal love and devotion.”  (Incidentally, the engraver had done a truly remarkable job getting all the words on flexible gold links.  It only worked because the links were set so tightly together and were so wide.)
	Finally it was over.  All three, now wearing their new collars, almost floated out of the store in their happiness.  The salesman just watched them leave with a warm smile on his face.  For him it had already been a very successful day.
	Fortunately for me, the girls just crossed the corridor to the food court.  Since there were significant lines at all of the counters, I figured they would be there awhile.  At that point I entered the store where the salesman was in the process of putting the jewel sets away.
	“Hello,” I greeted him.  “I saw my wife and daughters in here with you a few moments ago...”
	Instantly, he stopped what he was doing, extended his hand and introduced himself as Mr. Payne.  “Sir, you are the luckiest man in the whole world!”
	“Oh?”
	“Never have I seen such beauty in only three women!  And your daughters!  They’re the image of your wife and will soon be her twins.”  He shook his head and said, “Absolutely gorgeous!  And so nice, too.”
	“Mr. Payne, which of these collections do you think would look best on my wife?”
	Payne’s eyes widened.  Things were getting better and better and already he had made a very healthy commission.  Then he just shook his head.  “Sir, with your wife’s incredible beauty I can’t answer that.  Her skin and complexion are utterly flawless.  Even wearing rags, she’s a queen.”  Then he just shook his head and continued, “It’s a shame, really.  These are the finest pieces we carry — and I don’t mean just in this store — but they pale to insignificance against her beauty...”
	“That makes it simple, then,” I interrupted.  “I’ll take them all.  And could we make this fast?  I’m in a bit of a rush.”
	Payne was in a state of shock.  Moreover, every piece, although displayed as part of a set, was priced separately.  He started to take the prices off the pieces when I interrupted him again.  “I’ll tell you what.  The total price is probably below $200,000, isn’t it?”
	The man was stunned.  All he could do was nod.
	“Fine!”  Taking my Amex Platinum card out I continued, “Why don’t you just call American Express and get a charge authorization for $200,000.  I’ll sign a blank slip for you and you can calculate the exact amount later.  How’s that?”
	Again he just nodded.  Taking my card in his now-shaking hand he ran it through an imprinter and placed his call.  For a charge of this size, the automated authorization process wasn’t going to make it.  He read off the number to the agent and then said, “Yes, Mr. Dawson is here with me now.  He signed the charge in my presence and the signatures match.”  Again his eyes widened when he received an instant authorization number which he carefully wrote in on the form and repeated back to the operator.
	“Mr. Payne,” I said, “would you mind just putting these things in a bag?  I’m really in a rush.”
	At that he motioned to his colleague and the two men hurried to put the pieces back their into individual boxes.  The guard, meanwhile, went to the rear of the store and returned with a shopping bag.  It was funny, I guess.  You don’t often leave a top jewelry store with fine jewelry in such quantity that a shopping bag is needed.  In just a few minutes I was out of there leaving Mr. Payne standing there in stunned amazement.
	Fortunately for me the timing worked.  I had time to go out to the car, put the jewelry in the trunk and return to the mall while the girls were still in the food court.  They had just finished and were leaving when I came up.
	Jean’s eyes widened and then she grinned when she saw me.  Hurling herself into my arms, she kissed me.  Again, I think she had intended it to be quick and friendly, but we’re really not too good at that kind of kiss.  I held her tightly, melted my lips to hers, and again enjoyed the electricity and the bells.
	When we separated, with her eyes dancing she asked, “Hey, mister.  Want to see a really great pair of tits?”  She had her hand on the knot she had made to tie her shirttails together under her breasts.  I realized at that instant Jean was fully prepared to do just that.
	“They’ll arrest you for Indecent Exposure!” I protested.
	“And it wouldn’t be the first time,” she replied dryly.  Then she brightened and said, “How about a suck and a fuck?  Special daytime price too: only twenty bucks.”
	“That would be Lewd and Lascivious Conduct.”
	“And it wouldn’t be the first time for that, either.”
	I shook my head.  What can you do with a woman like this?  “How about a movie, instead?  There’s a Walt Disney cartoon feature around the corner I think Susie would like.”  My face fell a bit as I added, “I don’t know about Sandy, though...”
	“Sweetie, would you like the hot scoop?” Jean interrupted.  “I only learned today that neither girl has ever seen a movie in a real theater.  Never!  I’m sure she would love it.”
	Both girls did.  There were few people in the theater so we found seats exactly where we wanted them.  Jean was sitting on my right with Susie next to her.  Sandy was next to me.  It was utterly fascinating to see the look of awe on Sandy’s face.  The theater had been newly remodeled with the latest and greatest in sound systems and the film made good use of them.  Despite having an awesome home theater at home, it couldn’t compare in her eyes to the big screen.
	As the movie progressed, Sandy swung her legs left moving her body so her back was to my shoulder.  Looking up at me with wide eyes she asked, “Dad...  Would... Would you mind awfully... putting your hand on my little tit?”
	I’m certain my eyes widened when she said it.
	Turning toward Jean, I saw that she had both arms around Susie who was leaning against her breast and sighing.  To her I whispered what Sandy had asked.
	“Darling,” she replied, “Sandy loves you so much.  Just do it.”
	So I did.
	She untied her shirttails and I spent the rest of the movie with my left hand over her left breast.  Periodically, she would move her upper body causing her nipple to move under my hand.  Invariably, it provoked a shiver and a sigh.
	After the film, we decided to make an evening of it and go out to dinner.  Because of the girls’ attire, though, we were substantially restricted in our restaurant choices.  We settled on Mama Louisa’s, an Italian restaurant that enjoyed an excellent reputation for its food and was quite popular in the area.
	Mama Louisa’s appeared to be one of those places that over time had grown like Topsy.  There was room after room after room, all connected, but with the effect of small-scale dining in what, I’m sure, is a very large restaurant.  At any rate, we were seated at a table in the corner in the same room as the cashier who, I subsequently learned, was Mama Louisa herself.
	The dinner was utterly delightful.  The girls consulted with Jean before they ordered, but were thrilled to be able to order for themselves.  I ordered a bottle of Brolio Chianti Riserva which proved to be excellent.  Brolio is the family-operated winery that advertises, “We’ve been making Chianti since the turn of the century; the tenth century.”  And guess what?  After 1,000 years, they’re really starting to get the hang of it.
	The waiter was utterly captivated by Jean and the girls.  On Jean’s request, he produced two additional wine glasses and ignored her action as she poured a small amount for Susan and a bit more for Sandy.  Susie was in seventh heaven and would have been wriggling in delight on her chair except for the fact that she so badly wanted Jean to be proud of her behavior.
	When we finished dinner, Jean and the girls moved toward the door while I went to pay the check.
	I gave the cashier my plastic, but instead of instantly running it through her machine she said, “Sir, you have the most beautiful family I have ever seen.  And the very best-behaved, too.”  Then she introduced herself as the owner, Louisa.
	“Would it be possible for me to meet your lovely wife, too?” she asked diffidently.
	Jean had been watching so she came over immediately when I motioned, followed by the girls.
	“Mrs. Dawson, you are the most beautiful woman ever to set foot in my establishment.  Thank you so much for coming.”  Turning toward the girls she added, “And these young ladies are the best-behaved I can ever recall seeing.  They are a real credit to you, their mother.”
	With that both girls beamed with pleasure.  Suddenly I realized it was one of the first genuinely happy smiles I had ever seen on Sandy’s face.
	Then turning back to Jean, Louisa looked at her gold collar.  “That collar is exquisite,” she exclaimed.  “May I see it?”
	Jean removed it and placed it on the counter.  When the woman lifted it her eyes widened.  Turning it over, she saw on the clasp, 18K.  “My God!” she breathed.  “This is real!”  Then seeing the engraving, she straightened out the collar so she could read it: “To Mommy, our true mother, from Sandy and Susan with our eternal love and devotion.”
	Turning to me Louisa said, “This is the nicest thing a father could possibly do for his daughters.”
	“Thank you,” I replied, “but it was all the girls.  They did it entirely by themselves, most particularly including the inscription.  I wasn’t anywhere close.”
	“But... But... But...” the woman stammered, “this costs a fortune!  How could they have possibly bought it?”
	“Both girls have money of their own that they used.”
	The woman looked utterly stunned.  Moving as if in slow motion, she returned Jean’s collar and then tried to pull herself together.  Finally she said, “I’m stunned.  And I’m sure you could see that for yourself.”  She paused and just shook her head.  “I thought you were an utterly marvelous family, but now I find you’re loaded, too.”
	Slowly she just shook her head, looking utterly bewildered.  “Families like that come in here all the time.  The staff hates them.  Typically, they’re classic rich bitches...  Selfish, self-centered, boorish...  You know the drill.”  Again she paused but then continued, “I’m reasonably sure you people could buy them all with your petty cash, but you’re so totally different.
	“My people say there couldn’t be a finer group to wait on than you four... so incredibly thoughtful and polite.
	“And you girls!  When I said you were well-behaved, you just glowed, and now I understand why.  It was because by being so good, you were reflecting your mother’s training and making her feel proud.”  Turning to Jean she said, “You must be so proud of your daughters.  And they’re so beautiful, too.  Exactly like you.”
	Mama Louisa had recovered from her shock by this time and her natural sense of humor returned.  “There’s just one thing...  Are you really sure that collar goes with the rest of your... outfit?  I mean...  It’s value is a rather large multiple of the value of the rest of your attire...”
	“Oh, don’t be so sure,” Jean replied with her eyes twinkling.  “I’ll bet you didn’t include the antique value of these things.  For example, I’m almost certain my shorts were made before I was born.”
	Louisa roared with laughter.  “My God!  And she has an incredible sense of humor, too.”  To me she said, “Mr. Dawson, you have to be the luckiest man in the world to have a wife as utterly perfect as yours is.”
	Glancing at Jean I saw a strange look in her eyes that I really couldn’t identify.
	That night our lovemaking was the best it had ever been.
* * *
	A few days later it was time for the great experiment.  Jean and I were venturing out together in public for the very first time alone.  My new clothes had been delivered and Jean picked out a blazer, a pair of gray slacks, and so forth, for me to wear.
	After disappearing with the girls for a while, she appeared and just stood there.  She was wearing a white sleeveless dress that fit her perfect form.  Beyond that, though, I had never seen her look so exquisitely beautiful.  Then I remembered Stephanie’s transformation and Andy’s comment that Jean was an artist with makeup.
	I held out my arms and she rushed to me.  “You are utterly gorgeous!” I whispered in her ear.
	“Thank you, kind sir.”
	“But there’s something missing...” I added.
	I left the room and returned with the set of sapphire jewelry.  “Why don’t you put these on?” I asked in my blandest tone of voice.
	Seeing the velvet Tiffany’s boxes, Jean’s eyes widened.  Opening the largest, she saw the necklace, recognized it and gasped, “But Jim...!  Where...?  What...?”
	“They’re beautiful things for a beautiful woman,” I said softly.  “I hope you like them.”
	“Sandy-Susan!” Jean screamed.
	The girls came running.  Seeing the necklace, they gasped.
	“From Dad?” Susan asked.
	Jean could only nod her head.  Only then did I realize that her eyes were filled with tears.
	Meanwhile, Sandy had taken the necklace from its box and fastened it around Jean’s neck.  She then repeated with the earrings and bracelet and stepped back so Jean could see herself in the mirror.  “They’re utterly gorgeous, Mom!” the girl softly exclaimed.
	Jean had immediately recognized the jewels.  Turning to me she raised an eyebrow accusingly and said, “You spied on us, didn’t you?  You must have seen me trying these on at Tiffany’s!”
	Trying my best to look innocent, I just shrugged.
	“Oh, darling!” she exclaimed.  “I adore them... and adore you, too!”  With that she again melted her lips to mine in a wonderfully warm and loving kiss.
* * *
	We had reservations at a fine restaurant in Chicago.  As we were being ushered to our table I could actually hear the gasps from the other patrons as they got a look at Jean.  For her part, she appeared to be utterly oblivious as she had her hand very lightly on my elbow.  For my part, I felt like a million bucks.  Without a doubt, I was the envy of every guy in the place.
	Drinks were served and we just chatted.  As we did I realized again how wide-ranging Jean’s knowledge and interests really were.  Moreover, she continued following my very erratic thought patterns as if they were the most logical things in the world.
	Then she excused herself to go to the ladies room.  As she passed the bar, a man left his stool, grabbed her arm and growled, “You’re coming with me!”
	“I am not!” Jean exclaimed.  “Now get your hand off me!”
	Instead of letting go, the man started to pull her toward the door.  For my part, I saw the flurry and just sat there like a bump on a log, utterly stunned.
	But not Jean.  Some restaurant staffers had seen what was going on and were moving to Jean’s aid.  It turned out not to be necessary.  Turning her body slightly, she stamped down on the man’s foot hard with the two-inch heel of her shoe.  This stopped him, and she turned back, lifted her skirt to have free use of her legs and slammed her knee as hard as she could into his balls.  The excruciating pain caused him to double over.  When he did, Jean put her hands together and clobbered him on the back of his neck with her doubled fist.  He just crumpled to the floor.
	At this point there was near pandemonium in the restaurant, but Jean just continued on her way to the ladies room leaving it to the staff to deal with the man on the floor.  A few minutes later two police officers appeared, followed shortly by a couple of EMTs with a stretcher.  They loaded the man onto it and wheeled it out; he was still unconscious.
	On her return, Jean received a standing ovation from the other patrons.  Her only acknowledgment was to blush slightly, but with her deep tan it hardly showed.  The manager came rushing over to apologize on behalf of the establishment and to inquire if Jean was all right.  She assured him that she was.  We were told by the manager that, of course, no bill would be presented.
	Calm was restored finally and we continued with our meal.  When I raised the subject of the attack when she first returned, she made it very clear she didn’t want to talk about it so we didn’t.  I don’t know what we did talk about; it might have been the Bear’s prospects for the upcoming NFL season.  The first round of exhibition — Excuse me.  Preseason — games was about to begin.  At any rate, the meal was delightful and I was having a wonderful time.
	Coffee had just been served along with snifters of very fine cognac when a burly middle-aged man came up to our table.  “Excuse me, folks.  I’m Lieutenant Richards, Chicago P.D.  May I join you for a few minutes?”
	Jean’s eyes flared for an instant but her face was impassive as she replied, “Of course you may.  Please have a seat.  Could we get you something?”
	Richards accepted her offer and ordered coffee.
	“I assume this is regarding that man,” Jean said softly.  “How is he, by the way?”
	“He’s dead.”
	“My God!” Jean gasped.  “I didn’t mean...”
	“It wasn’t you at all,” Richards interrupted.  “It was heart failure.  Although they haven’t performed an autopsy yet, the best guess is it was terminal syphilis.  That might also explain his behavior; assaulting you in a place like this is the far side of insanity, and that’s likely where he was, too.”
	“I’m so sorry!” Jean said softly.
	She jerked up in her chair when Richards retorted emphatically, “I’m not.”
	“What?” she exclaimed.  “Why not?”
	“Because that SOB was a serial rapist, a murderer, and a one-man crime wave.  Our best guess is that he was responsible for at least a dozen rapes and at least two resulting deaths.  Twice we thought we had him, but both times the victim backed out and refused to testify.  We’re almost certain that he had threatened them with death if they did.”
	Then to Jean he said, “I introduced myself, but I don’t even know your name.  And I guess I really ought to have it for my report.”
	“I’m Jean Peters and this is Jim Dawson.”
	Richards had been studying Jean carefully while they were talking but I had put it down to his preoccupation with her beauty.  But there was a lot more than that.  “Miss Peters, I feel I know you from somewhere.  But I can’t quite place...”
	“You ought to, Lieutenant,” Jean said with her voice flat and her face impassive.  “You busted me three times for common prostitution.”
	At that instant, Richard’s eyes flared in recognition.  “My God!  Of course...”  He paused and looked Jean over carefully as he pulled things out from his memory.  “But you were a lot heavier then, weren’t you?”
	“Yes.”
	“It’s coming back to me now.  You were the girl no one could figure out.  Your weight, for example.  While most people have to work to take it off, our people used to say that you were constantly working to put it on.  But why?”
	“Because a slut should look like a slob if she’s acting like one.  I was and I did.”
	What he said next came as a surprise to both of us.  “A slut?  You?  Never!” he said with a shake of his head.  “You were picked up with whores and sluts but you never were one.  We could never figure you out.  You had to be making money, yet you would often serve your full time rather than pay to get out.  And other girls with no money...”
	Suddenly his eyes flared as he connected the dots.  “My God!  Of course!  You gave them your money to get them out while you served your time.”  He leaned back in his chair and shook his head with a wry grin on his face.  “We thought we were so damned good.  We actually got some of the girls off the street.  But it wasn’t us, it was you, wasn’t it?
	“How could we have been so dumb and so blind?  Those wonderful social workers...  Useless.  But you?  You could really talk to those girls.  You knew what it was like, first-hand.  So when you talked to them and showed them a way out...”  He looked deep into Jean’s eyes and asked, “But why?”
	Jean just shook her head slightly, but I replied, “Because she has to, Lieutenant.  It’s just the way she is.  Jean Peters has a need to help people in any way she possibly can and regardless of the cost to herself.”
	“When are you two getting married?” Richards asked, changing the subject dramatically.
	“We’re not!” Jean declared emphatically.
	“Why not?”
	“Because I’m a slut and a whore is why not,” she replied.  “Isn’t that obvious?”
	“No, it’s not,” he replied, “because you’re neither.”
	“What?” Jean cried.  “Richards, you’re really losing it.  You know damned well I’ve got a rap sheet a mile long.  What’s wrong with you?”
	“I’m not talking about what you did,” he said.  “I’m talking about who you are.  And you know what?  Sitting here with you tonight I see you the way you always were: a queen; a real class act.  Just look at the way you hold that brandy snifter.  It’s as if you’ve done nothing for years but practice, and this might be the first time you’ve ever had one in your hands.”
	“It’s not,” she sniffed.  “Besides, Jim is smart and very well-educated.  I’m an ignorant slut.”
	“Who can talk with anyone about any subject and in depth,” I interjected.  “Lieutenant, how dumb can she be if she can do four years of college work in only a few months from a standing start?  She did, and graduated with highest honors, too.”
	“How did you know that?” Jean asked accusingly.  “Besides...  It’s just a glorified community college, anyway.”
	“Lieutenant Richards,” I asked, “do you think the University of Illinois at Chicago is a glorified community college?”
	“You’re not kidding, are you?” he replied.  “She really did that?”
	I just nodded.
	“Miss Peters, there’s something you might like to know.  Those girls you helped — the help you won’t even admit you gave — have really worked out.  Every one is off the street and has been ever since you helped them.  All of them got some education and got good jobs.  Two of them are married already, and one of them has a baby.”  He paused a moment and added slyly, “She named the little girl Jean after you.”
	“Was that Crystal?” Jean exclaimed.
	Richards just nodded.
	“I’m so happy for her!” Jean exclaimed.  “I was certain that with a little help she could...”  She stopped suddenly as she realized what she had just admitted.
	“Back to my earlier question,” Richards said with a grin, “when are you two getting married?”
	“No!” Jean exclaimed, just glaring at him.
	“Mr. Dawson, you could not possibly do better than Miss Peters.  She has absolutely everything a man could ever want in a wife.  And I’ll bet she’ll be a wonderful mother, too.”
	“She already is, Lieutenant,” I replied.  Then I told him about Susan and Sandy and how she had nursed Susie with her blood.  “Believe me when I tell you that, to those girls, Jean is their mother — their real mother — and they love her dearly.  So as far as being a mother is concerned, the appropriate tense is present, not future.  But your assessment is certainly accurate.”
	“Thank you,” Richards replied.  Then to Jean he said, “Incidentally, with respect to the late unlamented, you did leave him with a souvenir or two...”
	“Oh?”
	“Yeah.  There are a couple of broken bones in his foot and his balls were smashed.”  Then he reached out and took one of Jean’s hands in his.  He just looked at it carefully and turned it over.  Then he surprised both of us.  He reached up and gently squeezed her upper arm.
	“My God!  You’re all muscle, aren’t you?”
	Jean started to protest but I interrupted, “You got that right, Lieutenant.  She works out at least an hour a day, every day.”  Then I told him the weight loading she used and he whistled softly.
	“And you know judo, too, don’t you?” he asked her with his eyes boring into hers.
	“A little,” she conceded.
	“You could easily have put that clown away, couldn’t you?”
	Again Jean just shrugged.  Then she admitted, “When you’re on the street, it’s not the safest place in the world...”
	“But if you’re already selling it...?”
	“Jack...”
	“How did you know my name?” Richards interrupted.
	“I make it a point to learn the names of all my arresting officers,” she replied with a wry grin.
	Then she continued, “Jack, do you know what the rape of a prostitute is?”
	“Tell me.”
	“That’s when she goes into her bank to make a cash deposit and learns that a $50-bill she’s depositing is counterfeit.  That’s rape.”
	Jean giggled and Richards laughed loudly.  “Miss Peters...”
	“Could we can the ‘Miss Peters’ shit please, Jack?  You know what I am.  We both do.”
	“Yes, I do know what you are, Miss Peters.  You are a brilliant, beautiful, classy woman who is finally where she was always destined to be.  You’re on the arm of a very fine guy...  Are those jewels a gift from him, by the way?  My bet is they are.”
	“He gave them to me tonight,” she replied softly.  “I can’t tell you how thrilled I was to get them.  And the girls went absolutely wild, too.”
	“I’ve worked Robbery, too,” Richards continued, “and learned something about jewelry in the process.  Those pieces are all real and are probably in the $50,000 range.  So what else do we know?  You’re on the arm of a very good looking guy who’s loaded and who loves you very much.  Now, Miss Peters, what more could you possibly want in a husband?”
	“Nothing,” she replied in a dead tone of voice.  “The problem isn’t Jim, it’s me.”  Her eyes blazed as she added, “And you know it all, and in detail!  What more do I have to say?  How many more times do I have to advertise to the world that I’m a whore and a slut?”
	Richards rose to go.  “Miss Peters, I pray you learn the truth about yourself before you wreck a whole bunch of lives.”
	“Bunch of lives?” Jean asked, obviously startled by his statement.  “What’s that mean?”
	“That means a bunch,” Richards replied.  “Yours, Mr. Dawson’s, and those two girls who love you so much.”
	Jean just sat there stunned as Richards went toward the door.  My God! I thought.  He just might have reached her.
* * *
	It was shortly after midnight when we returned home.  Jean had been quiet on the ride back and I left it that way hoping she would be pondering Richard’s parting words.  The house was dark when we came in.
	“Just look!” Jean exclaimed, looking around the kitchen.
	“At what?” I replied, baffled as usual.
	“It’s perfect!  It’s spotless.”  Then she led the way into our apartment.  “They didn’t!” she exclaimed.
	“Didn’t what?” I responded, demonstrating my great acuity and intelligence.
	“The girls!” she exclaimed.  “They must have spent the whole night cleaning.  The place just shines.”  Looking down she added, “My lord!  They even washed and waxed the floor!”  Looking up at me she said, “Oh, Jim!  They’re such loves.  But why did they do it, do you suppose?”
	“To show their mother in a very small way how much they love her and how important she is to them.”
	Jean appeared startled at my response.  I just let it sink in.
	She led the way into the bedroom, opening the door with care to avoid awakening the girls.  As it cracked open, light came from the room indicating a light was on even though there was no sound.
	“Jim!  Just look!” she whispered.
	There were the two girls in bed.  Susie’s head was resting on Sandy’s shoulder while Sandy’s right arm was around Susie while she held a book in both hands.
	“Darling, they’re so utterly beautiful.  And so sweet!  Sandy was reading Susie a story and they both fell asleep. They’re adorable!”
	Even though Jean was being very quiet, it was apparent that Sandy had tuned her ear to listen for us returning home.  “How was it?” she asked.  “Did you have a good time?”
	At her first words, Susie’s eyes popped open, too, and she stretched.  It was then I realized that the girls were like Jean in another way: They awakened instantly.  There was never any intermediate fuzziness or fumbling around.
	“Your mother learned what a perfect wife and mother she is,” I replied, “so I guess it was a great evening.”
	“Perfect?” Jean interjected disdainfully.  “Not hardly!”
	“Yes, perfect!” Sandy insisted.  “And it’s about time you started to get that message.”
	Turning to me she said, “Susie and I were talking about how lucky we are.”  To Jean she asked, “Did you like the kitchen, Mommy?”
	“Oh, sweetie!” Jean exclaimed.  “I was overwhelmed!  Here your father and I are out dining up a storm and what are our daughters doing?  Cleaning, scrubbing, waxing...  The place is immaculate.  I just can’t thank you enough...  But I’m really embarrassed.  Why did you do it, though?”
	The girls utterly glowed with happiness at their mother’s praise.
	“We did it, Mommy,” Susie replied, “because there are so few things we can do for you.  You do everything for us... like these collars, for instance.”  She paused and shook her head.  “I’m not saying this right.  Mommy, it’s not the gold or the value — of course this will be my most treasured jewelry forever and ever — it’s what you said.  And it would have had the same meaning if you’d engraved a flattened tin can.  It says you love us with all your heart...  And Mommy, in you that’s an awful lot of love!”
	“But what did you mean by being lucky?” I asked referring back to Sandy’s original comment.
	By now the girls were out from under the covers and were kneeling side by side at the end of the bed with their backs up straight and their weight back on their heels.
	“We compared notes,” Sandy replied, “and we’re the only kids we know who have real parents...”
	“What?” Jean exclaimed.  “What does that mean?  Surely you’re not saying that the other parents aren’t married, are you?”
	“Of course not!  I guess it started with that ‘displaced homemaker’ bullshit from the 1970s...  Oops!”
	The girl blushed as Jean raised an eyebrow and glared at her.
	“I apologize for my language, Mother.  It isn’t ladylike, and I know it.”  She glared back at Jean then and added, “But the words are true, nonetheless.”
	Jean just smiled and slowly shook her head.
	“What I mean is that we have real honest-to-God parents.  You know everything we do; the other parents sure don’t.  The father’s totally wrapped up in his work, and if he’s not doing that, he’s at the country club.  The mother either has a full-time job or else she’s full-time ‘doing good’.  You know, all those alphabet-soup agencies designed to help somebody with something... preferably backed with federal dollars.
	“The parents are never home.  Look at those Columbine killings: Both the killers came from intact families with both parents in the home.  At least they lived in the same house.  But none of the four had the first foggy clue what their boys were doing.  They never even bothered to go into their rooms.  It would have imposed on their privacy or some such bull... nonsense.”
	This time Jean was unable to control a giggle and while she shook her head in feigned exasperation, her eyes were dancing with glee.  She looked so damned cute!
	“But you two...  You know everything about us and really care about us.”
	At that Sandy twisted around and picked up the book she had fallen asleep reading.  She took out a bookmark and handed it to me.
	“This is lovely, Sandy,” I commented.  It was a lovely cloth bookmark that had been stitched together with a couple of pieces of fabric with lace sandwiched between.  Then tiny animals had been embroidered down the length of it.  “Did you make it yourself?”
	“Of course not, Dad.  Mommy did.  The last time I put this book down I took a piece of scrap paper to mark my place.  When I picked it up again, this marked the place.  Why did she do it?  She never mentioned it, either.  It was just there.  She did it because she thought I would like it.  It was a chance to show me that she loves me...  She’s just so incredibly neat...”  At that the girl started to dissolve in tears.
	Instantly Jean was on the bed beside her just holding her tight.  Sandy quickly regained control and Jean asked, “Why the tears, sweetie?  A dumb little bookmark certainly isn’t anything to cry about.”
	“Mommy, I love you so darned much it hurts sometimes.”
	To me she said, “But Dad, there’s so much more.  There’s one thing about Mom: she teases us constantly and unmercifully.  But it’s always fun teasing...”
	“What’s fun teasing?” I interrupted.
	“It’s any teasing that isn’t hurtful,” she replied.  “For example, Mom never teases us about anything we’re uncertain about or upset about.  Never!  Invariably, it will be something that makes us giggle...
	“Dad, since you bought those jewels Mommy’s wearing, you must have followed us, at least for a little bit.  What did you see and hear?”
	“I saw three golden heads of hair.  It’s hair of a color that’s seldom ever seen, and three heads together could only be the three of you.  And before I could get a good look, I heard the most lovely musical giggles... from all of you.  So...”
	“That’s exactly what I mean,” Sandy continued.  “Everyone was teasing everyone else.  It was just so neat.  And we were having such fun, too.
	“Do you know what hurtful teasing is?” she asked.
	“I don’t really know, but I can guess.”
	“I’ll give you an illustration,” Sandy said, “and it involves hurtfully teasing Mommy.  She was working on menus — things to serve to you.  She asked us if we thought you would like this or that.  Well, we really gave her a hard time.  We were driving her absolutely nuts.  Then we realized that where your likes and dislikes are concerned, Mommy is never very confident.  So what were we doing?  Just adding to her uncertainty.  And it was a very mean thing for us to do.
	“By the way, Dad, what do you think of Mom’s cooking?”
	“Utterly spectacular, is what I think.”
	Both girls nodded at my comment, and Susie continued, “Dad, there’s one thing...  Please... Please, never ever tease Mom about something you would like.  If you told her you wanted her tit for breakfast, she would cut it off in the blink of an eye.  And you know what her only concern would be?”
	I was utterly stunned.  All I could do was to slowly shake my head.
	“Her concern would be whether she could retain consciousness long enough to prepare it perfectly for you.  She would be standing there sautéing a tit while she’s bleeding to death.”
	“My God!” I whispered.
	“Mom’s love for you is beyond understanding,” Sandy said.  “But you know what?  In this family, Dad, you provide the power and Mom controls the rudder.  She steers the ship.  It’s just so utterly great.  And the time she spends with us...”
	She grinned and continued, “When I go out on a date — if that ever happens — you can bet your last dime that Mom will know absolutely everything there is to know about the guy.
	“And you know something else?  She’ll counsel with me — and I mean with me; no lectures — on kissing, letting him feel me up and all that good stuff.  Dad, she’s perfect.”
	“Hah!” Jean said laughing derisively.  “Perfect...  Sure.  A perfect slut.”
	“No,” Susie said softly, “a perfect woman, a perfect mother... and a perfect wife!”  Then to me she said, “Dad, take off Mom’s dress, please.”
	I turned and used my new-found skill: undressing a woman.  I unhooked the back and slipped the zipper down.  But with Jean in my arms, I just couldn’t resist.  I melted my lips to hers while I squeezed her buns hard with both hands.
	My lips muffled her moan as she ground her pelvis into mine.  What a woman!
	I stepped back, and she stepped out of her dress.  Susie was standing there to take it and carefully hang it up.  These girls are just too damned much.
	I stepped back to get a good look.  Now Jean was standing there wearing her jewels, a luscious white lace bikini and her white pumps.  Utterly gorgeous.
	Jean moved to slide her bikini off but Sandy stopped her.  “Don’t, Mom!  Keep your bikini on.”
	“What for?”
	“Susie and I love to watch it get soaking wet.  And when you’re this close to Dad, it always does,” she said with a lovely giggle.
	Jean took her hands away from her bikini while at the same time sticking out the tip of her lovely pink tongue.  Obviously, that was an example of the fun teasing we had been talking about.
	Then I had an idea.  “Girls, stand beside your mother, please.”
	The two jumped up and stood flanking their mother.  I stepped back and softly whistled.  They were as identical — except for their ages — as they possibly could be.
	“Sandy, grip your mother’s right hand with yours like you’re shaking hands.”  The girl looked puzzled but did as I asked.
	I took the joined hands in mine and turned them over.  It looked like a person shaking hands with herself.  They were absolutely identical.  Looking down, while I couldn’t be sure — Sandy’s feet were bare while Jean was still wearing her pumps — it appeared that their feet were the same, too.
	“Put on the shoes your mother’s wearing,” I said.
	All three looked at me strangely, but I think I was seeing a hint of fear in Jean’s eyes.  But she kicked off her shoes and Sandy slipped them on.  As I expected, they fit perfectly.  And for her part, Sandy looked delighted.  Wearing the heels and with her mother now barefoot, Sandy was taller.
	It had all come together... finally.
	“Where were you raised, Jean?” I asked softly.  “Where were you when you were 12 years old?”
	Her face crumpled and tears began to stream from her eyes.  “I don’t know,” she said brokenly.  Then she tried to look at me through her tears and added, “The earliest thing I remember was being in an institution when I was 14.  There’s nothing before that.”
	Now she really began to cry, so I took her in my arms and just held her tightly.  It seemed to be the right thing to do.  She cried on my shoulder, but then regained control.
	Easing away just enough to be able to look at her I said, “You’re probably their older sister, aren’t you?”
	“I think so,” she murmured.
	“Do you have all the same powers they do?” I asked.
	“Not quite,” she replied with a quirky little grin.  “I think I must have been a prototype; they’re production units.”
	The girls giggled at Jean’s response.  Looking at them, they appeared to be surprised but not very much.
	“My hearing doesn’t have the range theirs does,” she continued, “and I don’t have the automatic conversation tracking function, either.”  Then she grinned with real humor this time and said, “Why in hell didn’t they update all of my software?  All they did was update the dumb hair-control thing.”  Now that the original surprise and dismay were behind and with her eyes dancing she added, “And I don’t even have that recording/indexing/play-back function, either.  Just the dumb hair.”
	Looking at me she asked softly, “Jim, how did you know?”
	“Sweetie, how could I not know?  The three of you are as alike as peas in a pod.  And besides,” I added with a smirk, “you all have that unique charity gene...”
	“The what?” the three exclaimed in unison.
	“The charity gene,” I repeated, pretending that its existence and definition should be obvious to anyone.  But then I stopped teasing.  “Darling, all three of you have a genetic need to help people.  Take yourself: You spent time in jail because you gave away all your money so other girls could be released.  And not just once!  Six times.”  I then explained to the girls what their mother had done.
	“Is that all?  Hell, no.  You insisted that Susie bite off your nipple so you could nurse her with your blood.  You could have been maimed for life and you knew it, but that didn’t cause you even to hesitate.”
	Turning to the girls I continued, “You, Sandy, branded yourself for life and submitted to abhorrent acts to try to spare your baby sister.  And you, Susie, branded yourself, too, to try to reduce your sister’s suffering.”
	Then I started to cry.  “What have I done to be able to associate with three women as wonderful as you three?”
	This time Jean took me in her arms, and melted her lips to mine in a warm and loving kiss.  When she eased away she said softly, “I love you, James Dawson.  I love you with all my heart.”
	“Will you marry me, Jean?  I love you more than life itself!”
	Good heavens!  How did those words ever come out?  But they were absolutely true, I realized, after I had spoken them.
	“I can’t!” she wailed, then really started to bawl.  But at the same time, she managed to gasp out between sobs, “We’ve been all over that...”
	When she finally regained control she added, “Besides, how could you possibly know?  You’ve never even dated another woman!  And it’s my job to see that you do.”
	“She’s right, Dad,” Sandy interjected, taking me by surprise.  “You really do need to get out more.”
	“They’re right,” Susie chimed in.
	Jean still had her arms around my neck and looked utterly beautiful in spite of (because of?) her tears.  “Fuck me, Jim!” she said softly.  “Damn it!  Fuck my ass off!”
	“No,” I said quietly.
	Jean was utterly stunned.  “What did you say?”
	“I said no.”
	For the lovely girl, that was the last straw.  She just dissolved in tears.
	Holding her in my arms I said softly in her ear, “I’ll make love to you, though.  In fact, I really need to make love to you, Jean.”
	“But...” Jean protested.
	Now the girls’ remarkable hearing came into play.  Even though I had been whispering, they heard every word.
	“He’s right, you know, Mom,” Susie said softly.  “Dad’s never fucked you.  Never ever.”
	Looking over Jean’s shoulder I could see the girl with the warmest, most winsome smile I have ever seen on her face as she continued thoughtfully, “I guess really it ranges from just making love to worshiping your body.”  Then her smile changed to a grin as she added, “What do you want tonight, Mom?  Loving or worshiping?”
	“I want that marvelously talented cock in my sopping wet cunt any way he wants to do it.  Then maybe in my ass, and then in my mouth...  After that, I’ll think of opening a few more holes in my body for him to use to enter me.”
	“You see what we mean, Dad?” Sandy said.  “She would do it, too.  She would open another hole or two for you to stick your cock in.  Particularly the way she feels tonight.”
	The three of them stripped off my clothes in no time flat.  Then I saw Susie not only hanging my jacket and slacks, but carefully brushing them first.
	“Mother!” Sandy exclaimed, barely able to contain a grin.  “Aren’t you toilet-trained yet?”
	I remembered her earlier words when she asked Jean to keep her bikini on.  Its crotch was now so wet she was dripping on the floor.
	“Shut up, little girl!” Jean retorted.  “Or I’ll spank the hell out of you!”
	“Honest!” Sandy exclaimed with her eyes wide.  “Neato!  I haven’t had a really good cum in a long time.”
	At that Jean just grinned wryly and stuck out the tip of her tongue.  When she slipped off her bikini, she gave it to Susie to take it into the bathroom so she could wring it out.  Then she laid down on the bed with her head resting on two pillows.
	How can I describe it?  She was a vision!  Naked except for her jewels, she had her knees up and spread wide opening her labia.  Her clit was erect, out of its hood and already vibrating in its arousal.
	“Let’s see...” I murmured.  “Step one is to try to get the woman warmed up a little...”
	“Would you just cut the shit and shove that gorgeous cock up my dirty cunt?  Now!” she nearly screamed.
	While I moved to comply, Sandy exclaimed, “Mother!  Such language!  And in the presence of innocent young girls, too...”
	“Who?  Where?” Jean replied, again sticking out her tongue.
	I slid my cock into the mouth of her vagina and then began working it deeper.  Looking up, I saw that Sandy had melted her mouth to Jean’s while Susie was working on her tits.  She was licking and nibbling on one while caressing and teasing the other with her fingertips.
	“So good!” Jean moaned, stretching out the words.
	Deeper and deeper I went after lifting her legs up to my shoulders and then leaning forward, raising her hips up from the bed.  Now I could drive all the way to my root, and did.  Reaching down, I pinched her clit instantly triggering her first very powerful orgasm.  Then I started taking long strokes, feeling her cunt clinging to my cock as it withdrew and seeming to open wider on the downstroke.  It was as if her cunt didn’t want my cock ever to leave.
	Beyond that, though, there was her incredible internal muscle control.  In addition to everything else, there was that marvelous rhythmic squeezing.
	Now Sandy had moved downward and had Jean’s right tit in her mouth while Susie concentrated on the left.  Among the three of us, we were driving Jean berserk.  She screamed in ecstasy as her orgasms swept over her faster and faster and with increasing power.  With her whole body in spasm it was easy to see her incredible muscle development as muscles contracted that normally were invisible under her satin skin.
	When I saw Jean fighting to breathe I eased up and signaled the girls to ease up, too.  When her breathing was more normal, we began again.  And again.  And yet again.
	While she had been screaming, “Fuck me!” at the beginning, now there were only utterly inchoate sounds.  I couldn’t hold out any longer.  Giving her clit a hard pinch, I unloaded deep in her cunt.  She let out an ear-piercing shriek and collapsed.  I did, too.
	The girls rolled me off Jean and instantly Sandy took my cock in her mouth and began to lick it clean while her sister used her talented mouth on Jean, licking and sucking as much of our mixed cuming as she could get.
	Finally Jean recovered consciousness.  I was utterly astounded at what came next.  “That was fun!” she said in her normal tone of voice.  “Now it’s time for part two...”
	With that she got up on her knees and with her shoulders on the bed, reached behind and spread her buns wide, exposing her tiny amber hole.  “Now fuck the nice lady’s ass,” she said, her voice muffled by the sheets.  “Now!”
	In response to Sandy’s incredibly talented mouth and tongue, I was hard again.  This time she left a lot of her saliva on my cock and positioned it at her mother’s asshole.  That was all Jean needed.  I was just kneeling there, wondering whether to do what she had asked when the decision was taken out of my hands.  She shoved backward as hard as she could impaling her ass on my cock.
	At the same time, Susan had scrambled under her mother’s raised hips and positioned her mouth to work on her dripping cunt.  In no time I was driving full length into Jean’s luscious ass.  Periodically, when I was in her full length, I would spank her bottom hard.  Invariably, this triggered an instant orgasm along with a little wiggle of her impaled ass showing how much she liked it.  Utterly unreal.
	Then I had another idea.  Reaching down and under, I grasped her tits and used them to move her back and forth on my cock, as well as periodically pinching her vibrating nipples.
	For her part, Sandy had positioned her head under Jean’s to be able to kiss her mother and caress anything in reach.
	When I could hold back no longer, I gave a bun a hard spank and shot quarts of cum deep into Jean’s bowels.  She screamed like a banshee as it triggered a mammoth orgasm of her own.  She collapsed on the bed and I collapsed on top of her.  In spite of our exhaustion, she giggled and I chuckled as little Susie wriggled to get out from under both of us.  That girl is incredible!
	My erection subsided and I eased out of Jean’s ass, then just rolled over on the bed.  This was all Jean needed.  In an instant, she was on my cock with her mouth cleaning it off.
	“What are you doing?” I exclaimed.  “It’s filthy!”
	“But it’s all mine, so what’s the problem?” she replied with total unconcern.  She returned to her work.
	Meantime, Sandy had moved behind Jean who was kneeling above me.  Spreading her asscheeks, she proceeded to lick all around her mother’s still-stretched anal ring, and drove her tongue as deep into Jean’s bowels as she could.
	After licking my cock completely clean, Jean used her golden hair to dry it.  Unbelievable!  But was that all?  Oh, no.
	She just knelt there looking at my now semi-erect cock while she ever so gently fondled my balls in their sac.  She began her assault on my manhood by licking it, kissing it and very tenderly stroking it.  I had never felt anything so good.
	While she worked on me, it was Sandy’s turn to work on her.  The girl fastened her lips to Jean’s luscious cunt and began to lick, suck and nibble, driving the woman wild.  But remarkably, in spite of my prior exercise, my cock responded to her talented lips and tongue.
	I was hard and getting harder.  My cock seemed to be swelling, too, in both length and girth.  In spite of its size, though, Jean was deep-throating me and it felt incredibly good.  While Sandy was occupied with her mother’s cunt, Susie was kneeling beside us studying her mother’s technique.  (I guess that is what the educators call a meaningful learning experience.)
	The experience continued.  Only then did I realize Jean wasn’t giving head, she was worshiping my cock!  She savored it, drew it out, kissed the tip and swallowed it again.  Her tongue was licking the underside and it felt exquisite.
	Soon my cock had grown so large I thought it would explode.  Yet she managed to change tempo causing my urge to cum to recede.
	I guess I had begun to moan, but finally I screamed, “Let me cum!”
	Jean just drew my cock from her mouth and admired it like a little girl with a lollipop, tilting her head from side to side in her inspection.  “Be patient,” she said nonchalantly and resumed her task.
	At the same time I could feel her slender fingers caressing my sac.  I guess she was estimating how much more cum it could hold before exploding.
	Finally, even her skill was no longer enough.  Just as I was about to explode in her throat, she drew my cock out until only its tip was in her mouth.  I came.  God, did I cum!  Sucking as hard as she could, she swallowed quickly so as not to lose any.  Finally, it was over and I just collapsed on my back.
	For her part, though, she daintily wiped some cum off her cheek and licked it off her finger.  She moved on the bed until her face was above mine, then gave me the gentlest, most loving kiss I could ever remember.
	“Thank you, darling, for that luscious cum,” she whispered with her eyes dancing.  “And it was so wonderfully fresh, too!”
	Recovering slightly, I pulled her down and she positioned her body on mine.  I kissed her again and that’s all I remembered.
	Incredibly, that wasn’t the end of our lovemaking for the night.  At least twice more I awakened, slid my again-erect cock into her love channel and gave her another protein injection.  Each time the girls took turns with one eating out Jean’s cunt while the other cleaned off my poor penis.  Then the girls took their positions with Susan beside Jean and Sandy next to me.
	When she was beside me, the first thing she did was to put my hand over her budding tit.  “I can’t tell you how wonderful this feels, Daddy!” she whispered.  “It makes me feel so snugly and so loved.”  When she turned her face toward mine, I melted my lips to hers and received a kiss just loaded with love.  And as a bonus I also tasted my cum mixed with Jean’s luscious syrup.
	I awakened the next morning — somehow — with Jean’s hand gently caressing my cock and balls.  To my utter amazement, I was hard again.  While our lovemaking the night before had verged on the frantic, this time it was slow and gentle with Jean doing most of the work with her incredible muscles.
	After she had cum several times, I let go.  While I was flooding her vagina, her pelvis was in spasm with her own orgasm, but she was holding me tightly crushing her tits with my chest.  When my flow finally stopped, she murmured, “My darling, that was the very best of all!  Never in my life have I felt anything so good.”
	“Marry me, Jean,” I replied.
	Her eyes filled as she responded, “I can’t, Jim.  You know that.  And how can you know what I’m like?  You’ve nothing to compare me to.  You’ve never even kissed another woman in your life!”
* * *
	Later that morning, after our workouts but before breakfast, the girls and I were beside the pool watching as Jean stroked up and down.
	“Isn’t she incredible?” Susie commented.  “Her stroke is so incredibly smooth!  And she can keep it up all day, too.”  (And you know what?  I really think she could.)
	I changed the subject.  “Why did you kids support your mother about not getting married?  I was surprised.”
	“Because of what she whispered to you this morning,” Sandy replied.  “You never have kissed another woman.”  Then with a warm smile she added, “Of course, you’re absolutely right.  There isn’t another woman alive who’s in her class.  She has everything a guy could possibly want in a wife and so much more!  Now all you have to do is fuck a few other women to convince her that she really is the best.”
	The girl shook her head and continued, “You know, I really think it’s that dumb ‘charity gene’ you talk about, Dad.  That, coupled with a major weakness all of us girls share: we can’t be remotely objective about ourselves.
	“What’s that mean?  It means that Mom really thinks she’s doing what’s best for you by refusing to marry you and getting out of your life.”  The girl paused for a moment and I could see tears starting to trickle down her cheeks.  “I don’t think she realizes the damage she’s doing to other people — the three of us — but I think she does recognize how bad it is for herself.”
	Sandy turned to me and I lifted her off her mat and set her across my lap.  Then I just held her tightly while she continued, “I’m not really sure Mother could live without you now, and I mean that literally.  You see, Dad, you provide the power; without you, I’m really afraid that Mom would be like a clock left unwound: it — and she — would just stop.”
	“You’re kidding!” I protested.
	Sandy just sadly shook her head.
	“Daddy, it’s really worse than that,” Sandy continued.  “She’s constantly holding you up as a paragon of everything a man should be.”  She snuggled against me and said, “This is a perfect illustration, as a matter of fact.  You just knew it would be easier for me to tell you all of this if you were holding me in your arms, so you picked me up and here I am.
	“Mom adores everything about you.  I can’t tell you how happy you made her by working out and building up your muscles.  She would never say a word, but it just makes her feel so great she can hardly stand it.  I hope you notice how much she loves to just lie on top of you and move her nipples around on your chest.  The friction drives her nuts, but she loves it.
	“Then there’s your incredible cock!  She utterly adores it.  She claims her cunt has taken control of the rest of her body to further its love affair with your cock.  ‘He just stretches my insides to the breaking point,’ she says, ‘but there’s always a little more stretch.’  Then one day she mentioned to Susie that as good as she is, your cock is so long and you cum in her in quarts, she always leaves a lot of your glorious cum to slosh around inside her.  ‘I can’t tell you how I adore that feeling!’ Mom says.
	“But most of all, Dad, there’s your sensitivity.  Mom claims that you just instinctively know how she wants to be taken — rough, gentle, or points in between — and that’s what you do.”  The girl looked up into my eyes and I could see that hers were glistening with tears.  “Last night was a perfect illustration of two things: First, the different — and always perfect — ways you took her; and second, the fact that you never seem to run out.  You’re constantly amazing her.”
	Sandy shook her head and exclaimed, “That damned compulsion for perfection!  And our lack of objectivity.  Do you remember the first night when Susie made dinner?”
	“I certainly do,” I responded.  “It was utterly magnificent.  Honestly, Sandy — and Susie — it was the finest steak I’ve ever had in my life.  But why do you ask?”
	“Because, Dad, it illustrates our problem — and Mom’s.  You see, Susie’s cooking standard — at a minimum — is to be better than Mom.  And I think you’ll agree that’s a hard standard to reach.”
	“Better than your mother?” I asked Susie incredulously.
	The little girl just nodded her head once.
	“My God!” I exclaimed, rolling my eyes.  “I guess it is.”
	“Is that why you were so upset when I teased you about it, sweetie?”
	Again Susie just nodded her head.
	“And in your terms you failed because it wasn’t better than your mother’s?”
	Again a single nod.
	Good heavens! I thought.  I hope to have a life with three of the most beautiful, most talented and most giving women on the face of the earth.  If I could only get Jean off this “unworthy whore” wicket of hers, I’d really have it made.
	“By the way,” Susan interjected, “Mommy didn’t really tell you the whole truth about our peculiar powers.”  She paused for a moment and then added, “Of course, it’s possible that she doesn’t know the full truth herself yet.”
	She continued, “When she said she got upgraded hair-care power, she wasn’t kidding.  The fact is, she was sort of pissed.  In the first place, the additional ability or power or whatever only applies to very elaborate hairdos that Mom can’t stand anyway.  Her existing power was more than enough to take care of any style she would care to wear.
	“I guess it must be like upgrading computer software.  The more elaborate the upgrade, the longer it takes.  That seems to be the way this is working.”  She paused and interjected, “Sandy and I don’t know how it works.  We don’t have the first foggy clue.  But we’ve sort of concluded that the transfer happens when we’re snuggling and kissing. 
	“Anyway, Mom’s already pretty good at the audio tracking and there are signs she’s developing the verbatim recording capability, too.”
* * *
	At this point, I’m interrupting the narrative to tell a little story about how Susan generated $100 million in pure profit for Callaway Industries.
	It all started several months later.  From out of the blue we received an inquiry from Castle Corporation about buying one of our plants.  The plant in question was a minor embarrassment to Callaway.  Although essentially brand new and fully equipped, it had never been operated.  This in turn goes back to when Doug Mitchell and I first joined the company.
	The plant had been designed to be the fourth plant producing our most popular product.  However, with de-bottlenecking and process improvements, we found we could increase the production in the other three by a combined amount substantially greater than the capacity of the new plant.  Unfortunately, we learned all this just as the new plant was nearing completion.  The result was that, although it cost the company $50 million, it had never been staffed or operated.  It just sat there with a maintenance crew, costing us money.  If we were a bank, it would have been a classic “non-earning asset.”  Not only was it not generating any revenue, it was costing us money for taxes and routine maintenance.
	So when we got the inquiry from Castle we were very interested indeed.  Then the question was how to handle the matter.  Jack Callaway instantly removed himself from the picture.  Castle wanted to meet with us at their attorney’s office, and Jack had found out painfully some time earlier in his career that the worst possible negotiating position is to have one side with a decision-maker at the table dealing with a go-between.  Jack could make a decision, but the other guy could not; he had to get explicit clearance at every step.  It’s a good way to lose your shirt.
	Chuck Mitchell could have gone, but the feeling was that, as executive vice president (he had just been promoted), he had too much horsepower to handle the sale of a single plant.  (I had been promoted to EVP, too, but the announcement wasn’t scheduled to be made until year-end.  So as far as the world knew, I was still a lowly senior vice president.)  All eyes turned to me.  Then I had an idea.
	The result was that I appeared at the offices of Castle’s lawyers with Susan in my wake.  She was utterly adorable, wearing a blue pinafore in a shade that exactly matched her eyes along with a white blouse embroidered with tiny golden ducks in a shade that matched her hair.  I gave the attorneys some song and dance about Susan’s school being cancelled and with her mother committed elsewhere I had no choice but to bring her along.
	“Sir,” she said to the senior partner, “may I please stay?  I’ll be very good and won’t make a sound.  I brought along a coloring book and crayons so as not to disturb anyone.”  As she said it, she batted her long eyelashes and unleashed a smile that would have melted a plaster saint let alone any male human.
	The partner was not an exception to this rule.  Although he clearly didn’t like it, he acquiesced but called in a young secretary, a Miss Johnson, to sit with Susie.  Susie immediately gave the woman her warmest, most loving kiss and took a seat in a leather chair in the back corner of the room.  I almost broke out in laughter when I saw the glassy look in the young woman’s eyes caused by the power of that kiss.
	We got down to business.  At the start of the meeting all I had was Castle’s expression of interest; no numbers had been mentioned.  Their starting point was $20 million.  Susan gave me an immediate “no” signal while carefully coloring in her book.  Before arriving at the office, we had arranged a set of signals between us.  At the outset the system was working perfectly.
	At that point, I got up to go.  “Obviously, gentlemen, we really have nothing to discuss.”  Then taking the rôle of the instigator of the problem, I apologized.  “It’s really all my fault.  I should have asked for an indication of your purchase-price thinking before agreeing to meet.  I apologize for wasting your time.”
	I began to gather up my papers to return them to my attaché case when the partner in charge quickly apologized for the “misunderstanding”.  It was their opening number, but in no way was it Castle’s final position.  Mollified — or appearing to be — I sat down again.
	Then with her head down, coloring intently, Susan signaled me to stall.  She was so cute!  The tip of her little tongue showed at the corner of her mouth — I think she was overdoing it, bigtime — as she concentrated on coloring between the lines.  It was also amusing to see Miss Johnson apparently enthralled with what my eight-year-old was doing.
	At any rate, I stalled.  Although I had indicated that the Castle offer was unacceptable, I had not mentioned an asking price.
	Then they made their big mistake.  A secretary came rushing into the room and whispered to the senior partner.  He nodded, she left, and moments later the phone rang in the corner of the room.  When he took it, it was all I could go to control my laughter as Susie casually glanced at the man and the telephone and then returned to her work — but only after locking onto the phone conversation.
	As soon as he hung up, Susie signaled me to recess.  Glancing at my watch I realized it was 11:45, so it offered a perfect opportunity.
	Subsequent to the phone call, the atmosphere in the conference room seemed to change.  Now I felt a real sense of urgency on the part of the Castle people to get a deal done.
	Nevertheless, at noon I glanced at my watch and said, “Gentlemen, I hate to do this to you, but I must ask that we adjourn for an hour.  While I’m perfectly willing to go on, my wife will shoot me if I didn’t feed my little girl.  My wife is a nut about regular meal hours for the children, so...”
	With that I arose from my seat and went over to Susan.  Very meticulously, she put all her crayons back in the box and off we went to a nearby coffee shop.  After we ordered — Susan felt so grown up at again being able to order for herself — she told me what she had learned.
	“Dad!” she exclaimed in a whisper.  “They’ve got to do this deal!  It turns out that while we were meeting, there was another negotiation in progress.  Castle has just committed to a massive contract worth over $1 billion to them.  But to perform, they must have your plant and have it right now.  There’s nothing else comparable available anywhere, and with contract penalties for late product delivery, they would get killed if they tried to build a plant themselves from scratch.  There’s just no time!
	“I ran the penalties against prices, Dad, and it looks like they could afford up to $200 million for the plant.  But that number would be about breakeven, so...”
	I just shook my head in wonder.  This little girl was utterly unbelievable.  The fact that she heard both sides of the telephone conversation as clearly as if she had been listening on an extension was something I had gotten used to.  But beyond that, she had done breakeven calculations on a major industrial facility in her head... while still carefully coloring in her coloring book.
	“Sweetie, that was just utterly perfect!  Now what can I get for you?”
	“Nothing right now, Daddy, but there’s a promise for later...”
	“I promise.  Now what is it?”
	“To take my virginity — all of it — on my fourteenth birthday.”
	I was surprised, but not stunned for reasons you’ll learn.  “Are you sure, sweetie?  Don’t you want to save it for your husband?”
	“Nope,” she replied quickly.  “I want to be able to train him to be a really great lover, but to do that I’ll need to know a lot more than I know.  And besides...”  She didn’t bother to mention that it was what her mother had done with me.
	I just let it go.  “Susan, you are an utter delight!  You are really going to be God’s gift to some incredibly lucky young man.”
	“Are you sure I’ll ever find him?” she asked with her eyes wide.
	“I’m sure, sweetie.  That seems to be a part of your gene set, too.”
	Returning to the conference room, I guess I sort of stunned the others.  Instead of taking my seat, I began to gather my papers.  “Gentlemen, I really do apologize.  Our plant is no longer for sale.”
	There were nothing but expressions of stunned amazement around the table.
	“Wha... What happened?” the lead negotiator stammered.
	“At lunch I got a call from headquarters.  It seems we’ve just developed a new product that will fit perfectly in our facility, so that’s what we’re going to do.  I apologize for having wasted your time.”
	Have you ever seen a group of guys staring at losses in the hundreds of millions of dollars?  That’s what I was seeing.
	“Is there nothing we can do?” the man said.  He was on the verge of admitting that they had to have that plant.
	“Well...” I drawled, “there’s something, but it’s so over the top I don’t think it’s even worth mentioning...”
	Grasping for even the weakest straw he said, “Please tell us.  We’re not ready to dismiss anything.”
	“Okay, you asked for it.  You can have the plant for $200 million.”
	The gasps of utter shock around the table were audible.
	“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I told you it was over the top.”  Then trying to sound as reasonable as possible I added, “That’s so typical of Jack Callaway, too.  He’s like Bank of America’s founder, A. P. Gianini: he hates to ever say no.  So instead, he’ll make an offer that the other guy can’t afford to accept.  So anyway, the price is $200 million.”
	Looking gray, the lead negotiator made a call.  Again Susie glanced in his direction, locking in on the call.  When he hung up she signaled success.
	Finally, I settled on $170 million telling the others that I thought I could sell the idea to Jack.  After all, ours was a new product and we did have some time, so our building a new plant wasn’t completely out of the question.  For my part, I thought that that price would give us a profit of at least $100 million clear after all the property taxes we had paid and the maintenance expenses we had incurred, while still leaving Castle with some profit on its wondrous new contract.
	That was the final deal we shook on and I signed on behalf of Callaway Industries.  It was only after the agreement was finished and the Castle people had signed that I produced a duly notarized letter giving me full powers to close the deal for Callaway.  That took them aback, too.  They hadn’t realized that they had, in effect, been negotiating with a principal.  But no matter.
	As we prepared to leave, Miss Johnson said, “Mr. Dawson, I have to say that you’re the luckiest father alive!  I didn’t think God was still making children as beautiful and as perfect as your daughter.  She is so good!”  With that she turned to Susie and asked, “Could I have another kiss?”
	“Thank you, Miss Johnson,” Susan replied with her warmest smile.  “And thank you for keeping me company all day.”  With that she extended her arms and wrapped them around the girl’s neck.  Then she melted her lips to the girl’s and really let go.
	The girl slowly sank down on a chair with Susie on her lap.  Susan didn’t let up; she was really showing off.  Suddenly the girl just went limp and Susie held her head to keep it from hitting something.  The fact was that even with the difference in size — Susan was still not even five feet tall — she could easily have lifted the woman up in her arms.  Like her mother, she was very strong and for the same reason: the daily workouts.
	Slowly the girl regained consciousness.  Finally she murmured, “My God!  This girl is unbelievable!”  Then her eyes widened.
	Susan had gotten off her lap and a wet stain was visibly spreading on her skirt where it had been close to her crotch.
	“Don’t worry about it,” I whispered.  “I’m sure no one noticed your orgasm.”
	The girl’s eyes widened in shock on hearing my words, but then she just grinned and said, “I sure hope not.  But I’ll have to be careful for the rest of the day...”  Glancing at her watch she saw that it was almost 5:00, and continued, “... which fortunately is only a few minutes away.”  Looking up at me she shook her head and said, “That was an all-time first.  Never did I think I could get off kissing a little girl.  But the power in her kiss is not to be believed.”
	Then to Susie she said, “And you had better be careful with the boys when you get older.  Try that with a guy who’s driving when you’re on a date and you’re going to end up around a tree!  Girl, you’re dangerous!”
	“I am?” Susie exclaimed.  “How neat!”  Then she gave Miss Johnson another very sweet — and modulated — kiss that left her only light-headed.
	The two of us returned to headquarters where we found Chuck Mitchell with Jack Callaway.
	“How did you do?” Jack asked.  “Did you sell it?”
	“Yeah.”
	“Get a good price?”
	“That’s for you to decide.”  With that I put a cashier’s check on his desk in the amount of $100 million.
	Jack looked at it and his eyes popped.  “My God!  You sold that white elephant for $100 million?”
	“No, boss.  That’s only the down payment.  The full price is $170 million.  We get the balance in cash at closing.”
	Jack leaned back in his chair and rolled his eyes, while Chuck sank into a chair in a state of shock.  Finally Jack asked, “How in hell did you manage that?  The damned thing only cost us fifty.”
	“I didn’t.  Susie did,” I replied.  Then I related what Susie had heard and how she had calculated Castle’s breakeven in her head.  “I decided to leave them $30 million, boss,” I concluded.  “I hope you don’t mind.”
	By this time both men were howling with laughter.  Finally Jack regained control enough to say, “No, I don’t mind.  I’ll never mind when we sell a facility we can’t use for 340% of our cost.”
	Then he asked Susan, “Could I see what you colored?  Did you bring your coloring book up with you?”
	She had, and she showed him the pictures she had colored that day.
	“Could I have a picture?” he asked.
	“Well...” she replied thoughtfully, “it would mean cutting a page out of the book.  I just don’t know...”  But then she added with her wonderfully warm smile, “But for you, Uncle Jack, anything!  Yes, you may have a picture.”
	With that Jack took a razor blade from his drawer and very carefully cut out a page that he particularly liked.  Then looking at Susie he said, “Do you realize what this means, young lady?”
	Susie just shook her head.
	“This picture is worth at least $150 million!  No artist who has ever lived has had a painting worth so much.  Now how does that make you feel?”
	Susie just grinned and giggled.  Then she said, “I was so happy to be able to help, Uncle Jack.  You and Aunt Kate freed us from slavery.  Beyond that, though, you adopted us as your daughters and made us very rich girls.  I can’t tell you how wonderful it makes me feel to be able to do something for you for a change.”
	The upshot was that Jack promised Susie a lifetime supply of coloring books and crayons, and then ordered me to take Susie out to wherever she wanted to go and to do whatever she wanted.  It was a company expense, of course.
	Incidentally, that crayon-colored page is now framed and hanging on the wall in Jack’s office with a little brass plaque labeling it “The $100 million picture.”
	Susan opted for a movie followed by dinner at Mama Louisa’s.
	Once in the theater, she insisted on sitting across my lap for the entire picture.  Periodically, she would melt her lips to mine in a loving kiss.  At one point, I really unloaded on her and put her out.
	When she regained consciousness, she whispered, “Daddy, you’re not fair.  Your kisses are just so powerful!”  Then she paused, thought for a few moments and then continued, “You know, you and Mom are deadly.  Both of you.  What you gave me is only a fraction of what you give her.  The power you unleash would kill anyone else alive.  But you two?  You seem to thrive on it.  You do, don’t you?”
	“I sure do.  But why are you sitting on my lap?  And you’re not paying any attention to the movie at all.”
	“I’m sitting on that telephone pole you have between your legs and dreaming of the day when it’s stretching my insides,” she whispered.
	Then she changed the subject.  “You know, that’s what it’s like for Mommy, too, sort of.”
	“What does that mean?”
	“Daddy, it’s your lovemaking at night and first thing in the morning.  Mommy says that the memory of the first lovemaking gets her through the morning, and the anticipation of your nightly fucking gets her through the rest of the day.”  She grinned and added, “Of course, often that anticipation gets a little out of control so you have to fuck her before dinner, too...”
	I just held her and kissed her warmly.
	But you know something?  I think she was right.
* * *
	The first expedition to find Jim Dawson a willing lady to fuck ended in failure.  And it was all Jean’s fault, too.
	She had scouted around and had picked a particular cocktail lounge as our first target.  And like a general planning an assault, she covered all the bases.  She had even made arrangements to have one of the company’s limousines waiting for her out front, assuming I would be driving a young lady back to her place of residence with the objective of getting in her pants.
	That’s the way it worked out in the end, but it wasn’t the way it began.  Initially, she had called the office’s transportation department to find out what limousine or taxi service they might recommend.  When the dispatcher learned that Jean wanted it for herself, he asked her to wait a moment.
	She could hear communication on a cell phone, but couldn’t quite pick it up.  A moment later the dispatcher was back.  “Miss Peters, Arthur Fleming will have the gray Rolls waiting for you, if that’s all right with you.  It should be good enough.”
	“Are you kidding?  Good enough?  Good grief!” Jean exclaimed.  But after thinking for a moment she said, “I really appreciate Mr. Fleming’s offer, but it’s after hours and he should be getting home.  Besides, there’s the overtime pay...”
	“Oh, no!” the dispatcher interrupted.  “Art’s doing it strictly on his own time.”  With a laugh he added, “He even offered to pay for the gas himself, but I told him that was overdoing it, bigtime.”  He paused again and then said, “Miss Peters, he’s doing it because he wants to.  He says that where real class is concerned, he couldn’t make a choice between you and Kate.  And that’s really saying something!”  (The threat of sudden death hanging over anyone who called Kate, “Mrs. Callaway,” most particularly extended downward into our organization.)  
	So anyway, Art Fleming was already waiting outside when we drove up.  This place — rare for the Mid West, but standard in California — had valet parking.  I really had to say that my BMW really gleamed that evening.  And since it was close to the summer solstice, it was still daylight when we drove up.  A car jock came running up to open the door, giving a low whistle as he realized what the car was.
	Unbeknownst to either of us, Sandy and Susan had spent the day detailing the car, even using small toothbrushes to get every speck of polish off it.  The girls had just finished when Jean and I went down the stairs to the garage.
	“My God!” I exclaimed.  “What have you two done?”
	“We thought your car should look nice for your first seduction, Dad,” Sandy said with her eyes twinkling.
	“Well...  You two are just too much.  You cleaned the house and our apartment spotlessly for your mother, and now you give my car...”  While I was talking to her, I was walking all around it.  The level of care the two girls had lavished on it was not to be believed.  Everything, inside and out, was immaculate.  “...the care of its existence.  Never has it looked this good.  Never!  Now what am I going to do to thank you?”
	“Anything?” Sandy asked.
	“Absolutely anything!” I replied.
	“Neato!” she screamed.  “Dad, my birthday is next week.  You’re going to give me the most thorough fucking of my life!”  Then her face fell as she looked at Jean.  “Mommy, if that’s all right with you?”
	“My darling daughter,” Jean replied, “we’re going out tonight to get your Dad to fuck someone besides me.  On that basis, I really don’t see how I can object.”  She paused for a moment and looked concerned as she continued, “But he’s awfully big, sweetie.  He could hurt you... badly.”
	“No he can’t,” Sandy replied with assurance.
	“How can you be so sure?”
	“Because I’ve been practicing,” the girl replied.
	“Practicing?” Jean asked, still skeptical.  “With what?”
	“With an aluminum baseball bat,” Sandy replied proudly.  “And it’s even longer than Daddy is.”
	At that Jean just rolled her eyes.  “My God!  And I thought I was the only one...”
	“It might even be the same bat,” Sandy said in an utterly guileless tone of voice.
	With that we were off.
	That evening Jean was wearing a sleeveless white dress with her gold collar and a pair of diamond ear studs I had bought for her.  (I have no idea if it’s the same dress she wore when we met Lieutenant Richards, but I guess she has a number of them that are pretty similar.)
	We entered the lounge and the reaction was funny.  When we were inside and being shown to a table in the lounge, there was an audible intake of breath on the part of the patrons.  Clearly, other people agreed with my assessment of Jean: She’s in a class by herself.
	At any rate, we sat there with glasses of pretty good Chablis — don’t you just love the white-wine-and-brie bit? — while Jean looked over the room.  What followed took me a little by surprise: Jean made incessant trips to the ladies room.  This was so totally unlike her that after the third or fourth trip I asked her about it.
	“Look, turkey,” she said with her eyes dancing, “the ladies room is the intelligence center!  That’s where I find out where the neatest guys are hanging out... and maybe find a lovely young thing for you, too.”
	The next time Jean disappeared, she returned with a young lovely in tow.  “Jim, this is Chris.  I told her that you were looking to meet new people, so...”
	“Hi, Chris,” I exclaimed.  “Will you join me?”
	“I would be delighted,” the young woman said.
	Chris was about five feet four, brown hair, brown eyes and with an ordinary figure.  But what the hell...  She was only the first try.
	“I’ll be going now,” Jean said.  “As your cousin, I’ve just discharged my familial duty.  I’ve produced a date for you.”  She smiled broadly and asked, “Happy now?”
	“Very!” I replied.
	And then Jean tore it.  She kissed me.
	Unfortunately — or fortunately, depending on one’s point of view — we seem to be incapable of innocuous kisses.  What started as a simple peck didn’t quite work out that way.  The electricity and bells started instantly.  Unfortunately, Chris could see this, too, and she wasn’t nearly as dumb as she appeared to be.
	“What is this shit?” she exclaimed.  “I thought you were cousins.  If you are, that’s the most incestuous kiss I’ve ever seen cousins exchanging.”  Then with a shake of her head she jumped up from her chair and announced, “I’m outta here!”
	“Whoops!” Jean whispered.  “Guess that was a little too much...”
	“Darling, I love you so damned much, I just cannot give you a peck on the lips.”
	“Oh, shit,” she conceded.  “It was all my fault.”  Looking deep into my eyes she asked, “Jim, can you ever forgive me?”
	“Well...” I replied, stretching out the word, “it all depends...”
	“On what?”
	“On whether you give me a really good kiss.”
	Jean came into my arms, molded her body to mine and really let loose.  For my part I had the benefit of having been with Jean essentially 24/7 for weeks, so I was prepared.  And she was so damned beautiful, too.
	I guess our kiss must have noticeably raised the temperature in the room because as we eased apart, there were cheers from the people nearby... and from some who weren’t so near.
	A guy nearby commented, “Good God!  You two are really in love!”
	“Naah,” Jean retorted.  “We’re just good friends.”
	The guy just rolled his eyes.
	We decided to stay for dinner — the menu was interesting — but first Jean went out to tell Art to go home; she would be returning home with me.  When she returned, she was giggling.  When I asked her what was so funny, she replied, “Art says it’s the first intelligent thing we’ve done in days.  He thinks this whole idea of trying to fix you up with some girl or other is on the far side of insanity.”
	“Smart man, Art,” I commented.
	Jean just looked at me strangely.
* * *
	The following week we celebrated Sandy’s fourteenth birthday.  Although everyone was invited, they all declined knowing what Sandy was expecting for her birthday present.  However, this didn’t stop Samantha and Stephanie from helping to prepare her for her big night that was going to be celebrated in our apartment.
	At 5:30, Sandy appeared in the sitting room where I had been reading — and becoming more nervous by the minute.  She was utterly exquisite!  When she was well into the room, Jean and Susan appeared in the bedroom doorway from which Sandy had just emerged.  They just stood there watching silently.
	All Sandy was wearing was a diaphanous white gown which was held closed only by a blue ribbon tied with a bow under her still-growing breasts.  Although we had spent countless hours together nude, this was very different.  Her youthful body so tantalizingly revealed was in a way far sexier than if she had been naked.  Jean had outdone herself with Sandy’s makeup, too.  Her eyes appeared to be larger than they really were and were dancing with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.  Her golden hair framed her lovely face; she was utterly gorgeous.  Aside from her gown, all she wore was her gold collar around her slim neck.
	“My darling Sandy!” I exclaimed.  “Never in your life have you looked so beautiful!”
	“Oh, Daddy!” she yelped and launched herself at me.
	I sat her across my lap and kissed her.  Believe me when I tell you that that was a one-of-a-kind kiss.  When we finally broke it, she just snuggled close as I smelled the marvelous fragrance of her young body.
	“Are you sure you want to do this, sweetie?” I asked softly.  “Wouldn’t you really rather wait?”
	“Dad, do you know why I’m doing this?  Why I particularly want to do it right now?”
	“No, I guess I really don’t,” I replied.  “Except for the fact that the older ones have done it.”
	“That’s not it at all,” she whispered.  “What I really want you to do is to rinse out my insides.  I still get nightmares thinking about those stinking guys fucking me one after the other, filling my cunt with their cream.  I want yours, Daddy, not theirs.  Okay?”
	“But you might get pregnant,” I commented.  That was my very last line of defense.
	Sandy grimaced and replied, “No such luck.”  Then with the most loving look I’ve ever seen she added, “Nothing would make me prouder than to be able to carry your baby in my belly, Dad.  Nothing!”  She grimaced again and repeated, “But no such luck.”
	“How can you be so sure?”
	“Two reasons: First, it’s the wrong time of the month.  Second, Depo-Provera.”
	“The first I understand.  But what’s that Depo-whatever?”
	“That’s otherwise known as the Pill.  Okay?  The birth-control pill?”
	“Oh,” I muttered intelligently.
	“Mom insisted.  I’ve been on them for a while now, so...  No baby,” she concluded with a disgusted look on her face.
	At that point Jean and Susan entered the room but just continued on to the kitchen.  Both were wearing short white terry robes.  When they returned, Jean had a tray with glasses and a bottle of fine Chablis.  Susan followed with a large tray of canapés.
	“I thought we would have drinks and hors d’oeuvres, then get to the opening of gifts,” Jean said with her eyes bright.  In this case, opening gifts meant opening up my lovely daughter.
	“You realize, sweetie,” I said to Sandy, “that you’re going to get a spanking.  And that’s fifteen from each of us.  That’s thirty...”
	“Forty-five!” Susie interrupted.  “I’m here, too, you know.”
	Sandy just rolled her eyes and said, “Okay.  Forty-five.”  Then to me she said, “But Dad, could you do me a favor?”
	“That depends on the favor.”
	“Could I have my spanking after you fuck me, but right before you take me in the ass?”  She rolled her eyes and added, “Sheila goes off like a rocket when Jim does that to her, so...”
	I looked at Jean who had a rather odd look on her face.  “And what’s that look for?” I inquired.
	“‘That look’, as you call it, is apprehension,” she replied.  “You can consider tonight to be a rehearsal.”
	“Rehearsal?  For what?”
	“My birthday is next week,” she replied, “and I’m not looking forward to it.”
	“Wow!  Twenty-eight spanks...”
	“Twenty-seven,” she interrupted.  “I’ll be twenty-six.”
	“But you said you were already 26...”
	“That was a couple of months ago,” she said.  “And I figured with my birthday coming, that was close enough.”
	The four of us sat chatting idly about nothing while sipping the Chablis and nibbling on the canapés.  Sandy was getting more nervous by the minute.
	“What’s the big rush, sweetie?” Jean teased.  “Are you really in such a great rush to lose your virginity?”
	“I already...”
	“Lose your virginity!” Jean repeated emphatically.  “That other doesn’t count.”
	“What about you, Mom?” Sandy responded.  “How did you lose yours?”
	“That’s an easy question to answer,” Jean replied.  “I guess I was almost sixteen.  I had just run away from that dumb home and had no place to go and no money.  So I sold my virginity to a guy for fifty bucks.  When he saw the blood afterward, he gave me a ten-dollar tip.”  She smiled wryly and added, “Sixty dollars was more money than I had ever had in my whole life.  I really felt rich.  Anyway, I peddled my ass from the outset and haven’t stopped yet.  Although the job title has changed — now I’m a sex therapist — the duties haven’t.  I’m still fucking for money and always have.”
	“You’re fucking Dad for the money?” Sandy asked with her eyes guileless.
	“Of course.”
	“What if he wouldn’t fuck you?  What if he just quit?”
	Jean’s eyes flared as the girl’s thought registered.  “I would just quit fucking him, I guess.”
	“You would like hell!” Sandy responded instantly.  When Jean’s eyebrow went up, Sandy modified her statement.  “You would like heck  — sorry, Mom.  You would give him every dime you’ve got if that would get him between your thighs again.  And you would go out on the street and peddle your ass again if that’s all you could do to get more money.  You would, wouldn’t you?”
	To that all Jean did was to stick out the tip of her pink tongue.  Sandy just grinned at her mother’s response.
	“Come on, young lady,” Jean finally said.  “I think it’s about that time.  You’re getting antsy.”  To me she said, “Darling, could you give us a couple of minutes, please?”
	I noticed that Jean’s terms of endearment were becoming more frequent and more automatic.  By that I mean they just became a part of her speaking vocabulary with me without conscious thought on her part.  Indeed, on more than one occasion I found her changing her wording to avoid an endearment when she thought about what she was about to say.  Interesting.
	I waited a few minutes, then entered the bedroom.  I really should have had a camera with me at that instant.  The image before me was unreal.  First, in just those few minutes Jean had worked on Susan and on herself.  Both were exquisitely beautiful, and both were naked on the bed.
	Jean was kneeling up straight with her back to the bed’s headboard.  Her thighs were together and Sandy was using them as a pillow.  Susan was similarly kneeling to Jean’s right — my left as I looked at them — with her back up straight and her thighs tightly together.
	I guess it must have been Susie who had so carefully arranged the gown Sandy was wearing on the bed.  The skirt was evenly spread on each side of the girl’s body and diaphanously revealed her youthful perfection.  She was utterly gorgeous as she lay there looking at me with love, eagerness and apprehension.
	“Why don’t you help your father?” Jean suggested to Susan.
	Moving with the same unconscious grace of her mother, the girl got out of bed, came to me and lovingly undressed me.  What do I mean by that?  First, she came close and raised her mouth for a kiss.  Since I was about 28 inches taller than she was, I lifted her up so she could melt her lips to mine.
	Our kiss was utterly wonderful!
	But Susie had a job to do.  I lowered her back to the floor and she very expertly undressed me.  At the same time, though, she took every opportunity to kiss and caress my body.  She kissed my nipples, caressed my butt (which I guess had become pretty muscular by that time; she squeezed my buns and just sighed), and finally took my penis in her mouth.  In no time, I was as hard as a rock.
	Gently caressing my sac she said, “Darling sister, you’re really in luck this afternoon.  Never can I recall seeing Dad’s sac as full as it is right now.”  She turned to face her sister, grinned and said, “That diaphanous gown you’re wearing really works!  Dad’s really loaded for you.”  Then, with a lovely look I couldn’t see but which Jean told me about later, added, “Are you sure you can take it all?  Your cunt isn’t that big, you know.”
	Sandy’s response was to stick out the tip of her lovely pink tongue.  Then she added a single word: “Jealous?”
	“Very!”
	I got on the bed from the bottom and moved between Sandy’s legs that she had spread for me.  Reaching up I untied the bow of the single wide ribbon holding her gown closed, then spread it wide revealing her body in its golden youthful perfection.
	Sandy raised her knees and spread them wide to open herself up to me, and even raised her hips up from the bed.  But that wasn’t what I was interested in at the moment.  Instead, I raised her head from her mother’s lap and pulled it close for a kiss.
	It was different from any other Sandy and I had ever exchanged.  It was odd, really.  There was her love but now there was pure passion added.  Gently, I probed her mouth with my tongue and found hers.  When I made contact, it seemed like the flow of love increased by an order of magnitude.
	At the same time, I eased the gown off her shoulders leaving her naked in my arms.  For her part, she tried to get her upper body in contact with mine so she could move her turgid nipples over my chest.  Our kiss continued.
	When I finally eased back a bit, Sandy was gasping for breath.  “That was the most incredible kiss I’ve ever had, Dad!”  Then her eyes started to water and she whispered, “I love you so very much!  Now please take me...”
	It wasn’t time.  I nibbled on her earlobe causing her to shiver in ecstasy.  Gently I kissed her face all over, then moved down to her neck.  Sandy was torn.  On the one hand, she was experiencing a level of sexual stimulation beyond her fondest dreams, but on the other hand, her cunt was running rivers.  She wanted me inside her desperately.  (I learned all this later, I should add.)
	I continued down her perfect golden body to her budding tits.  While teasing one breast and nipple with my teeth and tongue I gently caressed the other with my fingertips.  Sandy was writhing in my arms and kissing any part of me that was in reach of her mouth.
	Still lower I moved, running my tongue into her navel and then finally down to her cunt.  At that point I noticed something and moved away for an instant to get a better look.  Like her mother, Sandy had a small patch of golden pubic hair just above her slit.  Obviously, Jean had worked on her pubic patch, too, combing it into a miniature of her hairdo.
	“How utterly incredible!” I commented.
	“Thank you, Dad,” Sandy whispered hoarsely.  “Mommy thought you would like it, but I didn’t think you’d notice.”  Then with a lovely girlish grin she added, “She was right... as usual.”
	Lifting her legs up to my shoulders, I raised her lovely cunt to my lips and then began feasting on a lovely youthful pussy that was almost as sweet as her mother’s.  It took just one sweep of my tongue over her already-throbbing clit to trigger her first orgasm.
	I guess I really gave her a workout.  I nibbled on her labia, licked and nibbled her clit now out of its hood and throbbing with excitement, and probed her vagina as deeply as my tongue could reach.  Sandy had a second orgasm, then a third and fourth, each coming faster than the one before.
	Looking upward, I saw Jean and Sandy in a passionate kiss while Jean’s right hand toyed with Sandy’s right breast and nipple.  Susan had gone around to the other side of the bed, meanwhile, and was doing everything she could think of with the girl’s other tit.
	Sandy couldn’t take any more.  Finally she cried, “Please, Daddy!  Just fuck me!”
	I had just taken her to another orgasm.  After licking her juices and cream from around my lips, I lowered her hips so that her cunt was in line with my cock.  Then with an impassive look on my face I replied softly, “No.”
	“No?” she screamed in terror.  “What do you mean?”
	“I will not fuck my little girl...” I responded in (what I thought to be) a thoroughly reasonable tone.
	She started to cry.  “You have to!  You promised!  And I’m so hot and so ready...”
	Ignoring her cry I continued, “...but I will make love to her if she asks me nicely.”
	A series of expressions flashed over her lovely face.  Her tears stopped and she said, “Love me, Daddy, please.  I’ll cum so nicely for you.  I’ll flood your marvelous cock with my cream and give you a wonderful experience.  Please love me, Daddy.”
	I smiled warmly and positioned my rod at the entrance to her cunt planning on easing in slowly.  That was not what Sandy had in mind, though.  Instead, the girl positioned her legs around my hips and used her substantial strength to pull me deep inside.
	The feeling was utterly incredible.  Her cunt was so tight yet so elastic in her youth that I managed to penetrate almost my entire length.  At the same time I could feel the girl working her vaginal muscles to rhythmically squeeze my cock.
	“Oh, God!” she screamed.  “It’s so good!  Never in my life did I dream it could ever be this good.”  Turning her head toward Jean she said, “Thank you, Mommy!  Oh, thank you!  This is the most marvelous feeling of my life.”
	While I was fucking Sandy’s luscious cunt, her sister and mother continued to work on her face and tits.  I took her to one orgasm and then more.
	“Oh, Daddy!” she cried.  “Can you feel it?  Can you feel my cum cream flooding your marvelous cock?  Fuck... Love me, Daddy!  Hard!  Pound your little girl’s cunt with your weapon as hard as you can.”
	I took the girl up to the point of continuous orgasm and held her there.  When she was gasping for breath, I eased down, let her regain her breath, and then did it again... and again... and again.
	Now with her cunt flooded with her juices and cum cream, I could move easier inside her and did.  Incredibly, in spite of the ravages of her orgasms and most of the muscles in her lower body in spasm, Sandy was still able to squeeze my invading cock.
	Finally, in spite of all my practice with Jean, I could hold back no longer.  I drove into her luscious cunt to my root and screamed, “Cum with me, darling!  Cum with Daddy!”
	“Yes!” she screamed and went off as she felt my cum flooding her insides.
	An instant later, Sandy fainted from the overload of her entire nervous system.  She just collapsed, but somehow her vaginal muscles continued to milk my still-pulsating cock.
	I was gasping for breath, too, for that matter, as Susie moved down her sister’s limp body.  “And what... do you think... you’re doing?” I gasped.
	Susan stopped, startled.  “The usual, Daddy,” she replied.  “I’m going to drink your mixed cum.”
	“Not yet,” I said.  “This time, I’m going to do it first.”
	“You never do that with me,” Jean said with a frown.  On the other hand, her eyes were dancing as she spoke.
	“That’s because little imp here never gives me a chance,” I complained.  “While I’m trying to breathe again, she’s cleaning you out.”
	While I was lifting Sandy’s hips to bring her cunt close, Jean slipped out of bed.  I had begun to feast on our mixed creams when I heard the pop of a cork.  When I had had all I could handle, I lowered Sandy’s still-unconscious body to the bed and made way for Susan.
	I moved to the top of the bed and stretched out beside Jean.  With a lovely smile she passed me a champagne flute and said, “This is Dom Pérignon.  Rumor has it that it’s the very best thing to wash down cum.”
	After taking a sip, I had to agree it was marvelous.
	Remarkably, there was even more cum than Susie could handle.  When she moved away, her mother gave her a small amount of champagne while she moved to take her daughter’s place.  Susan was so damned cute.  She took her mother’s place beside me at the head of the bed, had a sip of champagne and then held up her face for a kiss.  What a delight!
	By this time Sandy had regained consciousness and just sighed with pleasure as her mother so-expertly worked on her still-flooded cunt.  But did Jean let it go at that?  Hah!  When she had taken all the fluids she could reach, she moved up the bed and kissed Sandy, opening her mouth as she did.  I saw Sandy swallowing and realized Jean had her mouth full of cum that she transferred to her daughter.  Then she moved up to the head of the bed and pulled Sandy up beside her so the girl was between Jean and me with Susan on my left.
	“Mother, that was simply exquisite!” Sandy exclaimed.  “And champagne, too...”  With a worshipful look in her eyes she turned her head to kiss Jean again.
	“My beautiful daughter!” Jean whispered.  Then she asked, “How does it feel to be a woman now?”
	“I really can’t answer that yet, Mom,” the girl replied.  “But what I do know is I’ll be remembering this in my dreams for years to come.”
	Turning her head toward me she said, “Daddy, that was utterly perfect!”  She paused for a moment and then continued, “I wanted you to flood out all the slime I’ve been living with for so long, and you sure did!”  Then she held up her lips for a kiss.
	That kiss was truly memorable.  It was so sweet and loving and wonderful.
	By this time we had all recovered, so Sandy said, “Well...  I guess it’s time for step two.  Come on, Dad.  I guess you should go first.”  With that she indicated the end of the bed.
	I moved down and sat on the end with my feet on the floor.  Sandy lay across my legs and I could see her trying to soften her buns while waiting for her spanks.  After I gave her seven, she got off, staggering a bit from the pain, but then lay down facing the other way so I could spank her with a good full stroke.
	This was repeated with Susan, and then it was Jean’s turn.  After only two spanks Sandy looked up at her mother and said, “It’s not going to do you any good, Mom.  You’re going easy in hopes that I’ll be easy on you next week.  Well, it’s not going to happen, so you might as well whack away.”
	Jean giggled at Sandy’s crack but did start hitting her noticeably harder.
	Finally it was over, and Sandy’s bottom was scarlet in spite of her deep tan.  Nevertheless, she got up on her hands and knees with her head toward the head of the  bed.  Jean moved up to sit with her back against the headboard and Sandy moved between her legs intending to eat her while I was fucking her asshole.  Susan slithered on her back to get under Sandy’s cunt while I moved between her widespread knees.
	I eased my cock into her cunt to pick up some fluids — again, she was running like a river — and then spread her buns and positioned my cock against her tiny amber hole.  That’s all it took.  Sandy relaxed her sphincter as much as she could and rammed backward impaling her ass on my cock.
	She screamed in pain, but then just moved back farther driving me deep into her ass.  I began to move in her going deeper with each stroke until my thighs hit her bruised buns at the end of every stroke.  I could hear muffled moans and then gasps of joy.  Her mouth was muffled by Jean’s cunt of course.
	“I’m cuming!” I screamed.  As I did, I spanked her ass hard and unloaded inside her.
	Sandy stiffened, let out a scream of ecstasy and went off like a rocket.  While I was cuming in gallons it seemed, she was flooding her sister’s face with her cream.  Again, it was far more than her nervous system could take and she just collapsed face down on the bed.
	Susie wriggled out from under her sister, then lifted her hips so she could again feast on my cum that was seeping out from Sandy’s still-stretched asshole.
	I joined Jean at the head of the bed, and again she gave me a glass of champagne.  We sipped as we watched Susie work on her sister.  By the time she had gathered all she could, Sandy had again regained consciousness.  Susie started to move toward me to clean off my cock.
	“Oh, no you don’t!” Sandy exclaimed.  “He’s mine.”
	“But it’s covered...” Susie began.
	“And it’s all mine!” Sandy finished.  “I’m cleaning Dad off.  You are not!”
	What followed was one of the finest blow-jobs imaginable.  It was truly in her mother’s class.  It finally ended when I exploded in her mouth after she had taken my full length down her throat.  Sandy swallowed every drop.
	Again we were arranged at the head of the bed, only this time Sandy was wriggling trying to ease the pain of her buns.  After we each had sipped our champagne she announced, “Dad, it could not have been any better.  It was so utterly wonderful!”
	“How about if you two clean yourselves up?” Jean said finally.  “Sandy, you’ve been sweating like a pig and I think you could stand a shower.”
	When the two girls left, Jean turned to me and said, “Darling, you were utterly magnificent.  Do you notice the change in Sandy, by the way?”
	“Huh?” I replied in my most intelligent fashion.
	“Sweetie, surely you’ve noticed the ineffable sadness that’s been a constant with her.”
	“Yes, I guess I have.  In fact I can recall the first genuine smile I had ever seen on her face.  But even then...”
	“That’s exactly what I mean,” Jean continued.  “But did you notice the change?  That sadness is gone!  And gone for good, I hope.  My darling, it was all you, too.
	“Oops!” she interrupted herself.  Then with a broad grin she added, “The cat’s out of the bag.”
	“What’s that mean?” I asked in my usually bewildered manner.
	“It means that Sandy is learning from Sue about the ‘mommy filter’” she replied.
	“What on earth is that?”
	“In the first place, I don’t think it’s on Earth at all,” Jean said.  “But I’ll tell you what the girls are saying.”
	This is what Jean told me.  More accurately, it’s the conversation the girls were having while they shared a shower.  Jean heard every word.
* * *
	“What do you suppose Mom and Dad are talking about?” Sandy asked.
	“I guess they’re talking about what Dad did with you,” Susan replied, “but we’ll never know.”
	“Why won’t we know?” Sandy asked.  “After all, we can hear anything they say to each other.”
	“Oh, no we can’t,” Susan insisted.  “She’s got a ‘mommy filter’.”
	“What are you talking about?”
	“Have you ever tried to hear what Mommy’s saying to Dad when it’s something she doesn’t want us to hear?”
	Sandy thought for a moment and then replied, “I guess so.  Why?”
	“What happened?  You couldn’t hear anything besides buzzing static, could you?”
	“How did you know that?”
	“Because it’s what I get,” Susan replied, “so I was almost certain you’d get it too.”  She continued, “It’s really worse than that, though.”
	“What’s that mean?”
	“It means that she can hear everything we’re saying right now, for example.  She has a hearing faculty that’s like ours only much greater.  In the first place, she can hear through walls.  She can hear anything we say if we’re anywhere close to her... and ‘close’ doesn’t have to be very close.”
	“You’re kidding!” Sandy exclaimed.  “Everything?  But that means...”
	“Everything!” Susan repeated.  “And it’s apparently similar to the way we hear and record except it’s absolutely automatic.  Mom could be talking to Dad and listening in on a conversation across the pool, but still hear everything you and I might say, all at the same time.  There even seems to be some sort of alarm or something.  If it’s something she ought to know, she knows it instantly.  Otherwise, it’s just noted and recorded.”
	There was a pause for a moment as Sandy thought about what she had just learned.  Then she said, “My God... gosh!  That’s awful!  She knows everything!...”
	“Sure she does,” Susie replied.  “But why is that awful?  I think it’s pretty neat myself.  And why did you change ‘God’ to ‘gosh’?”
	“You do?  Why?  And I changed because she doesn’t like us to swear.  Besides being a sin, it’s unladylike.”
	At that Jean giggled and grinned.  “Those kids are just too damned much!” she said.  “But I love them so!”
	“And what are they going to do when you’re gone?” I asked.  “Jean Peters, you know better than anyone how much they love you and how important you are to them.”
	Jean just swallowed hard and shook her head.
	Susie was replying to Sandy’s question regarding why she thought it was so neat that Jean could know what she was thinking.  “Because Mom’s like my guardian angel.  She knows what I’m doing and what I’m thinking, but never says or does anything unless it’s something that’s really bad for me.  Then she heads it off but never with any reference to anything I’ve said.  It’s always as if it’s an idea that just came into her head.”
	Then she shifted gears.  “Remember when you were worrying about whether Daddy really liked the way you gave head and deep-throated him?”
	“Yes...” Sandy replied, drawing out the word.  Already she could see where Susan was going.  “You mean...?”
	“That she heard us talking?  Of course she did.  And do you remember what happened?”
	“I sure do!” Sandy exclaimed.  “She seemed to be piss... mad at me because Dad said I gave better head than she did.”
	“And we both doubt the truth of that very much, don’t we?” Susie replied.  “But she did it to allay your fears and doubts.”  The little girl sighed deeply and added, “She’s the best damned — sorry, Mom — darned mother in the world.”
	At that crack, Jean howled with laughter.  “It’s a hell of a note when they apologize to me for something I shouldn’t be able to hear!”
	Then the conversation shifted.  Apparently, Susie was on her knees in front of Sandy and was using her fingers to spread the girl’s vagina to release more of our trapped cum. 
	“Please don’t, Imp,” Sandy pleaded.  “Just leave it in there...  Please?”
	“How did it feel, Big Sister?” Susie asked.  I guess she had risen back to her feet and the sisters were closely embracing each other’s wet body.
	“Oh, Susie!  It was so utterly glorious!  It just could not have been better.”  She paused for a moment and then continued, “You know what our problem is?  With kids, I mean.  We speak in superlatives so often, there’s no vocabulary left for something that really is out of this world.”
	“How does it compare to what Dad does with Mom?” Susie asked.
	At that point, Jean just stopped her narrative.  “It’s just getting to girl talk,” she said.  “You wouldn’t be interested.”  But her face reddened as she said it.  I wondered why.
* * *
	The next day I had a chance to talk to Susie alone and asked her about it.  We traded information as it turned out.  I provided her with confirmation that her mother really could hear whatever she or Sandy said.
	For her part she said, “Oh, sure!  We were talking about you and Mom.  We agreed that as perfect as your lovemaking with Sandy was, it was just a pale imitation of you with Mom.  We agreed that you utterly adore the woman and really don’t see another female.  She’s so neat, the others just disappear.
	To that I could only agree.
* * *
	That night Jean outdid herself with the dinner.  She prepared tournedos Rossini with foie gras and truffles that was out of this world.  With it she served a Chateau Mouton Rothschild from a 20 year.  Magnificent!  And the girls were served the wine, too.
	No birthday party would be complete without ice cream and birthday cake and this  was no exception.  Sandy blew out all her candles after making a wish and appeared to be the happiest girl alive.  I noticed that she appeared genuinely happy for the first time since I had met her.  There was no longer the overtone of sadness that she formerly wore along with any other expression.
	Finally, we produced the gifts.  I gave her a Tiffany box wrapped in its characteristic — and trademarked — light-blue box with a ribbon.
	She opened it with the care of a bomb disposal expert disarming a nuclear device.  Finally she reached the velvet box inside, removed it and opened the cover.
	She gasped, “My Go.. Gosh!”
	Jean just giggled at her words and slowly shook her head in amusement.  “Sweetie, I know you two have been trying to be so very good — not swearing, cursing or using obscenities — but sometimes you just have to let it out.”
	The two girls looked at Jean and in unison said, “Mom, you’re the greatest!”  Then they all laughed together.
	Sandy carefully removed the gold chain bracelet that matched her collar, but was significantly wider.  She turned it over, read the inscription and began to bawl.
	I was out of my chair like a shot.  I lifted her up from hers, returned to my own and sat down with my girl across my lap.  Then I just held her tightly as she cried her eyes out.
	The engraved inscription read: To my darling daughter, Sandy, who will wear the marks of her overwhelming love and courage for the rest of her life, from her father who adores her.
	Finally she regained control, then turned in my lap and melted her lips to mine with the warmest, sweetest kiss I’ve ever received.  I just held her tightly and returned it with all of the power I could muster.  It proved to be enough to put her out.
	When she recovered, she just nuzzled my shoulder and murmured, “Daddy, that is the greatest gift of all.  I just don’t know what to say.”
	“Sweetie,” I replied, “that gift is a bit strange.  The sentiments are mine, but the gift is from Tiffany.  I haven’t given you mine yet.”
	“What?” she screamed.
* * *
	It had been about 10 days earlier.  And like so many other days that summer, it was hot as hell.  Nevertheless, we had to get gifts for Sandy’s birthday, so the four of us set off for the mall.  Poor Sandy!  She spent most of the day being shoved out of one store after another as one or another of us looked for a particular gift.
	At any rate, we wound up at Tiffany’s and Sandy was told to get lost — but not too lost.  As usual, Sandy and Jean were wearing the same very short Levi cut-offs along with the same or similar chambray shirts that had seen their best days at least 10 years earlier.  And again, the tails were tied under their tits.  With the shorts being worn low on their hips, there was a vast expanse of perfect golden skin in between the two garments.
	Jean, Susan and I entered the store.  We found Mr. Payne, our salesman, engaged in conversation with an impeccably dressed older man.  But when we entered, Payne lighted up like a Christmas tree.
	“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Dawson!  How have you been?”  Then he very proudly added, “May I present the chairman of the board and CEO of Tiffany & Company, John Thompson.”
	We shook hands and I was amused by Jean.  She actually appeared to be embarrassed.
	“Please accept my apologies for my appearance, Mr. Thompson,” she said.  “I certainly never thought...”
	“I can’t accept it, and I won’t, Mrs. Dawson,” Thompson interrupted.
	Now Jean really looked embarrassed.
	“The reason I won’t,” he continued with a warm smile, “is that I have never seen as beautiful a woman as you in my entire life.”  He continued to study her closely and then added, “You’re wearing no makeup at all, are you?”
	“Mr. Thompson, I...”
	“Are you?” he insisted.
	“No,” Jean admitted glumly.  “I’m sorry.”
	“I’m not,” Thompson concluded.  “Now how may we serve you today?”
	We told Richards and Thompson that the purpose was to find a present for Sandy.  Richards suggested a bracelet to match her collar and went off to get some.  While he was gone, Thompson continued to study Jean, but his eyes kept shifting between Jean and Susan.
	Finally he said, “I just don’t believe this, Mrs. Dawson.  Quite honestly, you appear to be a very nubile 18 or 19.  I just can’t believe you could have a daughter as old as Susan.”
	“I’m substantially older than that, Mr. Thompson,” Jean replied with a warm smile.  “But then you’ve not met our older daughter, Sandy.  She’s being frozen out this morning because we’re shopping for her gift.  She’s going to be 14 very soon.”
	“Now that’s just plain impossible!” Thompson exclaimed.  “What did you do?  Give birth at the age of ten?”
	At that point Richards rejoined us with a bracelet that was perfect.  It was exactly what we were looking for.  Jean just gave a decisive nod and I went down the counter with Richards to work on the inscription.  He read, “To my darling daughter, Sandy, who will wear the marks of her overwhelming love and courage for the rest of her life, from her father who adores her.”
	“What does this mean?” he asked.  “‘...wear the marks of her overwhelming love and courage’”
	“Just a moment, Mr. Payne, and I’ll tell you.  But first I have to clear the inscription with my wife.”
	Jean read it and her eyes widened.  “Jim, it’s utterly perfect!  Go!”
	After running my credit card through their imprinter and getting a charge authorization, Payne went off to have the bracelet engraved and we sent Susie out to find Sandy.  A few moments later the two girls entered the store and we introduced Sandy to Mr. Thompson.
	“I just can’t believe this,” he stammered.  “Never have I seen three women who will end up as identical as triplets.  But how...?”
	“Because the girls are adopted, is how,” Jean explained.
	By then Payne had returned.  In his hand was a copy of the inscription that he showed to Thompson.  The man’s eyes widened as he read it and then Payne explained that I was going to tell them about it.
	“Sandy, show the men your brand.”
	She looked at me strangely, then turned sideways to lift the bottom of her shorts.  They were too tight for that to work so she unbuttoned the waistband and let them down exposing the brand on her right flank.  The two men just gasped in horror.
	“My God!” Thompson exclaimed.  “What happened?”
	Jean related what had happened to the two girls in captivity and how Sandy had sacrificed herself to protect her younger sister.  Then she had Susan show where she had branded herself to try to spare her sister some pain.
	For my part, I realized something else.  If I had told Sandy to strip naked on the spot, she would have done it in an instant.  It was a very humbling thought.
	“So this magnificent girl at the age of only 12 sacrificed herself to try to protect her little sister.  What incredible courage!”
	“And, by the way,” I added, “she branded herself.  Can you believe it?”
	“Quite honestly, Mr. Dawson, had I not seen it with my own two eyes I would not have believed it.”
	Then he whispered something to Payne who retrieved Tiffany’s original of the charge slip.  After checking to ensure it was the correct one, Thompson very carefully ripped it up into tiny pieces and dropped them into a wastebasket making certain that I was aware of what he was doing.
	“Sandra Dawson,” he said, “you may be the finest young woman alive on earth today.  You’re certainly the most beautiful.  But now I see that as incredible as your surface beauty is, it’s only a small fraction of your beauty within.”  Then with a grin he added, “Of course it’s really not fair.  Why should one girl have absolutely everything?”
	At that remark, Sandy beamed but there was still that overtone of sadness.
* * *
	“So this is a gift from Tiffany, Daddy?” Sandy asked as she again examined her lovely bracelet.
	“It sure is.”
	“But why?” she asked.
	“Sweetie, because of the inscription.  It’s a tribute to a girl’s incredible love and courage in sacrificing herself for someone else.  I can tell you there are no words to use to adequately describe what you did.”  Then I grinned and added, “But aren’t you even interested in my gift?”
	“Oh, Daddy!” Sandy yelped.  “Of course I’m interested.”  Then she hugged me tightly and added, “I love you so damned much I can’t stand it!...”  Then to her mother  she added, “Sorry about that, Mom.  It just slipped out.”
	“It’s okay, sweetie,” Jean replied.  “I love him so damned much I can’t stand it either.”
	“Then marry me, Jean.  Please?”
	She just sadly shook her head.
	I gave Sandy another box from Tiffany.  Again she unwrapped it with exquisite care and removed the box inside.  Carefully she opened it and saw a pair of gold ear studs in the shape of small balls.
	“They’re lovely, Daddy!” she exclaimed.  “And they’ll be perfect with my collar and bracelet, too.”
	“Notice anything different about the box in your hand?” I asked.
	She looked it over carefully, then looked at me and said, “It’s deeper than usual, isn’t it?”
	The gold studs were sitting on a black velvet-covered tray.  “There’s a ribbon at the back of the tray, sweetie.  Use it as a handle to lift it out.  And you’re right; the box is deeper than normal.  You’ll soon see why.”
	She lifted out the tray and her eyes bugged.  “Oh my God!” she breathed.  “They’re  fabulous!”  On the second tray which was revealed when the upper tray was removed was a second tray with a pair of diamond ear studs, each a certified perfect diamond of about two carats.
	Sandy studied them carefully and then started to giggle.  “This is just so great!”
	“What’s so funny, sweetie?” I asked.
	Instead of answering directly, she asked, “These are real, aren’t they, Dad?”
	“They’re real,” I assured her.  “In fact, under that tray are certificates certifying that they are perfect.  But why do you ask?”
	“It’s such a hoot!” Sandy giggled.  “They’re so big, all the kids will think they’re rhinestones I borrowed from Mom.  They would utterly freak out if they knew they were real... and mine!”
	There were other gifts to be opened.  When it was over Sandy concluded that it had been the very best day of her entire life.
	The women excused themselves and asked me to amuse myself for thirty minutes.  When I entered the bedroom, it was apparent why.  There was Jean lying on the bed with her head resting on Sandy’s thighs.  It was an exact reversal of what had happened earlier, with Jean now wearing the filmy gown that Sandy had worn earlier.  Again it was tied under her breasts with a blue ribbon.
	In fact, it was an exact replay.  Jean even volunteered for her birthday spanking in advance so she, too, could have crimson buns when I took her in her ass.  Never had I had an experience like that one.  It was similar to Sandy’s but with so much more love and pure passion.
	Utterly unreal!
* * *
	The next day we got a call from New York.  It seemed that Mr. Thompson was going to be back in Chicago the following day and asked if our whole family could join him for dinner at the Pump Room in the Ambassador Hotel.  When I passed on his message, Jean and the girls were totally thrilled.  We agreed on a time, and he said he would be waiting for us at the table when we arrived.
	The girls immediately went shopping, and I did, too.  The following day — the day of the dinner — the girls went off to see Andy Shepherd to get their hair done.
	That evening, the women presented themselves for inspection and I almost dropped my teeth.  All three were utterly gorgeous and all were wearing essentially identical sleeveless white dresses.
	I then put on the final decorations.  It seemed like the right thing to do, so I dug out the set of diamond jewelry I had purchased that day and gave the pieces to Jean.  She was literally speechless.  To Sandy I presented a diamond choker for her to wear with her diamond ear studs, and to Susan I gave a single perfect 2-carat diamond hanging from a gold chain along with a pair of gold ball ear studs like Sandy’s.
	The girls were ecstatic!  It was so wonderful finally to see sheer unalloyed happiness on Sandy’s face.  And that girl was truly happy.
	As usual for that summer, it was still as hot as hell in Chicago, so the three girls were just wearing white lace shawls as we left to drive into the city.  Arriving at The Ambassador, I guess we caused a certain amount of consternation.  The doorman rushed to open Jean’s door, but then seeing the two girls sitting in the back he motioned to two bellmen who rushed to the doors to hand the women out.
	It was almost funny to see the way the women were handled as if they were made of the finest, most delicate china.  Of course, all three moved with the same unconscious grace and warmly thanked the men for their courtesy.  To show you how bad it was, none of them even thought to extend a hand for a tip... and that’s as bad as it can get.  Nevertheless, I gave each one a fifty but I’m not sure any of them even noticed.
	I don’t know how to describe my feelings as we entered the dining room and were being shown to Thompson’s table.  Certainly I was proud.  I was escorting three of the most beautiful women God in His infinite wisdom had ever seen fit to put on this earth.  But there was so much more.  There was their goodness, their charity, their courage and their brains.  Unreal!
	And then there were the audible gasps from the other diners as they saw the girls.  To say that I felt like a million bucks is to understate the case by several orders of magnitude.  And Jean?  While everyone in the room had his or her eyes on her, she had eyes only for me.  Was that all?  For Jean?  Hah!  When we reached the table, the maître  d’ was holding her chair.  Instead of being seated, though, she came into my arms and kissed me, then probed my mouth with her tongue.
	This time the sound of gasps permeated the room.
	Jean murmured in my ear, “I love you, my darling,” and then gracefully took her seat.  Waiters had appeared to hold the chairs for the two girls and were rewarded with brilliant smiles that almost melted them to the floor.
	“Wow!” was the first thing Thompson said.  “Never in my entire life have I seen such incredible beauty.  Mrs. Dawson...”
	“Jean, please,” she interrupted.
	“Jean, then,” he acceded.  “My name is Jack.”
	Then, although his eyes were dancing, he grimaced and said, “It’s so damned sad...”
	“What’s sad, Mr. Thompson?” Susan asked.
	“You three are what’s so sad,” he replied.  “I hope you know that your mother is wearing the finest pieces of jewelry we carry, and just look...”
	“I think they look just lovely on her,” Sandy said.  “I don’t see the problem.”
	“The problem, dear Sandra, is that against your mother’s overwhelming beauty, the jewels just disappear.”  He shook his head and continued, “When I met you at our store, I thought you were magnificent.  None of you were wearing makeup at the time, and you all had your hair in ponytails.  But now?  Unbelievable!”
	“You really don’t know the half of it,” I said.  “Don’t you think those hairdos are lovely on the girls?”
	All Thompson could do was to shake his head in wonder.
	I reached over to Jean and she instantly knew what I was about to do.  “Please don’t, Jim!” she begged.
	I just looked at her and nodded.
	“Okay for you,” she said.  “When the other women in the room murder me, leaving these poor girls orphans, you’re going to have to take care of them.”
	“I sure will,” I promised with my eyes dancing.  Then I mussed Jean’s lovely hair as much as I could.  I really sort of gave her a scalp massage.  “Okay,” I said finally.
	Jean just glared at me and then gave her head one hard shake.  Instantly her hair was restored exactly to its previous condition.
	This time I could hear groans coming from a number of women who had seen what had happened, or enough of it anyway to appreciate Jean’s peculiar ability.
	“Oh, my!” Thompson remarked.  “I see exactly what your wife was saying.”  Then to Jean he asked, “But how on earth do you do that?”
	“I’m really not sure, Jack,” Jean replied.  Then with her eyes wide she added, “But please be sure that Jim delivers on his promise to look out for the girls after I’ve been murdered.”
	With a solemn voice but with his eyes dancing, he said, “I’ll be certain to do that.”
	The evening was really quite strange.  It had been obvious from the outset that Thompson had a very definite purpose in mind for our dinner meeting, but nothing was said.  Instead, we had drinks and just conversed.  For his part, he became increasingly amazed at the girls’ knowledge and maturity.  Susan became his particular delight because of her marvelous combination of being a little girl yet one able to converse with adults on any conceivable topic.  In fact, I noticed that Thompson seemed to be deliberately changing topics around to try to find something the girls couldn’t talk about.  I could have told him that his topic search wouldn’t be very productive.
	The dinner progressed, and it was truly lovely.  Actually, it got fairly close to what Jean did routinely at home every day.  Finally, dessert was served, followed by cheese, and ultimately by coffee and cognac.
	As the cognac was being poured, the maître d’ appeared with a large envelope that he handed to Thompson.  I assumed — correctly, as it turned out — that it was what he was awaiting.  He opened it carefully and pulled out a stack of what appeared to be 11 by 14  photos, but he was careful to prevent anyone else at the table from seeing them.  After quickly scanning the stack he slid them back into the envelope.
	“Dawsons,” he began, “as you’ve probably guessed, that envelope is what I’ve been waiting for.”  He paused and then continued, “I’ve got a reputation at Tiffany’s and among people who know me as being impulsive.  And I guess it’s a fair appraisal.
	“Anyway, Jean, Sandy and Susan, when I first met you an idea came into my head that I wanted to pursue.  Tonight was the result, and for my purposes it could not have been any better.  You see, what I would like is for you three to model for Tiffany’s advertising.”
	The looks on the faces of the three girls at that instant was utterly priceless!  There was utter shock, consternation, disbelief...  You name it, and it showed.
	“I think that’s a great idea,” I said, “but what brought you to that conclusion?”
	“These,” he replied, handing over the envelope.
	There were over a dozen color photos, all obviously taken at the Pump Room that evening.  And they were utterly out of sight.  All three of the women looked magnificent and they even showcased the jewelry they were wearing.
	“Lovely,” I commented, handing them back.
	“I have a question, Jim,” he asked.  “Is your wife capable of being clumsy?  Of being anything other than elegantly graceful?”
	“I can answer that,” Sandy interjected, “and the answer is no.  Awhile ago we were fooling around at the mall, acting clumsy.  Mom couldn’t do it.  Can you imagine the phrase, gracefully clumsy?  It’s an ultimate oxymoron, isn’t it?”
	“I love it, Sandy!” Susie piped up.  “Gracefully clumsy!  And you’re right: it is the ultimate oxymoron.”
	“My God,” Thompson murmured, “they’re not only gorgeous, they’re brilliant besides.”  Again turning to me he asked, “Is there anything these women don’t have?”  He shook his head and murmured, “An 8-year-old using ‘oxymoron’ and obviously knowing what it means.  Incredible!”
	“If there is something,” I replied, “I haven’t been able to find it yet.  In addition to the beauty, brains and courage, there’s also incredible physical strength and athletic ability.  We all tease Jean because she’ll just go back and forth in our 50-meter pool effortlessly.  We call it her ‘swimming to Michigan’ mode.  You know something?  I really think she’s capable of swimming straight across the lake to Michigan.”
	“May I see the pictures, please?” Jean asked timorously.
	Thompson passed the envelope to her and she began to look through the photos.  Instead of putting them back, though, she passed them on to the girls as she finished looking at each one.  One caught her eye and she giggled.  What a lovely joyous sound!  The photographer — who we had never noticed — somehow had caught Jean in the middle of her head shake restoring her hair.  It stopped the action just as each hair was about to settle in its appropriate place.
	“These are very flattering, Jack,” Jean said, “but you can’t be serious about modeling.  We’re just not the model type.  None of us.”
	“If you mean the anorexic-skin-and-bones model, you’ve certainly got that right.  But that’s not what we want nor who we are.  Jean Dawson, you are elegant beauty and grace, as are your daughters.  You personify what every woman alive in the world today would like to be.  And that’s particularly true when accompanied by your daughters.  Not only are you incredibly beautiful, you’ve passed on that beauty to your progeny.
	“Now seriously, isn’t that truly what every woman wants?”
	I thought about his words and he was dead right.
	Jean sputtered, but really had nothing she could say.  The result was — and is — that if you see gorgeous blue-eyed blondes in ads for Tiffany & Company, you’ll know who they are.
* * *
	Well, it was back to the mines for me.  Having blown it when Jean accompanied me on my hunting expedition, I decided to do it myself.
	I had managed to locate a nice place for hunting.  It was a very nice singles bar and restaurant in Northbrook
 — the bar area occupied about half the area — with booths, small tables, quiet music... and lots of single women.
	The first time I went in, I sat at the bar and started chatting with the bartender, Charley.  I learned that not only did he tend bar, but he was the manager and part-owner of the place.  He pointed out something that I thought I had already noticed, but appreciated his confirmation: All the girls were looking at me and just waiting.
	Charley thought it was funny as hell.  “Mr. Smith, this is an utter riot!  (I had introduced myself as Jim Smith.)  The girls are all waiting for you to make a choice.  I’ve already seen four nice guys get the brush-off because the girls are waiting in hopes of something better: you!”
	I looked around the room carefully and finally picked out a vivacious brown-haired girl with what appeared to be a decent body.  Although she was talking with three other girls, I had been watching her as she kept her eyes on me.
	Walking over to her I said, “Hi!  I’m Jim Smith.  May I buy you a drink?”
	That was all it took.  She almost melted on the spot, and we went back to a booth.  Unfortunately, Jamie turned out to be a total airhead.  I could almost hear the wind whistling between her ears.  Oh, well...
	But the pick-up had worked and there would be other days.
	I did buy her dinner though, but to her dismay, then excused myself.
	It wasn’t very late when I returned home, but the lights were out so the girls were in bed.  Carefully opening the door I heard Jean reading quietly out loud.  There she was propped up in bed with Susie asleep on her shoulder reading Robin Hood.  Sandy was asleep on the other side but had left lots of room for me between Jean and herself.
	“What are you reading aloud for?” I asked.  “Susie’s asleep.”
	At that point without moving a muscle or opening her eyes Susie repeated everything Jean had just read to her from the page.  Then her eyes popped open, she grinned and asked, “Or would you rather I start at the beginning, Daddy?”
	“Did you score, darling?” Jean asked.  “If you did, it would have had to be pretty fast.  You did eat, didn’t you?” she added as she started to get out of bed.  She was fully prepared to cook dinner for me right then if I had said I hadn’t eaten.
	“No, I didn’t score, but I could have.  The young lovely was deeply disappointed that I wasn’t interested in getting in her pants.”  I shook my head and added, “A total airhead.”
	“Darn!” Susie announced.
	“And what does that mean?” I asked.
	“It means I was looking forward to tasting other women’s cunt juices to compare with Mommy’s is what it means.”  Then she grinned winsomely and added, “Oh, well, there’ll be other opportunities.”
	Then she got out of bad — moving with the same unconscious grace of her mother —  and proceeded to undress me and carefully put away my clothes.
	Our lovemaking that night was even more passionate than usual.  In fact, Jean awakened me twice during the night for more, something she almost never did.  I began to think that Jean might be having second thoughts regarding marrying me.
	Anyway, I went back to the lounge each night.  On the third night Charley came up to me and said, “Jim (we were on a first-name basis by then), could you do me a favor?”
	“Sure, Charley.  What?”
	“Co... Cou... Could you vary the time you come in, do you think?”
	“Sure, Charley, but why?”
	“Just look around first,” he replied.
	I did and silently whistled.  “Good grief!” I exclaimed.  “It’s only Wednesday, but this looks like a Friday-night crowd.”
	“You got that right,” Charley agreed.  “A very good Friday night, at that.  But...”
	“But what?”
	“Well, Jim, you’re becoming too predictable.  What happened is that most of these chicks arrived within the last fifteen minutes.  You’ll make your selection and the rest will be out of here.  Do you think you could vary your arrival time a bit?”
	“For you, Charley, anything!” I said with a grin.
	He returned the grin and served me a Cardhu on the rocks.  (I had added something new to my liquor repertoire.  Scotch, being lower in proof than Beefeater’s, is easier to sip when one is hunting.  I even had an occasional Maker’s Mark.)
	Although I scored — or could have — with every girl I approached, I must have gone through seven or eight before I found one I could bed.
	This happened the following week.  As Charley had requested, I was varying my arrival time across a span of about two and a half hours.  Charley was utterly ecstatic.  Business was booming like never before.  It had actually gotten to the point where I started to have difficulty paying for anything.  He claimed that the establishment was minting money.  Nevertheless, I insisted on paying.  I guess what he did was to serve doubles — at least — at a single-drink price.
	Anyway, I met Merrilee Adams.  She caught my eye because she seemed so different from most of the girls in the place.  She had dark hair, lovely gray eyes and a slim figure.  Although she was with a group of girls, she didn’t appear to be part of it.  I made a move.
	“Hi!  I’m Jim Smith.  May I buy you a drink?”
	Her first reaction was endearing.  She looked around to see who I was talking to; apparently she figured I couldn’t have meant her.  When she realized I did mean her, she brightened with a lovely smile revealing beautiful teeth.  Almost as perfect as Jean’s, I thought.
	“I would love one, Jim.  Thank you very much,” she replied.
	Her voice was soft and very pleasant.  This one might be a winner, I thought.
	We moved to my customary booth — it wasn’t reserved, but might as well have been — and she was seated.  “What would you like?” I asked.
	Again, I was impressed by her answer.  “I suppose I’m expected to order one of those alcoholic milkshakes, but I really don’t like them.  Could I have whatever you’re drinking?  It doesn’t look like you go for them either.”
	I ordered her a Cardhu on the rocks and we talked.  She was very intelligent and an interesting person to talk to.  Better and better.  Then I asked if she would like to join me for dinner.
	“I would love it!” she exclaimed.  Then her face fell and she looked chagrined.  “That acceptance was much too fast, wasn’t it?”
	“I don’t think so,” I replied.  But then I studied her and realized that she was showing signs of weight loss — weight she certainly didn’t need to lose.  I said as much.
	“I’m running out of money,” she admitted.  “I came out here for a job.  I don’t have the job — I haven’t even had a real interview yet — and I’m running out of time because of the money.”
	“What do you do?” I asked.
	“I write software,” she replied, “but it’s a very special kind.  It needs a very special user interface and an extremely powerful and sophisticated operating system behind it.  There’s only one place I know that has both, and that’s where I want to work.”
	“What place is that?”
	“Could we talk about something more pleasant?” she asked.  “I really didn’t come here tonight to air my frustrations.”
	“What did you come here for?”
	She swallowed hard and then blurted, “To get laid... by you.”
	Wow!  I asked a simple question and got a simple answer.  But what an answer!
	We ordered dinner — or rather I ordered for both of us — and had steak.  Charley’s people did a very nice job with a plain Omaha sirloin.  Merrilee was very appreciative.
	Looking around the place I realized something else.  Not only was it loaded with girls, there was now a new bunch of guys, too.  And since I had apparently made my choice for the evening, the general hunting was in progress.  Charley really was minting money; I noticed that he had another bartender working and it looked like he might be going for a third.  Good for him.
	We finished dinner and I escorted her to my car.  She just looked at it and whistled softly.  “You really are loaded, aren’t you?”
	I just shrugged.
	As we drove to her apartment she said softly, “I hope I don’t disappoint you too much.  I’m really sort of small on top, and... and... I don’t have much experience.”  She swallowed hard and whispered, “Jim, whatever I do, please don’t laugh.”
	I decided right then that Merrilee would make some guy a truly wonderful wife.  But that guy wasn’t me.
	“I won’t laugh,” I replied softly.  Then I added, “There’s something else, though, isn’t there?  What is it?”
	“Jim Smith, you are unreal!” she exclaimed.  “Every guy I’ve ever known has had all the sensitivity of a dead clam, but you...  My God!”  Then she looked at me more closely and continued, “But you’re the farthest thing from one of those guys who’s ‘in touch with his feelings’ as it’s possible to get.  You’re all man, and it’s so incredibly wonderful.”
	She paused and then blurted, “I shaved my pussy...  Or most of it, anyway.”
	Although my eyes were on the road, I could feel her eyes boring into me while she waited for a response.
	“Sounds neat,” I replied quietly.  “And it sounds like you’d like to have your cunt eaten, too.”
	“You wouldn’t...  You couldn’t...  Could you?  I mean...”
	“Yes, I can and probably will.  I love eating cunt as a matter of fact.”
	“I’m in heaven and I haven’t even died,” she exclaimed.  She was quiet for a few moments and then added, “It’s never ever happened to me before.  A lezzie wanted to do me, but I really wasn’t ready for that scene.  But it’s just something that’s appealed to me.  But a guy like you...”
	“What about a guy like me?” I asked.
	“You’re really built, aren’t you?  Even wearing a jacket and tie, I got an occasional glimpse of bulging muscles.  You have them, don’t you?”
	“I work out every day,” I told her.  When I told her the weight loadings I used, she just rolled her eyes.
	“I work out once a week,” she replied, “and I think that’s good.  Your weights are about 10 times mine.  And you’re tanned, too, aren’t you?”
	“All over, as you’re about to learn anyway,” I replied.  “Even my cock is tanned.”
	“This is absolutely unbelievable!” she softly exclaimed.  “Every girl in that place has the hots for you.”  She giggled and said, “You know what?  If you announced that the only way you would take a girl is if you could try her out fucking on a tabletop right there, virtually every girl there would take you up on it.”
	She giggled again as she thought through her idea.  “Jim, what you need to do is tell the interested girls to strip.  Some would wash out on the spot when you learned that their figures disappeared with their clothing.  Then you try out cunts for size and just keep the one you want.”  Again she giggled and added, “It would be so much more efficient, too.”
	In Merrilee Adams it was clear I had a real winner.
	Arriving at Merrilee’s apartment, she opened the door and preceded me in.  It was small but spotless.  I could tell that the poor girl was beginning to shake with fear.  Fortunately, Charley had really been thinking.  Since we had been drinking Cardhu, he had a fresh bottle for me in a paper bag which he gave me when I paid the bill.  His eyes had widened when I gave him an extra $100 tip.
	“Do you have some ice?” I asked.
	She produced the ice and two glasses with a raised eyebrow.  “Here’s the ice,” she announced, “but what are we drinking?  Ice water?”
	“Nope.  Cardhu,” I replied, producing the bottle.
	I poured two drinks.  Merrilee took hers and headed for the bedroom.
	“Where are you going?” I asked.
	“The bed’s in here,” she replied.  “And it’s a lot more comfortable than being fucked on a hard floor.”
	“Come here,” I ordered, patting the sofa cushion beside me.
	She looked puzzled but did as I said.
	What followed was a classic seduction as taught to me by Jean.  First I kissed her lips which were warm, sweet and loving.  I nibbled on her earlobes, causing her body to shudder every time.  I carefully unzipped her dress after undoing the hook at the top (I was so proud to have remembered the hook), and peeled it off her arms.
	This exposed her Wonder Bra.  By this time she was moaning with passion and was, if anything, trying to hurry me along.  What she wasn’t doing was resisting in any way. 
	What I guess I haven’t mentioned yet is that Jean did ultimately buy a full collection of bras.  At least a full collection of bra closures, and the Wonder Bra was in the collection.  Jean in a Wonder Bra was funny as hell, by the way.  It’s supposed to make a small girl look big, but the designers never thought of a girl with the very firm tits that Jean has.  She couldn’t wait to get the damned thing off.
	Anyway, I removed Merrilee’s bra and worked on her tits and nipples.  As she had said, she really was small on top, but her tits were perfectly shaped.  They reminded me in size of Sandy’s.  But they were lovely, with tiny nipples and very small areolae.  By now she was crying in passion.  Get into her pants?  She got off the sofa to get rid of her dress and drop her bikini.
	“I don’t believe this,” she said as she slipped off her bikini.  “It’s sopping!”
	She was utterly stunned when I took it from her and raised it to my nose.  “My, what a sweet cunt!” I commented.
	Finally, I rose from the sofa and let her undress me.  She really looked cute as she did it, too.  Obviously, this was another first for her.  When she had me down to my jockey shorts, she could see the bulge of my sex.  Dropping to her knees, she swallowed hard and then lowered them.
	She gasped, “My God!  I just don’t believe this.”
	She rocked back so she was kneeling with her butt on her heels and just looked me up and down.  “Jim Smith, you are unreal!  You’re like one of those Greek gods, but with a glorious tan all over.  I could eat you up!”  Which she proceeded to try to do by taking the end of my cock in her mouth.  I’m certain that that, too, was a first.  She was about to go further, but that wasn’t on my agenda.
	Instead, I raised her up from her knees, then picked her up in my arms.  She realized how easily I could carry her weight.  While in my arms, she ran her fingers over my shoulders and upper arms and just sighed.  I took her head in a hand, moved her lips to mine and melted her with a kiss.
	“I’m in heaven,” she murmured.  Then she added, “Fuck me, Jim!  For God’s sake, just fuck me!”
	“In due time,” I replied softly as I carried her into the bedroom.
	Clearly, her optimism hadn’t extended to turning down the covers on the bed, but that was no problem.  Doing that with a woman in my arms was also included in Jean’s course of study.
	I pulled down the covers and laid Merrilee out in the middle of the bed.  Spreading her legs, I lifted them up to my shoulders, bringing her cunt within easy reach of my lips and proceeded to eat her.  As I expected, she was sweet and lovely, although there was some stubble around her vaginal lips she had missed with her razor.  Jean and the girls plucked out their hair so there was no stubble to leave.  Much more painful, but things like that never registered on either Jean or the girls.
	I quickly took her to one orgasm — that came as an utter shock to her — and another and another.  All the muscles in her lower body were in spasm; it was so intense her diaphragm stopped working so I stopped to let her catch her breath.  When she did, I repeated it, and then again, and again.
	Finally she gasped, “No more! God!  No more!  Just fuck me.  Please, darling Jim, just fuck this cunt!  And that’s all I am right now, too.  Just a cunt that’s desperate to have that huge cock of yours driving as deep into it as you can get.  Now please!” she screamed.
	I lowered her legs to bring her cunt down so it was lined up with my cock and then slowly entered her.  She was tight — very tight.  But at the same time, her cunt was flooded with her vaginal juices and her cum, so she was very wet.  I took a series of small strokes and eventually impaled her on my full length.
	What followed was the fucking of her life.  I played with her tits and bit on her nipples as I drove in and out.  I moved up and kissed her lips and my kiss was returned with all the passion the girl could give.  She reached one orgasm, then another, then a third.
	Soon she was at the stage similar to what had happened when I was eating her: she could no longer breathe.  I eased her down, let her recover, then did it again... and again... and again.
	When she was coherent — which wasn’t very often — Merrilee would just scream, “Pound my filthy cunt!  Harder!  Fuck me harder!  I want to feel that magnificent cock coming out of my mouth!”
	I did my best.  By this time, her vaginal walls had loosened sufficiently for me to be able easily to move in and out my full length.  Clearly, she wasn’t nearly as experienced as I had become, but she was able to find her cuntal muscles and rhythmically squeezed my cock as I pounded her.
	Finally, even my control failed.  I drove deep into her — all the way — and exploded.  My explosion triggered Merrilee’s ultimate orgasm.  With a wild scream, she lost consciousness as her cunt worked weakly trying to extract the last of my essence.
	It took a couple of minutes for me to recover, too.  When I did, I got off the bed, returned to the living room and dressed again.  Returning to the bedroom I found Merrilee just regaining consciousness.  Her thighs were still spread wide and our mixed syrup was leaking out of her cunt onto the bed.
	She made no move to cover herself or do anything else.  She just lay there with her arms and thighs both spread wide, but with the most lovely expression on her face I had ever seen.  “Thank you, dear Jim,” she whispered.  “In my wildest dreams I never thought of anything like that.”  She smiled weakly and added, “My cunt just won the lottery!  It could not have been any better.”
	I bent down and kissed her.  Our kiss was truly lovely; it was warm, loving and utterly passionless.  “Are you going to get up?” I asked as I moved away from her.
	“I’m just going to lie here and enjoy the incredible feeling of your cum flooding my insides.”  Then she looked at me and asked, “Who’s Jean, by the way?  That’s the name you screamed when you exploded in me.  And since phonetically, Jean isn’t very close to Merrilee...”
	I don’t know what I replied, but I left.
	When I returned home, I found the three girls in bed together.  Jean’s first words were, “You scored!”
	I admitted that I had.
	“How was it?” she asked.  “Darling, you’ve got to tell me all about it!”

	While I told her about Merrilee, Susie was working on my cock with her mouth, first to clean it and then to get it nice and hard again for her mother.  At the same time, Sandy was using her talented mouth on Jean’s cunt.
	“She’s not bad at all, Dad,” Susie announced.  “Her cunt is really pretty sweet; not nearly as sweet as Mom’s, but pretty sweet.”  She paused a moment and continued, “Of course, no other woman’s is, but she’s pretty good.”  Again she paused, looked off as if trying to identify something, then added, “There’s blood on your cock, too.  Where did that come from?”
	“Maybe she just finished her period,” I suggested.  Little did I know.
	My lovemaking with Jean that night was simply perfect.  It couldn’t have been any better.  Then I realized that — probably subconsciously — she was trying to prove that no other woman could love me the way she could.  Of course, that was an idea that required no proof at all as far as I was concerned.  It was a done deal, and had been for months.  She was the problem, not me.

		* * *
	I had had four more sexual encounters after that marvelous night with Merrilee Adams before I encountered Amy Grant.  I’m still trying to figure out what the attraction was.  I guess it’s because she seemed so young and sweet.  She is small — only about five feet one — and looks very young.  Thinking about it, I guess it’s because she has small teeth, very long straight blonde hair (although she was wearing it up in a very stylish way when I met her) and lovely blue eyes.
	Although she appeared to be only about 16, when I looked at Charley, he came over and said, “I know who you’re looking at and I know the way she looks, Jim, but she’s 24.  And I really am sure.  She’s been here a couple of times recently.  Not only did I really check over her ID, I noted the license number and checked with DMV.  It’s real and it’s her.  Honest.”
	Beyond that, though, she had a lovely pair of tits.
	When I approached her, I obtained a reaction similar to Merrilee’s: she looked around her to see whom I was going to select for the evening.  When she realized that she was the girl of the night, I received a truly wondrous and very warm smile.
	“Hi,” I began.  “I’m Jim Smith.  Could I buy you a drink?”
	The girl shivered with excitement.  Honest to God, she really did.  “I would love you to!” she exclaimed.
	We went over to my booth.  (Getting a little proprietary, aren’t we, Dawson?)  I asked, “What can I get you to drink?”
	Again her response was endearing.  “I... I really don’t know how to answer that,” she replied.  Then with the cutest grin I’ve ever seen (short of Susie and Sandy’s) she explained, “I only had my first drink a couple of weeks ago, and I still know nothing at all about drinking.”
	While I’ve been drinking a lot of Cardhu at Charley’s, I had an idea.  “How about a bottle of champagne?” I asked.  “Do you like it?”
	“Jim, are you planning on taking me to bed tonight?” she asked.
	I was more than a bit startled at her forthrightness.  “Well, it’s pretty early in the evening to be thinking of that,” I replied, “but if things work out...”
	This time her eyes were dancing with excitement when she responded, “Then I would love it!  But... I have to tell you right now, I’ve never had even a sip of it.  All I know about champagne is that it’s often served at weddings — but not where I’m from.”
	“Oh?”
	“No,” she explained.  “I’m from downstate — you know, from the Bible Belt — a tiny town called Pana.  I’m certain you’ve never heard of it.  The only things they serve at weddings are water and grape juice.”
	“Water?” I asked skeptically.  “Are you serious?”
	With a big grin she replied, “I sure am!  Folks in my home town figure that if God wanted us to drink wine — or champagne — at a wedding, Jesus would do His marriage feast at Cana thing for us.”
	I knew that Charley had stocked some Dom Pérignon for me.  Actually, that’s a very interesting item.  It’s from Moët et Chandon and is considered one of the world’s finest champagnes.  However, primarily due to the very extensive hand care required for years in the process of making it, its production is very limited.  As a result, it’s essentially “rationed”.  An establishment or liquor store is only allowed to buy Dom Pérignon in very small proportion to the amount of other Moët champagnes it purchases.  Well, it seems that the booming business triggered by Jim Smith resulted in a substantial sale of Moët champagnes so Charley qualified to buy a case.  (I bought half of it from him.)
	Anyway, I called for a bottle of Dom Pérignon and a few moments later Charley personally brought it over in an iced wine cooler along with a pair of champagne flutes.  (This was another Jim Smith contribution; when we had talked about DP, I told him that the more customary shallow champagne glasses were horrors when serving a fine champagne.)  He popped the cork and poured a little for me to taste.  The fact is, we had both done very well indeed.  The bottle was from a star year — such a year occurs about once in five years or so — and it signifies a particularly good champagne.  And this was very good indeed.
	I nodded and Charley poured a flute for Amy, then filled mine.  He ignored my hand with a $50 bill in it as he returned to the bar.  (Later I told him that I could get him blacklisted by the bartenders’ union if the word ever got out that he walked away from a tip.)
	Amy was enthralled watching the tiny bubbles rise from the bottom of the glass.  When I raised mine to salute her, she smiled as I gently clinked our glasses across the table.  Then she had a tiny sip.  I really loved it!  This girl was turning into a small, blonde Merrilee Adams with big tits.  But she has the same openness and innocence that Merrilee does.
	“This is wonderful!” she gushed.  “Good grief, I never knew anything could be this good.”  Then she thought for a moment and added, “But that bottle... it doesn’t look like the champagne bottles I’ve seen in the stores...”
	“The bottle is quite distinctive.  It’s a function of the very dark-green glass that makes it appear almost opaque — it’s not — and the label that’s a small green-gold shield.  In combination, the effect is very distinctive.”
	I winked at her and said, “Now that we’ve decided you like the champagne, it might be nice if I knew your name.  And since you’ve already asked if I’m going to take you to bed tonight...”
	She put down her glass and extended her small hand across the table.  “Hi, Jim Smith.  I’m Amy Grant, and I can’t tell you how happy I am to meet you.”  Again, there was that lovely innocence.  “I was hoping against hope that you would choose me tonight, but I really didn’t think you would.  There are so many super-sophisticated, beautiful women here this evening, I didn’t think I had a chance.”
	She paused, looked me straight in the eye and asked, “Why did you choose me?”
	Deciding to tease her a little with an eyebrow raised I replied, “You’re sure you want to know?”
	I guess my comment took her aback a bit.  But then she firmly nodded her head and declared, “Yes, damn it!  I really do want to know.”  At that she reddened and added, “Good grief!  What I said...  What will you think of a girl who swears?”
	“Okay, Amy,” I replied with a warm smile (at least I hope it came across as being warm), “it’s because you’re not one of those super-sophisticated women.”  I paused and then continued, “The ones I’ve talked to have either been such airheads I could almost hear the air whistling through their ears, or else they were impossibly self-centered.
	“You, on the other hand, are beautiful yet you don’t appear to be stuck on yourself.  Quite honestly, I was watching you for awhile and was getting increasingly interested in you.  But the clincher came when I came over to you and said hello.  Your first reaction was to look around to see whom I was addressing.  You’re so un-stuck on yourself, you just didn’t think I could be addressing you.  Am I correct?”
	With a wry little grin she replied, “You’re right-er than you could possibly know.  I’ve only been here a couple of times before, and the women almost ran me out of the place.  ‘Go home, little girl!  This is for women, not little kids.’”  Then she shook her head and chuckled, “But you’re right, Jim, about the airheads.  And you really can hear the air whistling through their ears if you’re standing close enough.”
	“All right, Amy Grant,” I said with a smile, “how about if you come over to my side of the booth?  I would come around to yours, but with the high booth back it’s more private on this side of the table.”
	With a lovely smile, she slid gracefully out of the booth — not the easiest thing to do, I might add — and slid in on my side.  I was standing to let her in.
	“This is so much nicer,” she said.  “It’s like a real date.”  She paused, looked pensive for a moment and then mused, “For that matter, what does one call this?  It’s not really a date; you didn’t even know my name until a few moments ago.  It could be a pick-up, but that’s not really right either.”
	Looking me right in the eye she said, “You do know, Jim, that you could save yourself a lot of time and trouble, don’t you?”
	“Oh?  How?”
	“Oh... by just announcing that any girl that wanted to sleep with you tonight has to take off all of her clothing immediately,” she replied insouciantly.  “And you know what else?  In 90 seconds or less, every woman in the place would be naked.  And,” she added, “that particularly includes women here with dates or husbands!”
	Things were really getting thick!  But at the same time her comment reminded me of what Merrilee had said; it was almost the same thing.  That, in turn, caused me to wonder what had happened to Merrilee — or, for that matter, the other girls I had fucked.  Maybe Merrilee finally ran out of money, I mentally concluded.  But what about the four others?  None of them had shown up at Charley’s since we were together.  Yet all had said they had had a marvelous experience and wanted to repeat it as soon as possible.  Thinking about it, I guess I was just as glad Merrilee hadn’t returned.  Our relationship certainly was going nowhere, and she was much too nice a person to be led on and ultimately hurt.
	We continued to sip our champagne and I asked Amy what she would like for dinner.  Again I was somewhat taken aback by her response.
	Instead of answering immediately, she focused on the bubbles rising from her refilled champagne glass.  Finally, after reaching some sort of personal conclusion she replied, “Look, Jim, let me give you some of the facts of life — my life.  I told you I’m a country  girl from the Bible Belt.  But from your speech and behavior, I don’t think you’re from around here originally, are you?”
	“No, I’m not,” I answered without further elaboration.
	“Well it’s likely then that you have no idea of the level of provincialism and insularity you’re dealing with.  Do you want to know what a big date is for me?  And I’m not going to tease you, I promise.”
	“What is a big date for you, Amy?”
	“A Big Mac and a movie... and if we’re being really risqué, it might even be rated PG-13... or whatever the current rating is.  Honest.  That’s it.  That’s the extent of my social knowledge.”
	“But what about college?  And for that matter, what do you do?”
	“College?  A tiny church-related school near home: Greenville College.”  Then she looked at me with her eyes somewhat masked and said softly, “I’m a teacher.”  Then she just looked at me and I could have sworn I saw tears forming at the corners of her eyes.
	“Okay, you’re a teacher.  But from your appearance and the way you said it, it looks like you expect me to walk out on you.  Why?”
	“Because it’s part of what I’ve been getting from the bitches in residence here...  Oops!  I did it again!”  Her lovely blue eyes were wide as she added, “My language is really turning you off, isn’t it?”
	“Language?” I repeated.  (Notice, please, I didn’t say “Huh?”  A definite improvement.)
	“Bitches” she whispered, obviously embarrassed at her use of the word.
	“Amy, I’ll tell you something right now.  First of all, a bitch is a female dog; it’s not an obscenity.  Furthermore, I love a girl who really lets it out.  Happy?”
	“Okay,” she responded with a quirky grin.  “The fact is, though, that most of these women are career gals, including lawyers, accountants, MIS people...  All that good stuff.  To them I’m ‘just a teacher — yuck’.”
	“What do you teach?” I asked.  “And where?”
	“I teach English at Deerfield High School,” Amy replied.  “I teach 9th and 10th grade courses.”
	“How did you happen to get to Deerfield from downstate?” I asked.
	“It was sort of funny, really.  There are two reasons,” she replied with a little grin.  “First of all, the money is very good.  But second, it’s the only job offer I received.  Everyone wants to hire education majors; I majored in English.”
	“How did you get the job, then?”
	“I had always thought there was something strange about it.  And that was finally confirmed just a few weeks ago on the last day of the teachers’ school year.  Classes were already over for the year — no students — and we were cleaning up our classrooms.  It was about 10:30 when the former superintendent who had hired me showed up.  He walked in and told me how proud he was of what I had accomplished in the two years I’ve been there.  I should have guessed it, because he had hired me just before he retired.  Then he admitted that I was his human land mine waiting to explode under the feet of his successor.  He said that for some years he felt that high school teachers should have majored in the subject area they’re going to teach, but that’s a long way from the conventional wisdom in education today.”
	“Indeed?” I responded.  This was news to me; I was getting an education in education.
	“It’s true,” Amy continued.  “For example, a colleague of mine is teaching English on the basis of only one English course beyond high school!  She has her master’s degree in education and is well on her way to her D.Ed.  She’s one of the ones in the department who’s constantly criticizing me because I insist on correct grammar, spelling and punctuation.  She claims it inhibits the students’ creativity.”
	“And what do you think?” I asked.
	“I think that first, she’s too lazy to correct her students’ written work; the other is just an excuse.  Second — having seen some of her own written work — I don’t think she knows how to construct a sentence, spell or punctuate.”
	Amy smiled again, much more warmly this time, and continued, “Shortly before classes ended, I received the warmest compliment a teacher could possibly get...”
	“And what’s that?” I interrupted.
	“One of my students from the previous year stopped by to see me,” Amy said.  “She told me that she was the best-prepared student in her class, and it was all due to me.  Jim, I really can’t tell you how good that made me feel.”
	Raising my champagne glass I declared, “I salute you, Amy Grant.  The fact of the matter is that I taught at the college level for a while, so I do know how you feel.  And I agree: that is the nicest compliment a teacher can receive.”  I took a sip of my champagne after toasting her and then asked, “So how do you stand with the administration now?”
	“I guess that’s sort of funny, too.  I know they would love to get rid of me, but...” Amy’s voice tailed off.
	“But what?” I persisted.
	“The ‘but’ is that the parents are all demanding that their kids be assigned to my sections.  Furthermore, there’s almost an internecine battle among the parents of 9th grade kids.  The parents of the kids I had last year want them in my classes in the 10th grade.  The other parents argue that they’ve already had a turn with me and it’s only fair to give their kids a chance.”
	Then I did something I had been thinking about, and her comment presented the perfect opportunity.  I reached out, pulled her close and kissed her.  She was startled for a moment, but when she felt my tongue probing at her lips, opened her mouth to allow my tongue entrance.  When my tongue met hers, I could feel her whole body shudder.
	It was a lovely kiss — sweet and warm and loving.  But — no surprise — no electricity or bells; at least there were none on my side.  As I held her I could feel her slowly moving her tits against my chest.  That really did feel good.  Although hers were not nearly as firm as Jean’s, they were significantly larger.
	Finally our lips parted, but Amy just cuddled against my chest and sighed.  “That was so good, Jim,” she whispered.  With her head still down so I couldn’t see her face she asked, “Are you going to bed me tonight?  Please?  I really hope you will.”
	Then she eased away to be able to look me in the eye and added, “I can’t believe I actually said that!  Can you believe it?  A girl asking a guy if he’ll bed her?  What can you possibly think I am?”
	“A beautiful woman... a wonderful teacher, and a marvelous human being.  And that’s just a start.”  Then I grinned and added, “We were talking about dinner and got off the subject a little.  The last point I remember your making about food was that gourmet dining was a Big Mac.  Since this isn’t McDonald’s, what would you like?”
	“James Smith,” she replied with her eyes dancing, “I’m an English teacher; one of my primary responsibilities is to teach my students to communicate effectively.  Clearly, I’m not doing a very good job communicating with you.  What I’ve been trying to tell you is that, aside from a Big Mac and store-bought bread, if we didn’t grow it on our farm, we didn’t have it.  Now is that clear enough?”  Then she grinned and added, “I have no known allergies, and I’ll eat anything.  So you order.”
	“How about seafood?” I asked.
	“Seafood?” she responded, pretending to be puzzled.  “Oh!  You mean channel catfish, yellow perch...  That sort of thing?”
	“Well...” I replied with a grin while stretching out the word, “I was thinking of lobster.  You know...  It’s sort of an overgrown crawfish.”
	Amy licked her lovely lips and looked so cute when she did.  “I’ve heard about them,” she said, “but that’s the extent of it.”
	“I’m sorry, Amy, but Charley doesn’t carry Maine lobster.  He does have very good lobster tails, though.”  I paused and then asked, “Which would you prefer?  Two lobster tails or surf & turf?”
	“What’s surf & turf?” she asked.
	“It’s a lobster tail served with either a boneless sirloin or a filet mignon; your choice.”
	She just licked her lips.  “You choose.”
	“Okay,” I responded.  “I guess we’ll have two lobster tails.  It will work better with the champagne, anyway.”
	So that’s exactly what we did.
	While we were waiting for our dinner — I ordered jumbo shrimp cocktails to begin — Amy excused herself to go to the ladies room.  When she returned, she was almost dancing with glee.
	“Jim Smith, this is absolutely the very best day of my entire life!  And by the way,” she interjected with her eyes wide but sparkling with excitement, “You smeared my lipstick, you nasty man!  And to make it worse, one of the principal bitches had to point it out to me, too.  It was just so embarrassing!”
	With her eyes dancing and being scarcely able to control her glee, I really had a tough time feeling sorry for her “embarrassment”.
	“It was awful!” she continued.  “This girl — Phoebe something-or-other — pointed out that my lipstick was smeared and asked me how that had happened.”  With her eyes now as big as saucers she continued, “I had to tell the truth, Jim, as embarrassing as it was.  I told her, ‘I guess that was when Jim held me in his arms and kissed me.’
	“‘How was it?’ she asked.  ‘Oh... nothing too special,’ I replied.  ‘Although I did feel faint, I didn’t even lose consciousness.  But in fairness to Jim, he was a long way from letting it all out, either.  But then to feel his arms around me crushing my breasts to his chest...  You really would not believe the muscles on that guy!  His clothes are so beautifully tailored, they conceal his body pretty well, but Jim Smith has muscles on his muscles!  It was simply heavenly!  And the night has scarcely begun.’
	“Did I overdo it, Jim?” she asked with her eyes gleaming.  “Of course I did scuttle out of there in a big hurry.  If I had stayed for a few more minutes, the girls might not have let me out alive.”
	“Golly, I don’t know...” I replied.  Then I took her in my arms and kissed her again.  The fact was, she had been right.  I really had been holding back on my power.  This time I really did let it out.
	Amy’s mouth was incredibly soft and sweet.  When our tongues met again, I kissed her with all my power and felt her go limp in my arms.  I just held her close smelling the lovely fragrance of her body.  I could feel her reviving, but she made no move to separate so I just held her.
	Then I heard her voice muffled by my chest as she said, “Nope.  I sure didn’t overdo it.”  She moved away to be able to see my face and said with a wonderfully impish grin, “Will you excuse me again, Jim?  I’ve got to go back to the ladies room and correct the record.  When you do open up with your kisses, you put me out like a light.”
	I made a move to get up but Amy immediately stopped me.  “Are you absolutely nuts?” she asked.  “Or do you think I am?  Or maybe you think I have a fully-developed death wish?  Because if I said to those chicks what I just said to you, I would become instantly dead.  And you haven’t bedded me yet, either.”
	“No, I haven’t,” I replied.  Then, as much to see her reaction as anything else I added, “The fact is, Amy Grant, I don’t want to bed you, I want to fuck you.  Is that what you want?”
	When she first heard the word, she went as red as a beet.  Her eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfect “O” while her body trembled.  Clearly, hearing the word had really shaken her up.  She just sat there stunned motionless.  But then I could see her brain start to work, overcoming her shock.  It was so very cute and so very human.  Her mouth moved and finally she was able slowly to stammer, “You... want to... f-f-fuck... me.”
	She looked around and even looked upward.  Then she said softly, “Good grief!  I actually said the word — sort of — and I’m still here.  The ground didn’t open and swallow me up.”  Then she looked deeply into my eyes and said, “You did say you like your women to be... vocal?”
	“Yes,” I agreed with my face impassive.
	“Jim Smith, I want you to fuck me tonight.  I want... I want... I want you to fuck my ass off!” she whispered in a very decisive tone of voice.  Then her face fell and she added, “Oh, dear...”
	“Now what’s the trouble?” I asked.  “But before you answer that question, I’ll answer yours.  James Smith accepts with pleasure Amy Grant’s cordial invitation to fuck her ass off.”
	At that Amy grinned, sighed and pulled my head down to kiss me.  I don’t know how experienced Amy was before that night...  Stop!  I take it back.  I do know how experienced she was; her experience was next to nothing.  But I’ll say something else about her: she was a very fast learner.  Her lips met mine and she moved against them softly.  Her lips are so beautifully kissable.  Then her tongue probed my mouth for the first time; when it met mine, she shivered and moaned.  At the same time she was trying to crush her luscious tits against my chest.  It was shaping up to be a very interesting evening.
	When we eased apart I repeated, “Now what’s the trouble?  What did that ‘oh, dear’ mean?”
	Amy has a marvelously winsome grin which she displayed right then.  Then she replied, “You’re going to think I’m a terrible housekeeper.  I didn’t even make my bed!”
	“I can live with that,” I replied with a smile, “but from the way you said it, leaving it unmade was not accidental.  Was it?”
	This time I received her warmest, loveliest smile full force.  “No, it wasn’t an accident, Jim.  It was deliberate.  Before, when I was coming over here, I really had the apartment spotless with fresh sheets on the bed...  It was even turned down on both sides,” she said, blushing again.
	“But then I decided that maybe I was jinxing myself with all of my advance preparations for something that was very improbable of occurrence in the first place.  So anyway, I messed it up again.  And it worked.”
	“How many times have you come here?” I asked, starting on my shrimp cocktail.
	Amy looked at her dish for the first time and said, “I’ve never had shrimp cocktail before, but I’ve seen other people with it.  This looks different.  I’ve always seen it with a red sauce; this is more a creamy yellow.  Why?”
	“Because what you’ve seen has been the standard cocktail sauce.  It’s made with a ketchup or chili sauce base and often has horse radish added.  This is remoulade sauce; it has mustard in it.  Since shrimp are really pretty tasteless, this adds a piquancy that I particularly like.  Do you?”
	She had a small bite and her face lighted up.  “It’s marvelous!”
	Then she looked at my and said, “I think you asked how many times I’ve been here.  Tonight is the third.”
	“What happened the other two times?”
	“The short answer is nothing.  The first time, I think it must have taken at least fifteen minutes for me to persuade the bartender to sell me a drink.  I guess that was a night you didn’t come in, and from my point of view it was a good thing.  If you had been here when I was trying to convince the bartender I was old enough to drink, I would have died on the spot from embarrassment.  The second time, either I was late, or you were early; in any event, you had already selected your victim for the evening.”
	“Victim?” I asked with an eyebrow raised.
	“Of course!” she replied with her eyes gleaming.  “Didn’t you know?  We’re all volunteers, offering our bodies up to destruction for your amusement.  You did know that, didn’t you?”  (That line took on great significance later.)
	Her expression changed dramatically.  Gone was the humor; in its place was... something else.  I really didn’t know what.  Then she said, “I can’t tell you how wonderful it feels knowing you’re going to fuck me tonight, Jim.  And when you’re in me, I guess you would like me to scream, ‘Fuck me!’, wouldn’t you?”
	The remains of the shrimp remoulade disappeared to be replaced with our lobster tails.
	“While we’re on the subject of vocabulary — as an English teacher, it’s very important to me — I guess I need to add a few words to it.”  Cradling her right breast in her hand she asked, “What’s this?”
	“You tell me,” I replied.  “What is it?”
	“It’s a breast... or a mammary gland...”  She paused, and I could see her screwing up her courage to continue, “...or a tit, a boob...  What do you like, Jim?”  That was probably the first time in her life she had ever used those terms and possibly the first time she ever thought them.
	“Well...” I replied, stretching out the word, “that depends.  I could feel them being crushed against my chest...”  Then I reached out.  At the time, she was sitting angled toward me in the booth.  I took her left tit in my hand and squeezed.
	Amy’s first reaction was to raise her hand in protest, but she stopped herself after her first tiny motion.  Her eyes widened, but then she relaxed and sighed.  “That feels so good, Jim Smith.  Squeeze it, please?  Please squeeze my tit again?”  Again her eyes widened as she made the request for what I’m certain was the first time in her life.
	My hand is rather large, but her breast was far more than a handful.  I squeezed again, and then again, harder.  All that did was to provoke a soft moan of pleasure.  “You have lovely boobs, Amy.”
	She was really turned on.  Then she moved her hand to her crotch and asked, “And this?”
	“We’ll save that for later,” I replied.  “In the meantime, your lobster is getting cool.  And there are few things worse than lukewarm lobster!”
	The dinner was very good indeed, surprisingly so.  We finished with coffee and cognac.  Since cognac is distilled champagne, I didn’t think there would be a conflict and there was none.  Charley was really doing it up brown.  The cognac served was Rémy Martin’s Louis XIII served from its fleur-de-lis shaped bottle blown by Baccarat.  One tends not to throw this bottle out when it’s empty.  It’s the world’s finest, except for the special house reserve that’s never sold.
	She had a sip and her eyes widened.  “It’s so smooth...!  And so warming!  It’s simply lovely.”
	Then she again turned in the booth and asked, “Could we go to my place now and get started with my fucking?”
	As we were heading out, I have to give it to Charley.  When I paid him, he presented me with another bottle of Dom Pérignon along with two flutes.  He even had a cushioned and insulated container to keep the champagne cold and protect the flutes from breakage.
	 When we got to the door, Amy suddenly stopped and said, “I’m sorry, Jim.  Please go ahead and get your car.  I need to see Charley about something.”
	“Is there anything I can do?”
	“No... thanks.  Please just go on ahead.  I’ll just be a moment.  I promise.”
	When I brought the car up to the curb, Amy was just coming out of the bar.  I quickly climbed out, went around the car, and opened the door for Amy.
	Instead of getting in, though, she just stood there admiring it.  Then she said softly — almost reverently, “This is a BMW, isn’t it?  And it’s a very special one, too.”
	“It’s a car, Amy,” I replied.  “It starts, it runs, and it gets me where I want to go.”
	I motioned for her to get in the car.  Instead, she opened her purse, pulled out what appeared to be a large bar towel — that’s why she’d stopped to see Charlie — and spread it on the passenger’s seat.  To my obvious puzzlement, she said, “In case you haven’t noticed, Jim, you’ve gotten me hot tonight... and very wet.  So wet that I soaked my panties with your last kiss...  I don’t want to stain the leather.”
	As she entered the car, I noticed that she was blushing furiously.  Closing her door, I went around to my side and got behind the wheel.  Turning to Amy, I took her in my arms and kissed her.  The instant I did, she took the offensive and began again to probe my mouth with her tongue.  While still locked in our kiss, I reached out and slid my hand under her skirt and began to caress her upper thigh.
	At my first touch, Amy’s first reaction was to bring her thighs together, but that only lasted for an instant.  Instead, she turned toward me in her seat and spread her thighs as far apart as she could, inviting my tactile inspection.
	With my hand on her thigh, I moved my lips away from hers and went back to her dainty ear.  Gently I nibbled on it provoking lovely shudders with every bite.  Then I was really taken by surprise.  With her hand on her skirt, Amy took mine that was under it and moved it up to her crotch.  She hadn’t been kidding.  Her skirt was wet and her panties were soaked.
	“Jim,” she gasped, “get me home!  Right now!  Otherwise I’ll have you fucking me right here in the parking lot!”  She paused for an instant and added, “Good grief!  It’s never been like this!  Nothing even close!”
	I had to agree with her position.  I was too old — and had been spoiled too much by Jean — to care for the gyrations necessary to take her in the car.  I released her, shifted the transmission into second (don’t ask; the M-5 has a six-speed manual, and with over 390 horsepower, you don’t really need to bother with first), released the hand brake, and asked, “Where do I want to go?  Where do you live?”
	“I live in a mother-in-law apartment here in Northbrook,” she replied.  “And it’s on a large lot backing up to the woods beside the Des Plaines River.  The owners have me sort of house-sitting this summer while they spend the time away from this infernal heat up in the Northern Peninsula.”  She grinned at me (although her grin was really sort of tremulous) and said, “Does that sound okay?  I’ll just give you directions.”
	Following her directions to a very lovely part of town, I drove up a driveway to a garage set behind and away from the house.  As she had indicated, the house was dark and there was only one light on to illuminate the outside stairway leading to Amy’s apartment above the garage.
	I got my beverage container and followed her up the stairs.  In a moment she had the door open and the air conditioner turned on.  It was a large window-type unit mounted in a sleeve through the wall.  It came to life and with its power the cooling air was immediately apparent.
	Her apartment was small but quite comfortable.  We sat down on her sofa and I put my container on the coffee table sitting in front of it.  In moments I undid the wire and gently eased out the champagne cork.  It came with its customary pop.
	Pouring the two flutes, I raised mine to her and toasted, “To us, and to a lovely evening!”
	“To the finest evening I’ve ever spent in my life!” Amy responded fervently.  “And to even more marvelous things to come.”  She paused for a moment and then added, “Jim Smith, I only hope that I’m good enough in bed for you.”
	We sipped our champagne and then went back to kissing.  This was going to be strictly by the Jean Peters book.
	I nibbled on her ear and then began to unbutton her blouse.  Amy’s first reaction — stopped as soon as it began — was to take my hand away.  Then, with me unbuttoning from the top, she pulled her blouse out from her skirt and began to unbutton from the bottom.  (This was definitely not in Jean’s book!)  With her blouse opened, she didn’t wait for me.  She sat forward on the sofa and shrugged it off; before I could move, she had unhooked her bra and dropped it beside her blouse.
	Then she reached for me.  Instead I moved to her now-unveiled tits.  They were luscious!  They were full and perfectly shaped with small nipples and areolae.  Simply lovely!  I took a nipple in my mouth while I caressed the other breast and teased its nipple.  Amy began to gasp.  What she did not do, though, was to make any move to get me to stop or even slow down.
	I began to work on her entire upper body, kissing her lips, her eyes, her ears, nibbling on her ears; kissing her breasts and sucking on her nipples.
	It took only a small nip on one of her nipples to trigger her first orgasm.  Her eyes widened and she squeaked in surprise.  I did it to the other and got the same reaction.  Clearly, this girl was very inexperienced, but very willing to learn.
	Good grief!  She was getting ahead of me!  While I was working on her upper body, Amy had unhooked her skirt, then lifted her body from the sofa to slide it down her legs.  Now all she was wearing was her thong.  At that point she stopped... and waited.
	Jean had demonstrated all sorts of women’s underthings, including thongs, but none of them had been like this.  It sort of distracted me from Amy’s beautiful ass cheeks.  It was basically black, but with a label, “No Tell Motel,” emblazoned on what little fabric there was.
	“Turn off all the lights, please, Jim?” she asked.
	This was truly something new in my experience, but I did what she asked.  Turning back toward her I saw the word “Vacancy” in luminescent ink on her thong.  At the same time, though, even though the room was dim, it wasn’t completely dark.  Still being in the summer and not very late, it was still twilight so enough light came into the room from the windows that I could see her lips quivering.  Clearly, Amy had screwed up every bit of courage she had to do what she had done.  And she wasn’t at all sure I even liked it.
	“Vacancy?” I asked.  To her nod, I answered, “Amy, that’s an adorable thong, but what is it?”
	“It’s called ‘No-Tell Motel.’  I’m supposed to like wearing it as much as getting out of it,” she replied with her voice quavering.  “Do you like it?”
	“It’s adorable, but Amy, when a guy gets this far with you, he doesn’t need that sort of encouragement.”
	This provoked a lovely giggle on her part.  “Would you turn the lights back on and then take it off me, please?” she asked.  Again there was that quaver in her voice; I could tell she was close to tears.  But why?  I mused that maybe she had never been this far with a stranger in her life before.  (But I didn’t fully appreciate the significance of those thoughts.)
	I turned on a light.  It flashed on for a moment and then went out — along with the air conditioner.
	“Oops!  It looks like I just blew a breaker.  Where’s the breaker box, Amy?” I asked.  “I’ll reset it.”
	The poor girl was close to tears at that instant.  “There is no breaker box,” she responded.  “There are just glass fuses, and I don’t have any spares!” she wailed.
	I just shook my head and began to open a few windows.  It was still hot as hell, but it beat suffocation.  Although there were no lights in her living room, I could see that a light was still on in the bedroom; obviously it was on another circuit.  Between the natural twilight and the light spilling into the room from the bedroom, I had more than enough light for my purposes.
	Kneeling between her legs, I reached up and felt her thong.  It was soaking wet.  Gently I began to slide it down her legs, but first I had to peel it away from her cunt; it was so wet it was sticking to her.  Again, even in the dim light I could see Amy’s eyes flare, but all she did was to raise her bottom from the sofa to ease my task.
	I slid the fabric down her lovely legs baring her pussy.  To my surprise it had been shaved.
	With her lips quivering, Amy asked softly, “Do you like it?  I did it today for the very first time in my life.”
	“Amy Grant, you have a beautiful cunt,” I replied softly.  “And it’s so edible, too.”
	With that, I moved closer to her while still on my knees and put her legs over my shoulders.  I began to kiss her all over — her inner thighs, her labia, her vagina.  I nibbled on her lips and then flicked her now-engorged clit with my tongue triggering another orgasm.  I quickly learned that she was beautifully — sinfully? — sensitive in the entire region.  Working all over, I found I could — and did — trigger her orgasms with increasing frequency until they became virtually continuous.  She was lovely and now becoming very wet all over from her sweat in the hot apartment.  The added slickness of her body was wonderful.
	I locked my lips against her vagina and began to probe as deep as I could reach with my tongue.  Her syrup was as sweet as sugar.
	Finally, Amy couldn’t take it any more.  “For gosh sakes, Jim, fuck me!  That’s what you’re here for, so do it!  Fuck me, Jim Smith, and do it right now!” she demanded.
	In final preparation before carrying her to her bed, I slipped a finger into her cunt.  It was remarkably tight, but then I received a real shock: I encountered a resistance I had never felt before.  My God! I thought.  This girl is a virgin!
	“I’m out of here, Amy,” I said softly.  “I certainly knew that you were inexperienced, but I didn’t realize you’re still virgin.  That’s something I just won’t do.”  As I was speaking, I started to gather my clothes.  The only things I had to pick up, though, were my tie and jacket.  Aside from shedding them, I was still fully dressed.
	“No!” she screamed.  And I mean screamed!  At the top of her lungs.  “Not again!  Please, God, don’t let it happen to me again!”  Then to me she said while trying desperately to control her emotions, “Please, Jim!  Don’t leave me!  You just can’t!”  With that she broke into hopeless-sounding tears and reached out for me.
	“What’s wrong, Amy?” I asked softly.  “Do you want to tell me about it?”
	She did, but at the same time began clawing at my clothes.  Perhaps she wanted to see what I have or perhaps it was a way to try to keep me from walking out on her.  Clearly, this part of the evening was not going according to plan.  At any rate, she did manage to get my shirt off (I found out later three buttons were yanked off in the process) and found I wasn’t wearing a T-shirt.
	What followed was funny, I guess.  And I’ll have to leave it to you, dear reader, to sort things out for yourself.  Suffice it to say Amy was simultaneously commenting on my body while stripping off my clothing and trying to tell me about herself.
	“You’re utterly gorgeous!” she breathed.  “Good grief!  You’ve got muscles on your muscles!  And I got a ‘Dear Joan’ letter a few weeks ago from the guy — the only guy — I’ve been dating since high school, Fred.  You’d better take off your pants yourself; that suit is much too nice to be ruined.  I’ve been saving myself for Fred, but when he told me where to head in I decided I was tired of being a virginal goody two-shoes.  Then I learned about this neat store and ordered the No Tell Motel thong.
	I eased out of my trousers and slid my shorts off my legs.
	“Oh, golly!” Amy screamed.  “It’s... it’s... it’s huge!”  Looking up at me with her eyes wide — she was kneeling on the sofa at the time — “Are all men as big as you?”  Then she slowly shook her head and said softly, “I certainly don’t think so...  In fact, I know so!  I’ve never seen Fred, but he was hot and bothered a few times and I don’t think he’s a quarter of your size.”  With her eyes wide she asked, “May... I touch it?”
	“Touch away,” I replied softly.  “But, Amy, there’s still the matter of you’re being a virgin...”
	“And what’s so darned wrong with being a virgin?” she demanded.  “At least you can be confident I’m not carrying any sexually transmitted diseases.”
	“But...” I stuttered.
	“But nothing!” she interrupted.  “I’m going to lose it fast,” she continued while licking her lips, “and there’s absolutely no one I would rather lose it to than you.  Now are you happy?  And will you carry me to bed?”
	Before I could move, though, she reached out and took my cock in her hands.  I guess I must be pretty big because she couldn’t get one of her hands completely around it; it took both.  She made happy noises deep in her body as she very gently stroked my erect penis to an even greater erection.  Then she used both hands to gently cradle my balls.
	“This is where all your sperm is, isn’t it?” she asked wide-eyed.
	“That’s what they say,” I replied.
	“Oh, dear!  You’re so beautifully full!  Can you empty it all inside me?  Please?”
	I guess things had gone on long enough.  I knelt on the floor before her and took her in my arms.  When I moved to kiss her, Amy broke into the most wondrous smile I’ve seen in years.  Then she closed the distance and practiced her new-found kissing skills.  While her tongue probed mine, I reached down between her thighs.  That’s all it took.  In an instant she had spread her thighs as far apart as she could and even raised herself up on her knees a bit to open her pussy to me.
	Again I penetrated her with a finger, then two and finally three.  In the meantime her tongue had been dancing with mine, but when she felt my three fingers stretching her, she broke the kiss and said, “Fuck me, Jim!  Fuck my cunt with your fingers!  Stretch it for your glorious penis...”
	She looked up at me with a question in her eyes.
	“It’s often referred to as a cock when it’s as hard as it is now,” I replied to her unspoken question.
	“Stretch my pussy for your lovely cock,” she exclaimed.
	I did.  Finding her vagina flooded with her juices — they were dripping down my hand — I decided she was warmed up enough.  I reached out and easily lifted her off the sofa and into my arms.  It required only a few steps to get her on her back on her bed after first pulling all the bedclothes off the top.
	Gently I laid her on her back, then spread her legs and brought her knees up so far they were almost next to her head.  This brought her pussy in line with my cock.  I started to ease in.  She was tight, much tighter than even Sandy, but she wanted me inside her so much.
	“What can I do to help?” she asked.
	“If you can twist on my cock it might make things easier for you...”
	“I don’t want it easy, darn it!” she exclaimed.  “I want it fast and hard.  Now will you please do what you said you’d do?  Fuck my ass off!”
	The angle was such that I was driving almost straight down into her so that’s what I did.  I felt a resistance and then there was a ripping sensation and I was through.
	“Argh!” she screamed gutturally as her hymen parted.  But then she utterly amazed me.  “Could you pull out for a moment, Jim?” she asked.  “There’s something I need to do.”
	I was utterly astonished by her comment, but that’s what I did.  When I withdrew, she lowered her pelvis and blood started to flow from her cunt.  Amy jumped to her knees, spread them wide and used her fingers to spread her vaginal lips causing more blood to flow.  Amazingly, she then used her finger to spread her virginal blood into an abstract design on the white sheet.  And she wasn’t finished!  Reaching up into her cunt with one finger, she then used it to write “Amy Grant” under the blood stain and then continued, using still more of her virginal blood to write above it, “To Jim:”.
	Although that was my very first experience with a virgin, I couldn’t imagine anything like it.  Rather than trying to stanch the flow of her blood, she actually seemed to be trying to stimulate it.  But finally she finished her abstract art, but that wasn’t the end of it.  Believe it or not, she got off the bed, went to her desk and returned with a pair of scissors.  She then proceeded to pull the sheet out from the bed, carefully cut out her bloodstain with its greeting and then presented it to me.  “This is a souvenir of my virginity for the man who so beautifully took it.”  With her eyes wide she added, “Thank you, Jim Smith for popping my cherry.  That is the term, isn’t it?”
	“I guess so,” I acknowledged.
	I helped her put a clean white bottom sheet on the bed to replace the one she had just shredded.  When she finished, she was standing across the double bed from me.  Throwing back her shoulders to force her tits up and out she asked, “What do you think, Jim?  Do I pass?  Am I at least acceptable for fucking?”
	“You’re utterly gorgeous, Amy Grant,” I replied.  “And Fred’s loss is clearly my gain!”
	Then with a lascivious grin she said, “Now... about fucking my ass off...?”
	This gave me an idea.  “Little girl, that tired me out.  So how about if you fuck your own ass off?”
	“How do I do that?” she asked puzzled.
	I remembered my first time with Jean, with her on top.  What I particularly remembered was the fact that my cock was sufficiently long that even with her long legs she could come all the way up on her knees and still leave plenty of it inside her.  I was certain that with Amy there would be much more left inside her.
	“You get on top is how you fuck yourself,” I answered with a grin.  “How about it?”
	Slowly shaking her head skeptically she replied, “I’ll give it a try, but are you sure it can be done that way?”
	“I’m sure,” I reassured her and lay on my back.
	Amy climbed on the bed and straddled me.  She found the same thing Jean had, only more so: even kneeling up straight she couldn’t come close to getting my cock into her vagina.  I told her about rising up on one leg and trying.  She did and it worked for her as it had for Jean.
	Following my instructions, she slowly screwed herself down on my cock.  While she was doing that, I was fondling her lovely tits, pinching her nipples and pulling myself up in the bed so I could kiss her all over.  Her own passion, reinforced by my attentions, resulted in her releasing a constant stream of vaginal juices to lubricate my entry.  And it worked!
	When I was in to my root, she just sat there with sweat now streaming off her body.  Amy moved forward to kiss me and it was funny.  Suddenly she had the strangest look on her face.
	“What’s the trouble?” I asked.
	“No trouble exactly,” she replied, “but it feels like I have a steel pipe inside me rising up to my chest.  It makes bending over feel more than a little strange.”
	I grinned and rose up on my elbows to make our meeting easier for her.  Again we kissed and again Amy took the aggressive rôle.  What an incredible young woman!
	Then I told her about her internal muscles and it was amusing to see her trying various maneuvers to try to find the right ones and use them the right way.  She did.  And the feeling was marvelous!  I could feel my cock expanding inside her in both length and girth and it was apparent that she could, too.
	“This is so great!” she exclaimed after massaging my cock with her muscle walls.  “But isn’t there something more?”
	“Well...” I replied, stretching out the word, “you could try moving up and down.  I think you’ll find it fairly easy, too.  All you do is rise up straight on your knees and then drop down again.  I’m long enough that you don’t have to worry about me popping out on you.”
	“That’s for sure!” she agreed with a lovely grin.
	And she began to do just that.  It was a strain at first; she was excruciatingly tight.  But she twisted and turned and she forced herself up and down on my rigid pole.  At the same time I was caressing and kissing any part of her I could reach, often pulling her torso down so I could kiss her soft lips.  Whenever that happened she mentioned again the steel shaft that had her impaled... but she adored it!
	Finally I felt that her vagina had been sufficiently stretched, so I rolled Amy onto her back and moved between her thighs.  This time, though, I didn’t bring her knees back to her head; instead I put her ankles over my shoulders and told her to try to hook them.  She did as I suggested and I began to drive deeply into her while continuing my kisses and caresses.  Soon she reached an orgasm, then another, and yet another.  Within a matter of minutes her orgasm had become essentially continuous; this was a repeat of what had happened with the prior five women, beginning with Merrilee.
	When I found her gasping for breath — even her diaphragm was in spasm — I stopped my movement to allow her to breathe.  After recovering, she said, “Jim, I have a favor to ask.”
	“What’s that?”
	“Please don’t visit me in school if I have a class; it might embarrass some of the girls to see you fucking me on my desk.  Furthermore, trying to go over Macbeth while I’m screaming in orgasm every minute or so might be a bit... distracting...
	“No!  Forget what I just said.  As a judge might say to a jury, ‘Ignore counsel’s last remarks; they are ordered stricken from the record.”
	“Oh?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
	“Yep,” she said with a wonderful grin.  “I’ve just worked it out.  We just move my chair out from behind the desk and you sit on it with your back to the class.  Then I can fuck myself to my heart’s content and still conduct the class.”
	“But what about your orgasmic screams?” I asked.
	“The class will just have to get used to it,” she replied blithely.  “And just think!  I might even be able to get some extra money by moonlighting — daylighting? — as a sex ed teacher.”
	This woman is just too damned much! I thought.
	Having recovered from the first episode, I took her up again, and yet again.  She was initially screaming at the top of her lungs, “Fuck me!  Fuck me harder!”  But soon her screams became unintelligible and then incoherent sounds.  But she was loud!  And she was sweating rivers.  Her body was super slick, but she was just utterly lovely, even with her hair sopping wet and in strings.
	Finally, I could hold back no longer.  “Cum with me, Amy!  Cum with me!” I shouted and exploded inside her.
	Amy came!  Good lord, did she cum!  This time every muscle in her body was in violent spasm as load after load of my cum shot into her uterus.  Not only was I in it, I’m sure I was stretching it into places it had no business being.
	After an orgasm that ravaged her body for minutes, I’m sure, Amy was unconscious and I was light-headed.  I rested for a minute and then eased out of her and off the bed.  Quickly I washed up a little, then located my clothing and dressed except for my tie that I put in my pocket.  As I finished, Amy was recovering consciousness, still sprawled all over her bed with her thighs still spread wide.
	She blinked and then smiled the warmest smile I’ve ever seen short of Jean’s and said, “Jim Smith, I asked you to fuck my ass off and you sure did.  Thank you, dear Jim!  This has been the most marvelous day of my entire life.”  She paused and then added, “Please don’t forget that I have another cherry to be popped; you’re welcome to it whenever you want.”
	“Are you going to get up?” I asked.
	“Are you kidding?  I’m just going to lie here and savor the sensations... and the after-shocks that are still hitting me.”
	I looked at her and noticed that while my cum was leaking from her cunt, there appeared to be blood in it, too.  I mentioned it to Amy who merely shrugged and said it was the leftovers from her virginity.  Little did we know.
* * *
	It was very late when I finally returned home; after 1:00.  This was much later than I had ever been out on a date before.  Nevertheless, Jean and the girls awakened instantly when I opened the bedroom door.
	When I showed them my trophy, Jean’s first thought was a possible pregnancy (the next day she bought me a lifetime supply of condoms) but I assured her that not only was it the way Amy had wanted it, but she had insisted on it.
	Susan, who as usual cleaned off my penis with her mouth, commented on the blood.  I assured her it was the residue of Amy’s loss of virginity.
	That night Jean’s lovemaking reached yet another pinnacle.  Again it seemed as if she had to show me that there was no other woman alive who could love me as she did.  This, of course, was not even a proposition; it was an axiom.
* * *
	Over the next few days, I scored once more, but Merrilee and Amy remained in a class by themselves.  On the eleventh day, I arrived at the lounge early and took my customary seat at the bar.  (Yeah, by that time, I had one of those, too.)
	“Mr. Smith,” Charley said, “I really don’t know what to say.  All I can say, though, is that we’ve made more money in the last month than we made all last year.  So thank you!  Now what’ll you have?”  Glaring at me he added, “And the whole thing is on the house?  Clear?”
	“Thanks, Charley,” I responded.  “You’ve got a very nice place here.  The food’s very good and the drinks are good, too.  And for a guy like me, the atmosphere is just right.  The music is soft so people can talk without having to scream.  You deserve to do well, and I’m glad you are.”
	Just then, who should appear but Kelly McGuire.  Kelly was our chief software designer writing the software behind the user interface but ahead of the operating system.  That made me think of Merrilee Adams, and it registered that I hadn’t seen her here since our night together.  Strange, I thought.
	Kelly looked all around the place and then saw me.  She brightened and came over.  “Hi, Chief!” she said.  “What brings you here?”
	“I might ask you the same thing,” I responded with a grin.
	Kelly looked around the room and saw the daggers in the eyes of all of the other girls.  If looks could kill, she would have had more daggers in her than Saint Sebastian had arrows.  Suddenly her eyes widened as she realized what had happened.  “My God!” she exclaimed.  “You’re the ‘Jim’ everyone is talking about!  You are, aren’t you?”  Then she frowned and added, “I forget Jim’s last name, but it sure as hell isn’t Dawson.”
	“It’s Smith,” I replied.  “But you still haven’t answered my question.  What are you doing here?”
	She sighed deeply and replied, “I’m horny as hell, boss.  And that idiot, Brian Malone, sure doesn’t help things.  Anyway, I came over with the hope of...” at this point she blushed scarlet but continued, “...getting laid.”
	I led Kelly over to my table and we continued our conversation.  I guess we must have been talking and drinking for about an hour — Charley had a marvelous 12-year-old Irish whiskey that Kelly found she adored — when I saw movement at the entrance.
	It was the sort of movement that caught my eye.  The person was on crutches.  Coming into the room, I was shocked to see, was Merrilee Adams.  She looked around and seeing me, moved slowly over to our table.  I was shocked.  I didn’t know what happened, but she wasn’t using the crutches for a bad leg or ankle; they were to help her walk, which she did slowly and apparently painfully.
	“May I join you?” she asked softly.
	I jumped from the booth, scooped her up in my arms and eased her into the booth across from Kelly and me.
	When she was seated, I leaned over and kissed her softly.  Instantly, her hand came up around my neck to hold me in position as she moved her lovely lips on mine.  Then her tongue came out, danced with mine, linked and I could feel the flow of her love.
	I eased away and she sighed, “No, I didn’t imagine the whole thing.  Jim Smith, you are out of this world.”
	I slipped back into my seat and said, “I guess we should straighten something out, Merrilee.  My name is Jim Dawson, not Jim Smith.  And this is a colleague of mine, Kelly Maguire.  Kelly, this is Merrilee Adams.”
	Instead of responding, Kelly turned as red as a beet.  For her part, Merrilee first appeared shocked, then broke into gales of laughter.
	“What in hell is so shocking, Kelly Maguire, or so damned funny, Merrilee Adams?  I don’t see any humor in the name, Dawson.”
	“Why don’t you call me ML, Jim?” Merrilee, said. “Everyone else does.  Merrilee is a nice name, but it is a mouthful in conversation.”
	“Will you let me out, please, Jim?” Kelly choked.  “I’m going back to the office to clean out my desk.  You’ll find my letter of resignation on your desk when you return.”
	“Maguire, sit down and shut up,” I ordered.
	Then to Merrilee I asked, “Now you tell me what’s so damned funny.  And while you’re at it, you can also tell us what happened to you.”
	“Easy questions to answer,” she replied.  “You’re what’s so damned funny, and you happened to me.”
	“Huh?” I responded.  (You’ll notice that my usual intelligent response hadn’t changed completely in the make-over.)
	“Remember I told you I was trying to meet someone but was running out of money?”
	“Yes.”
	“That someone is named James Dawson.  You’re the top man in your field, and now you’ve got the finest user interface in the business.  I thought I could help...” she replied with her voice fading at the end.
	Kelly came back into the conversation, but her eyes were still streaming tears.  “Mr. Dawson...”
	I glared at her and drummed my fingers on the table top.
	She swallowed hard and began again, “Jim, does the name ML Adams mean anything to you?  It certainly should.”
	“My God!” I exclaimed.  “He has every award for software design there is, but no one ever met him...  But him is a her, isn’t it?”
	“You got it,” Kelly admitted, “and I am resigning, Jim.  What I did was utterly abhorrent and terribly mean to her, besides.  I knew she was running out of money, and I was hoping she would have packed up and left before you returned to work.”
	Now she was really crying in earnest, but she held her head up as she continued, “Where writing top-flight software is concerned, I’m not good enough to shine her shoes.  And she told me she wanted to join Callaway on any terms we would take her.  In the last conversation — I guess it was 10 days ago or so — she told me she would be willing to work for $18,000 a year, with no benefits.”
	She just shook her head and added, “Can you believe it?  The world’s finest willing to work for 18 grand?  Do you know what she said when I asked her about it?”
	Again I just shook my head.
	“She said she was so anxious to work for you, she would have been willing to pay for the privilege, but at the time she was running out of money, so that was no longer an option.”
	Now she glared at me while trying to rise and said, “Let me out of the booth, please.”
	“No!” I exclaimed, glaring at her.  “Now sit down and shut up.”
	Turning back to Merrilee I asked, “But tell me what happened to you.”
	The girl was actually still giggling and slowly shaking her head.  “I think I told Kelly that I wanted to work under you.  Well, I sure did.  I worked so hard I ruptured more than a few internal muscles, and that telephone pole between your legs did a real job on some of my lower-body organs.”
	To Kelly she said, “Ever hear the expression, ‘fuck her ass off’?”
	“You mean?” Kelly exclaimed, wide-eyed.
	“I mean!”  Merrilee replied with her eyes piercing.  “But you know what else?  It was the sort of lovemaking women can’t even dream about.”  Then to me she said, “Remember a small girl, Amy Grant?”
	“I remember Amy very well,” I replied.  “But how do you know her?”
	“Because she’s in the hospital with me, along with five other girls you’ve fucked.  How many have there been in total, by the way?”
	“Seven,” I replied softly.
	“My God!” she exclaimed.  “And you put every one of us in the hospital!”
	She shook her head and continued, “But back to Amy.  She asked the doctor when she could have sex with you again.  The doctor was appalled.  She told Amy that the next time would mean her certain death.  She’s still plugged in with IV tubes feeding glucose along with additional blood units.  Do you know what she did?”
	I just shook my head.
	“She actually started to disconnect the piping.  ‘What are you doing?’ the doctor screamed.  ‘I’m unplugging myself and going back to the lounge is what I’m doing.’  The doctor virtually screamed, ‘You can’t!  Nothing down there is working!’  Amy replied, “My clit’s still working; I checked.  For the rest, my blood ought to provide enough lubrication for Jim to get inside me, and that’s all I care about.’  Then the doctor screamed, ‘You’ll die!’  ‘Of course I will, Amy replied blithely, “but what a way to go.  As it is, I’m so torn up, I’ll never be any use to anyone else, so I might as well.’”
	She looked at me and added, “And you know something else?  That’s the way every girl there feels... most particularly including me.”
	Then she smiled warmly and added, “I guess I owe you an explanation, though.  And maybe Kelly might learn something, too.  I vividly remember when you left my apartment.  I was sprawled on the bed with my thighs spread wide and my cunt still gaping.  You came back into the bedroom, all dressed, and gave me the nicest, sweetest, most loving kiss I’ve ever had.  For my part, I was still coming down from about — ready for this, Kelly? — 90 minutes worth of more or less continuous orgasm.  I’m sure you pumped gallons of your cum into my body and I must have supplied more than a little bit of cum cream, myself.  Never had I felt so good as when you left.
	“But then I reached down to feel the flow from my cunt and licked my finger for a taste.  It was only then that I realized my finger was covered with blood.  Finally I moved and saw a pool of blood on the bed below where my cunt had been.  Then I did a reasonably intelligent thing.  I shoved a tampon up my cunt, got dressed and drove to the nearest emergency room.  I just made it inside the door before I collapsed.  The next thing I knew, it was two days later; they were just admitting your second conquest.”
	“Good heavens!” Kelly exclaimed.  “You mean he’s really that good?”
	“There’s no better man nor better lover alive in the world today than Jim Dawson.  He has absolutely everything a girl could possibly want.  He’s handsome, built like a Greek god, thoughtful, intelligent, rich and the world’s greatest lover.”  She grinned and added, “Of course, it does come at a price.  He’ll kill you, but you’ll go out with the happiest smile imaginable on your face.”
	“Built like a Greek god?” Kelly responded.  “Surely, you’re thinking of... someone... else...”  Her voice trailed off as she looked at me closely for the first time.  Then she reached out and felt my upper arm, then moved up to my shoulder.  “Good heavens!  What happened to you, Boss?  Never in your life have you been like this!”
	“And you never answered me, Jim,” ML interjected.  “Who’s Jean?”
	“Jean is my wife,” I replied creating instant shock on the faces of the two girls.
	Then I continued, “First, Kelly, I have a question for you.  Are you a career girl?  You’ve never impressed me as being one.”
	Then she really started to bawl.  “Yeah, I’m a career girl, all right.  But the career I want isn’t what I’ve got — or what I had, rather.  My ideal career is being Brian Malone’s wife and spending most of the next 15 years or so pregnant.  My ideal career is that of wife and mother.”
	“Great!  Done!” I exclaimed.  “Maguire, you’re still on the payroll for the next year or so, but your job description is changed.  You’re going to become a sex therapist and your patient is Brian Malone.  If at the end of that time he’s not a satisfactory lover, it will be your own fault.”
	“What are you saying?” she nearly screamed.
	“What I’m saying is that you’re going to do with Brian what Jean has been doing to me.  You’re going to teach him everything about sex.  You’re going to teach him how to undress a girl, fondle her tits, kiss her breasts and nipples, eat her cunt...  All that good stuff.”
	“But...”
	“But, what?”
	“I don’t know how, either...  About most of it, anyway.”
	“That’s why I’ve scheduled a year or so,” I replied.  “It will take you awhile to get in shape and learn what you need to know.  In the meantime, we’ll start getting Brian in shape so he’s not totally hopeless when he’s assigned to you.”
	A virtual kaleidoscope of emotions passed rapidly over Kelly’s face.  Then she became thoughtful and finally grinned.  “Okay!” she exclaimed.
	Then to Merrilee I said, “Was Kelly correct when she said you would join us for $18,000 a year and no benefits?”
	“I think I could go a little lower than that, sir,” ML said with her eyes wide.  “I thought you would be the greatest guy in the world to work for, but now I know you are.  Could you handle... fifteen?”
	“Adams, you’re hired retroactive to a month ago.  We’ve got a really great medical plan, by the way.  It’s one of those MSAs — a medical savings account.  Of course, the company fronts the initial 5K deductible, so you’re covered.”  I paused for a moment and then grinned.  “What do you know?  Back-dating your start date gets you under the quarterly cutoff for bonuses, so you qualify for this quarter’s.”
	“Bonus?” she asked.  The girl was in a state of shock.
	“Yeah,” I replied laconically.  “And at your level that should be in the 80 to 100 range.”
	“Dollars?” she asked hopefully.
	“Thousands of dollars,” I replied with a grin.  Then I added, “Of course, the serious bonus is only paid once a year, around the first of December.”
	“Wha... What’s my salary?” she asked hesitantly, with her eyes wide.
	“$240,000,” I replied while defensively raising my hands.  “Look, ML, I know it’s not much, but Callaway Industries would rather pay for achieved results through bonuses than pay humongous salaries.  Can you live with that?”
	The girl just started to cry.  I moved out of the booth and then moved in on ML’s side.  I took her in my arms and just held her while gently caressing her upper body.  Finally she regained control and just raised her head and offered her lips.  I kissed her gently and again tasted her sweetness and love.
	She just held the kiss and worked her tongue in my mouth.  Again our two tongues danced, dueled, met and then linked.  Her upper body writhed against mine and I could feel her crushing her small tits against my chest.  When our lips parted, I continued to hold her as she just rested her head against my shoulder and sighed.
	“No,” she murmured, “it wasn’t my imagination.  It really was this good.”  Then with her eyes dancing she looked up at me and said, “Boss, there’s just one thing...”
	“And what’s the one thing?” I asked with an eyebrow raised.
	“Instead of a big cash bonus, could... would...  If I came into your office and stripped, would you fondle my tits, maybe?  Or at year-end, when the bonus is bigger, eat my cunt?”
	“No, I couldn’t, ML,” I replied, “but I’ll tell you what I am going to do.  I’m going to see that you find the husband you deserve.  You’re going to be a wonderful wife for someone; I’m sorry that it’s not me.”
	Then I changed the subject.  “Now that the business is out of the way, there’s something I would like you two to do for me.”
	“Absolutely anything!” they both replied in unison.
	“I’ve given you bits and pieces, so now I’ll give you the whole thing.  First, ML, I probably did scream, ‘Jean.’  You see, she’s my wife, but she won’t even admit it to herself.  Moreover, we have two of the most wonderful daughters, Sandra and Susan.  Sandy was just 14 and Susie is 8.  They’re both golden-haired, blue-eyed blondes and utterly gorgeous.  And in a few years they’ll be as beautiful as their mother.”
	Merrilee’s eyes widened.  Softly she asked, “Do they hang out at the mall near here?”
	I nodded and said, “Sure do.”
	“Do... Do... Do they ever wear very short Levi cut-offs and shot-to-shit chambray shirts?”
	“You’ve seen them,” I replied.  “I really don’t think there are three others like them anywhere.”
	“You’ve got that right, Jim,” Merrilee continued.  “And, indeed, I have seen them.  I always wondered how a woman as young as your wife could have two daughters as old as that pair.  And yet they’re like triplets, so she has to be their mother...”
	“We think that she’s really their older sister,” I interjected.  “Would that make it easier?”
	Merrilee brightened, but after a moment’s thought slowly shook her head.  “Yes and no...  Jim, I know something about the human genome project and to say our genome is complex is the understatement of the century.  The only way you could get three women as alike as your three would be through the subdivision of a fertilized egg.  And there’s no way on this earth...”
	“That’s right,” I interrupted.
	“But!...”
	“I don’t think they’re truly human,” I continued.  “We’re pretty sure they’re from someplace else.”  Then I told them a little of their peculiar characteristics, but also assured them that they could certainly reproduce with humans.
	Finally I said, “Now, you both said you would do anything for me.  What I want you to do is to help me convince Jean that she should marry me.  You see, from the age of 15, she’s been a prostitute.  As a result, she loves me but refuses to marry me.  For my part, I adore the woman and consider her the finest woman on the planet.  Now will you help?”
	“Of course, Jim,” Merrilee replied with exceptional warmth in her eyes.  But as I’ve been saying, this woman is truly something else.
	“Me, too, Jim,” Kelly chimed in.  “But before we move on, there’s something you both should know.  It relates to what ML said earlier — about our having the finest operating system and the finest user interface.”
	“What about it?” ML demanded.
	“You’ve got the system,” Kelly replied, speaking slowly, “but I’m not nearly as certain about the interface.”
	“What’s that mean?” ML asked while I just listened.
	“I don’t know who does it!” Kelly wailed.  “That’s what it means!”
	“What?” ML nearly screamed.  “How could you not know?”
	“Because I’ve never met the writer,” Kelly replied softly, “and there’s no way to contact her.  Every contact from the get-go has been at her initiation.  All I know is that she has to be the very best in the business.  When we were doing that interface, the cycle time between iterations was a function of a few hours.  The best people we’ve ever met would have taken months.”  Kelly paused and then wailed, “And I haven’t heard a word from her in months!”
	“Well,” ML responded, “that’s a problem for another day.  In the meantime, we’ve got Jim’s problem to deal with.”  Turning to me she asked, “What do you want me to do?”
	“I want you both to come out to the house with me and meet Jean.  Okay?”
	They instantly agreed.  I gave Kelly ML’s crutches to carry; I was going to carry her to the car in my arms.  As I reached for her, with dancing eyes she said, “Wouldn’t you really rather fuck me right here on the tabletop first?”
	“It would kill you!” Kelly almost screamed.
	“Probably,” ML replied nonchalantly, “but so what?  You’ll see a dead woman with the most gloriously happy smile on her face you’ve ever seen.”  Then to me she said, “How about it?”
	“Well...” I grinned lecherously, “if you insist...”
	ML was almost certain I was teasing her, but she was quite serious.  She would have cheerfully risked her life for another fucking right there on the spot.  She started to slide out of the booth and made a move to raise her skirt.
	“But I can’t,” I added, stopping her instantly.
	“And why can’t you?” she asked with an eyebrow raised.
	“Because you’re on the payroll now,” I replied.  “And there’s our group life insurance.  It pays off at triple a person’s total compensation.”  I paused, appearing to do some mental calculations, and then continued, “My gosh, ML, in your case that would be over $1 million.  And our insurer would really be pissed.  Here the company would be looking at a million-dollar death claim before they received the first premium!”
	I shook my head and added in faked sorrow, “Sorry.  I can’t do it.  They might even raise our rates!”
	ML giggled and grinned, “Jim Dawson, you are terrible!”
	“That’s what Jean is always telling me too, ML, so I guess it’s true.  I’m terrible.”
	She just giggled again.  It was a wonderfully merry sound, too.
	I lifted Merrilee up in my arms.  She felt as light as a feather and just cuddled close.  Then she raised her lips for a kiss.  It was wonderfully soft and loving.  She really felt good in my arms, too.  She was a tall girl — about five feet seven — although not as tall as Jean.  Moreover, she seemed to be in heaven just being held in my arms.
	“Kelly, this is absolutely the greatest!  And you know what?  Jim’s so strong he could easily carry three of me.”
* * *
	When I drove up to the house, it was after 9:30 but the lights were still on; Jean and the girls hadn’t gone to bed yet.  When I drove up to the front of the house rather than parking in the garage, all the lights came on.  The girls both whistled at the beauty of the place.  I lifted Merrilee out of the car, and found Jean standing at the door, waiting.
	I carried the girl into the living room and settled her in a high-backed wing chair whose seat height off the floor looked like it would be comfortable for her.  She sighed with pleasure as she felt the soft leather and realized how comfortable it really was.
	I turned and found Jean standing there behind me.  I guess we both intended a quick kiss, but nothing had changed.  Quick kisses just were not — and still are not — in our repertoire.  She moved her body sinuously against mine while our lips met and linked.  Our two tongues did their dance of love and finally linked.  I could hear Jean’s warm sigh as we both again felt the electricity and heard those lovely bells.
	Finally we eased apart and Jean said, “Hi, darling.  Did you have a good time?”  Then her face fell as she added, “It’s so early, I guess you didn’t score tonight, either, did you?”
	“Sweetie, this young woman who I carried in is Merrilee Adams, my first score.  She just got out of the hospital today, and from what I learned, she probably left over the violent objections of the medical staff.”  Turning to ML I said, “Right?”
	She grinned wryly and just shrugged.
	“Have you eaten yet?” Jean asked.  When I said we hadn’t, she called out, “Girls!”
	Jean was wearing her summer uniform: the short-short Levi’s cut-offs with her shirttails tied below her tits.  She was gorgeous.  Sandy came in followed by Susan and I made the introductions.  Sandy was dressed the same as her mother.
	“What are you drinking?” Jean asked.  When I told her Cardhu for Merrilee and me and well-aged Irish for Kelly, she just nodded and disappeared.
	Moments later she was back with our drinks and one for herself that I recognized as Perrier with a lime.  When Kelly asked about it, Jean told her that she didn’t want anything to dull her senses for later.
	“With that welcome-home kiss you just exchanged,” Kelly said, “I think I know what you’re thinking about.”  Then she blushed scarlet but asked, “How many times do you make love to Jim each day?”
	“Three...? four...? five...? It all depends.”
	“Depends?  Depends on what?” Kelly pursued.
	“On how horny I am,” Jean replied frankly.  “And he’s such a marvelous lover.”  Her face fell as she added, “It’s a damned shame that I’m a whore.”
	At that point Sandy and Susan appeared, each carrying a tray of utterly gorgeous canapés that I knew they had just made.
	“Where on earth did these luscious things come from?” ML asked.
	“The girls just made them,” Jean replied.  Turning to the girls she said, “Kids, they’re beautiful!  You really outdid yourselves...  And you make me so proud!”
	Both girls beamed with pleasure.
	After serving everyone, Susie looked at ML and then joined her.  “May I sit on your lap?” she asked.
	“Of course, sweetie!”  ML then straightened up in the chair so that Susan would be sitting on ML’s thighs with little or no weight on her abdomen.  Susie sat on her lap, looked at her closely and then melted her soft lips to hers.
	Merrilee returned the kiss and the two just cuddled.  Since Susan was dressed in a fashion similar to her mother and sister, there was a vast expanse of bare skin.  Very gently ML ran her fingertips over it and murmured, “So incredibly soft and smooth...”  Then she sniffed the air and then sniffed at Susan’s hair at her ear.  “Susan Dawson, you are utterly incredible!  You smell of fresh spring flowers, youth and love.”  Meanwhile she continued to gently run her fingers all over Susie’s body.
	After a few moments, Susan untied the knot in her shirt, unbuttoned it and shrugged it off.  “If you’re going to caress me — and I just love it — this dumb blouse just gets in the way.”
	With her shirt off, it became apparent that her golden tan was all over her body.  Merrilee just loved it.  Very gently she ran a fingertip over one of Susie’s nipples.  The girl just murmured, “Darn!”
	“Darn what?”
	“I’m still too young is ‘darn what’” the girl replied.  “All it does is tickle.  With Sandy, though, her nipples get really hard, her areolae contract, and if I work at it just a little bit, I can get her off.”  With a grin she added, “She really loves that, too, although sometimes she pretends that she’s just humoring me.”
	“Sue, you are utterly perfect!” Merrilee pronounced.
	“Not hardly,” Susan replied flatly.  “Just look.”
	With that she was off ML’s lap and slipped off her shorts.  I was amused to see that somewhere Jean had found bikini-cut pants for our girl.  Of course, they might have been bikini-cut, but they still had cute little bunnies all over them.  Susan dropped her pants and turned so that ML could see the brand that was burned deep into her flank.
	Merrilee screamed and looked utterly appalled.  “My God!” she breathed.  “Who would do such a thing to such a beautiful girl?”
	“I did it to myself,” Susan replied.  “But it really didn’t help Sandy very much.”
	“What?” ML exclaimed.  “I don’t understand.”
	“Would you show her, please, Sandy?” Susan asked.
	Sandy looked at me and at Jean.  Jean looked at me and I just shrugged leaving the decision to her.  Jean just nodded once and Sandy stripped bare.
	Because of her position relative to Kelly and ML, could each see one of the brands on Sandy’s flanks.  Both screamed in horror.
	ML held her arms out to Sandy and the girl went to her.  The woman pulled Sandy’s head down to her own and melted her with a loving kiss.  Then she looked her over carefully, noting the all-over golden tan; even the inner surfaces of her upper thighs were tanned as well as her bare pussy lips.  Very gently Merrilee ran her fingers over Sandy’s pubic area and found that it was perfectly smooth.
	“How do you avoid stubble?” the woman asked.
	“It’s not hard,” Sandy replied.  “I didn’t shave it; I plucked out all the hairs so there’s no possible stubble.”
	“But why...?”
	“Because it’s what Mommy does.  And like Mommy, when I’m sunning myself I try to arrange my body so the sun is coming directly down on my crotch.  Then when I do a split I can tan my butt and my pussy, too.   I’m still not in Mom’s class on that, yet; she can get her legs out almost 180 degrees.
	“Your mother does that, too?  But why?”
	Sandy smiled warmly and replied, “Dad’s not supposed to know this, but Mom’s really funny.  She’s always working on some facet of her appearance to be even more beautiful for Dad.  I’m sure he doesn’t notice — I’m not sure anyone could — but Mommy does.
	“I asked her about it one time.  All she would say was, ‘I owe it to your father to always look my very best.’  That’s all.  She does it because she loves him so damn... darned much!”  With a look over her shoulder she added, “Sorry, Mom.”
	“The brands...?”
	Susan replied.  Her voice broke as she said, “Sandy did it for me.  She was only 12 at the time and I was seven.  Our captors were going to auction off my virginity.  Sandy thought she could take a man far better than I could, so she volunteered to brand herself and allow herself to be taken by any man who wanted to fuck her.  But first, I had to whip her pussy 25 times with each stroke drawing blood.
	“I don’t know how many men took her that first night.  And for the rest of the time we were there before we were freed, every Saturday night Sandy was chained to the wall with a long chain and was available to anyone who wanted her for anything.  Then, of course, both of my sisters — Sandy and Stephanie — had to get 50 strokes with a whip in their cunts from the customers or they couldn’t go to school the following week.
	“After they reached 50 — and it took some pretty vile things to get there some nights — the sky was the limit.  I would spend most of the rest of the night after the customers had left licking their wounds and trying to stop the flow of blood.  One night it was really brutal on Sandy and that’s when I volunteered to brand myself to try to get her some respite.”
	The small girl paused for a moment and then continued, “I don’t know if it did any good or not.  Sandy claims I saved her life, but I really doubt that.  What it did do, though, was to buy her a little time to recover.
	“I guess I really stretched out my branding shamelessly to try to use up as much time as possible.  For that I was whipped pretty badly by my owners when the customers left.  They claimed that I had cost them a lot of money since the people were so intent on what I was doing to myself, they forgot to spend their money on our other... attractions.”
	I almost became violently ill.  That was the most comprehensive story of the girls’ captivity I had ever heard.  I knew it had been bad, but...
	“So do you think a man would ever care to have me, Miss Adams?” Sandy asked softly.  “I try very hard to look my best and be good, but...”
	Tears were streaming unchecked down ML’s cheeks and she could scarcely speak.  But she managed to say, “My darling Sandy, you will be the find of a lifetime for any man alive!  My God!  Never in my life have I heard a story of such self-sacrifice and love to protect someone else.  Darling, you are simply perfect.  And those brands are truly badges of great honor.”
	Jean interrupted at that point before things got too maudlin.  “I gather you folks haven’t eaten and it is getting late.  What would you like?”
	“A... an omelette, maybe...?” Kelly offered hesitantly.  “Could you do that?  Or a can of soup?  Or...”
	“Utterly ridiculous!” Jean snapped.  “I know darned well that an omelette at this time of night might hold Jim for an hour, but that’s about it.  I can make almost anything...”  Then to Merrilee she said, “If your insides are a bit rearranged, how about a nice sautéed breast of chicken?  I can do it with olive oil, so there’s really only the good cholesterol...”
	“Marvelous!” ML replied enthusiastically.  She shook her head and added, “I’m not supposed to be eating much, but my stomach certainly doesn’t know that.  Frankly, I’m starving!”
	Jean just grinned.  Then to me she said, “Darling, guess what?  You’ve mentioned sweetbreads, and I have some for you.  How about braised sweetbreads?”
	Indeed I had casually mentioned them to her in conversation the day before.  I had forgotten about it moments after telling her but she hadn’t.
	Then Jean turned to Kelly who said, “You’re really serious, aren’t you.  Almost anything?”  Jean just nodded.  “Well...” Kelly continued slowly, “I was in Switzerland and had liver that was out of this world...”
	“Basel style or Zurich style?” Jean interrupted.
	“You’re kidding, aren’t you?” Kelly said with her eyes wide.
	“No, she’s really not,” Sandy interjected.  She giggled and continued, “If half the food that’s prepared in this house is eaten, it’s a lot...”
	“What are you saying?” I interrupted.  “I don’t ever see anything going to waste.”
	“You wouldn’t, Dad,” Sandy replied.  “Most of it goes out at night.”
	“At night?” I exclaimed, utterly baffled.  “What does that mean?”
	“Daddy, you know that Mom got her degree at UIC doing four years’ work in a matter of months.  I think I told you that she never seemed to sleep.  Well, I guess that’s another oddity of ours; we don’t seem to need nearly as much sleep as most people.  The result is that Mom does most of the work around the house at night while you’re sleeping.  And that’s also when she gives Susan and me cooking lessons.”
	Sandy grimaced and continued, “What a heck of a waste!  Mom will make something, have a tiny bite, share some with us and then throw the whole thing out.  She does it for practice.”
	Then she snapped her fingers, remembering something.  “And sometimes it gets funny, too.  Remember last week when Mom woke you up in the middle of the night in tears?  She may have mumbled something about a nightmare?”
	“Yeah, I guess I remember,” I replied in my usual scintillating fashion.
	“Well, it was nothing of the kind,” Sandy continued.  “She had made something and pronounced it to be perfectly awful!  Of course it tasted pretty good to Susan and me, but what do we know?  Anyway, Mom was in real need of some TLC... and boy, did you ever give it to her!  When she regained consciousness after that final monumental orgasm and you were back to sleep, she made the dish again and this time pronounced it great.”
	She grinned and added, “And oh, yeah... then we waxed the floor, did the laundry, scrubbed the bathroom and finished up in time for you to awaken Mom for her good-morning fucking.  By that time her eyes might have been closed for a full fifteen minutes or so.”
	Hearing this, I glared at Jean and demanded, “Is this true?”
	She just blushed and replied softly, “I’m always here for you, Jim, aren’t I?”  Then she turned to the girls and said, “Why don’t you help Miss Adams into the kitchen?  You can set the table and we’ll get this show on the road.”
	Instead of the girls, I easily lifted Merrilee out of her chair having seen a wistful look from her in my direction.   I carried her into the kitchen in my arms and carefully set her in a captain’s chair.
	“You’re so incredible, Jim Dawson.”  Then she raised her voice for the others.  “Jean Dawson, however did you train your husband?  Women talk about men’s sensitivity, but most of them don’t have the foggiest idea what they’re talking about.  Most of them think in terms of the ‘I feel your pain’ kind of sensitivity.  But that’s not what I mean at all.  Jim just seems to know exactly what I want and need and that’s what he gives me.  But how on earth did you do it?”
	“First of all, Kelly, I’ll make your liver Zuricher arte.  Since you don’t know one from the other, it’s by far the more popular.”
	Then to ML she replied, “I didn’t do a thing.  That’s one thing that Jim brought to the party himself.  But I certainly do know exactly what you mean.  I can’t tell you how many different ways Jim can fuck me, but it’s a large number.  And they range from quietly romantic to near-rape.  And you know what else?  Whichever way he does it is exactly right for me at that moment.”
	Then she glared at ML and added, “But it’s not ‘Jean Dawson’ and it never will be.  If you insist on being formal, it’s Jean Peters!”
	While this was going on, Sue had retrieved her milk box and was standing on it cutting vegetables and then preparing a salad while Jean, seeming effortless, prepared the three main dishes.  Sandy very meticulously set the table for four, even producing candlesticks and tapers.  Then she whispered something to Jean, received an enthusiastic yes, and began work on something of her own.
	“I’m sorry, Jean,” ML replied.  “You are Mrs. Dawson.  You are Jim’s wife and the mother of two incredible young women.  Maybe your marriage hasn’t been solemnized by a judge, priest, minister, rabbi, or whatever, but you’re his wife.  Just look at what you share — you just got finished telling me how his lovemaking is always perfect for your mood.  These girls utterly adore you both, and you adore them.  I see you two kissing and I realize that if either of you really let go on me, I would be instantly dead.  Your power is unreal!  And you both have it.”  She shook her head decisively and repeated, “You are Mrs. James Dawson, damn it!”
	“We told you so, Mommy,” Sandy added quietly.  “And everything Miss Adams said is the God’s-honest-truth and we all know it.  But because Susie and I know you so much better, we know far more about you two than she does.  We know how you’re constantly working on tiny things to make Dad’s life better.  We talked about your attention to your body.
	“Dad now knows about the sweetbreads, but what he doesn’t know is that you were kicking yourself all around the house for not just knowing it was something he would like.”  She slowly shook her head and added, “How many women alive would consider it a sign of failure if their husbands had to mention something for them to know he might like it?  Damned few!”
	“Sandra!” Jean exclaimed with her eyebrow raised.
	“Damned few!” Sandy repeated.  “You said yourself that it was okay on rare occasions when real emphasis is required.”
	“But not when we have company, sweetie,” Jean explained.
	The girl, again dressed as was her sister, moved close to her mother.  Jean took her in her arms and melted her with a kiss.  Finally, she eased away and murmured, “I love you, my darling daughter.”
	“Then please don’t bail out on us, Mommy.  What would we do?”
	“You will take care of your father in the same way I would.  And Sandy, look after Susie, please?  She really does need guidance sometimes.”
	“Please don’t leave us, Mommy!” the girl cried.  “We need you and love you so!”
	“I must, my darling.  It’s for the best.  Had I not been a whore, things might be different, but...”
	She moved back to the stove and Sandy returned to what she had been doing.
	I was sitting at the table between Kelly and Merrilee.  Both leaned close to me and Kelly said softly, “Sandy’s absolutely right, Jim.  There could be no more perfect wife in the world for you than Jean.  That woman is utterly unreal!  And your love!...”
	“Jim, how many times have you taken Jean today?” ML asked.
	I thought for a moment and replied, “Three, I guess.”
	“And how long did you have her in orgasm?” she asked.  To Kelly she added, “And you pay particular attention to Jim’s answer.
	“Maybe an hour or so,” I replied.  “Possibly 90 minutes...”  I thought for a bit and added, “Make it between 60 and 90 minutes.  Is that close enough?”
	“Kelly, the hospital contains all the women that Jim Dawson has fucked in his life, except for Jean and me.  You can see my condition and you can see Jean’s.  What do you think?”
	“I think Jean Dawson owes it to every good-looking woman alive in the world today to keep Jim from killing them all, is what I think,” Kelly replied.
	By this time Jean was finishing her cooking.  With infinite care, Susan put the main dishes on the plates, garnished them perfectly (and individually to suit the dish), and served.  Jean got another Perrier for herself and joined us at the table.
	Susan asked me whether I wanted a red or a white wine with my sweetbreads.  After a bit of thought, I decided on a red.  She brought the correct wine glasses and served a lovely grand cru Chablis in a half-bottle for ML, and opened a magnificent bottle of Romanée Conti, the world’s finest burgundy, for Kelly and me.
	ML had a bite of her chicken and looked up at Jean.  “What did you do to this chicken?  This is utterly magnificent!  I didn’t think it could ever be this good.”
	“It’s just a little olive oil along with some herbs and spices,” Jean replied deprecatingly.
	Kelly had a bite of her liver.  “My God!  This is exactly the dish I remember, but it’s so much better than what I had.  And I was eating at the finest restaurant in Zurich, if I remember correctly.”  Then she sipped the wine and just rolled her eyes.  “And this wine!  The very finest.”
	“Now, look!” Jean protested.  “These are just a couple of things I threw together for some hungry people.  Hell, you’re so hungry library paste would taste good to you right now.”
	“Jean, dear, will you do ML and me a favor sometime?” Kelly asked with her eyes wide.
	“Sure,” Jean replied.  “What?”
	“Would you please invite us over for dinner sometime when you’re serving a real meal?  Only give us at least ten days’ notice so we don’t eat anything in the meantime.”  Then she shook her head and said, “The finest food in Chicago, if not in the whole country, is served in this house.”  Then she added with a straight face, “By the way, do you do take-out?”
	Jean couldn’t help giggling at the comment but replied, “No, I do not do take-out.  But I would be very happy to have you both for dinner.”
	Susan had prepared the vegetables and was waiting anxiously for the verdict.  They were perfectly prepared and still very crisp.
	“Perfect!” Merrilee proclaimed.
	Kelly tried the salad and did a double take.  “What is this dressing?” she exclaimed.  “Never in my life have I tasted anything this good.  What is it?”
	“I guess we call it ‘Susie’s Own’ — sort of like Paul Newman’s ‘Newman’s Own’.  I’m not sure it’s ever the same two times in a row, but it’s always great.  Susan has learned what all the herbs and spices taste like and how they work together combining tastes, so she just puts a little of this and a little of that... and this is the result.”
	 “Susie knows what all these things taste like?”  Then Kelly shook her head and added, “This is unreal.  Susie is... what?  Nine years old?”
	“Eight,” I said.
	“Eight years old and already a very superior cook.”  To Susan she said, “Sweetie, I’m more than three times your age and I couldn’t prepare vegetables half as good as you just did if my very life depended on it.  Understand?  They’re simply perfect.
	“And the salad!  Simply out of this world.  But why?”
	“For two reasons,” Susie replied.  “First of all, Mommy thinks it’s very important for a woman to be a good cook.  Beyond that, though, there’s what she said awhile ago: She’s planning on bailing out on us very soon and wants Sandy and me to be able to take care of Daddy...”
	At that the little girl just dissolved in tears.  Blinded by them, she groped her way toward Jean.  Jean gathered her in, held her closely and kissed and caressed her all over.  “I adore you and your sister, sweetie.  You know that.  But you also know why I have to leave...”
	“Mother, you’re being such a fool!” the little girl exclaimed through her tears.
	“Why do you want to ruin four lives, Jean?” ML asked quietly.
	“And kill God only knows how many young women?” Kelly added.
	“What?” Jean exclaimed.
	“Just look at the four of you!” ML responded.  “Never in my life have I encountered the level of love that exists in this house...  Among all four of you!  Clear?  Now why are you so determined to wreck it?”
	“You haven’t heard the whole story yet,” Kelly replied.  “But your husband has bedded seven girls since you threw him out of your bed.  Every one — except for ML — is in the hospital right now!  And at least one of them — plugged into every medical device and fluid imaginable — wants to pull out all of the tubes, go find Jim and get fucked again.  And this is in full knowledge of the fact that it will kill her.  And I mean kill her dead!  Understand?
	“And it should be obvious to you that ML should be with the others in the hospital right now herself.  She’s so weak and her groin and abdomen are in such sad shape, she needs crutches just to hobble around.”
	Glaring at Jean with emerald sparks flying from her lovely green eyes, Kelly concluded, “Are you getting a message, Jean Dawson?”
	Jean just slowly shook her head like a punch-drunk fighter who had absorbed too many punches.  She had been rocked.
	Susan had pulled herself together and had cleared the table.  Then we learned what Sandy had been doing as she used a chafing dish to flame crèpes Suzette.  They were magnificent and everyone said so.  The girls and Jean even shared some.
	I served cognac and cigars that Jean also had.  Neither of the guests had ever had a cigar before, but when Jean carefully lighted panatellas for each of them, they took them.  I had my Corona corona.
	Kelly slid her chair back from the table, turned it slightly and stretched her lovely long legs.  At five feet seven and a bit, she’s a tall girl; not as tall as Jean, but tall.  “So this is pot luck at the Dawson’s, huh?  Jean, Sandy and Susan, it was the finest meal — bar none — I’ve ever eaten in my entire life.  And on a Callaway Industries expense account I’ve eaten at many of the very finest restaurants in the world.  None come close.”  Then she grinned and added, “But I repeat: I’ll await an invitation to come over for a real meal sometime.”
	She snapped her fingers as an idea came into her head.  “Jean, by any chance do you have the recipe for that liver we just ate?”
	“I may have it on my computer,” Jean replied.  “Want me to look?  Why don’t we all go into our sitting room and relax for a bit before bed.”
	“Bed...?” ML stammered.  “But... but... I’ve got to get home...”
	“How?” Jean asked.  “On crutches?  And to do what?  You haven’t been there for ten days.  And we have plenty of room.”
	“I don’t have anything...”
	“We have all the toiletries,” Jean interrupted.  Then with a warm smile she added, “Susie has asked to share your bed, by the way.  She thinks you’re really neat and she can’t wait to be able to fit her bare body to yours.”  Then she grinned and added, “And I have to admit that her youthful body fragrance is just lovely when waking up in the morning.”
	Back in our apartment, Jean moved her mouse awakening her computer from its standby mode.  Kelly was standing beside her as she sat down in her chair preparatory to searching for the recipe.
	But when Kelly saw Jean’s desktop, she moved to hold Jean’s hand to keep her from bringing up anything.  I didn’t understand what was going on.
	Then Kelly exclaimed softly, “My God!  You’re Jeanie!  Admit it!  Jean Dawson, you’re the Jeanie who designed our user interface, aren’t you?”
	The way Jean’s shoulders slumped I instantly knew that what Kelly had said was true.
	Jean only murmured, “Yes...”
	Kelly was gleeful.  “My God!” she exclaimed turning toward me.  “I was concerned because I hadn’t heard a word from Jeanie.  No wonder!  You’ve been fucking her ass off, Boss.”
	Jean had risen from her seat and was standing close to Kelly.  “Please!” she pleaded.  “I haven’t done a damned thing...”
	“Oh, no!” Kelly responded derisively.  “You just made the whole thing go!”  To me she said, “I mentioned the interface to you, Boss, but you haven’t ever seen it.  We put it in right after you went on your leave and sales took off like a rocket.  Through your work we had a back end that was, by far, the most rock-solid in the industry.  But with all due respect, the user interface — to be most charitable — was really kludgy.  Anyway, Jean fixed it.  What do you think?”
	For the first time I really looked at it.  Although I just glanced at it, I could see that everything a user might want was right where one would expect it to be.  “How did you do this?” I asked Jean.
	“It’s really sort of dumb,” she replied, “but I was able to get away with it as my senior project in management science.  ‘Science’!  What a joke.  There’s nothing to it; any idiot could have done the same thing.”
	“Right...” Kelly interjected, drawing out the word.  “That’s why our sales have increased by a factor of ten with the new interface.”  Then her face fell as she added, “The next quarter’s bonus is going to be a real beaut.  What a stinking shame...”
	“What’s a shame?” I asked.
	“That I won’t get it,” she replied softly.
	“Why won’t you get it”
	“Because I’m not working for Callaway anymore.  Remember?  I quit or you fired me or something.”
	“No, Kelly.  You just have a different assignment.  You’re going to teach Brian Malone to be a lover.  Remember?  But you’re most certainly still on the payroll.”
	Merrilee had been studying the monitor while we had been talking.  Finally she said, “Jean, you did this all by yourself, didn’t you?”
	Jean just nodded.
	“What incredible genius!” she exclaimed.  “With this front end...  Oh, my!  Our systems will be the envy of the whole industry.”
	“Sweetie, I guess we never mentioned it before, but Merrilee is better known in computer circles as ML Adams, the finest software designer alive.  And she’s just agreed to join Callaway.  So I think you could interpret what she just said to be the highest praise from a very informed source.  Okay?”
	Because they were standing close, somehow Kelly’s hand contacted Jean’s abdomen.  I saw the girl’s eyes instantly flare and she murmured, “My God!  You’re carrying Jim’s baby, aren’t you?  You’re pregnant!  I just felt a movement down there, and it certainly wasn’t your digestive tract.”
	At that remark, Jean crumpled to her knees and began to cry.  And it was unique in my experience; they were hopeless-sounding tears.
	“What were you planning on doing?  Running out on Jim and never telling him he had fathered a child by you?  Jean Dawson, could you possibly be so selfish?” Kelly demanded.
	“But I’m a whore!” Jean wailed.
	“Okay,” Kelly said with her legs now spread wide.  “How do I get started?”
	Slowly Jean lifted her head from between her legs.  She had been doubled up while crying her heart out.  “Get started as what?” she asked, bewildered with tears still streaming down her cheeks..
	“As a prostitute, turkey!” Kelly exclaimed.  “Clearly, you’re the finest wife and mother our Good Lord ever saw fit to put on this earth, and you were a prostitute.  So I guess I’ll have to be one, too.  Now how do I get started?”
	“You’re crazy, Kelly Maguire!”
	“Crazy?”  Turning to Merrilee she asked, “What do you think, ML?  You’ve been through it...”
	“I’ve been getting pissed is what I’ve been doing,” Merrilee replied.  “Quite honestly, Kelly, I’m pissed... at you!”
	“At me?”
	“Damned right,” ML insisted.  “My insides are sort of beat up so I won’t be able to work the streets for a while yet.  So I’m pissed because you’ll be ahead of me.”
	Turning back toward Jean, Kelly asked, “Okay.  Are you ready to marry Jim now?”
	“I can’t!” Jean cried.  Again she dropped her head to her thighs and just bawled.
	Turning to me, Kelly said, “Boss, you’ve been doing this all wrong!”
	“Wrong?” I echoed.  (But you’ll notice I didn’t say, “Huh?”  An improvement.)
	“Yes, wrong,” she repeated.  Then looking thoughtful she continued, “You’ve been going on the assumption that, like most people, Jean has her brains in her head.”
	She paused for a moment and continued, “Well, maybe she does.  But whatever she’s using to come to the utterly insane — and inane — decision that she can’t marry you isn’t there.  I think it’s at the other end: in her bottom.  So...”
	“Kelly, dear heart, are you suggesting that I do something to... gain the attention... of the operative parts?”
	“Boss, I think that’s a simply wonderful idea!” she exclaimed with a grin.
	Merrilee clapped her hands in glee.
	Turning to Jean, still sobbing, I ordered, “Woman!  Strip!”
	Jean raised her head and her eyes were wide.  “But, Jim...”
	“Strip!” I repeated.
	Jean just looked at me wide-eyed, but untied the knot in her shirt, unbuttoned it and let it drop to the floor.
	“My Lord!” ML gasped.  “I’ve never seen such perfect tits in my life.”
	Slowly, Jean unbuttoned her shorts and slipped them over her hips.  They, too, dropped to the floor.  With her eyes still fastened on mine, she slowly slipped her bikini over her hips and let it fall, too.
	“Perfect tits?” Kelly said softly.  “Don’t you mean ‘perfect body’?  The woman is unreal.  And she is female perfection.”  Then she giggled and asked, “ML, are you really sure you want to try to entice Jim away from her bed and into yours?”
	(I should point out that I heard some of this at the time, but most of it came from Sandy and Susan’s “instant replay”.)
	“I give up!” ML said softly.  “You’re right, Kel.  She’s perfect.  Just plain perfect.”
	Jean was now just standing up straight before me with tears rolling unchecked down both cheeks.
	“You’re carrying our baby, Jean,” I said softly.  “Don’t you think you should marry me?”
	“I can’t, Jim!” she wailed.  “You know that.  I just waited too long.  I was going to leave today but couldn’t bring myself to do it.  I’m just too selfish...”
	I sat down on her computer chair and ordered, “Over my knee.”
	Her eyes widened.  Now they appeared to be larger than I had ever seen them.  Still standing up straight, she moved her hands behind to cover her buns.  She knew what was coming.  “Jim... No.  Please no...”
	“Over my knee!”
	She covered the few feet between us as slowly as if she was going to her execution.  But then she bent over my right leg.  She was so cute!  Her hands were still trying to cover her buns.
	“Put your hands where they belong,” I ordered, “and relax your cheeks.”  Gently I ran my fingers over her perfect skin and murmured, “Such a shame.”  Then to Jean I said, “Will you marry me, Jean?  Saying yes will save you a lot of pain, you know.”
	“I can’t!” she wailed.
	I began to really whack her.  As I’ve mentioned before, my hand is big and I had become pretty strong — very strong, as a matter of fact.
	“My God!  He’s killing her!” ML whispered.
	“But it just might work,” Kelly replied.  “I certainly hope so.”
	After ten spanks, all on her right cheek, Jean was screaming in pain.  I really hurt her, I’m afraid.  “Will you marry me, Jean?” I asked softly.
	“No,” she whispered.  But it sounded like a tremulous no; not nearly as certain as her refusals had been before.  “I’m sorry, sweetie.  Now take your position on my other leg.”
	When she arose from my leg I could see her cum running down her inner thighs.  “Wait!” I commanded.
	She stopped and looked at me with a question in her eyes.
	I ran a finger up her thigh to pick up some of her syrup and licked it.  “Umm!  You’re very sweet tonight.”  Then I glared at her and ordered, “Now go to your friends and offer them a taste.”
	“Jim!” she exclaimed.  She was genuinely shocked.
	“What’s the problem?  You keep telling everyone — including our friends — that you’re a whore.  Surely offering your cum to friends can’t bother you.”  I paused for a moment and added, “Use your finger to get it still nice and warm from your cunt.”
	This was really killing her.  But she went to Merrilee, swallowed hard and stammered, “Would you like a taste of my cum cream, Miss Adams?  Jim says I’m very sweet tonight.”
	My love for ML took an upward leap at that moment.  I could see the sadness and sympathy for poor Jean in her eyes.  She swallowed hard, though, and said, “Yes.  Yes, I would.  May I have a taste of your lovely cunt?”
	Slowly, Jean lowered her hand to her cunt, spread her thighs a bit and reached up with two fingers.  She came out with a gob of syrup on her fingertips which she extended toward Merrilee.  At that instant I realized that I was probably embarrassing both girls, too.  It was unlikely they had ever tasted cum cream in their lives before.
	But ML took Jean’s hand and brought her fingers into her open mouth.  “Mmm!  Delicious!” the girl pronounced.  “You really are sweet!  Is there any more?”
	Jean was truly shocked at ML’s response, but she nodded her head.  And I knew that there was a lot more where that came from.
	“Great!” the girl said.  “May I have more after you’ve given Kelly a taste?  But I would like to get it myself next time.  Okay?”
	Tears were streaming down Jean’s face but she managed to say yes.  When she reached between her legs to put her fingers up her vagina again I could see that already her right bun, which was crimson, was turning color.  She was in bad shape.
	She offered her fingers to Kelly who licked them off.  “Delicious!” she pronounced.  Then to Jean she said, “Now stand between us so the two of us can share.  And I’ll help myself, too, thank you.”
	Standing between the two girls, she lowered herself bowlegged to open herself up to their hands.  Now she was sobbing and I knew it was because of her humiliation.
	Both girls had long fingers and they took turns scooping gobs of Jean’s cum from her cunt.  From a look on her face, I could tell that Kelly was actually giving some thought to putting her whole hand up Jean’s vagina — really fisting her — but decided that would really be too much.
	When they had retrieved all they could, ML said, “No wonder it’s called a honey-pot.  Jean Dawson, you are utterly delicious!  It’s like eating honey but without all the calories.”
	When the girls finished, Jean returned to where I was still sitting and waiting.  I almost felt that it was with a sense of relief to end her humiliation.  She lay across my left leg, softened her buns and waited.
	“Will you marry me, Jean?” I asked again softly.
	“No,” she choked out.
	Again I beat her and again ordered her to make her cream available to our guests.  She stumbled over to them while crying uncontrollably.  Then she just bowed her legs to open herself up and the two girls feasted on her again.
	This went through two more cycles.  When the girls had finished with her for the fourth time, she just fell to her knees crying brokenly.  “No more,” she whispered.  “I can’t take any more.”
	“Will you marry me, Jean?” I asked softly.
	No answer.
	“Marry me, Jean!” I ordered.
	“Okay,” she whispered.
	“What did you just say?”
	At that, Jean’s attitude changed dramatically.  She rose up to her full height even though her legs were still pretty wobbly and declared, “Yes, dammit!  I’ll marry you!  You’ve beat the shit out of me already, and it’s pretty damned clear that you won’t stop until I say yes, so I’m saying yes!  Happy?” she demanded, glaring at me with blue fire in her eyes.
	“I’m ecstatic, darling,” I replied softly.  “And I have to give it to Kelly.  She was absolutely right.  The answer proved to be in an unexpected part of your anatomy.”
	She was still glaring at me, but looked utterly gorgeous.  “All right, Jim Dawson, now fuck me in the ass right now!”
	“Here?” I asked incredulously.
	“Right here!” she declared.  “These pigs have been feasting on my cunt all night, so I’m sure the sight of me being fucked in the ass won’t upset them!  Now do it!”
	Then she started to cry, but held her head up straight.  “God knows, I tried to get out of your life, James Dawson!  But I was too weak... and I love you so damned much.  I was too selfish.  I couldn’t bear to give you up... to anyone.”
	Now her shoulders were back and she was vibrating with emotion.  “Then there are our daughters... two finer human beings God never put on this earth.  Any parent would be delighted to have a kid one-tenth as good as ours, and we have two.  Two!  Can you believe it?”
	She spun around looking for Susie.  Glaring at her she said, “Okay.  Now strip.  You know what you have to do.”  Turning back to me she screamed, “Now fuck my ass!  And do it hard!  I want you to make me scream for mercy every time you pound that weapon into my ass.  Now do it!”
	I was hard as a rock by then, to say the very least.  Jean’s body had been shaking in orgasm with every spank and had almost from the very first.  “On your knees and spread those cheeks,” I ordered.
	Susie had shed her clothes but walked past her mother and came to me.  Then she carefully undressed me, making clucking sounds when she found that the thighs of my pants were soaked with Jean’s cum.  As was her habit, she carefully brushed my jacket and hung the trousers over a wooden valet to dry first.  Meanwhile, it was all I could do to control a grin; Jean was still on her knees and going nuts with the waiting.
	But Susan was not to be hurried.  Very carefully she undid my tie (yeah, I was actually wearing one for the night’s hunting) and then my shirt.  She took my loafers and socks, leaving me in my jockey’s.  When the rest was disposed of, she got to her knees before me and carefully lowered them lifting them out to clear my still-raging cock.
	“So lovely!” she murmured as she took it in her warm mouth and caressed it with her tongue.
	Kelly had moved her chair close beside Merrilee’s and the two were whispering.  (But with the girl’s haring ability, they might as well have been using a PA system.)  When Susie unveiled my raging cock, Kelly gasped while ML just sighed.
	“Isn’t that the most magnificent cock you’ve ever seen, Kel?” she asked.  “Then with another sigh she added, “Just think!  I had that monster inside me!...  Heaven!”
	“He’s a golden god!” Kelly breathed.  “He’s absolutely unbelievable!  And his cock’s tanned!”
	“And he’s about to fuck a golden goddess, too.  Can you possibly imagine a more perfect female body than Jean’s?  I sure can’t.”
	By this time Susie had slid under Jean’s hips and had her lips and tongue already working on her still-dripping cunt.  At the same time, Sandy had stripped and laid down on the carpet with her face under Jean’s.  Reaching up, she pulled Jean’s face to hers and began to merge their lips.
	For her part, Jean now had her shoulders resting on Sandy’s chest while both hands were behind her spreading her ass cheeks as far apart as they would go.
	“Now fuck me, damn it!  Fuck your slut’s filthy asshole!”
	I entered her hard and she screamed but at the same time drove backward to slam her tortured bottom against my thighs.  She screamed and her whole pelvis violently convulsed in a massive orgasm.
	“My God!  Would you look at that?” ML whispered.  “That woman is all muscle!  Look at them bulge as they spasm.”  Slowly she shook her head and added, “No wonder...”
	“No wonder what?” Kelly asked.
	“No wonder she can take him and every other woman ends up a basket case!  She’s nothing but perfectly toned muscles!”
	“But what about him?” Kelly exclaimed.  “Look at those shoulders, those upper arms... those thighs!  My God!  They’re tree-trunks.”  She sighed and added, “What a way to go!”
	“Sure is,” ML quietly agreed.
	I was really pounding Jean’s ass.  Furthermore, I had been feeling her multiple cumings every time I spanked her.  The result of this was that I couldn’t hold back for very long and didn’t.
	Screaming, “I’m cuming!” I really unloaded while at the same time driving as deep into her ass as I possibly could.  Believe it or not, she was still holding her cheeks spread as wide as possible.
	At that instant, Jean let out the loudest scream I ever heard from her lips.  “Fuck me!” she cried.
	I really unloaded.  I must have cum in quarts that time.  At the same time, Jean was taken by the most intense orgasm in all our time together... and you know she had never had an orgasm before meeting me.  Her whole body was in violent paroxysm as I poured my cum into her asshole.  She collapsed on top of the girls, but I was right behind her.  Never had I cum so much.
	“I just don’t believe what I’ve just seen... or think I’ve seen,” Kelly whispered.
	“It’s all real!” ML emphasized.
	Jean was unconscious — her whole nervous system had shorted out — and I wasn’t much better.  But when Susie wriggled out from under her mother’s body with me on top and moved toward my now-limp cock, Jean recovered.
	“Don’t you dare!” she exclaimed.  “That’s mine.”
	Although still groggy, she moved toward me.  I had rolled off her and was lying on my back when she took my limp cock, still covered with her anal residue, into her very talented mouth.  Then she really used her talent.  She licked, sucked, kissed...  Jean did everything imaginable and soon had me hard as a rock.
	“My God!” ML whispered.  “She can’t possibly...”
	But she could.  She took my full length down her throat.  At the same time, she somehow managed to get her tongue licking my cock’s underside.  Unreal!
	In spite of just having cum in quarts, I could feel myself rising to another peak.  Was this good enough for Jean?  Hah!  Sensing I was about to cum, she very slightly changed her tempo.  It was enough to let me down from my incipient crest.  And she continued contentedly to suck.
	She kept this up until I was pounding my fists on the floor, demanding that she let me cum.
	Jean took my cock from her mouth and examined it closely... or pretended to, anyway.  “Nope.  You’re not ready yet,” she pronounced and resumed her work.  She is incredibly talented.
	“I just do not believe what I’m seeing,” Kelly whispered.  “Jim’s gigantic, yet Jean seems to take it all in her mouth.”  Turning to Merrilee she asked, “Did you do that?”
	“I kissed it and licked the tip,” she replied, “but that was it.  I don’t know how Jean does it, but she sure does!”  She paused and added while slowly shaking her head, “If I had managed to do that, with his size he would have opened me up end to end.  The cavern his cock made where my cunt used to be would connect to the pipe he would have created by fucking my throat.”
	I decided Jean was getting her revenge.  But eventually — my banging my fists on the floor did nothing at all — nature took over and overcame her talent.  I exploded.  But she swallowed it all — somehow.  I almost passed out and did end up on my back on the floor.  And Jean?  She just went back to working on my cock.  After two monumental orgasms I didn’t think it was possible for me to get hard again in less than eight hours.   But what did I know?
	What I did know was that Jean’s work with her mouth and tongue on my cock was something I had never experienced before.  She was making love to my cock!  Incredibly, the damned thing responded.  In a matter of just a few minutes I was hard as a rock again.
	With that Jean flopped on her back with her legs spread wide and said softly, “Now fuck me, Jim!  And fuck me right.”
	“No,” I replied softly.
	“No?” she nearly screamed.  “But I said yes.  I said I will marry you.  What more do you want, for heaven’s sake?”
	“Think about what you said.  And remember Sandy.”  I guess she used that incredible information retrieval system of hers — the biggest mainframes should be so fast.
	“Husband, please make love to your wife,” she whispered.  “Please put that luscious weapon into my sopping sheath!”
	That was the correct answer, but it wasn’t what I had in mind.  Instead of lunging deep into her waiting cavity, I reached out and lifted her up.  Taking her into my arms, I merged my lips with hers.
	“Incredible!” Merrilee whispered.  “He’s going to do to her what he did to me.  It’s going to be so wonderful, Kelly.  Just watch!”
	The two-way flow of our love and sheer passion was incredible.  (It’s a shame we couldn’t harness that power and use it somehow.)  When we eased apart to breathe, I began to nibble her earlobe triggering a small orgasm.  Then I began to kiss her face all over — her eyes, her nose, her lips again.  And again our lips merged.  My tongue sought out hers in a dance of love.  They linked and her pure passion almost put me out.
	By now, though, Sandy was behind her mother supporting her back.  When I moved lower on Jean’s body, Sandy turned Jean’s head and melted her lips to hers.  When I began to nibble on Jean’s left nipple, Susan did the same thing on her right.  She had joined in, too.
	“Mother, thank you for staying with us,” Sandy breathed.  “I really don’t know if Susie and I could ever make it without you.”
	“It’s so utterly beautiful!” Kelly whispered.  “My God!  If those kisses were filmed, they would make cinematic history.  Those two are unreal.”
	“Kelly, dear friend,” Merrilee replied, “why do you think those women would have willingly — and gratefully — sacrificed their lives?  I got the same thing.  Not with nearly the power — I would be dead if Jim had ever kissed me the way he kisses Jean — but all the same moves.  Are you getting a picture?”
	“That working with the equipment he has — his gorgeous cock, for example — she’s made him the world’s premier lover?”
	“You got it!” Merrilee responded.  “What do you think?”
	“I think you’re absolutely right is what I think.”
	By now I had worked my way down Jean’s torso and had reached her gorgeous cunt.  I lifted her up so her thighs were on my shoulders and really started eating her.  She was luscious!  But my behavior this time was different.  I worked hard to bring her to mild — for her — orgasms.  I wanted this to be very soft and sweet.
	While I was working on her cunt, the girls were taking turns kissing all over Jean’s upper body while telling her how happy they were.
	Finally, I judged that Jean was where I wanted her.  I lowered her legs to align her vagina with my cock and slowly entered her.
	“Thank you, my darling husband,” she breathed.  “Never have you entered my cunt so smoothly or so easily.”  She smiled the warmest smile I had ever seen and asked softly, “Will you kiss your wife?”
	With my cock now in to its root, I raised her torso up and again melted my lips to hers.  At the same time I could feel her very talented cunt squeezing my cock.  The feeling was out of this world.
	“I love you, James Dawson, with all my heart!”  Jean breathed.  “Thank you for having me as your wife.”
	What followed was very gentle lovemaking.  But finally I could hold out no longer and really let go... again.  I was cuming in quarts!
	Jean was in spasm too, but it wasn’t nearly as violent as it usually was.  Instead her eyes were wide open and she just looked into mine while she seemed to savor the feeling of my cum filling her body.  As my spasms slowed, she looked at me lovingly and said, “The very best, James Dawson!”  Then very slowly she added, “I love you with my whole heart and soul, my darling.”
	At that I again lifted her torso and kissed her.  It was so utterly warm and wonderful, it was not to be believed.  While I was kissing her, my poor, overworked cock went limp and I withdrew.  Then she surprised me — again.
	Rising to her feet she went over to our guests and said, “Would you like to taste something truly wonderful?  Jim’s cum.  Kelly?  Merrilee?”
	Instead of responding, ML reached up toward Jean.  Knowing what the girl had in mind, she lowered her head and the two women kissed.  It was truly lovely.  (And, by the way, Merrilee is now one of my wife’s closest friends.)
	“That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life!” ML breathed.  “And thank you, darling Jean, for allowing me to share Jim with you, if only that one time.  It was heavenly.  Not nearly up to the level you and he just achieved, but lovely just the same.”
	The two young women then proceeded to do what they had previously done.  They used their fingers to extract our mixed syrup from Jean’s cunt.  While this was going on, I had risen from the floor and sat (collapsed) on the sofa.  When the women were finished, Jean joined me, wincing when she sat on her tortured bottom.  At that point Susie began to work with her talented tongue on Jean’s cunt while Sandy just snuggled on her other side.
	“Mom,” the girl said, “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you and Dad are getting married.  Honestly, I’ve been scared to death about dating without you around to coach me.”
	“I don’t think it’s going to work out that way for you, my darling daughter.”
	Sandy’s face just crumpled.  “You mean... you mean... that I’ll never have a date?” she asked, utterly aghast.
	Jean realized what Sandy was worried about and hugged her tightly.  Then she said softly, “No, my darling, that’s not it at all.”  Then she looked into Sandy’s magnificent blue eyes with her own eyes gleaming.  “How many guys did Sheila date?  Or Stephanie?”
	Sandy thought for a moment and looked at her mother with consternation.  “But they’ve each only dated a single guy!”
	“That’s right,” Jean agreed.  “And so did I.  Sweetie, do you remember the first night your dad and I went out to dinner alone?  Do you remember how I was acting?”
	Sandy obviously activated her instant-replay system and studied the results.  Her eyes widened and she looked at Jean in disbelief.  “Mom... you were nervous... and scared!  But why?”
	Before answering, Jean kissed and caressed Sandy all over.  Then she said softly, “Because a girl is often scared when she’s going out on her first date.  My darling, believe it or not, that was my first date!”
	“Oh, Mommy!” Sandy squealed.  “That’s just so incredibly neat!  Your first date was with the man you’re marrying.”
	“As was Sheila’s,” Jean continued.  “And, let’s face it: Does Mike have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting away from Steph?”
	She grinned and added, “Of course, I almost screwed the whole damned thing up, but, thanks to buns that will be hurting for at least a month, I finally wised up.”  She smiled softly and added, “Sandy, it’s not an immutable law of nature — I don’t think — but based on precedent, there’s a very good chance that your first date will be with the guy you end up marrying.
	“And there’s something else, too.  I’ve finally come to the realization that we’re one-man women.  I really feel like kicking myself.  You probably already know — I was the thick-headed one — that I was madly in love with your father the first instant I saw him.  Everyone — and I mean everyone — who’s ever seen us together says we’re made for each other.  As I said, I thought it was true the first time I saw him and I knew it was true the first time we kissed.  And that’s just reinforced every time we kiss, which, I thankfully add, is often.”
	At that point I received a shock.  Kelly rose from her chair and went to the phone.  Before picking it up though, she asked me the name of our local church.  I was puzzled, but gave it to her.  She just nodded once and dialed 411.  Getting the phone number, she dialed it.
	“What are you doing?” I exclaimed.  “Do you realize what time it is?”
	“Yeah,” she said laconically, “it’s 12:15.”  Then she just turned her back on me.
	From the time involved, it took awhile for anyone to answer.  But finally someone did.  (This is all from Jean who “recorded” the conversation.)
	“Father Collins?” Kelly asked.  Receiving an acknowledgment, she identified herself and asked, “Do you have anything scheduled for 11:00 tomorrow... or rather today.  Sorry.  It is after midnight.”
	Learning that the schedule was clear, Kelly continued, “Great!  You’re marrying James Dawson and Jean Peters at 11:00.”
	Then she held the receiver away from her ear as the priest obviously was screaming.  When he finally ran down, she held it normally and continued, “I apologize, Father, for not identifying myself.  I’m Kelly Maguire.  And you really don’t want me to have to call Uncle Terry, do you?”  She paused and then added, “Darn!  I guess you don’t know him as Uncle Terry, do you?  To you he is — or is about to be — Terrence Cardinal Maguire, newly named Cardinal Archbishop of Chicago.”
	She listened for a few moments and then said, “Thank you very much, Father Collins.  I just knew it wouldn’t be necessary for me to call Uncle Terry.”  She paused for a moment and then added, “Of course, every time I see him — which is quite often — he reminds me that I’m his very favorite niece.  But thanks again.”
	Hanging up the phone she said, “Okay.  Now that’s done.  You two won’t be single in 12 hours.”
	I rose and carried Merrilee in her chair over toward the sofa.  Kelly joined us and Sandy moved to the floor between my legs to clean my cock.  If you can imagine the sight, six of us including two children.  The youngest between the thighs of her mother licking out our mingled cum while the other was carefully cleaning me off.  Oh, well.
	“Have you ever heard of a shift wedding, darling?” Jean asked.
	“Nope.  What’s a shift wedding?”
	“That’s when the bride comes to her marriage with nothing — only her shift.  She could get out of debt that way because the new husband didn’t take on any of her prior obligations.  That’s what I’m going to do.  I’m signing everything I own over to you.”
	She paused, thought for a moment and added, “In fact, I’m not going to be your wife, I’m going to be your mistress.  That way you can throw me out in the street at any time.  Okay?”  Jean seemed quite elated at the idea.
	“You mean when you get fat and dumpy?”
	Her face fell.  “That’s very unlikely to happen,” she said softly.  “It’s another of our differences.  I guess we have a sort of variable-speed metabolism.  Remember Lieutenant Richards telling about me working to put on weight?”
	I nodded.
	“Well, it was a bitch, believe me!  You see, when I take on a lot of calories, my metabolism speeds up to burn off what the body doesn’t need; we don’t seem to store fat the way humans do...”
	“My God!” ML interjected.  “That’s not human!”
	“You’re right, ML,” Jean replied, “so I guess we’re not.”  But then she gently ran her slim fingers over her abdomen and her eyes flared.  I guess there was movement down there.  “But we’re close enough for most purposes.
	“But anyway, what little money I’ve got is now yours, my darling,” she concluded.
	“Hah!” Kelly said.  “Little do you know...”
	“About what?” Jean replied, puzzled.
	“Well,” Kelly explained with her eyes sparkling, “it’s your own fault for being out of touch...”
	“What are you talking about?”
	“I’m talking about your royalties on the user interface,” Kelly replied.  Now she was giggling.
	“Damn it, Kelly Maguire, would you kindly knock off the shit and tell me what you’re talking about?” Jean demanded.
	“I’m talking about the development deal,” Kelly answered.  “You did the work for $5,000...”
	“And my professor was delighted, too,” Jean interjected.  “I was the only student he’s ever had who got paid — let alone paid so much — for a senior project.”
	“That’s the problem,” Kelly said mysteriously.
	“Maguire, if you still want to be alive five minutes from now...!” Jean threatened.
	“It’s the money,” Kelly explained.  “As you know — or should — there’s a great deal of free-lance work done in software.  Well, the industry has come up with some informal standards because the Feds have been giving companies a hard time claiming that consultants and free-lancers are really employees.  Anyway, the result has been the development of these standards.  They relate to the value of the work compared to what the developer was paid.  Anyway, to our lawyers your five grand was laughable.  The result is they set a royalty of $10 a unit on it.”
	“What?” Jean almost screamed.
	“Yeah,” Kelly continued, ignoring the interruption.  “And through the end of last month, sales exceeded two million units.”  She grinned and added, “But don’t worry about a thing, sweetie.  Sales are rising fast.  You might eventually see some real money.”
	“But that’s... $20 million!” Jean exclaimed.  Then her face fell.   “Oh, shit!  I’m rich.”  Then she brightened, turned to me and said, “Nope.  I’m not.  You are.”  (The fact is it all went into joint accounts so there was no difference, but for some reason it made her feel better to think that she had no money.)
	Suddenly her eyes widened and she exclaimed, “Oh, no!  I can’t be married today.  I have nothing to wear!”
	Just then there was a soft knock on the front door.  Sandy rose from between my legs to respond.  Opening the door, we saw Kate Callaway with Jack standing behind her.  She gathered Sandy in her arms and melted her with a kiss.  Then standing back a bit she looked the girl over carefully and murmured, “Thank God!  It worked.”
	“What worked?” Sandy replied, puzzled.
	“Putting you where you belong: with your sister, Susan, and Jean and Jim.  My darling, you’re utterly exquisite!  And that aura of sadness and despair that was always around you is gone.”  She slowly shook her head and added, “I couldn’t be happier!”
	Looking over at Jean she said, “What incredible timing!  I made it back in time to be your matron of honor with the girls as bridesmaids.  How incredibly neat!”
	“But I don’t have anything to wear!” Jean wailed.  By this time tears were streaming down both cheeks.
	Kate whispered something to Sandy then raised her voice slightly and said, “Susie, don’t you think you’ve been feasting on your mother’s cunt long enough?  Why don’t you help your sister get a few things?”
	At that Susie rose from her knees, went to Kate and gave her a truly loving kiss and then followed Sandy out the door.
	Only then did I get a really good look at her.  Kate was utterly magnificent!  Now she had a deep tropic tan as did Jack.  Moreover, I have never seen either of them look as good as they did that day.  Jack is as big as I am and now his muscles were bulging to an even greater degree than mine.  
	We chatted for a few minutes and learned that Kate was pregnant.  “It’s been a royal pain, too,” she complained.  “I was counting on keeping track of the time by my periods... but I never had one!  Jack must have caught me that first week.”
	“Jim caught me too,” Jean said very softly.
	Kate whooped.  “Spectacular!  Oh, darling!  It couldn’t happen to a nicer couple.  And you couldn’t possibly look better than you look right now.”
	“Oh, yes I could,” Jean argued.  “I could look like you.  Kate Callaway, you are utterly exquisite!  Being shipwrecked on a tropic island seems to have agreed with you.”
	Kate looked puzzled and whispered something to Jack.  Jean utterly cracked up with laughter.  Obviously, she had heard what Kate had whispered but the rest of us — Merrilee, Kelly and me — had not.  Kate pointed to herself and then formed her lips in an O.  “Golly!  I’m sorry, Jean.  When you mentioned ‘Kate Callaway’ I had forgotten that that’s  my name.”  She paused and then added, “I thought my name was Let’s Fuck.  That’s really all Jack’s said to me for months.”
	At that point we all cracked up while Kate just giggled.
	The girls returned carrying a number of garments on hangars covered with plastic.  One of them proved to be an utterly magnificent wedding gown that — no surprise — fit Jean perfectly.  There were also two bridesmaids’ dresses in a blue that was a perfect match for the girls’ blue eyes.  Kate said that Jean was easy; it was the girls who had been the challenge.  Because they were still growing, she had to guess a bit at what their sizes would be on the wedding day.
	There were three other surprises.  I guess they were all wedding gifts.  The first was a pair of adoption papers all set to be filed on the day following the wedding recording the adoption of Sandra Smith Callaway and Susan Smith Callaway by Jean Peters Dawson and James Russell Dawson.  The two girls just shrieked with happiness.
	The second gifts were United airline tickets first class from Chicago to Maui for four.  The girls were coming with us.  All arrangements had been made for a suite at the Kapalua resort for all four of us.  “You’ve got two bedrooms...” Kate murmured.  “Oh, well, I suppose the girls might want the closet space and the extra bath that goes with it.”
	Then she added, “I’m sorry, Jean.  You’ll have to live with your virginity until the day after tomorrow when you arrive in Kapalua.  Think you can hold out?”  Then she giggled and it was a lovely musical sound.
	Finally she looked at the four of us — Susan was now sitting on Jean’s lap while Sandy was on mine — and said, “You four have to be the most uninquisitive people on the face of the globe.  Didn’t you ever wonder what’s been going on behind that big fence on the other side of the pool?”
	Like a dimwit I replied, “Somebody’s building something over there from the sound of it.  But with the high fence we never looked.”
	“That, dear James, is the future home of Jean and James Dawson.  Do you know them by any chance?”
	Jean just shrieked, dumped Susan, jumped to her feet and hugged and kissed Kate.
	Sandy had the best line though.  In a stage whisper loud enough to carry to the corners of the room she said, “This is neat, Dad!  Look at all the chances you’ll have to make brown-nose points with the company’s owners!”
	Everyone cracked up over that one.
	At that point it was off to bed.  Susan was sleeping with Merrilee while Sandy decided to sleep with Kelly.  For Jean and me it was the finest lovemaking ever, particularly when she pointed out that I probably couldn’t take her between the wedding and our flight to Maui.
* * *
	The wedding was simply lovely.  There was only one surprise.  The previous night Jean had gone off after all the arrangements had been set but before we retired to our bedroom.  It had only taken a few minutes.  At the wedding I found out who she had called: Lieutenant John Richards of the Chicago Police Department.  He was there in his full dress uniform acting as the father of the bride to give the bride away.
	I learned later that he was waiting in the back of the church for the bridal party to arrive.  When he saw Jean he just softly whistled and said, “Never have you looked so beautiful, Miss Peters.”
	Jean just raised an eyebrow and stared at him.
	“You’re gorgeous, Jean!” he exclaimed.
	She rushed into his arms and gave him a loving kiss.  “And you’re significantly responsible for this, I hope you realize.”
	“Blaming others already, huh?” he asked with his eyes dancing.  “But what did I do this time?”
	“You asked me why I wanted to ruin four lives.  Jack, I had been so focused on myself, it had never occurred to me that anyone else would even care.  Anyway,” she said turning toward the girls, “these are our daughters, Sandra and Susan.  And I couldn’t be prouder of any two girls in the whole world.  They’re simply wonderful!”
	“Oh, Jean!” he exclaimed after looking over the girls carefully.  “There couldn’t be two more beautiful young women alive in the world today, either.  They’re simply gorgeous.”
	The girls beamed and kissed Jack Richards.  When he finished, the power of their kisses was so great he could hardly stand.
	Meanwhile, I was standing at the front of the church with Jack Callaway, my best man.  Suddenly I realized I had no ring.
	“Relax,” he said.  “I have them.”
	“Them?”
	“Yeah.  There’s an engagement ring here, too.  Very short engagement you two had.  By the way, are Jean’s buns black and blue?”
	I grinned and replied, “They sure are.  And they’re going to be all sorts of colors before they go away, too.”
	At that point, the Wedding March began and I looked toward the rear of the church for the first time.  I was astonished at the number of people present.  The first to appear was Susan.  She was so happy and proud, she was effervescent.  And she was incredibly beautiful.  She was followed by Sandy who appeared more completely happy than I had ever seen her.
	As matron of honor, Kate came next.  She was utterly gorgeous in a dress of a golden color that matched the streaks in her hair.  Coupled with her deep tropic tan, she was outrageously beautiful.
	Finally, Jean appeared on Richard’s arm.  My eyes widened when I realized who he was.  And it was so typical of her, too.  All I can say about Jean at that moment was that she was, without any question, the most beautiful bride who has ever lived.  And she appeared to be truly joyous.
	When Richards gave Jean to me at the altar, she kissed him.  It was a loving kiss with modulated power, but it still almost put him out.  He was reeling to such an extent that Jean had to steady him for a few moments before he could take his seat in the pew.
	But then the ceremony began.  The only thing that was amusing occurred when Jean was asked if she took me in holy matrimony.  “I do!” she said in a voice that carried to the corners of the church.  “Oh, indeed I do!” she repeated.  And it was “love, honor, and obey.”  She particularly emphasized “obey” in her vows.
	When we had been joined in matrimony and the priest said I could kiss the bride, I did.  Unfortunately — or fortunately, depending on one’s point of view — it was not a typical bridal kiss.  Jean melted in my arms and then molded her body to mine.  Our tongues danced and linked.  At that point I think we could have lighted up the whole church and maybe we did.
	At the conclusion of the ceremony, an announcement was made inviting everyone present to a reception at the Callaway’s.  Just how a wedding reception could have been organized in less than twelve hours beginning around midnight never really registered.  On the other hand, over time I had come to the conclusion that Kate Callaway could perform miracles.  And she did... again.  The living areas were decorated in white and in the corner of the dining room stood an immense — and beautiful — wedding cake.
	We formed a receiving line with Susan, then Sandy, Kate, Jean, me and Jack Callaway at the end.  The first thing Jean did when we were lined up was to come into my arms and melt me with a kiss.  While we had been kissing for months, our shared kiss at the wedding and this one were like none that had gone before.  (Although they proved to be a preview of things to come; our kissing has just become even more powerful and better since then.)
	When we finally parted, Jean reminded me, “I’m your mistress, not your wife.  And don’t you dare forget!”
	“And don’t you forget that I can throw you out on the street, naked and penniless, too.”
	“Mmm...  That’s nice, dear,” she murmured as she gently massaged my body with her own.
	“Well, what was that action?” I asked.
	She looked at me with her eyes wide.  She was utterly gorgeous as she whispered, “I was just trying to show you why you really don’t want to do that...  Not yet, anyway.”
	Lieutenant Richards was the first person to come through the line.  It was utterly lovely to see Susie reaching up toward him with both arms.  He picked her up, she wrapped her arms around him and almost leveled him with a kiss.  “Thank you, sir,” she whispered, “for helping to keep our family together.  I’ll never forget what you’ve done.”
	Sandy did essentially the same thing.
	The surprise came when he met Kate.  They seemed to know each other, at least slightly.  “Hi, Lieutenant,” Kate greeted him with a lovely smile.  “We meet at last.”
	“Katherine Callaway,” Jean demanded, “how do you know Lieutenant Richards?”
	With her eyes wide Kate replied, “Because he helped me find you, silly.  That’s how.”
	“And just how did he do that?”
	“Oh...  Just a few things...” Kate replied evasively.
	“What few things?”
	“Nothing much.  Just the magazines and newspapers you read when you were in jail for prostitution,” Kate replied blandly.
	“You!... You!... You conniver, you!”  Jean paused as she thought about what she had learned and what had followed.  “No wonder you never asked me any questions about my background.  You knew it all already, didn’t you?”
	“Of course.”
	“And this whole thing was a set-up, wasn’t it?  You expected me to marry Jim Dawson.  That bullshit about being a sex therapist was all window dressing.”
	“That’s not completely true,” Kate protested.  “I knew Jim had no experience, so he really did need some instruction.”
	“But you certainly knew how it would end up, didn’t you, turkey!”
	“Of course,” Kate replied blandly.  “Why the hell do you think there was a wedding gown hanging in the closet?  Why do you think the girls adoption papers had already been signed by Judge Hall and were just awaiting filing?”  Then she punched Jean in the arm and added, “But with your damned stubbornness, you almost wrecked the whole thing...  And how’s your ass, by the way?”
	Jean had been slowly shaking her head as she finally realized what had happened.  “It hurts like hell is how it is, if you must know.”  Then with the cutest little grin and her eyes dancing she added, “It’s a hell of a place to find where I’ve been doing what passes for thinking, though.”
	Both women giggled at that one.
	A beautiful black woman came through the line carrying a baby.  When she reached Jean, she was beaming.  The girl introduced her husband, Bill Parker, and I learned that this woman was Angel, one of the women Jean had managed to get off the street, with her infant daughter, Jean.
	The woman just moved away a short distance to be able to see all of Jean.  Slowly she shook her head and announced, “Perfect!  Utterly perfect!”  Then she rushed into Jean’s arms.
	Jean melted the woman with a kiss, then oohed and aahed at the infant who was gurgling happily.  “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you, Angel,” Jean said.
	Angel introduced her husband, Bill, a young giant.  “Angel has been telling me that you’re an angel come to earth,” he said.  “And you know what?  It just could be true.  All I know is that there’s no one alive who would do for anyone what you did for her.  You gave her nearly $10,000 and then served your time scrubbing floors, cleaning bathrooms and every other lousy job they could think to give you in jail.  And that was every cent you had at the time, wasn’t it?”
	Jean just shrugged and replied, “I guess I needed the exercise.”
	He just shook his head and gave her a check for $10,000 in repayment.  Much later I learned that Jean pulled a Stephanie: She used the check to get the Parkers’ bank account number and transit code, then transferred $100,000 into it.  Along with the money went an explanation for the transfer: “Bread cast upon the waters shall be returned a thousand-fold.  But I’m cheap.  I hope you use it for a house for yourselves and baby Jean.”
	They did.
	The other surprising attendees were Merrilee and six other young women.  Two were in wheelchairs, and one — little Amy Grant — was still connected to IV tubes and to bottles hanging from hooks attached to the back of the chair.  ML introduced each of them to Jean.  They shook their heads and conceded that they had been overmatched.
	Amy looked Jean over carefully, then looked up at me.  “What an idiot I was,” she said softly.  “Trying to take you from Jean is like taking on an Abrams tank with a slingshot.”  Her eyes filled as she added, “But thank you both for the most exciting night of my life.  There will never be another one like it.”
	We both kissed the girl.  Fortunately, ML was right behind her and caught her head as she just collapsed in her chair.  When she regained consciousness, she just sat there for a few moments and then said, “That was a very mild kiss from each of you, wasn’t it?”
	Jean and I just shrugged.
	“The phrase is often overused, but with you two it fits perfectly: You deserve each other.  My God!  You would kill any other person alive with the power of your love...  The way Jim nearly killed me.”  She sighed and added, “But what a way to go!”
	Finally, the cake was cut and our family disappeared to dress for our honeymoon trip.  We left the house in a shower of paper flower petals.
* * *
	Art Fleming was waiting for us with the gunmetal-gray Rolls limousine to drive us to the airport.  As he held the door, I could hear him whisper to Jean, “I’m delighted that you finally came to your senses.”
	She just grinned and winked.
	When we arrived at O’Hare, I was glad Art knew where he was going, because I certainly didn’t.  He bypassed the usual United Airlines drop-off point and went to an unmarked area beyond.  There a senior passenger service representative was standing waiting, along with two skycaps.  In no time, our luggage was all tagged and disappeared.  Although I’ve never been sure, I think the pieces were specially marked as VIP; at any rate, they were the first items available at the baggage claim area, and all the pieces were together.
	We were greeted by the representative, Carolyn Maloney, and ushered into United’s VIP lounge.  This was something I guess I had heard about but had never seen.  It’s adjacent to United’s Red Carpet Club but not a part of it.  And unlike the club, everything in the lounge is on the house.
	When our aircraft was ready to board, Ms. Maloney came for us and escorted us to the gate and aboard the aircraft.  At the time, our flight had not yet been called for boarding.  Walking down the long O’Hare corridors I squeezed Jean’s hand — she was holding mine tightly — and pointed out the girls who were ahead of us.  Susan was holding on to Sandy’s hand.
	“She’s so cute,” I whispered.  “I guess it’s because she may never have been on an airplane before.”
	“You got that right,” Jean replied.  Then gripping my hand tightly she added, “Neither have I.”
	I guess that statement did come as a surprise.
	The VIP treatment didn’t end there.  We were escorted aboard the Boeing 747 and introduced to the senior flight attendant who showed us to our first class seats in the nose of the aircraft.  Champagne was immediately produced for Jean and me, while other flight attendants looked after the girls.  After being served, the girl who had attended Sandy and Susan stopped by our seats — we were sitting in the row behind them — to tell us that we had the two most beautiful girls she had ever seen.  “And they’re so nice, too,” she marveled.  “They’re so different from the children of VIPs that we usually see.  Your girls are as charming and considerate as any I’ve ever encountered.  The others are far more commonly obnoxious little bastards!”
	While she was speaking to us, I noticed that her eyes were locked on Jean.  She slowly shook her head and added, “I hope you haven’t stopped having children, Mrs. Dawson.  If you don’t mind my saying so, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.  And your girls will be your identical twins.”
	The girl really looked funny at that point.  It was all I could do to keep from laughing.  Clearly, the significance of what she had said to Jean had just registered, but as it did, it made no sense to her.
	“Thank you so much,” Jean said.  “And I certainly hope I haven’t.”  She grinned and added, “I’ve decided that my only skill is being a mother, so...”
	The girl left us shaking her head, still trying to sort out what she had just seen.
	Finally the flight was fully boarded and we were pushed back from the gate.  Jean was looking outside the aircraft, fascinated by the activity all around the giant plane.  After taxiing to the active runway, the pilot rolled out into takeoff position and advanced his throttles.  As the plane gathered speed down the runway, Jean was gripping my hand tightly.  I could almost hear her intake of breath when first the nose wheel came off the ground and then the main landing gear.  As we smoothly climbed and headed west, she relaxed and said, “This is really fun!”
* * *
	It was mid-April of the following year when I got a call from Jean late one Monday morning.  She called to tell me we were having company for dinner and could I come home a little early?  I told her I would try to be home by 4:00.  I called Jack to tell him he might be short an executive vice president for a few hours.
	“Oh, checking on that super software designer you have under long-term contract?” he teased.
	“Now look!  That’s exactly what our board chairman says, too.  And you know damned well that every time Kate mentions it, Jean corrects her: It’s a lifetime contract, she insists.”
	Then I called Merrilee to tell her she would be holding the fort that afternoon for an hour or so.
	“Thanks a hell of a lot, boss,” she said.  “Brian Malone is fucking Kelly’s ass off — or trying to, anyway — and now you’ve got to go and molest my top interface designer.  You’ve got some nerve.”
	She paused and then continued, “For that matter, your wife is selfish as hell, and I don’t mind if you tell her I said so.  All I did was ask her to share you a couple of lousy hours a year, for God’s sake,” she grumped.  “And I have it all worked out, too.  I have my hours scheduled right before two weeks of my vacation.  I’m almost sure to be out of the hospital in time to be back at work.”
	“But, ML,” I protested, “we’ve been all over that before.  It’s not Jean, it’s our insurer.  They really put their corporate foot down.  If I fuck you, they raise our rates.  That’s all there is to it.”
	ML giggled.  “Do me a favor?”
	“Sure.  What?”
	“Would you please give those gorgeous daughters of yours a big kiss for me?”
	“And just where would you like me to kiss them?” I asked blandly.
	ML just howled with laughter and hung up.
	Shortly before 4:00 I drove into our garage.  Kate had pointed out, with her nose in the air, that it wasn’t nearly as big as theirs.  “Why,” she said, “you’d be hard pressed to fit even 14 cars down here.  Ours can hold 20!”  Then she stuck out the tip of her tongue.
	Actually, the two were essentially identical in design — a single floor with a full basement (mostly the garage) — and very similar in size.  About the only significant difference is that ours didn’t have the full apartment inside that Jean and I had used at the Callaway’s and which was now occupied by Kelly Maguire and Brian Malone.  But there were a whole bunch of bedroom suites, each with a sitting room and bath.  I say “a whole bunch” because at the time — and even today — I’ve never bothered to count them.  The girls each have one for whatever good they might be.  I guess they use the closets — sort of; most of their stuff is in ours — and their computers, but that’s about all.  Most of their time — and all their nights — are spent with us.
	Coming up the back stairs from the garage, I entered our kitchen.  There was Jean sitting in a chair with something at her bare breast.  All she was wearing were the ratty Levi’s short shorts.  When I saw her, I relaxed.  She looked so incredibly beautiful — the way she always looked.
	“Hi, sweetie!” she whispered.  “I have a gift for you.  Want to see?”
	I covered the few feet separating us and almost died.  There with its mouth fastened to Jean’s left nipple was an infant.
	“My darling,” she whispered, “this is my gift to you.  His name is James Russell Dawson, Jr.  We’re going to call him Jamey.”  She smiled the warmest smile as she added, “I would give him to you to hold, but he’s got his mouth attached to my nipple and isn’t about to let go.”
	Dropping to my knees, I gently pulled back the top of the receiving blanket to reveal the most gorgeous little infant I had ever seen.  Newborns are often very red and somewhat misshapen due to a rough trip down the birth canal.  Jamey was utterly unblemished, and he had a full head of golden hair.
	“His eyes are blue, too... I think,” Jean said.  “They’re not open very much for me to see yet.”
	“But how...? When...?” I stammered.  I had fucked Jean’s ass off just that morning.
	“Oh... about 10 this morning,” she replied nonchalantly.  “Kate and I cut the cards to see who would deliver first.  I won, so Jamey’s senior to Johnny...”
	“Johnny?” I asked incredulously.
	“John Winston Callaway, Jr., to you,” she said with her eyes dancing.
	I pulled up a chair beside her and melted my lips to hers.  That had to be the greatest kiss we ever exchanged in our lives.  When we slowly parted I looked at her carefully and realized that she was more beautiful than I had ever seen her.
	Noticing my look, Jean said softly, “Why do you think so many Renaissance painters did madonnas with child?  A woman is most beautiful of all when she’s delivered a child and it’s nursing at her breast.  My darling, I can’t tell you how wonderful the feeling is or how great it makes me feel.  I’ve delivered your child, our son, my darling.  He’s living proof of my love for you.  I hope you like him?”
	“I love him and I adore you, my wife!”
	Jean just raised an eyebrow and glared.
	“Mistress, you have pleased your master.  As a sign of my pleasure, I will even allow you to keep your child.”
	“Oh, thank you, loving master!”
	Then I learned that she and Kate had taken turns delivering each other’s baby on our kitchen floor.  Marion Reynolds came by later to circumcise both infants — the mothers both loved the feel of circumcised cocks reaming their cunts — and to handle the paperwork.  Marion insisted that, since paperwork had become about 90% of the cost of practicing medicine, the two women should pay 90% of the cost of normal prenatal care.  (Laughing, both women wrote out checks which Marion then endorsed back to the infant boys as their birth gifts from her.)
	With her eyes dancing, Jean continued, “Our daughter, Sandy, continuing in the spirit of self-sacrifice for which she has long been noted, has volunteered her body for your use to satisfy your carnal lust before dinner.”  Her eyes were rolling as she said it.  “Now don’t you think that’s an incredible sacrifice she’s making?”
	Then Jean added with a grin, “Of course she’s been masturbating for the last two hours, in hopes...”  Then she snapped her fingers and continued, “She’s very sweet this afternoon, by the way.   She’s been checking constantly.”
	“Mother!” Sandy protested glaring at Jean.  She had stretched it out into almost two words.  She was sitting bare-assed on the counter opposite Jean with her thighs spread and her finger moving slowly in her slit.  She appeared to be wearing the ratty top that matched Jean’s bottoms.
	“Gee!  What’s wrong with you, sweetie?  When...?”
	“Right this instant, if you really want to, my darling,” Jean replied.  “But if you look, you’ll see that my abdomen is pretty concave right now and my vagina is still pretty stretched.  Beyond that, I guess I learned a little more about our... peculiarities.  It seems like we must secrete a natural anaesthesia or something.  All I know is that delivering Jamey was totally painless as far as I was concerned.  On the other hand, it’s as if I’ve had a shot of novocaine or something down there.  I really don’t feel a thing.”
	Then with a lovely smile, she added, “I’ve been checking my clit...”  Her face fell as she continued, “Nothing!  I don’t think it would be much fun for you at all.  Sandy, on the other hand...”
	At that point Susie appeared.  She gave me a loving kiss — even my welcome-home kisses from my daughters were anything but perfunctory — and proceeded to undress me.  While she was doing that, I was teasing Sandy who was licking her lips in anticipation.  When I was stripped bare, I went to my older daughter and moved between her widespread thighs.
	Taking her into my arms while she was still sitting on the counter, I melted my lips to hers.  It was utterly marvelous!  When I moved to nibble on an earlobe, she whispered with a loving grin, “Daddy, this is just an appetizer, not the main course.  Couldn’t you just ram that luscious cock into my dripping cunt?  Later,” she said licking her lips lasciviously, “you can have the whole darned dinner.”
	I eased my cock into her dripping cunt.  It was beautiful.  As soon as I entered her, she wrapped her muscular legs around my hips and just pulled me all the way in.
	Leaning forward, again I kissed her and murmured, “My darling, you’re luscious!  And so nice and tight, too.”
	“Now what’s wrong with this picture?” I heard Jean say from behind me.  Glancing over my shoulder, I could see her holding our infant to her right nipple now.  Her eyes were dancing and she was vainly trying to control a grin.  “Here’s the poor mother, not even recovered from the torture of her childbirth, nursing their infant while her husband rapes their poor adolescent daughter.”
	“Speaking of rape,” Sandy croaked, “couldn’t you fuck me harder?  I mean...  Really!  If you’re raping me, shouldn’t it be a bit more... violent?”
	I rammed my cock into that luscious cunt to the root evoking a strangled, “Yes!” from Sandy.
	I continued until she was in continuous orgasm, then released.  That took her to the point where her nervous system overloaded and collapsed.  My cock was still buried to the root, but I was able to pull her upper body close to mine — God, was that girl supple — and mash her still-immature tits against my chest.  I just hugged her tightly and stroked her body all over, moving her shirt out of the way as I did.
	Slowly Sandy regained consciousness.  Recognizing what I was doing, she quickly untied her shirttails, shed the rag, and sinuously moved her now-naked body against mine.  “So good...” she murmured softly.
	“That’s all very well and good,” Jean said unsympathetically, “but I have an infant here who needs to be changed, so...”
	With that, Sandy offered me her lips in another loving kiss, murmured, “Thank you, Daddy,” and clambered off the counter top.  Still naked and with my cum starting to leak from her luscious cunt, she took the tiny infant from her mother and disappeared.
	“Thank you, my darling,” Jean whispered.  “That was simply lovely.  And I can’t tell you how happy your daughter is right now.”  Then with a warm grin she added, “We really are having company for dinner tonight, though: Amy Grant and Becky Richmond.  You might like to shower and dress.”
	Over the intervening months, Jean had invited all of my conquests to dinner, beginning with Merrilee.  Amy and Becky were the last two to dinner and the last two I had fucked; they were also the smallest and the last to return home from the hospital.  Amy was the girl in the wheelchair at our wedding who had still been plugged into various IV cocktails.  The arrangements had been the same with each group of two: Jean was always perfectly dressed and always outdid herself with the dinner she served.
	She joined me in the shower and for the first time I realized that her abdomen truly was concave indicating the space our infant had occupied until just a few hours earlier.  But that was the only change.  She was warm, loving and vibrant as usual.  After showering, she kicked me out of our bathroom.  Clearly, this was going to be an all-out occasion with her actually using makeup.  Not that I could ever see anything, only the results that were inevitably magnificent.
	I put on a dark suit with a tie and had just finished when Jean appeared.  She was wearing a full-length white cocktail gown with a skirt that was slit up both sides to the hip.  Because of the slit, I knew that she was wearing nothing at all underneath.  It had a halter top that was secured with a very thin cord around her neck that tied in the back.  Jean stood before me and just looked at me.  Her mouth was tremulous; some things never changed.  As incredibly beautiful as she was — and knew she was (I hoped) — she still wanted reassurance.
	“My mistress is the world’s outstanding beauty!” I declared.  I paused at that point and mused out loud, “But there’s something missing...”  At that point I went to a drawer in my chest and took out a jewelry case that I had for just this occasion.  “Why don’t you try this?” I asked, giving her the box.
	She opened it and her eyes widened.  “My darling master, it’s gorgeous!” she exclaimed.
	The box contained a diamond choker.  It was quite simple being brilliant-cut diamonds set in a simple white-gold choker.  The diamonds covered the full length of the choker and were perfectly matched at two carats each.  She put it on, then put on her diamond ear studs.  Utterly gorgeous, and I said so.  “My lovely mistress has pleased her master.  As a mark of my affection and generosity, I’ve decided that you may even keep the baby,” I repeated.
	“Oh, master!” she exclaimed with her eyes dancing in merriment.  “You spoil your slave so.  Is there no limit to your generosity?”
	“Probably there is,” I replied pontifically.  “But we haven’t reached it yet.”
	At that comment, Jean was unable to control a giggle.  That earned her a swat on her bun which instantly produced a sexy ass-wiggle and a murmur of appreciation.
	On the way out the door, she suddenly stopped and turned.  “Oops!  I forgot something,” she said.  “It’s good news and bad news.  Which do you want first?”
	Her eyes were dancing as she said the words, so I wasn’t very concerned.  “How about the good news?” I replied.
	“It’s good news for me,” she said.  “I found that unlike normal women, alcohol and such doesn’t get into my milk or into the placenta, for that matter.  So I’ll be drinking tonight.”
	“And the bad news?”
	With her eyes wide she replied, “I can’t serve you a brandy Alexander warm from my tit.  It just doesn’t work.”
	“Oh, dear!  Now how can I possibly live without a brandy Alexander from my mistress’s tit?”  Then I brightened and added, “How about milking your tit and serving it in a glass?”
	Jean claimed that that would be impossible, but that’s exactly what she did the following night.  And it was luscious, too.
	At that point I took her into my arms and pulled her close.  Instantly she just molded her body to mine and raised her lips for a kiss.  Before doing that, though, I whispered, “My darling, from the very first day we met, you’ve been making me the happiest man on earth.  Well, today you outdid yourself.  Jamey is utterly gorgeous and has the finest mother alive in the whole damned world!”  With that I kissed her and tasted her sweetness.
	When we finally eased apart, she breathed, “My darling, I love you more than life itself.  Thank you for giving me a tiny living piece of you to raise as our son.”
	With that we went out to greet our arriving guests.
* * *
	I opened the door when the bell rang.  Jean and the girls were standing in a row behind me.  The girls were both wearing gowns similar to their mother’s but without the cleavage; Jean’s neckline was cut down almost to her waist with the two pieces relying on her perfect tits to keep the two sides together.  The girls’ cleavage stopped at a point midway down their boobs, or in Susan’s case, where they would be when she developed a pair.  For my part, I was so used to feeling proud of my family, their overwhelming combined beauty that evening didn’t even register.
	But it did with Amy and Becky.  I greeted them at the door and stepped back to introduce them to the women.  Although they had met in the receiving line at the wedding, I didn’t think that really counted.  Both had still been hospitalized at the time and both had attended in wheelchairs.  Moreover, events at a wedding are usually such that the overall impression is kaleidoscopic in nature; seldom can one really focus on an individual.
	That certainly proved to be true in this instance.  I took the girls’ coats and they moved toward the women and suddenly stopped dead in their tracks.
	“My Lord!” Amy breathed.  “You are utterly breathtaking!  All three of you!”  She began to laugh with the laughter rising nearly to the level of hysteria.  I began to be concerned.  But she regained control while slowly shaking her head from side to side.  “What utter insanity...” she finally muttered.
	“What does that mean?” I asked.
	“Jim, I’ve heard about these dinners from the other girls.  As you may know, we’ve all become very good friends.  It’s sort of a sorority.  We seven are the only girls — other than your wife — who have ever had you share their beds.
	“But anyway,” she continued, “they’ve all raved about the beauty of Jean and the girls.  It registered in my brain, I guess, but not in my heart.  It remained an intellectual curiosity until this minute.  I remember how gorgeous Jean looked in her bridal gown, but somehow that was different.”
	At that she moved again toward Jean, but this time with her hand outstretched.  “What is so funny is the thought of trying to take Jim away from you.  Aside from the fact that you would have him back over our dead bodies in less than 24 hours, while I like to think of myself as attractive, comparing me to you is comparing a kindergartener’s finger painting to Botticelli’s Birth of Venus!  Except you are so much more beautiful than Botticelli’s model ever hoped to be.”
	The women exchanged kisses — which left Amy and Becky light-headed — and we went into the living room.  Since it was a cold day in April, there was even a very cheery fire in the fireplace.  After taking seats side by side on the sofa, they looked around and admired the room.  Jean and I were sitting on side chairs at opposite ends of the coffee table in front of the sofa.
	“This is absolutely perfect!” Becky declared.  “It is the loveliest — and warmest — living room I’ve ever been in.”
	“If you’re too warm...” Jean began.
	“Oh, no!” Becky protested.  “I wasn’t speaking of the heat at all.  In fact the temperature is perfect.”  Then she sniffed the air and looked puzzled.  “Even the air smells clean...”  Then she shook her head and added, “That has to be an oxymoron.  Clean air wouldn’t smell at all.  But, damn it, this air smells clean.”
	Jean grinned and giggled girlishly.  “Becky, you’re right.  It does smell clean.”  She then explained the home’s high-powered air purification system with its charcoal beds, oxygen enhancer and the latest in our house, an ionizer at the end that actually did have the effect of adding a clean smell.
	The girls took drink orders; we all elected Cardhu on the rocks.  I commented to Amy that her taste in alcoholic beverages was developing.  She just grinned.  Sandy brought in the  the drinks and Susan followed with the first platter of hors d’oeuvres.
	After she served the drinks, Jean whispered to Sandy, “It’s that time again.”
	The girl just nodded once and disappeared.
	“You have the most beautiful family I’ve ever seen or heard of,” Becky said.  Then she snapped her fingers and her eyes widened.  “Of course!  You three are in the Tiffany ads, aren’t you?  It’s you!  And those ads are so neat!  Such restrained elegance...”  She thought for a moment and then nodded sharply.  “That really says it all about you, doesn’t it?  Restrained elegance and grace.  You three are unreal!”
	Jean just smiled warmly and said, “Thank you.”
	At that point Sandy returned carrying her infant brother.  Jean just looked at her and Sandy nodded.  Handing the bundle to her mother, she carefully untied the cord behind Jean’s neck that held her dress up.  Folding it down, she bared Jean’s magnificent tits.
	Opening the receiving blanket, Jean cooed for a moment, then placed our infant’s mouth over her left nipple.  That’s all it took.  Even sitting across from her I could see the baby’s mouth moving and see the swallowing as he dined on his mother’s milk.
	“Amy and Becky,” I said softly to avoid disturbing the infant, “may I present our youngest.  He’s James Russell Dawson, Jr., age, less than 12 hours.”
	What is it about women (of all ages) and babies?  They’re apparently genetically compelled to look and coo.  Which is exactly what Amy and Becky did.  Jumping to their feet, they went to Jean and knelt beside her chair to get a closer look.  To give them a better look, Jean carefully folded back the receiving blanket so they could see most of his upper body.  For his part, Jamey couldn’t have cared less.  He was absorbed with his dinner, fresh from his mother’s breast.
	“He’s so incredibly beautiful!” Amy breathed.  Then she thought about the timing and said aghast, “You had to be expecting him when Jim was fucking me!  How could you?  How could he?”
	“Because he didn’t know because I didn’t tell him,” Jean whispered.  “I guess I wasn’t thinking too clearly.  I had intended just to go away — to disappear — before Jim knew I was pregnant.  And I almost did it, too.”
	“What changed your mind?” the girl asked.
	“Jim beat the shit out of me, is what changed my mind,” Jean replied with a warm smile.  “I couldn’t sit comfortably for weeks afterward, and — honestly — I still feel it today.  His hard hand diligently applied to my ass persuaded me that he and the girls loved me and wanted me to stay.  So I did.”
	“Could... Could I taste?” Becky asked timidly.
	Jean smiled warmly and replied, “I’ve got two nipples, and Jamey can’t use more than one at a time.  Help yourself.”
	“But... the milk...?” she stammered.
	“There’s more than enough, Becky,” Jean replied in a whisper.  “I guess I’m a bit strange.  First of all, regardless of what I drink, Jamey gets pure milk — nothing else.  But beyond that, there’s always enough — more than enough — regardless of how much or how little he wants.”
	Then Jean frowned and added, “I had hopes of finally getting a pair of boobs.  To me, boobs don’t even begin until a girl’s a D-cup, anyway.  But no such luck.  All I have is a pair of tits the same size they’ve always been.”
	“I would give my right arm for a pair like yours,” Amy said softly.  “They are simply perfect.”  With that she reached out and very gently touched Jean’s right tit.
	“I’m not at all breakable, Amy,” Jean said with a warm smile.  “Go ahead.  Squeeze it.”
	The girl did and her eyes widened.  “My Lord!  You’re so incredibly firm!  Do you ever wear a bra?”
	“Uh...  No,” Jean replied.  “Two reasons.  First, I don’t like them, and second, I’m not the right size.  I’m sort of a B+ cup, but they don’t make them.  A B is too small and a C is too large.”
	“And you don’t need one, anyway,” Amy concluded.  “My God!  If I had tits like yours I would never ever wear a bra.  You’re so perfectly shaped, and your nipples are so damned cute!”  She paused for a moment and then stammered, “Could I...?”
	“Help yourself,” Jean repeated with a warm smile.
	Amy did.  She moved closer to Jean’s chair and very gently took her right nipple into her mouth.  I guess she must have lightly nibbled on it because I could see Jean’s pelvis lightly convulse from an instant — but very small — orgasm.  Then Amy sucked and I could see her eyes light up.  I guess she was tasting Jean’s milk.  Slowly she eased away and then moved back to give Becky an opportunity.
	“It’s so incredibly sweet and rich!” Amy quietly exclaimed.  “You’re going to have the best-fed baby in the world.”  Then she frowned and added, “There’s just one thing...”
	“And what might that be?” Jean asked with an eyebrow raised, expecting Amy to be jerking her chain.
	“I mean...  Well...  At school.  Aren’t you going to feel a little strange bringing Jamey his lunch when he’s in the first or second grade?”  Amy couldn’t control her giggle.
	“Not a problem,” Jean replied blandly.  “I’m home-schooling Susan, and expect to do the same with Jamey.  So no, it won’t feel strange at all.”
	Amy was funny.  She literally dove across the carpet to get as far away from the baby as she could before she broke out in gales of laughter.
	Becky repeated the process.  By the time she had finished nursing, Jamey had, too.  Jean handed the infant back to Sandy who carried him off to change him again and put him back in his bassinet.  Jean brought her dress back up into position and retied the cord.  In moments it was as if nothing had happened.
	“I have a question,” Amy said.  “How did you know Jamey was awake, let alone hungry?  I have sharp ears but I didn’t hear a sound.”
	“We call it the ‘mommy filter’,” Jean replied.  “I’m sort of hard-wired to Jamey... and to the girls, for that matter.  If anything goes wrong, I know it instantly.  For example, I heard him stirring awhile ago; that’s when I sent Sandy to get him.”
	“Your daughter is utterly incredible!” Amy interjected.
	“I am blessed with two of the very best young women in the world,” Jean said fervently.  “They just could not be better.  Would you believe, Sandy — and Susan — have been reading everything there is to read on baby and child care?  I really think they’re better mothers than I am.  And they certainly love their baby brother at least as much as I do.”
	She paused and then continued, “You saw it for yourself.  I just whispered a word to Sandy and she was off like a shot.  She changed him, cleaned him off, powdered him and put him in a new receiving blanket.  What did I do?  I bared a tit — and she did that for me, too.  Then she burps him, changes him again and puts him back in his bassinet.  What do I do?  I offer a nipple.”  Jean smiled warmly and concluded, “And as you’ve just seen, Sandy does far more than I do.  I never even had to get out of my chair, for heaven’s sake!”
	When the girls raved about the hors d’oeuvres, Jean assured them that they were the girls’ doing, too.  The two just shook their heads.  At that point, Jean went out to the kitchen to take care of the finishing touches.  The girls were there already so I was left alone with Amy and Becky.
	“This family of yours is utterly unreal!” Amy commented.  “Before I forget, thank you so much for arranging a limousine to bring us over tonight.  But why did you do it?  It was absolutely lovely, but why?”
	“For liability reasons,” I replied.  “We’re serving a couple of wines tonight and Jean and I didn’t want you to face the choice of drinking or driving.  This way you can do what you wish without worrying about wrapping your car around a tree on the way home.”
	Becky had apparently been reflecting on what she had seen.  She giggled softly and slowly shook her head.  “What utter idiots we’ve been,” she said.  “We thought we could... I’m not sure what we thought, as a matter of fact.  I certainly didn’t know there was a Jean in the picture at all.”  She shook her head again and added, “But God, were we ever overmatched.  That woman is simply unbelievable!”
	“By the way, how are you girls feeling now?”
	Amy replied with a wince but a warm smile.  “First of all, Jim, I wouldn’t trade the experience you created for me for anything in the world.  You may have heard, in fact, that I was all set to pull all the plugs and come after you again, using my blood to lubricate your entry.  The doctor said it would be lethal, but I didn’t give a damn... and still don’t!  Am I making myself clear?” she demanded.
	“That you have some sort of death wish, yes,” I replied, “but you didn’t answer my question.”
	“I’m back in mostly one piece,” she replied softly, “although missing a few pieces, like a spleen, for example.  But...”
	“But what?” I persisted.
	“I’m dead from the waist down,” Amy said softly.  “So’s Becky.”
	“Is it permanent?” I asked.
	“The doctors can’t be certain, but they think so.”
	Becky joined in.  “All I can say, Jim, is that I underscore everything Amy just said.  There’s nothing — absolutely nothing! — I would do to exchange the experience I had with you.  If I can’t ever have sex again, for the rest of my life I’ll remember the glorious sensations you created in my body.  You, James Dawson, are the greatest lover alive in the world today!”
	I was spared the need to reply by a call to dinner.
	I seated Amy and was very pleased to see Sandy holding Becky’s chair.  When we were all seated the girls looked at the plates before them and I managed to stifle a grin.  It was obvious that they didn’t know what to make of the dish before them.
	“May I pour the wine, Dad?” Sandy asked while the girls were still looking.
	“Please do, honey,” I replied.  “And you and Susan may both have some, too.”
	“I may have gone a bit overboard,” Jean said softly from the other end of the table.  “This is glacéed breast of pheasant with foie gras and truffles.  I hope you like it.”
	The girls’ eyes widened.  I’m almost certain that neither had ever had pheasant before in any form, although with Becky I wasn’t so sure.  She grew up in Mississippi and her father was an avid hunter.
	The dinner progressed.  The pheasant was followed by one of Susan’s salads and in turn by filet of beef Wellington served with some of her marvelous vegetables.  Again both the salad dressing and the vegetables drew raves and then looks of utter consternation when they learned that Susan had prepared them herself to her own recipes.
	“Is there nothing this girl can’t do?” Amy asked in an awe-filled voice.  “She is unreal!  I couldn’t prepare anything this good if my very life depended on it!”
	Susie just grinned and replied, “It’s a good thing Mommy didn’t prepare a salad or veggies.  Mine wouldn’t survive the comparison.”
	For dessert Sandy flamed cherries jubilee.  This was followed by coffee, cognac, cigars and cheese.
	Finally we moved back from the table and everyone stretched.  “These dinners have been the talk among our sorority sisters,” Amy said, “but it’s a case where mere words are inadequate.  This was absolutely the finest meal I’ve ever had in my life!”
	Jean led the way back to the living room and then announced, “I think it’s time for show and tell.”  Looking up at me she said, “Darling, one thing we learned has been that none of your girls ever got a really good look at you.”  She grinned and continued, “There seems to have been an element of passion or something that proved to be distracting to them.”
	“Grr!” I replied in my most intelligent fashion.
	Instantly Susan was at my side undressing me.  When I was down to my jockey’s she was on her knees and carefully lowered them over my now semi-erect cock.  Then she moved aside so as not to obstruct the girls’ view.
	“My God!” Amy gasped.  “He’s a golden god!”
	I guess I did look pretty good.  My weight loadings had been creeping upward and I guess I did feel pretty good about myself.  At least I had noticed more than a few times when Jean just lightly ran her fingers over my upper body and made purring noises as she did so.  Furthermore, on more than one occasion she had stretched out on top of me with my cock nested in her luscious cunt and had fallen asleep that way.
	After one such event she awakened still in that position and proceeded to bring me to a full erection and then to a mutual orgasm by just manipulating her internal muscles.  It was unreal.
	“May I better prepare my master?” Jean asked wide-eyed looking up at me from her chair.
	“Is my slave mistress appropriately dressed for the task?”
	“No, master,” she replied quietly.  Jean untied the cord around her neck and rose gracefully from her seat letting the dress drop to the floor at her feet.  She was naked now except for the white pumps.  As she dropped to her knees before me, Sandy left the room.  Jean positioned herself a bit to the side so when I turned to face her the girls were seeing us both from the side, although I was facing more toward them.
	She moved close on her knees and sat back on her heels with her back straight.  Jean looked utterly magnificent.  Then she put her hands behind her head in a perfect submissive posture with her thighs spread wide.  Knowing what she was planning to do, I walked around Jean, stopping directly behind her. Placing her hands on the floor behind her feet, she leaned back and bent her head even further backward.  She smiled at me, then kissed my drooping cock.  Using only her mouth, lips and tongue she began to work on my cock in an utterly incredible fashion.  She relaxed her throat and slowly swallowed my cock until her nose was nestled against my balls.  Never had she done what she did that night.  Jean was truly worshiping my cock.  Somehow she used her mouth and throat to rhythmically squeeze it.
	“Good grief!” Amy whispered to Becky.  “Am I really seeing what I think I’m seeing?  There’s just no way a woman could take that monster in her mouth!
	“But she sure is!” Becky responded.  “My God...!  How?” 
	When she finished, she slowly leaned back and slowly disgorged my cock, now fully engorged and throbbing.  Then with her hands still behind her she turned to face me, moved her head and allowed her lovely hair to dry it off.  Then she said softly, “Will the master honor his slave with some of his essence?”
	One of the things that had happened over the months was that I had developed significant control over my cuming.  I could actually start — but particularly stop — at will.
	“You have pleased your master,” I replied rising to my feet again while trying to control a grin.  “Present your mouth, slave.”
	Jean opened wide with her mouth about six inches away from the tip of my cock.  She had already prepared me fully, so I shot a string of cum into her mouth.  Without saying a word she rose to her feet and with her hands still behind her head, she merged her mouth with mine.  She probed with her tongue and gave me back some of my own cum; then we both swallowed.
	“You are delicious tonight, my master,” she said lovingly.  “Your cum is simply perfect — not too salty.  Perhaps you might offer some to our guests.”
	By this time Sandy had returned with a cooler and a bottle of Dom Pérignon which she very smoothly opened.  Still without saying a word, she poured flutes for Jean and me.
	Raising her glass to me she said, “To my loving master who has fathered the most perfect little boy in the world!”
	“To my gorgeous wife who has given him birth and now is nursing him at her perfect tit!” I replied.
	We both sipped and then moved together over to where the girls were sitting open-mouthed.
	“The love you two share is simply beautiful to see,” Amy said softly.  “But may I have some of your cum, too, my loving master?”
	“You must be properly dressed for that,” Susie whispered.
	“You mean...?”
	“Dressed like my mother,” the girl replied.
	“Will you please prepare your father’s newest slave?” Amy asked.
	Susie began to undress the woman.  Seeing what her friend was doing, Becky swallowed hard and asked Sandy to prepare her, too.  In moments both women were bare with their clothing neatly stacked on chairs across the room, while they knelt on the carpet side by side, just waiting.
	When I got a good look at them, I swallowed hard.  Both had recent surgical scars on their bodies.  I knew that Amy’s spleen had been removed.  I didn’t know the particulars involving Becky, but it was obvious that both women had had major work done on their internal plumbing.  Aside from that, though, the girls were lovely.  Both had perfectly formed tits that were larger than Jean’s — C-cups, I would guess.  Both had lovely legs and trim bottoms although not as trim as Jean’s.  And because of their hospitalization and the fact that we had just come through the winter, both bodies were pale.  I noticed as both pairs of nipples drew taut with their sexual excitement.  Maybe there was hope after all.
	I stood in front of Amy as she imitated Jean perfectly.  Her knees were spread wide opening her labia.  Her back was straight with her weight back on her heels; like Jean, her hands were clasped behind her head.
	“Will my new master give his humble slave a small taste of his cum?” she asked softly with her eyes down.  “It will make my slavery so much more bearable.”
	I was looking into her eyes for some sign of humor.  To my utter amazement, there was none.  Rather, the look in her eyes — as much as I could see — was truly worshipful.  I moved closer to her and she leaned forward to kiss the tip of my cock.  Leaning forward, she took my cockhead into her mouth and savored it, then ran her small tongue around it.  Then she eased backward back onto her heels.  As she did, I could see she was trembling, but it wasn’t from fright.
	“Permission to look at my master?” she asked softly.
	“Of course!”
	She leaned forward again to bring her mouth within about six inches of my tip.  Then she looked up into my eyes and my earlier perception was confirmed: her look was truly worshipful and her trembling, stronger now, was from anticipation.  It was only then that I realized neither she nor Becky had ever tasted my cum.  I had feasted on their cunts, but they had never gone down on me.  None of the seven had.
	My cock was again throbbing and I released a string of cum right into her mouth.  Her mouth closed and when she tasted it I saw her pelvis convulse.  My God, I thought, she’s had an orgasm.
	Amy’s eyes had closed as she savored my cuming.  Her eyes opened and were gleaming with happiness.  “Thank you, kind master,” she whispered.  “It’s now easy to see why so many women wish to serve you as your slaves.  For a very occasional taste of your luscious cum, I would do anything for you and allow anything to be done to me.”  Her eyes were bright as she repeated, “Anything!”
	The episode with Becky was essentially an instant replay.  But seeing what certainly appeared to be orgasms I asked Susan and Sandy to work on their cunts.  The first thing the girls did was to drop their own gowns in the same way Jean had done: they untied the neck cord and just let them fall to the floor.  It was remarkable how little there was to the them; they each made just a small splash of white on the carpet.
	Now that they too were naked, Amy was able to see the brand on Sandy’s flank when she turned.  By now the brands had lost their earlier redness; in fact to our surprise they tanned, too.  But they were deep: perhaps a quarter of an inch below the surrounding surface.
	“My God!” she gasped.  “What happened?”
	“I branded myself,” Sandy replied casually.  “It’s on both sides.”  She turned to show the mate.
	“I’m only branded once,” Susan said displaying hers to the two young women.
	They were in a state of shock.  Jean quietly explained the background and what had happened to the girls before they were freed.  She concluded by saying, “They’re both very good cunt-eaters.  They had to be to survive.  I think you two will enjoy the experience.”
	While she was telling the tale, the girls had been pouring two flutes of champagne.  Handing the glass to Amy, Susan said, “We’ve found that cum washes down perfectly with champagne.  Dom Pérignon is the best, we think.”
	The girls went at their task with skill and enthusiasm.  First, though, they just kissed the young women and gently fondled their lovely tits.  Clearly, this was astonishing to the two girls.  I’m virtually certain that neither had ever had a lesbian experience before.  Beyond that, though, the kisses they were receiving from Sandy and Susan were anything but girlish.  I certainly knew from first-hand experience just how talented their mouths and tongues were.  And they certainly used them to great effect that night.
	Slowly they worked their way down the girls’ bodies feasting on their breasts and nipples while caressing any body surface within reach.  Both Amy and Becky were by then writhing on their chairs.  While the initial idea might have been odd, it was clear that they were both now well into it.
	Now our two girls were on their knees between wide-spread thighs.  Amy and Becky had slid forward on their chairs without any instruction to keep their cunts within easy reach.  With the first stroke of their tongues up the length of the girls’ slits, they both came.  Wonderful! I thought.  It looks like it’s working.
	At that point I turned my attention to my lovely wife who was again kneeling before me in her best submissive posture.  “I would like to sample my slave’s cunt.  Position yourself.”
	“But, master!” Jean protested.  “Surely you can’t be serious.  Sandra would be much sweeter tonight...”
	“Position yourself!” I repeated in a command voice.
	Jean surprised me.  She just went over on her back slowly with her knees still bent and her feet still under her lovely ass.  Her thighs were still spread wide exposing her lovely vulva.  Clearly, the anaesthetic had worn off; her labia were engorged and her luscious clit was already extended above her nether lips and throbbing with excitement.
	I knelt between her thighs and dropped my head to her luscious cunt.
	After only a few strokes of my tongue she had her first orgasm.  “Wonderful!” she murmured.  “Oh, God, master, this feels so good!”
	I brought her to several more but kept them at a low level.  Her pelvis spasmed, but it was nothing like the more typical events.  Finally I said, “Position yourself to receive your master’s cock.”
	“But...  Are you sure?”
	I just glared at her.
	She unfolded her legs from beneath her and put them up on my shoulders.  Gently I eased my cock into her flooded channel.  It was utterly marvelous.  I entered her more easily than I had in the past — I didn’t have to work nearly as hard to gain full penetration — but her cunt was still very tight.
	“This is a reward for my beauteous wife and slave for presenting me with a son and heir.”
	“My darling, you haven’t seen Jamey in all his naked glory.  Marion Reynolds says that he’s utterly perfect.  Never has she seen a more perfect or healthier baby.  I’m so happy!”  She paused and then added, “Many prostitutes can never become pregnant.  I understand that the most common cause is a gonorrheal infection of the fallopian tubes.  I never contracted an STD... nor did any of the girls, for that matter.”  She looked at me thoughtfully and added, “I wonder if that might be another of our strange powers?  Heaven knows many of the men we took weren’t very clean.
	“But then you caught me on one of our very first nights together...”
	“What happened to your birth-control pills?” I asked.
	“They went into the trash that very first night,” she replied.  “My darling, I loved you from the very first instant I saw you.  And when we first kissed, I knew you were the only man I could ever love.”
	“Then why...?”
	“Because of my having been a prostitute.  I was just planning on going away.  There must have been at least half a dozen times when I vowed that it would be that day, but I could never bring myself to do it.  I felt I had to have just one more fucking.  After all, it would have to last for the rest of my life.  There could not — and cannot — ever be another man in my life.”
	“My beloved wife!” I whispered.
	Then I buried my cock to the root in Jean’s cunt and whispered, “Now let’s see if your internal muscles still work.”
	They certainly did.  Just using her internal muscles, Jean worked and brought us to mutual orgasms.  I really flooded her cunt with my cuming.
	When she came down from her high, she was still conscious.  It had gone exactly as I had hoped: it was smooth and loving.  “That was utterly perfect, my darling master,” she said.  “It just could not have been better.”
	Then she smiled warmly and added, “And you did it again, master.  That was the perfect lovemaking for the way I feel.  I thought I wanted you to rape me, but what you did was so much better.  Thank you.”
	With my cock still embedded in her cunt, I put my arms under hers and lifted her up from the carpet.  Now I was in a crouch and she was straddling my thighs.  Pulling her close, I crushed her tits against my chest provoking a long sigh.  Then she gently moved her nipples against the hair on my chest as she raised her head for a kiss.
	Mating my lips to hers, it was the finest kiss we had ever shared.
	“Thank you, my master,” she whispered when she had regained her breath.  “Now I truly have it all!  I have a loving master, two daughters who would give pride to anyone, and an infant son.  What more can there be?”
	“More children, if you want them,” I replied.
	“As many and as fast as you can give them to me,” she replied.  “I intend to be a baby factory.”
	By this time the girls had brought the two young women to repeating orgasms.  At the same instant they lightly bit the girls’ clits triggering massive orgasms that put them out.
	“Sandy, get champagne flutes for yourself and Susan.  You certainly deserve some!” Jean instructed.
	While she was out of the room, Susan had pulled the two girls back in their seats and carefully rested their heads on the seatbacks.  Then she pulled a chair close and held Amy tightly while lightly kissing her face and lips.
	Amy was the first to recover.  Realizing what Sue was doing, she brought her lips to hers and melted them together in a lovely kiss.  This time it was Amy who was aggressive, probing deep into Susie’s mouth.  I was utterly delighted to see Amy’s loins shudder in a small orgasm as she did.
	Finally she eased away.  “Are you a slave, too?” she asked.  “Will we be sharing the slave quarters here?”
	“Of course I am,” Susie replied.  “But you must know that our master is far more diabolical than any I’ve heard of.  He and his senior slave keep us imprisoned, not with chains, but with the power of their love.  We’re forced to imprison ourselves.  But why did you ask?”
	“Because, my darling slave Susan, “I can’t wait for you to be a bit older so I can do at least a little bit as much as you have just done for me.”  Amy leaned back and closed her eyes.  “I was certain I was dead from the waist down; the doctors were about 99% certain I was, too.  But a taste of our master’s cum seemed to change all that.  And then what you did with your mouth and hands was not to be believed!”
	“Did you enjoy it?” Susie asked with her eyes wide.
	“I sure did!” Amy replied.  “But why did you ask?”
	“Because I’ll only get a very light whipping when you leave,” Susie replied.  “It would have been very bad if you hadn’t been satisfied.”
	“A light whipping...?”
	“That’s just for the maintenance of good order and discipline,” Susie said blithely, “and to remind us of our station in life.”
	Sandy had by then returned with flutes for herself and Susie.  She refilled all of the glasses and we just sat there bare-assed and sipped.
	Finally Becky said, “This night was utterly unbelievable.  Master, it will rank right below the night you honored my body with your cock.”  Slowly she shook her head and continued, “Amy and I were fully prepared to go through life with only the memory of your cock, beloved master.  But now...”
	“Now you can look forward to marriage and a normal sex life,” I concluded.  “And it couldn’t happen to two nicer girls.”
	To Sandy Becky said, “That was utterly marvelous, darling.  Is there anything I can do for you?  Anything at all?”
	I responded before Sandy could.  “As a matter of fact, Becky Richmond, I think there is.  Sandy, you may not know this but Becky was a championship gymnast and now coaches cheerleading.  Becky, we just learned that Sandy has been elected to the cheerleading squad for next year.  Would you be willing to give her some pointers?”
	Becky just clapped her hands in glee.  “Would I?” she exclaimed.  “Nothing would thrill me more.  Sandy, would you come closer, please?  Before you had me a bit... distracted.”
	Sandy again knelt between Becky’s thighs.  This time Becky took Sandy in her arms and unloaded as powerful a kiss as she was capable of; Sandy reciprocated.  Both girls were breathless when they eased apart.
	Then Becky ran her fingers lightly over Sandy’s body.  As she did, I could see her eyes widen.  “You work out regularly, don’t you?  How often?”
	“Every day,” Sandy replied looking puzzled.
	“For how long?”
	“For about 30 minutes or so on the machines and then another 30 minutes or more in the pool,” Sandy responded.
	“What weights do you use?”  Sandy told her and Becky whistled softly.  As a matter of fact, it was news to me, too.  They were about 50% above what I remembered them as being.
	“Do you understand the game of football?” Becky asked.
	This time Jean replied.  “I don’t think Sandy has missed a Bear’s game in a year.  The short answer is yes.  In fact, she understands it so well, I think she could be a pretty good coach.  And she’s a great pass-catching receiver, by the way.  Her sister Stephanie’s boyfriend is the quarterback; often she and Sandy will be his receivers.  They’re both sure-handed and very fast.”
	Becky giggled.  “This is going to the neatest assignment ever!  First of all, Sandy, you have it all to begin with.  You really need no coaching.  What I can do, though, is work with your squad to develop some more cheers and some things for you girls to do together.  Most high-school cheering is plain vanilla — at best!”  Then she grinned and added, “Of course there’s a charge for my services, you realize...”
	“That’s not a problem,” Sandy quickly replied.  Clearly she was very excited at the prospect.  “How much do you charge?”
	“Well... after the coaching sessions, I’ll sort of expect to spend the night with you.  After all, young lady, you’ve been able to feast on my near-virginal cunt tonight while I’ve only been able to look at yours.  And then your... assaults... on my tits...  I have to get even for that, too.”
	“Oh dear!”  Turning toward Jean with her eyes wide Sandy said, “Mommy!  I think Miss Richmond is planning to... to... sexually assault me!  What should I do?  What should I say?”
	Barely able to control her giggling, Jean replied, “Well, you could say what you really want to say: ‘How yummy!’”
	“Naah,” Sandy replied.  Then spinning around to Becky she exclaimed, “Neato!”  Then she dropped to her knees and unloaded another very passionate kiss.  “I can hardly wait!”
	Becky grinned, giggled and pinched one of Sandy’s buns.  The girl just wriggled and grinned.
	After finishing their champagne, Sandy and Susan dressed the girls and then slipped on their own gowns, as did Jean.  The three girls saw our guests out to the waiting limo, while I checked the mail I had seen lying unopened on the desk.  I guess there had been a few distractions that day so Jean hadn’t gotten around to it.
	There was a very large envelope there from Tiffany & Company’s Jack Thompson.  The surprising thing about it was that it was addressed to me rather than to Jean.  The previous September, following up on our dinner, Jack arranged for a photo shoot for the girls.  It had worked out perfectly.  The girls were needed for five days, and I had one of those European 5-cities-in-5-days trips.  You know the one?  “If it’s Tuesday, this must be Brussels.”
	Well anyway, I flew with the girls to New York and connected there for London.  When we got back together, all the girls said was that they had fun but had never elaborated.  And, I guess, with so much else going on I had never pursued the subject.
	At any rate, by this time I was sitting in my lounge chair in the library when the women rejoined me.
	It was really quite a package, including envelopes for the three girls that obviously contained checks.  I gave them each their check while I read.  I had barely started when Jean yelped, “What is this?”
	“What’s what?” I asked.  (Notice the improvement?  I didn’t say “Huh?”)
	“This check is for... fifty thousand dollars!” she breathed.  “What’s going on?”
	By this time the girls had opened theirs and found checks for $25,000.  They were so happy and excited, they were bubbling.
	But Jean quickly ended that.  “Enjoy looking at them, kids,” she said, “but they have to go back.  We agreed to do the shoot for $5,000.”  Looking at them both she asked, “Don’t you think that’s more than adequate, too?  After all, we had an all-expenses-paid super-deluxe trip to New York City, as well as all the fun.  Don’t you really think that’s enough?”
	Although their faces fell, the girls freely conceded that all expenses plus $1,250 for each of them was more than enough.
	I went back to reading the letter.  Thompson reported that the advertising incorporating the girls began running in November the previous year, in time for the Christmas season.  The result was the most spectacular level of sales in the company’s very long history, fully 70% over the previous record.  Moreover, the ad series had won every award there was to be won.  But, he assured me, he had next to no interest in advertising awards — typically they were awards by ad men to ad men, mostly for being “different.”  (It didn’t matter if the client didn’t sell a thing; being different was good enough.)  However, in this case there were dozens of proven sales directly attributable to the ads.  By that he meant that people would come in off the street with ad in hand asking for the featured item.
	Towards the bottom of the first page he wrote, “However, Jim, the reason this letter is being sent to you and not to Jean is because there’s something you deserve to know.  Believe me when I tell you how painful this is for me to do, but the fact is that the Dawson women spent an entire day peddling...”
	That was where the first page ended.  I had been reading aloud and the girls just gasped.  I went to the next page and after a pregnant pause continued, “... jewelry and giftware from Tiffany & Company at our main store on 5th Avenue.  It was the biggest day in the store’s history.  Somehow, word spread that there were the most beautiful women in the world in the store.  (Keep in mind, the advertising had not yet run; it was only September.)  At the end of the day, it took us 90 minutes after closing to empty the store!  And heaven only knows how many shoppers were shut out when we locked the doors for new customers at our normal closing time.
	“This brings me to the checks enclosed.  The fact is, we’re being very cheap indeed.  At our normal sales commission rates, all three would be far higher.  The reality is that even those checks should be doubled, with the additional payment being for the most effective demonstration of salesmanship my staff has ever seen.  They started off in awe of their beauty and ended up awestruck by their ability.  Unbelievable!
	“At any rate, that day was so spectacularly successful, as was the advertising campaign, we would like to engage your women — and you, of course, if you can get away — for a 6-city, 15-day tour of our principal stores.  There will be a reception for our best customers in each city and one day spent in the local store.  Beyond that, there will be sightseeing and anything else the women might care to do.  To avoid hassles, travel will be by executive jet.  Please let me know as soon as possible if the girls will consent to do this.  Oh!  I nearly forgot.  We propose a fee for this service to us of $100,000.  I hope this is satisfactory.
	“Knowing Jean, her first words were that the checks would have to go back.”
	I looked at Jean and grinned.  She was pouting.
	Continuing with the letter, I read, “I have learned that you have a very effective means of persuading Jean to do what’s good for her.  Although I would truly hate to think of that beautiful woman with a badly-bruised bottom again, I’m sure you’ll agree it’s for her own good.
	“Finally, enclosed is an ad layout.  Our people absolutely love it, but for reasons you’ll instantly understand, we will not run it without express permission from the women.  Its title is Bare Essentials.
	“Then also enclosed is a sealed package from our photographer who did the shoot last September.  He was so overwhelmed he has offered to do all the Dawson pictures for only 25% of his normal fee.  He adores working with the girls and claims they are the finest models he’s ever had the pleasure to work with.  Believe me when I say he’s used to working with the very best, too.  (I’m talking about the $1,000-an-hour set!)  His assessment?  Your women are so much better than any of the others, he couldn’t even guess who would be in second place.  The fact is that he has all the Tiffany ads enlarged to very large poster size hanging in the lobby of his studio.  To say he’s proud of his work understates the reality by orders of magnitude.”
	He closed out the letter by asking for a call regarding the city visits.
	Turning to Jean I said, “You heard the man, slave.  Will you need to be persuaded to accept the store’s money?”
	“I guess you’ll have to keep it, girls,” she said glumly.  “I’m really not up for another beating.  I don’t think I got rid of all my pre-wedding bruises until about a month ago.”
	Then she brightened and said, “Girls, this is the first money either of you have ever earned, isn’t it?”  Both girls eagerly nodded.  They looked so damned cute.  “Into your bank accounts, okay?  And don’t you dare be in a big rush to give it all away, either.  Understand?  Besides, there will be taxes due on it, too; both income and self-employment taxes.”
	She gave me a cute grin and added, “That was one nice thing about being a prostitute.  It’s an all-cash business and I never bothered to pay any taxes.”
	Ah, yes!  The charity gene.  They would have quickly given it all away and still owed the taxes anyway.
	Then I looked at the layout he had sent.  It was an incredible photo showing the three girls sitting on the end of a rough wooden pier with their backs to the camera.  They were holding fishing rods and their hair was back in ponytails.  Each was wearing her gold choker and nothing else (although I’m pretty sure I could see Sandy’s gold bracelet on her wrist).  Their revealed beauty was simply devastating.  I had never thought of a back as being beautiful, but theirs certainly were — and are.  At the bottom of the layout there were three gold chokers similar to what the girls were wearing but different.  (Later I learned that their three models had been taken out of production because they were the girls’ own.)
	Then there was a thick packet also addressed to Mr. James Dawson and marked “Only to be opened by Mr. Dawson personally.”  Whoever sent it was taking no chances.  It was sealed all around with sealing wax and with tiny threads embedded that would break at the slightest handling.  Carefully I opened it and found a letter and a stack of photos.
	The letter was from Paul Sanderson who introduced himself as the photographer on the Tiffany assignment.  He wrote:
Dear Mr. Dawson:
First, sir, let me congratulate you for heading what is probably the finest family on the face of this earth.  Your wife, Jean, is the most beautiful woman alive, but, sir, some of her beauty is your direct responsibility.  One reason for her beauty is that she is very well loved.  But there’s more.  Except for her perfect figure — and I can assure you I recognize all the signs — I would say she’s pregnant and knows it.  Now she’s complete as a woman — and looks it.
Then there are your two girls.  Your wife explained what happened to them, and my whole crew and I were in tears.  Such incredible courage and self-sacrifice!  You, sir, are greatly to be envied.
But there’s so much more.  I began my professional photographic career in the United Kingdom and was quite successful there.  Indeed, I have served as the personal photographer to almost all of the still-sitting crowned heads of Europe.  In this connection, I recently received a very warm personal note from the Queen of...  (I’d really rather not say.).  She has a very handsome 11-year-old son and was wondering if there might be any chance that Susan could ever be interested in him.
You see, sir, they, too, recognize the same thing I did in those women: truly they are to the manor born!  Every single move they make is done with poise and grace.
But there’s so much more.  Speaking of them simply as models — which is very hard for us to do, I should add — they are the very best in the business.  Moreover, they are tireless.  They take any direction instantly and professionally... indeed, at a level of professionalism we have never seen before and we work with the very best.  Jean, Sandra and Susan Dawson are at the very pinnacle of the modeling profession.  Indeed, they are so good, I couldn’t tell you who’s in second place.
And the way they interact with my crew!  To a man — and woman — they love them.
There’s one favor I must ask, though.  Would you please — please! — keep your wife’s former prostitution a deep dark secret.  I ask this for two reasons.  First, my assistant — without whom I simply could not function — is talking about writing to Jean to ask for some tips on getting started.  “Started as what?” I asked.  “As a prostitute, of course,” she replied, giving me a look as if to wonder what I use for brains.  “If it takes a career as a prostitute to become like Jean Dawson, I’ve lost far too much time already!”
But there’s more.  If the word gets out, Jean’s former colleagues would be after her en masse with blood in their eyes.  Why?  With every woman on the globe peddling her ass, what would happen to the prices?  My God!  They might be paying the johns to take them!
	Jean just giggled at the thought and then said, “Darling, would you make me pay you to take me?  Would you really?”
	I cocked my head and tried to look thoughtful.  Then I ponderously replied, “No, wife, I would not.”  Then I grinned and added, “You can think of it as another advantage of matrimony.  You don’t even have to pay me for my... services.”
	“Oh, my darling!” she said with the sarcasm dripping from her voice.  “You’re so incredibly generous.”
	But back to the letter:
I learned from your wife that you drive a BMW M-5.  If you would like a lifetime supply of new BMWs, just say the word.  I do all their photography, too, and I can assure you that they would sign up the women in the blink of an eye if I told them they would be willing.  I only mention this because I firmly believe that there are two reasons they’re appearing in the Tiffany advertising.  First, they like Tiffany’s jewelry.  And I know that the gold collars the girls wear in Bare Essentials are their own.  (And the inscriptions on them, and on Sandy’s bracelet are utterly perfect!)  But beyond that, they’re doing it as a favor to a friend, Jack Thompson.  That’s really all there is to it.
Also, enclosed are photos no one else has ever seen.  These were taken following the Bare Essentials picture.  The three dove off the end of the pier and we thought they would just swim around in the lake.  Only then did we appreciate the athleticism of those women.  They’re all muscle!
But they swam back and started a water fight with Susan and Sandy against Jean.  They were having so much fun that my crew thought it was the neatest thing they had ever seen.  This was a sight they would have paid substantial money to see.  But what were we seeing?  We were seeing a mother and her daughters having great fun together.
Finally, I must admit to professional failure.  As good as the pictures are (and they line the walls of my entry, as well as the walls of the laboratory that finished them) we failed.  Why?  Because so much of the women’s beauty can’t be captured by a lens.  It is exquisite beauty that’s within themselves.  We see it looking into their eyes.  All one can see is purity and grace.  And I do mean Divine grace.
I repeat, sir, you share your bed with the most beautiful woman in the world.  But beyond that, you share it with a woman who loves you to a depth that surpasses understanding.  From everything we hear from your daughters, you love your wife at least as much.  For that, sir, you are all blessed.
					With great sincerity,
					Paul Sanderson
	“Wow!” I murmured.  Then I held out my arms and Jean launched herself landing seated across my lap.  “I adore you, wife!” I whispered.
	She just snuggled and murmured softly, “That’s nice.”  Then she looked up at me, winked and just grinned.
	Next we looked at the pictures and they were really great!  The girls had had a water fight that ended with the girls jumping on Jean’s head and pushing it under water.  The last picture in the series was marvelous.  The three were wading out of the lake and were in water that didn’t reach up to Jean’s knees.  Water was dripping from their hair that was hanging straight but they were utterly gorgeous.  Moreover they appeared to be giggling and having a wonderful time.
	“See!” she complained.  “It’s easy to see who the aggressors were in that conflict.”
	“Oh?” the two girls retorted.
	“You practically drowned us both with that completely unprovoked first attack!” Sandy exclaimed.
	Jean appeared to think for a moment and then said, “Hmm...  I guess I did, didn’t I?”  Then she just giggled and the girls joined in.
	God!  I love them so damned much.
* * *
	In the event, we made the trip three weeks later.  Our first stop was San Francisco.  Early that morning — and I mean early — we went out to a local airport (avoiding O’Hare, thank God!) and found a Gulfstream G-5 sitting on the ramp waiting for us.  Since the G-5 has a range of 6,500 nautical miles, going to San Francisco wasn’t even a walk in the park for the aircraft.  On the other hand, to reach its full range required a flight crew of four qualified pilots; it required more than 14 hours in the air, so two full crews were required.
	But not for us.  All our baggage was stowed and we boarded the aircraft.  The jet engine on the starboard side was turning over.  We were shown to our seats... I guess.  The fact is that the bird, set up in max comfort configuration, handled 15 people; our four and a fraction was nothing.  The girls had been on a Boeing 747 to Maui, and a Boeing 757 when we flew to New York, but this was something very different.  In the first place, although nearly 100 feet long, it was tiny compared to the girls’ previous planes.  But it more than made up for its size by being very nimble.  No sooner were we strapped in — Jean was holding Jamey in her arms — than the port engine lighted off and we began to taxi to the active (only) runway.
	The brakes were set and then released.  The two Rolls-Royce engines screamed as they put out more than 29,000 lbs. of thrust.  In moments the nose wheel came off the runway and we began to climb.  It seemed like only seconds later that we were nearing our cruising altitude of 41,000 feet, heading west for San Francisco.
	That’s when the co-pilot, a lovely young woman, came back to greet us.  At least that’s what she had intended to do.  Instead, she looked at Jean and her jaw dropped.  She just stood there with her mouth agape.
	“Are you trying to tell me I should change my brand of deodorant?” Jean asked softly with a very warm smile.
	The woman just shook her head to clear it and then apologized, “I’m terribly sorry!  We knew we were flying the Tiffany women around the country over the next two weeks, and I’ve certainly seen all your ads...  But you are just too much!  I can’t believe a living human can possibly look as good as you do.”
	Jean then introduced the girls and then folded back the receiving blanket to reveal the sleeping face of our baby.  “This is James Russell Dawson, Jr., otherwise known as Jamey.  He’s about three weeks old.”
	The girl dropped to her knees beside Jean’s seat.  “He’s so incredibly beautiful,” she breathed.  “What a perfect baby!”
	“He’s simply wonderful,” Jean replied.  “As far as we know, he’s only cried once.”
	“Once?”
	“When I really slammed his bottom when he was born,” Jean explained.  “It’s to get his lungs working or something like that.”
	“But...  The doctor?  The hospital?” the girl stammered.
	“This was a do-it-yourself birth,” Jean said.  “The only thing the doctor did was to circumcise him.  Next time, I’ll do that myself and save the money.”
	“How are you feeling?” the girl asked.  “I mean...  It’s only been three weeks.”
	“Sex?  Is that what you’re asking?”
	The copilot could only nod her head.
	“I was numb at the time but didn’t really know it.  But by that evening I was fine.”
	Jean looked at me for confirmation.  “Less than 12 hours later, she was fine.  In fact, she was marvelous!” I reported.
	“You mean...  You two had... sex... less than 12 hours after delivering this luscious baby?”
	“Mmm...” Jean murmured.  “And Jim was utterly marvelous!”
	Now the girl was blushing almost beet red.  “Have you ever...?  I mean...  Have you ever heard of the Mile-High Club?”
	Jean and I both shook our heads.
	Now the girl was blushing whatever color is beyond beet-red.  But she continued, “It’s making love at an altitude above one mile.  We’ll be cruising at nearly eight miles up...  And we’re almost there now.”  Then she showed us how a sofa became a bed.
	That’s all it took.  Jean looked at the girl and asked, “Do you...?  I mean...  Do we need a witness or two to qualify?”
	“No, you don’t,” she replied.  But then she grinned and added, “But I may be back anyway to get some pointers.”
	Jean was almost completely out of her clothes before the woman made it back to the cockpit.  “You owe me,” she whispered.  “We had to get up too damned early this morning and I haven’t had my ‘Good morning, lovely Jeannie’ fucking yet.”
	Our lovemaking that morning was exquisite!  It was slow and easy — like the night she gave birth — and filled with mutual love.  But sure enough, the copilot came back while we were coupled.
	“Want to see?” Jean asked with a lovely grin.  “And do you sign as a witness... or something?”
	“Woman, you are unreal!” the girl exclaimed.  “And he’s huge!”
	“Sure is, isn’t he,” Jean sighed.  “And I love him more than life itself.”  Then she murmured, “Cum with me, my husband.  Cum with me!”
	Jean had already had a number of small orgasms, but the last was wonderful.  While I was filling her cunt with my seed, I reached for her and she just lifted her torso off the bed to meet me.  We embraced and then kissed.  It was a remarkably loving kiss with now-satiated passion.  I just held her tightly and enjoyed the feeling of her cunt milking my cock to get the last bit of cum.
	“Wonderful!” she breathed.  “My husband is a masterful lover.”
	“He sure as hell is,” the copilot agreed.  “My name is Janice Page, by the way.”  She grinned and added, “My husband, Bill, is the captain and I’m vice president of everything else.”
	Ignoring her nudity — or not conscious of it — Jean swung her long legs out from the bed, sat up and extended her hand.  Then she felt her hair, frowned at me and said, “James Dawson, you’ve ruined my hairdo.  And you know damned well what a pain in the tail it is to redo it, too.”
	“Uh, oh!” I commented.  “Here’s where another woman learns to hate you.”
	But before I could even finish the sentence, Jean had given her head a hard shake.  As usual, every hair was again perfectly in place.
	Janice nodded once and then in a totally flat tone of voice said, “Your husband’s right.  I hate you.”
	Looking at me, Jean pretended to be bewildered.  “But why, Jim?  Why would Janice hate me?”  Then over-acting like crazy, her eyes widened and she motioned toward her hair.  “You mean?  This?”
	I just nodded my head.
	“But, Jim...  Do you mean?  There are women who can’t do that?”
	Again I nodded.
	Turning toward the girl again she said, “Honest?  Would you really like to be able to do that?”
	Janice just glared at Jean.  “Grr!” was the only sound that came from her mouth.
	Jean pretended to be puzzled.  “She means ‘yes’,” I translated.
	“Oh!  Then that’s easy.  You’ve got it.”
	“Got what?”
	“Now you can fix your hair the way I do.  Just try it.  Muss it up and then just shake your head hard.”
	“If this doesn’t work, Mrs. Dawson, you do know that I’ll have to ask you to leave the aircraft...  At once!”
	“You mean...?”  Jean asked.  Then she walked two fingers in the air in the direction of the door and then made a diving motion with her hands.
	“I mean!” Janice confirmed.
	“Well, it’s a good thing it always works,” Jean responded brightly.  Then she frowned and added, “Eight miles is a long way down.”  Then she added, “You don’t happen to have a long rope on board, do you?”
	At that, Janice just cracked up.  “Mrs. Dawson, you are too damned much!”
	“Since I’m bare-assed naked, Mrs. Page, would it be lowering the bar too much if I asked you to please call me Jean?”
	The girl giggled and repeated, “Jean Dawson, you are too damned much!”
	“That’s better.  Now try it.”  With that she rose — the headroom permitted her to stand upright, although I could not — reached out and scrambled Janice’s hair.  “Now just shake your head hard.”
	She did and then felt her head.  She appeared to be utterly stunned.  Then she almost ran to the lavatory where she repeated it while looking at herself in the mirror.  When she emerged she appeared to be in a state of shock.  “How did you do that?” she asked softly.
	“I really don’t know how,” Jean replied, “but it’s an ability the girls and I all have.”  She grinned and continued, “Andy Shepherd just loves it.  It solves a problem that’s bothered him and most other top hair stylists for years.  How many women go to bed at night with their hair up?”
	Janice pointed to herself and said, “Me, for one.  And I hate it!  I really want to look good for Bill in bed, but if I do I look like the wrath of God in the morning.”
	“Now you don’t have the problem,” Jean commented.
	“How long does it last?”
	“Until you set your hair some other way.  It can last for weeks, anyway.  We really have never tried to find a limit.”
	“Who’s Andy Shepherd, by the way?” Janice asked.  “Bill and I are based in Chicago, and when I’m really splurging I go to André’s.  But who’s Andy?”
	“He’s André,” Jean replied with a grin.  “He does all of us.”
	“Personally?” the girl exclaimed.  “I thought I had really made the big time when he came into the booth and said a few words to my stylist.”
	“Personally,” Jean confirmed.  “If you’d like him to do you, just ask to see Andy — not André — and tell him you’re a friend of mine.  When he learns that you can restore your hair by shaking your head, he’ll know you are.”
	“The power is pretty rare, isn’t it?”
	Jean just shrugged.
	At that point the girl said, “I had better be heading back to the cockpit.  Bill might be wondering if I fell out or something.”
	Then she slowly shook her head and added, “Jean, this is the nicest thing you could have done for me.  Now I’ll be able to look the way I should in bed without having to have at least two days off afterward so my hair is half-way presentable.”  With that she retreated toward the cockpit.
	“That was a very nice thing you did, sweetie,” I remarked.
	“She’s a lovely woman,” Jean replied.  “I think her love life is going to improve dramatically.”
	The next time we saw Janice, we were only about 30 minutes out of San Francisco.  This time, Jean was bare to the waist nursing Jamey.  She just dropped to her knees beside Jean and watched, utterly fascinated.
	Jean just smiled warmly and pulled the receiving blanket away from our infant’s face so she could get a better look.
	The woman just sighed deeply and said, “He’s so beautiful!  He’s perfect.”  Then she paused and stammered, “How... How does it feel?”
	“Simply marvelous!” Jean exclaimed softly.  Very gently she caressed her infant’s face as he fed on his mother’s sweet milk.  Then she asked, “When are you going to try it?”
	“I... Bill would love for me to have a baby soon.  He wants children so badly.  I do, too...” her voice fell and she looked unhappy.  “We make awfully good money.  And we have such a great time, too.  We always fly as a team which certainly makes it nice.”
	“And you really don’t want to give it up, do you?” Jean asked.
	Janice just shook her head.
	“Is Bill as good a pilot as you are?”
	“Are you kidding?” the girl replied.  “He’s so much better, it’s ridiculous.  He’s truly a natural; I’m not.”
	“Why are you competing then?” Jean asked.  “Why don’t you do something he could never do: give birth to a child and nurse it at your breast.  It’s a feeling like no other.  Honest.”
	“But you’re famous,” the girl insisted.  “You and the girls are the most famous models in the world!  Just look at you now.  On a six-city tour...  Fabulous!  And the opportunities you’re looking at must be vast.  You three could take your pick of any of the modeling jobs in the world!”
	“That’s a laugh and a half!” Jean giggled.  “Jim had to make one of those dumb five-cities-in-five-days European swings, so it was an opportunity for the three of us to kill some time.  That’s absolutely all there was to it.”
	To that point Janice had been focusing on Jean — with good reason, I might add.  But then she turned to me and asked, “I know about your women, Mr. Dawson, but what do you do?”
	“I’m with Callaway Industries,” I replied.
	“He’s executive vice president,” Jean added, drawing a glare from me to which she responded with a broad grin coupled with sticking out the tip of her pink tongue.
	Janice’s eyes widened.  “My God!  You, too?  What a family!”  Then she said, “You know, our company, Executive Aviation, specializes in trips such as you just made.  This aircraft, for example, can easily reach any spot in Europe from Chicago, nonstop.  That’s why it’s set up for a crew of four rather than two.  On those long flights — at our long-range cruising speed of mach 0.8, we’re in the air for more than 14 hours.  And believe me, in 14 hours this plane can cover a great deal of territory.”
	Then she rose to her feet and went forward again.  A few moments later she returned with an information and sales package on Executive Aviation.  Good for her.  The woman was really using her head.  Giving it to me she said, “Those trips are a pain in the butt under the best of circumstances, but in a craft like this it’s as painless as it’s possible to be.  And I just know the company would adore having Callaway Industries as a client.  You folks are just great!”
	“Did you enclose your card, Mrs. Page?” I asked.
	She blushed and quickly shook her head.
	“Why don’t you go get one?” I suggested.  “I have to believe that the very least you would get would be some brownie points, but more likely a bonus.  Right?”
	She scampered forward again and returned with business cards and a stapler.  Taking back the sales package, she carefully stapled her card in a predesignated location.
	Then she looked at the five of us and said softly, “This family is the outstanding family in the United States.  Never have I encountered the level of love and caring that you all display.”  She paused and then continued, “This is a very good job and it pays very well.  But I must admit that some of our passengers are truly world-class SOBs!  They’re arrogant bastards.  But you!...”
	She slowly shook her head.  “I really believe that Jean was telling me about motherhood because she thinks I would be happier taking care of a home and children than spending my life in the cockpit of a jet.  And you know what?  I think she’s right.  She only met me a couple of hours ago, but instantly she seemed to know me better than I know myself.”  Then she grinned and concluded, “All I can say is that this trip is shaping up to be the very best Bill and I have ever made.  And thank you all for making it so.”
* * *
	We arrived in San Francisco and were met by a limousine that took us to our hotel.  There we had a lovely two-bedroom suite.  Jean and Sandy were going to go shopping that afternoon.  (What’s that line?  When the going get’s tough, the women go shopping.)  I planned on making a call or two on customers and prospects and, remembering the Castle Industries affair, was delighted to take Susan along.  Our schedule called for a formal reception that evening with the next day free, and time in the local Tiffany’s on the day following.  Although invitations had been sent out for the reception, Jack Thompson had made it abundantly clear that anyone we might wish to invite would be very welcome.
	Our first stop was to a company that was a Callaway customer, but one with which we felt we should be doing far more business than we were.  I had made an appointment a couple of days prior with Jeff Fisher, the company’s chief information officer.
	The receptionist was expecting me but was surprised to see Susan.  But at the same time, she was studying Susie closely as she called Fisher’s office to tell him we had arrived.  She hung up the phone and said that Fisher’s secretary would be right out to escort us to his office.  When Susie beamed at the news, the girl’s eyes widened and there was a flash of instant recognition, but she didn’t say a word.
	After being ushered into his office, I greeted Jeff and introduced Susie.  His eyes widened and he murmured, “You’re a Tiffany girl, aren’t you?”
	“I’m a Dawson girl, Mr. Fisher,” Susie replied.  “And I’m far more proud of that.  You see, sir, my sister and I are both adopted.  And we’ve been adopted into the finest family in the whole world.”  Then she smiled her warmest smile and added, “I guess Mom and Sandy and I have been in a couple of Tiffany ads, though.”
	Fisher just slowly sank down onto his chair.  The man appeared to be in a state of shock.  “My God!” he murmured.  “My wife is in advertising — the biggest agency here in the Bay area — and she’s good.  She claims Tiffany’s is the finest advertising that’s ever been done, and it’s solely attributable to you three.  I know she would give her right arm to be able to meet you.”
	“That’s easy enough to do,” I said.  “There’s a reception at our hotel this evening at 7:00.  Why don’t you and your wife come over?  You’ll have a chance to meet my wife and Susan’s beautiful older sister, Sandy, too.”
	“Seriously?” he asked, incredulous.  “Without question, that reception is the hottest event in town.  Everyone has been maneuvering for an invitation.  Are you really sure it’s all right?”
	“I have the personal assurance in writing of Jack Fletcher, Tiffany’s CEO, that it is,” I replied.
	Instantly Fisher picked up the phone and hit a speed-dial number.  When it was answered, he wasted no time in small talk.  “Darling,” he said, “I’ve hit the jackpot!  We’ve just been invited to the Tiffany reception tonight!”
	Then his face fell.  “I’ll ask,” he said skeptically.  To me he said diffidently, “My wife has a meeting with the CEO of her largest client.  Would... Could she bring him and his wife, too?”  Clearly Jeff’s tone was such that he didn’t expect a positive answer.
	“Who’s the client?” I asked.
	When he replied, I realized that I had hit the jackpot.  The company, Casco Industries, was — and had been — the top customer prospect at Callaway for years.  And to that point we had gotten exactly nowhere.  Not even a meeting.
	“That would be fine,” I said.  “However, the nature of the reception is such that he will need to bring his wife.  I hope that doesn’t cause any problems.”
	Jeff was beside himself with excitement.  His words were tumbling over each other as he relayed the good news.  It was all I could do to control a grin; from the corner of my eye I had seen Susie lock in on the telephone while she was just sitting quietly and looking around the sumptuously-furnished office.
	Later she told me that Jeff’s wife had screamed, “This cements that client for life!  Darling, it couldn’t be better!  And wait till I get you home tonight.  You’re going to have the time of your life!  And darling... as far as you’re concerned, anything goes!  Do you understand?  Absolutely anything!  And with no safe word, either.  Understand?”
	No wonder his eyes lit up like a kid’s seeing his first Christmas tree.
	He hung up the phone and studied Susan closely.  Slowly he shook his head and said, “I just do not believe this!  As beautiful as those advertising pictures are, they just don’t do this girl justice.  I just don’t understand...”  His voice trailed off as he continued to study her.
	Then I noticed he focused on her eyes.  “Oh, yes I do!” he continued.  “So much of your beauty, Susan, is on the inside, isn’t it?  Your eyes are filled with love and joy and... and... Divine grace!”  Then he slowly shook his head and said, “You, Susan Dawson, are simply perfect!”
	“Not hardly!” Susie demurred.  “Mom says I’m an incorrigible imp... and that’s when she’s being nice.”
	“And your impishness takes the form of making others happy, doesn’t it?”
	Fisher howled with laughter when Susie glared at him and stuck out the tip of her little pink tongue.
	I turned the conversation to the purpose of the visit: why Jeff’s company wasn’t doing more business with us.  Based on what we had sold and what we knew and estimated about the company, we didn’t think we were doing even 10% of the business we could do.  I asked about it.
	“It’s very good stuff, Jim.  Don’t get me wrong.  But it’s really not capable of doing all the things we need...”
	At this point Susie took over.  “Mr. Fisher, I gather from the position of your mouse that you’re left-handed.  You are, aren’t you?”
	“Yes, Susie, but...”
	She rose from her chair, went around the desk to the computer and hit CTRL, ALT, and a function key.  Instantly the desktop layout reversed.  “I think you’ll find this layout easier for you to use,” she said.
	Fisher’s eyes widened as he looked over the reversed layout.  Moving his chair to the computer, he started to do some things and began to grin.  “It’s perfect, Susie, but how did you...?”
	She just shook her head sadly and said, “It’s in the software, in the Help material, and in the manual... but no one ever looks.”  Then she grinned and asked, “Anything else?”
	“How do you know so much about this, anyway,” he asked.
	Susie borrowed the mouse and clicked on Help and About.  There, along with the serial number and registration information appeared:  Interface designer: Jean Dawson; Ergonomics: Susan Dawson.
	Fisher was utterly stunned.  I really thought he was going to fall off his chair.  “My God!” he murmured.  “All this beauty and brains, too?”  Then he looked at Susie and asked, “How old are you, anyway?  Ten?  Eleven?”
	“I’ll be nine years old soon,” Susie replied.
	“Jeff,” I interjected, “if the Dawson women’s IQ numbers were converted to temperature, they could all boil water... very quickly!”
	The poor guy was so shook, he was trembling.  Susie was still at the computer.  Murmuring, “I can never find the stupid thing,” she moved her mouse on the desktop and finally found the spot she had been searching for.  A pop-up appeared that said, Graphic designs by Sandra Dawson.  “Sandy is in on this, too,” she said proudly.
	“Look,” Fisher said, “I’ve had a task force looking at this for months.  They have a list of needs as long as my arm.  How would it be if I asked them to join us?  Then you’ll get the whole list.”
	It sounded like a great idea to me, so he called his secretary.  Minutes later, people started to arrive in the office.  Susie asked if there was a similar computer in a conference room and was told that there was.  We moved the meeting there and Susan took her seat at the computer keyboard.
	Fisher was funny.  He appeared to be the proud father as he introduced Susan as one of the Tiffany girls and the ergonomics specialist on the user interface project.  What followed was utterly stunning.  It was the most devastating sales presentation in history.  Each person began reading from his or her list of missing functions.  After each one, Susie would hit a couple of keys or click the mouse somewhere and the function would appear.  What was funnier was that in at least three-quarters of the cases, while she brought up the requested function, she then went on to show a much more advanced function that achieved the same end result but with substantial collateral benefits.
	By this time Jeff and I were standing at the back of the conference room with all of his people arrayed in a semicircle around Susie.  He was utterly amazed at her performance.  “I just don’t understand it,” he whispered.  “She never looks up anything.  She just knows it all.  By the way, how large was the design team on this project?  And how long did it take?  My people tell me that if you had 50 people full-time on the project, it might be accomplished in a year.”
	“The team was three people and it took about a week.  You’ve already met one-third of the team,” I remarked.  “By the way, Jeff, have you ever heard of ML Adams?”
	“Who hasn’t?” he replied.  “As a matter of fact, Adams was with Casco, my wife’s client, until he suddenly resigned almost a year ago.  God, were they ever pissed!  But why do you ask?”
	“Because her name is Merrilee Adams and she’s my wife’s closest friend.  Particularly now that it’s starting to get warm, Merrilee has almost daily conferences with Jean.  At least, that’s what they call them.  What they do mostly is lounge by the pool, soak up the sun and gossip.  But every couple of months another killer app will appear, so what the hell.”
	Jeff Fisher was stunned.  “My God!” he exclaimed.  “Your own family does the impossible with the user interface.  Now you have the world’s best writing your application software to run on the finest system known to man.”  Then in an awe-filled voice he said, “And that’s yours, isn’t it?”
	“I’ve got a great team of people working for me,” I replied deprecatingly.
	Looking up, we noticed that there was no further activity around the computer.  Jeff asked his senior staffer, a woman, how it had gone.
	“It already does absolutely everything on our respective lists.  Moreover, boss, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, for most of the functions it can do it our way, but already incorporates a far better way of its own.”  Then she broke down in tears and sobbed, “You’ll have my letter of resignation before the end of the day.  Good heavens!  How could we possibly have been so damned dumb?”
	Susie was out of her chair like a shot and sat across the woman’s lap.  Taking her head in her hands, she tipped it and melted her lips to hers.  I could see the woman’s eyes widen and then become glassy.  She went out like a light, with Susie holding her head to keep it from hitting anything.
	When she recovered, Susie said softly, “Please don’t do that.  I think you’re a fine person.  The only thing you failed to do was to ask.  Callaway has a really super customer support operation.”  Then she beamed and added, “And Mom, Sandy and I are as close as your e-mail.  We would love to hear from you directly.”
	“You?” the woman, now at least partially recovered, asked incredulously.  “The designers themselves would communicate with... users?”
	“Of course we would, Miss Clifford.  If we didn’t — and we really want to — how would we ever know what improvements our customers want?”
	“What an incredible young woman you are, Susan,” Mary Clifford said.  “What grade are you in at school?”
	“I really don’t know,” Susie replied.  “Mom is home-schooling me.”
	“What genius!” Clifford said.  “And it’s obvious that it’s shared by all of you.  So, in addition to being the three most beautiful women in the world...  My God!”
	“And that’s why I really have it made,” I interjected.  “I have them all, along with a level of love that is beyond belief.  All I can tell you is that there’s no way I could possibly be happier.  Particularly since Jean just presented me with our first natural child, a beautiful baby boy.”
	“Do you mean she was pregnant when those photos were taken?” the woman gasped.
	“Mom thinks that’s one reason she looked as good as she did,” Susie replied.  “She thinks a woman has three pinnacles of beauty: the day she’s married is the first; the second — at a higher level — is when she’s carrying her child; and the third — where she is now — the highest level is when she’s nursing her infant at her breast.  And I have to say that Mom is unbelievably beautiful when she’s nursing.”
	Things were definitely getting out of hand.  Turning to Jeff I asked, “What now?”
	He checked his watch and said, “Well, I’ve got to get out of here if I’m going to get home and make it back for the reception.”  Then to his staff he asked, “How many copies do we need to bring our Callaway utilization to 100%?”
	The answer turned out to be 1,800 units, far larger than we had estimated.  “What do you want me to sign?” he asked.  “And how soon can we get them?”
	“How’s the end of next week sound?” I asked.  “And you don’t need to sign anything.  We’ll ship and bill you on 30-day terms.  Okay?”
	“Any objections, folks?” he asked his staff.
	Now fully recovered, they unanimously endorsed the purchase.  Fisher extended his hand and said, “It’s a deal!  And I’ll see you tonight.”
* * *
	About 6:45 that evening, Jean appeared.  It took only the briefest glance to know that she was apprehensive.  And, as usual, that meant she was uncertain about her appearance.  Jean was utterly gorgeous as she came and stood before me with her lip trembling.  The poor girl was truly close to tears.
	“My bride, the mother of our children, is utterly exquisite tonight,” I breathed.  I guess it was the right thing to say because she hurled herself into my arms and melted her lips to mine.
	“When are you going to give me the beating that’s appropriate for a slave girl?” she asked.
	“Whips and chains?”
	“If my master wishes, of course,” she replied.  God, I love this woman!
	“I shall consider it,” I replied pontifically.  “But what about our younger slaves?”
	“They look forward to being striped in a fashion similar to their mother,” Jean replied.  “In fact, Slave Sandra is looking forward to it as a final cleansing.”  She looked into my eyes and I saw true eagerness... and pleading.  “Please, beloved master?”
	I was stunned but shouldn’t have been.  It was totally in keeping with Jean’s resolve to do anything that would increase my sexual enjoyment.  A very humbling thought it was, indeed.
	I moved back to get a better look at her.  To say that her beauty was overwhelming would understate the reality.  The fact is that our vocabulary isn’t large enough to handle a woman like Jean.  She was wearing a black gown similar in design to the white one she had worn when Amy and Becky were over.  It was extremely simple, perfect on her, but utterly disastrous for almost any other woman alive.  Its neckline was cut down to her navel, and there really was no back.  It dropped away in back to a point below where the split of her buttocks began.  The sides were cut up to the hip, precluding the wearing of any undergarments.  All she was wearing were the gown and a pair of black patent-leather pumps.  That was absolutely all!  Oops!  She was wearing her gold wedding band.
	Although we had married with a huge diamond engagement ring and a wedding band of diamonds, Jean had insisted on a plain gold wedding band, and it’s all she ever wore.  When I had asked her about a wedding ring for myself, she had refused.  “If I can’t hold you without a ring through your nose — and that’s what I think of men’s wedding bands — I deserve to lose you!” she exclaimed.
	“I think my lovely bride needs a bit more...” I murmured.  Going into our bedroom, I brought out the diamond set — necklace, bracelet and earrings — and returned to the sitting room.  I put them on her and she looked utterly magnificent... and felt the same way, I could feel.
	Then the girls appeared.  To my surprise, Sandy was wearing a duplicate of her mother’s gown.  She was now within an inch of her mother’s height, and her breasts were now larger than Merrilee’s.  This was the cause of constant teasing — and fake tears on ML’s part.  The fact was that Sandy appeared to be on her way to a full C cup, outdoing her mother.  Her breasts had already developed to a sufficient extent to hold the two halves of her dress together.
	I looked at her thoughtfully and produced her mother’s diamond choker.  She was already wearing her diamond ear studs.  I hooked it on her neck and was surprised when she said, “Master, has your senior slave spoken to you about our beating?”
	With her eyes wide she added, “You can’t know how difficult it’s been for us at the monthly meeting of the body slaves’ union.  They so proudly display their cuts and welts, while we have nothing to show.  We try to assure them that we are held in high regard by our master, too, but...”  Her eyes widened still more as she continued, “...it’s becoming very difficult for us, Master.  Please, sir?”
	Then I almost cried when Susie repeated the refrain.  She, too, was wearing a black silk gown similar to her mother and sister.  The difference being that her neckline ended at a point between where her luscious tits would someday be.  But that day was not yet.  She looked up at me with adoration in her eyes.  For my part, I almost cried.  Susan Dawson was as close to being a perfect little girl as God, in His infinite wisdom, has ever seen fit to create.
	Looking down at her, I reached into my side pocket, brought out a jewel case and gave it to her.  “This, my darling daughter, is but a very trivial payment against what you did for me and for Callaway Industries this afternoon.  I love you very much, Susie.”
	She opened the box and found a diamond choker similar to Sandy’s.  “Oh!  Oh, gosh!  Oh, Daddy, it’s so incredibly beautiful!  And it’s for me?  Honest?”
	I dropped to my knees to get closer to her size and took her in my arms.  She was crying her eyes out in sheer happiness.  I just held my little girl tightly and basked in her joy.  Looking up at Jean, I saw that she was crying with happiness, too.  And so was Sandy!  What a family!
	There was another change I noted.  Befitting her station as a genuine teenager, Sandy was wearing 2-inch pumps that were identical to her mother’s.  Now only Susan was wearing ballet slippers.  But all three women were utterly gorgeous.  I can’t adequately communicate the pride I felt.  They are all mine.
	We arrived at the reception room just ahead of the first guests and took our positions as we had previously been instructed.  The first arrivals came in a trickle that in no time at all became a flood.  But we stood there on one side of the room while the guests congregated across the room.  Very strange.  And it continued!
	“This is utterly ridiculous!” Jean whispered.  “What’s going on?”
	“My darling, it’s very simple,” I replied.  “It’s called ‘awe’... as in awesome.  And that, dear heart, applies to you!  And to our girls.”
	“But...”
	“‘...to the manor born,’ dear heart.  It applies to both you and the girls.  You’re awesome!  And you’re mine!”
	“Sure am,” she agreed as she turned and melted her lips to mine.  I suspect it was intended as a light kiss, but...  We’ve been over that a dozen times: Jean and I are incapable of pecks, and this didn’t break the string.  Instead, as she molded her lips to mine she moved her body sinuously against me.  The feeling was wonderful.  As I started to come down from the high, I could hear the gasps from the guests.  Sandy and Susan?  They just beamed with utter delight.
	Just then I saw Jeff Fisher arrive with a woman — his wife, I assumed — and another couple.  To Jean I said, “I guess the time has come to get the boys and the girls together.”
	She grinned at me and gripped my hand.  When Jeff saw us bearing down, he went pale.  Honest.  He really did.  I whispered to Jean, “Let’s let them get a good look.”
	I was on Jean’s left with Sandy by her side followed by Susan.  Since the girls could hear me as well as if I had been speaking in their ears, the three separated with a distance slightly wider than a close-order dress right command would produce.  At a distance of about six feet, we all stopped as if on command.
	Jeff and his wife — and her guest and his wife — just gaped.  Honest to God, they did.  After about a minute, Jean — bless her — was the first to move.  Extending her hand, she closed the gap and said, “Mr. Fisher, both Jim and Susan have been telling us so much about you.  Welcome!”
	It took a moment for Jeff to regain his bearings.  Then he took a deep breath, gripped Jean’s hand and said, “I can’t tell you how honored we are to be invited.  May I present my wife, Carol, and her friend and client, Tim Madison of Casco Computing, and his wife, Gwen.”
	“And this is our oldest daughter, Sandy, whom you haven’t met.”  She then greeted the Madisons and introduced Susan and me.
	Tim Madison grinned wryly and said, “I’m really not sure if I should be speaking to you, Jim.”  Then he shook his head and said, “I was going to say that you stole the best software designer in the world, but I know that’s just not true.  She defected.  Moreover, I know now that she wanted to work for you so badly she would have paid you to allow her to be there.”
	He shook his head.  “I spoke to her last week — managed to catch her on one of her infrequent visits to your office,” he grinned.  “She tells me she spends most of her time with the user interface design group in your shop.  Only today do I learn that I’m meeting that group — all of it — right now.”  He paused and then added, “And meeting your wife and daughters makes it easy to see why Merrilee would want to do that.  These women — all of these women — are utterly incredible.  You, James Dawson, are the luckiest man alive.”
	“I disagree with that,” Jean said quietly. “Rather, we three are the luckiest women alive.  I have the love of the world’s most masterful lover.  Not only is he an incredibly skilled love-maker, his physical equipment is... breathtaking.  And as a father to these two girls he is incomparable!”
	Madison frowned for a moment, obviously thinking.  Then he said, “ML said something odd.  She said she had worked directly under Jim Dawson for a while and the experience was the most incredible she would ever experience in her lifetime.”  He paused for a moment and continued, “But previously, there was talk around the office that Merrilee had been hospitalized and had been in very serious condition.  Those two statements are connected, aren’t they?”
	“No comment,” Jean replied.  “You’ll have to speak to ML about that.”
	Madison looked me over carefully with new respect.  “Good grief!” he finally exclaimed.  “You really are a giant, aren’t you?  Your suit is beautifully tailored, but now I can see that your jacket’s upper arms are larger than normal; that’s to accommodate very powerful muscles, isn’t it?  And it’s probably custom-made, too because your waist and hips are small but your thighs are like tree trunks.  How much do you weigh, anyway?”
	“About 230 or so, I guess.”
	“And your wife?”
	“You’ll have to ask her,” I replied with a smile.
	“You’re definitely getting warm,” Jean replied with a very warm smile.  “I guess I’m about 120.”  Then she frowned and added, “I’m really pretty small on top.”
	“Small?  Hah!” Carol Fisher exclaimed.  She carefully looked over Jean’s gown and then said, “You’re wearing nothing at all under that, are you?  You really can’t be the way it’s cut.”
	At that comment Jean laughed merrily.  “You’re right, of course.  And since the gown is silk and silk can be very light in weight— and this gown is — with the exception of my shoes, I wouldn’t be surprised if my jewels don’t weigh more than the rest of my clothing.  The same thing is true of Sandy and Susan.”
	“What a perfect body!” Carol exclaimed.  “But tell me more about James Dawson, lover.”
	Instead of directly answering the question, Jean asked, “How many orgasms have you had in the last seven days, Carol?”
	The woman was embarrassed.  “I don’t know.  One?  Two?  Something like that.  But why do you ask?”
	“Because you asked me about Jim as a lover.  I guess I average about 60 minutes in orgasm each day.  And I mean every day.”
	By this time, other guests had moved closer and were surrounding us.  Jean’s remark triggered a collective gasp from the group.
	“And, by the way,” Jean continued with a big grin.  “Now I’m a member of the Mile-High Club.  And it was great.
	“But let me respond in a different way.  Before I met Jim Dawson, I had never had an orgasm in my life.  Now?  Although I’m sure Jim is so strong he could easily lift me up in the air with one hand...”  She cocked her head, appeared to think for a moment and interjected, “Yeah!  I’ll have to try that sometime.”  Then she continued, “... but at the same time, he has such a delicately tender touch he can — and has — gotten me off by just caressing my body.
	“There’s so much more.  I can’t hope to count the number of different ways Jim knows to make love to me.  But it’s a big number!  And whichever way he chooses — and he’s the one who decides without ever asking me — turns out to be utterly perfect for the way I’m feeling.”  Then she smiled warmly and added, “But you know what’s funny?  He knows me better than I know myself.  Often the way he does it is very different from what I expected or thought I wanted, but his way is always better.  And I mean always!”  To Carol she asked, “Does that answer your question?”
	“Wow!” the woman breathed.  “I guess it does!”  Then Carol changed the subject.  “This afternoon I had a long talk with Paul Sanderson.”  To the people surrounding us she explained, “Paul is considered the finest portrait photographer in the world today.  And he’s the one who shot all the Tiffany’s pictures that these women have appeared in.”
	To Jean she continued, “Anyway, Paul claims that you three women are the finest model he’s ever worked with.  No one else is even close.  Furthermore, my persons are accurate, if odd.  The three of you together work as a single model.  It’s uncanny.  Beyond that, though, he’s been utterly astonished at your innate knowledge of photography, composition, lighting...”
	She smiled warmly and said, “Paul believes that your daughter, Sandy, scarcely into her teens, already knows more than the top lighting experts in the business.  She very quietly and diffidently offered a couple of suggestions including one on a problem Paul and his whole crew had been working on for hours.  Sandy solved it in a matter of seconds.  Beyond that, though, the effect she achieved was far better than what he and his crew had been hoping for.  He firmly believes that at least half the credit for the finished photos belongs to her.
	“Then, of course,” Carol continued, “Paul believes that you could model for any advertiser out there.”  She grinned and added, “I know something you don’t know, unless you’ve spoken to Paul within the last four hours.  BMW is a big client of his.  He was speaking to the general manager of their North American operations and mentioned that Jim drives a BMW M-5.  The guy went wild!  And he’s smart as hell, too.  He knows you’re not doing this for the money.  You’re doing it because you like Tiffany’s people and its products.
	“So what’s BMW thinking about?  First if you were to agree to appear in their advertising, the choice of locations for the shoots would be solely yours.  Chicago, Munich, Australia... anywhere.  BMW would pay all expenses, furnish private jet transportation, the finest accommodations and everything that goes with it, plus $25,000 a day for the work if you will appear in their advertising.”  She grinned broadly and continued, “And your ‘work’ starts when a limousine picks you up at your home and the meter doesn’t shut off until you’re delivered back home.
	“But then there are the goodies on top.  They know that Sandy is too young to drive.  Nevertheless, they are offering her an all-expense 60-day course at the world’s finest driving school.  This is one that trains race drivers.  On her 16th birthday they will give her any BMW she wants — any model or color — and replace it with a new one every year thereafter.  And the same offer goes for all three of you.
	“Would BMW like you women to appear in their advertising?  Offering a million-dollar package suggests they sure would!”
	“Oh, Mommy!” Sandy squealed.  “That sounds so incredibly neat!  Could we?”
	“We’ll see, sweetie,” Jean replied noncommittally, but I could tell she was interested and even excited herself.  No wonder she and the girls had so much fun together.  In many ways she has the same enthusiasms as a young girl herself.
	Carol changed the subject.  “There was one other thing.  Paul referred to an ad layout that’s been done and the photo shot, but that is awaiting your clearance before anything more happens.  He refused to tell me a thing about it, but told me its name is Bare Essentials.  If I wanted to see it, he said, I would have to ask you.”  She smiled warmly and asked, “May I see it?”
	Jean just nodded once to Susie who scampered out to the reception room.  In only a few minutes she was back carrying the large envelope containing the layout.
	She gave it to her mother who passed it over to Carol.  “This is the layout he referred to,” Jean said.  “And as an advertising professional, I would appreciate your opinion.”
	Carol took the layout from the envelope and looked at it.  Her eyes widened and she let out a soft whistle.  “May I show it to the others?” she asked.
	Jean just nodded once and Carol passed it on to a bystander.  Then she asked, “Well?  What do you think of it?”
	“What do I think?” the woman responded.  “It’s the most beautiful and the most effective advertisement I’ve ever seen is what I think.”  Then she slowly shook her head and added, “Paul did tell me one more thing about it.  It’s not his ad or Tiffany’s agency; it’s yours.”
	She paused to collect her thoughts and then continued, “I always thought a woman’s back was sort of ugly.  But you three!  Incredible beauty, dignity and grace.”  She grinned and added, “I’ve never seen the word dignity juxtaposed with nudity, but it really applies here.  ‘To the manor born.’  That says it all with respect to you and your daughters.”  Then she looked at Jean and with the utmost sincerity said, “You simply must give permission for this ad to run!  It’s the best ad I’ve ever seen.”
	Similarly, there were rave notices from everyone who looked at the ad as it passed from hand to hand.  The most common response was, “What incredible elegance!” or words to that effect.
	Jean just looked at me and I nodded my head forcefully.  “Modesty has never been your strongest suit, my darling,” I whispered.  “Thank God!”
	“It’s not?” Jean remarked with her eyes gleaming.  “Gee!  Whatever could have given you that idea?  Besides,” she pouted, “I always thought you appreciated the easy access to my bodily openings.”
	“I do!  Indeed I do.”
	She indicated to Carol that she was going to allow the ad to run and then began to circulate among the crowd, introducing herself as she went.  The girls scattered and did the same thing, moving with the same unconscious grace their mother displayed.
	As the crowd dispersed, I found myself alone with Tim Madison.  “Jim, I guess it’s time for Casco to surrender.”
	“I beg your pardon?” I replied in astonishment.
	“We surrender... give up.  What’s so hard to understand about that?”
	I shook my head as if to clear it and replied, “But I’m unaware of any fight between us.”
	That caused him to chuckle.  “You’re right in a way.  Our board of directors never passed a formal declaration of war.  But we’ve been fighting you folks for a long time.”  He grinned and added, “I’ll also admit that it’s been a one-way war.  We’ve been fighting you while you folks have been concentrating on your business and minting money.”  He paused and then went on.  We thought about a merger or acquisition, but with Jack and Kate Callaway still owning 90% of the damned thing, you would end up owning us.  So instead, we surrender.”
	Then with a broad smile he said, “We’re much bigger than Jeff’s outfit, so instead of about ten people working on systems, we’re somewhere north of 30 on this project.  That being the case would it be possible for all of your women to spend some time with us tomorrow?  Say... ten o’clock?”
	“I’m sure they would be happy to oblige,” I replied.
	Then Tim said, “There were a couple of strange elements in that magnificent layout, though.  In the first place, Sandy was wearing a bracelet, but it wasn’t mentioned in the ad.  Second, I’m almost certain I saw some strange shadows or something on both girls’ flanks.  Or was I imagining things?”
	Before I could respond, Gwen Madison rejoined us with Sandy following in her wake.  “Tim, we simply must go to that open house Tiffany’s is having the day after tomorrow.  I’ve been talking with Sandy and she says she’ll have a couple of sketches for pieces she thinks would look good on me.  Could we go?  Please?” she asked with her eyes wide.
	I took advantage of the opportunity and asked Sandy to go and get her bracelet.  That’s all it took.  She knew exactly what I meant.
	A few minutes later she was back wearing her bracelet on her wrist.  Safer that way.  Less likely accidentally to drop down an elevator shaft.
	Meanwhile, Susie and Jean continued to work the crowd like very experienced politicians missing no one.  Remarkable!
	To Tim I said, “You asked about those shadows.  I’ll show you what they are.  Sandy, show Mr. Madison your brand.”
	Her eyes widened, but Sandy turned her side toward the Madisons and lifted up the right rear panel of her skirt.  Because it was slit to the waist, her brand was instantly exposed.  She just held her skirt that way and looked at me.
	The Madisons were utterly aghast.  “My God!” Tim breathed.  “Who would ever do a thing like that to such an incredible girl?”
	I motioned to Sandy to let her skirt down which she instantly did with relief obvious on her face.  Nonetheless, she would have remained exposed indefinitely if that’s what I had asked her to do.
	Quickly I explained Susan and Sandy’s slavery and what they had done for each other and what had been done to them.  By the time I finished, both Madisons appeared to be ill.  I concluded by saying, “What you saw in that picture were two of the three brands these girls carry on their flanks.”  Then to Sandy I said, “Hand your bracelet to the Madisons, please, sweetie.”
	Tim Madison took it and his hand dropped from the unexpectedly heavy weight of the 18-carat gold.  Then he turned it over, and with Gwen by his side the two of them read aloud, “To my darling daughter, Sandy, who will wear the marks of her overwhelming love and courage for the rest of her life, from her father who adores her.”
	At that Gwen Madison just began to bawl.  Tim held out his arms to her and she went to him.  Gently he pulled her close and I could see there were tears in his eyes, too, as he looked over his crying wife’s shoulder at Sandy.  “My dear,” he whispered, “your dad is absolutely correct.  And this is the most beautiful piece with the most beautiful inscription I’ve ever seen.”  He paused and then added, “I guess that’s what you and your mother have been trying to tell us, isn’t it?  Your dad is just a truly great guy.”
	“But... But...  Do you think a guy could ever...?”
	“Sandra Dawson, you are youthful perfection!  Those marks you wear bear evidence to the truth of that inscription.”  He looked deeply into her eyes.  “My God!  You truly are female perfection!  And the beauty you show the world is but a tiny fraction of your beauty inside.”  Slowly he shook his head and concluded, “Woman, you are utterly devastating!  And believe me when I tell you that any guy who would be put off by your brands, regardless of his appearance and credentials, would be a worthless scum!  Understand?”
	Sandy had been studying Tim’s eyes.  Finally she said softly, “You’re really serious, aren’t you, Mr. Madison.”  She shook her head as if to clear it and then continued, “You’re not saying those words to make me feel good; you really mean them, don’t you?”
	“I sure as hell do!” Tim exclaimed.
	Then Gwen Madison left Tim’s arms, held out her arms to Sandy and said, “My only regret is that we don’t have a son anywhere near your age, Sandy.  You are truly a mother’s dream come true.  Now may I have a kiss?  Please?”
	Unfortunately, Sandy’s joy and enthusiasm overcame her natural caution.  She really unloaded on Gwen with predictable — and inevitable — results.  The woman passed out.  Fortunately, not only does Sandy have amazingly quick reflexes, she was almost as strong as her mother at the time.  She easily held her up with one arm while cradling the woman’s head in her other hand to keep it from flopping and giving her a neck strain.
	Tim just watched in utter amazement as Sandy effortlessly supported his wife whose weight was probably 50% greater than her own.  Moreover, he had seen with his own eyes that it was the power of Sandy’s kiss that had put Gwen out.
	Slowly the woman recovered, but Sandy continued to hold her.  Her eyes slowly lost their glassiness and then she stood up straight.
	It was only then that Sandy released her saying, “I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Madison!  I didn’t mean...”
	“Stop!” Gwen commanded.  “Don’t you dare say another word, young lady!”  Then she sighed, took a deep breath and said softly, “Tim, I’ll remember that kiss for the rest of my life.  And I’ll be floating on Cloud 9 for days.”  To Sandy she said, “All you did, Sandra Dawson, is to confirm exactly what I just said: You are a mother’s dream come true.  And you have so much love to give!  It’s unreal.”
	Then she changed the subject slightly.  “How about your mother and dad?  How is it with them?”
	“With them?  A kiss such as I just gave you would be about 10% — maybe! — of the power of the kisses they routinely exchange.  Either of them can put Susie or me out like lights at any time.  Does that answer your question?”
	“Tim, this is utterly unreal!  You’re 99% certain that Jim Dawson put Merrilee Adams in the hospital.  And it’s clear to me that he did it with love.  He has more power than any woman can stand... except for his magnificent wife, Jean.”  She just slowly shook her head and muttered, “Good Lord!”
	At that point I spoke up.  “Thank you both, very much, for what you’ve said to Sandy.  We’ve been telling her the same thing for a very long time, but you know how children are: In a matter like this, their parents are just being nice to them or are blinded by love.  It really helps for Sandy to hear this from people she’s only meeting for the first time.”
	“It’s the God’s-honest truth is all,” Gwen Madison said.  Then to her husband she said, “Darling, I hope you’re going to give up that war you’ve been fighting with Callaway.  I now know that you can’t ever hope to win.”
	“I know it, too, sweetie,” Tim replied.  “That’s why surrender terms will be arranged in our Board conference room tomorrow morning at ten.”  Then he grinned and added, “We tried to get the quarterdeck of USS Missouri, but it was booked.”
	His wife lightly punched him on the arm and with a big grin said, “Timothy Madison, you’re impossible!”
	With his eyes wide, Tim replied, “Darling, you’ve been telling me that for years.  And you know what?  I think you’ve been right all along.”
	With that Tim took his wife into his arms and melted her with a kiss.  Although she was getting a bit on the matronly side, she sinuously moved her body against his and returned his kiss with increasing passion.  When they finally eased apart, she murmured, “Oh, shit!”
	“What’s that mean?” Tim asked.
	“It means I forgot to renew my pill prescription is what ‘oh, shit’ means!” she replied with her eyes dancing.
	“So what?” Tim responded.  “We’ve got lots of money.  We can easily afford another child.  And since this wouldn’t be your first pregnancy...”
	“Do you really mean that?” Gwen asked softly.
	“I sure as hell do!”
	To Sandy Gwen said, “You and your mother are utterly perfect physical specimens.  Does... Does your mother... coach?”
	“Yes, she does, ma’am,” Sandy replied.  Then with a lovely smile she added, “Since Casco just surrendered, you could consider it a part of post-war reconstruction.  Like what we did in Germany and Japan.  How does that sound?”
	“It sounds like the incredible love that all the Dawsons — even you, Jim — carry inside.”  Then to her husband she said, “I can’t wait to get you home!”
	I left the Madisons with the agreement to meet Tim at Casco’s headquarters at 10 the next morning.  While Sandy drifted off among the guests, I joined Jean.  Then I just followed in her wake as she greeted every single person at the reception.  And you know what?  In that incomparable brain of hers, every person was now an individual file in her database and could be called up in detail — along with every word said — in an instant.
* * *
	After a late dinner at San Francisco’s premier seafood house, we returned to the hotel.  When we were back in our room, Jean gave me her most winsome smile and asked, “Sweetie, could you give us fifteen minutes?  Maybe you could look over that Executive Aviation material, or something...”
	I said I would and gave her a light kiss.  But you know how that works by now.  The feel of her molding her body to mine through that silk tissue that passed as a dress was unreal.  And it contained the unspoken promise of much more to come.
	One thing I had learned about Jean and the girls: When they said fifteen minutes, that’s what they meant: not fourteen, or sixteen, either.  At the appointed moment, I entered our bedroom.
	There were Jean and Sandy wearing identical gossamer gowns.  They were the same as Sandy had worn on her fourteenth birthday.  They were propped at the head of the bed with their shoulders touching.  Between them was Susie, absolutely naked except for the diamond choker I had given her that evening.  The two older women had their legs spread wide apart.  Susie had her feet together, but her knees spread wide opening up her cunt for me.  She was the centerpiece in the vista.
	“And what’s all this?” I demanded.
	“It’s been such an incredibly great day, Daddy,” Susie replied, “I thought maybe you might like to end it by popping a cherry or two.  I’m very tight, Daddy, and I’m sure you would really love it.  Would you?  There’s more, too.  I’m sure I’ll bleed beautifully for you, if you take me.”
	“Susan Dawson, we agreed to your fourteenth birthday, didn’t we?” I demanded.
	“Yes, sir,” she replied glumly.
	“Well?  Are you fourteen yet?”
	“No, sir,” she pouted.
	At the foot of the bed I just held out my arms.  With a happy squeal, Susie bounced to her feet on the bed and ran to me.  With me standing on the floor and Susan on the bed, the height was perfect.  She wrapped her arms around my neck and merged her lips with mine.  It was truly lovely.
	For my part, I kept increasing the intensity of our kiss until I put her out.  Then I just held her tightly and waited.  When she recovered, I gave her one very hard spank right over her brand and said, “That’s for trying to seduce your father before you’re old enough.  Understand?”
	Tears were in her eyes — I had really hit her hard — but they were filled with sheer love.  “Daddy, tonight I really feel strange.  It’s... it’s...”  She stopped, shook her head and started again.  “You are my father.  I am the fruit of your loins and mother’s.  You two are my real parents.  And you’re Sandy’s too.  It’s such an incredible feeling!  We’re not adopted any more.  We’re your real daughters.  Does that sound weird, or what?”
	“No, my darling daughter, it doesn’t at all.  Now will you give your dad another kiss?”
	The kiss was like no other I had ever received.  Her lips were merged with mine and her tongue was dancing in my mouth.  At the same time there was a flow of the purest love, verging on adoration.  And, damn it, she was my daughter... and still is!  When she eased up on her kiss, she put her head on my shoulder and I just hugged her tightly.  I could feel her slender body tremble with emotion.
	When she calmed down, I said softly, “I love you so very much, my darling daughter.  My true daughter, the fruit of my loins and Jean Dawson’s womb.  And my darling, no womb has ever borne sweeter fruit.”
	“Oh, Daddy!” she screamed.  “You’re so utterly wonderful!”  With that I got another  incredibly sweet kiss.
	Finally it ended and I looked at Jean and Sandy.  Tears were running down both their cheeks but both were smiling lovingly.  “Now what about you two?” I asked.
	“We thought our lord and master should have his choice of cunts tonight.  Both are sweet, but one offers youth and greater resilience, while the other offers experience and greater muscle control.  The choice is yours, master,” Jean said softly.
	I thought for a moment — the instant I saw them arrayed on the bed I knew something like this was coming — and declared, “I will take you both.  I want you side by  side.”  Jean was to my right, so I told her to put her right leg over Sandy’s left and get their pelvises up.  “I will start with youth and give her one stroke with my cock.  Then two for her mother, then three for Sandy.  This will continue until I cum.  The one in whose cunt I cum will be the winner; the other will be punished.  Are you prepared for your master?”
	Instantly, they were.  Moving between Sandy’s widespread thighs I eased my cock into her very tight vagina as she held her pelvis up off the bed to improve my line.  Then I moved to Jean and then back to Sandy.  The two women were incredible, and Jean had — as usual — been correct.  She had the experience while Sandy had the more supple cunt.  While I was probing their cunts, the two women were kissing and using one hand to caress the other’s breasts and nipples.  After the first few strokes, the one who wasn’t being fucked used her other hand to masturbate to maintain a steady flow of her cuntal fluids.  Susan joined in, kissing her mother with all the passion she could muster.
	When the count reached ten, I raised the girl’s torso, nibbled on her nipples and then melted my lips to hers.  The first time I did this with Sandy, the girl used her vaginal muscles — not as expertly as Jean, but she was learning fast — to massage my cock while whispering, “Thank you, Father, for using the marvelous cock that created me to give me such joy!  Dear Father, I adore you!”  With that she gave me the most passionate and loving kiss I had ever received from her.  When I pulled back far enough to focus on her, her eyes were utterly joyous.
	It was the most incredible lovemaking of my life.  And I think it was for the girls, too.  The room soon took on the musky odor of released passion as everyone joined in the love fest.
	I don’t know where we were in the count when I lost it.  I guess we were at least into the thirties.  Both women had had numerous orgasms during the process but finally Jean used her incredible internal muscles and screamed, “Cum with me, my husband.  Cum with me!”
	And I did.  Did I ever!  Our mutual orgasm was utterly mind-blowing for both of us.  But Jean didn’t lose consciousness.  While her cunt was still pulsing to draw out even more cum, she looked at me with the most incredibly loving look in her eyes and said, “My darling husband, I think you’ve just caught me again!  And I couldn’t be any happier.”
	As it turned out, she was correct.  When later I tried to apologize, she smiled warmly  and said, “I have a very efficient husband.  Now that he has me, he doesn’t want a single luscious egg to go to waste.”  Then she grinned and added, “Besides... I hate periods!  And now I won’t have one.”
	Sandy looked at me sadly and asked, “How many strokes with your hard hand, Master?”
	“How does twenty sound?”
	She shook her head sadly and replied, “It doesn’t sound like enough.  I mean...  Good grief!  You took over thirty strokes inside me, but I couldn’t get my loving father and master to cum.  I think thirty would be better.”
	“We’ll make it 25,” I pronounced.
	After receiving 12 hard smacks on one side, as she hobbled around my legs she said, “Wouldn’t it be so much better, master, to be using a whip?  That way you wouldn’t be hurting your hand so much.  And it would leave such lovely bloody stripes on my worthless body, too.”
	With that she lay across my left leg and received the last 13 spanks.  The poor kid was really hurting when it was all over, but still she took my right hand, kissed it and licked it and apologized for hurting it with her hard ass.  Then without saying a word, she just looked up at me wistfully.
	“On your knees, slave, and spread those ass cheeks!” I commanded.
	Sandy’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.  In an instant she was on her face with her knees under her body raising her ass in the air.  Ignoring what must have been considerable pain, she spread her tight buns as far apart as she could to open her amber hole.
	I moved between her legs, positioned my cock and drove deep into her.  From the corner of my eye I could see Susie feasting on her mother’s cunt, extracting as much of our mixed fluids as she could.
	As I slammed into Sandy’s bruised ass, all I could hear was her muffled voice — her face was on the bed — crying, “Harder!  Fuck me harder, Daddy!  Really slam into my too-tight little asshole!”
	By this time, Susie had finished with her mother and had wriggled under Sandy’s belly to position her mouth at her cunt.  At the same time, Jean had lifted Sandy’s torso off the bed and positioned her mouth under hers.  The two were exchanging passionate kisses; not what one would normally expect between mother and daughter.  But I guess we really are sort of different.
	Finally I could hold back no longer.  Screaming, “I’m cuming!” I really unloaded.  As I did, I really slammed my cock to the root in Sandy’s lovely asshole and slammed my thighs into her tortured buns at the same time.  She went off like a rocket!  Her whole body was in spasm as my cum flooded her bowels.
	She just screamed.  The sound was totally inchoate, but it was a sound of passion and joy.  Then she just collapsed as her nervous system was overloaded and shorted out.
	When Susie finished swallowing her sister’s luscious cream, she moved around and began to probe her still-stretched asshole to extract as much of my cum as she could.
	Me?  I just collapsed on the bed.  That was the last thing I knew for quite awhile.
* * *
	The next thing I knew, it was late at night, probably after 3:00.  I heard, “My husband, I need you.”  I was awake instantly.
	Sandy was sleeping soundly beside me, but there was a vacancy where Jean would normally have been.  Susan was sleeping next to the space.
	I eased out of bed, going down to the foot so as not to disturb Sandy, and went out to the sitting room.  I was careful opening the door so as not to allow much light in.  There I found Jean nursing Jamey.  The smile I received was the very warmest ever.
	“It really works!” she whispered.
	“What works?” I asked, demonstrating my usual acumen.
	Instead of answering directly, Jean said, “Something very special happened today, my darling.  I received a communication — and the girls did too — from home... wherever that may be.  The message is that we’ve been singularly blessed.  Jim, you heard from the girls that they are the fruit of your loins... and mine.  And you know what?  If we were to have DNA testing done, it would prove it.  They have it exactly right: They are truly your daughters and mine.”  She paused and added, “I couldn’t be happier!”
	“But... But why?” I asked in my usually intelligent fashion.
	“Because, my darling, the powers — whoever they may be — have decided that you are the perfect mate.  They feel that what you have done — and are doing — with our daughters is simply perfect.  So anyway, they’re now really ours.”  She looked at me and asked softly, “What do you think?”
	“I think I’m the luckiest man on the face of the earth, is what I think.  My darling, tonight was not to be believed.  You are so good and so loving — as is Sandy — I’m spoiled rotten.”
	Then I changed the subject.  “But what’s this thing about whips?  I thought it was a joke, but now I’m really not so sure.  And why did you all bring it up now, here?”
	“No, my darling husband,” Jean replied softly.  “It’s not a joke at all.  I want to be beaten — need to be beaten! — for all the terrible things I’ve done.  God may have forgiven me, but I haven’t forgiven myself.  I really and truly need it!  As far as the girls are concerned, you’ve heard it before.  Hell!  You’ve told the story many times yourself.  You’ve heard how they would be beaten into unconsciousness every week.  You’ve heard how Susie, usually the first to recover, would spend the rest of the night licking her sisters’ wounds.  Well, they believe — as do I — that a severe beating from you will exorcise the last of their demons.  Please, my darling?  I know — I really do know — how hard it will be for you.  But please?”
	“Why did the subject come up way out here?”
	She grinned and replied, “Because San Francisco is the land of the kinks, is why.”  She was truly happy and grinning as she said, “My darling, we live in the Midwest... the very conservative Midwest.  We don’t have nearly the assortment of whips and chains that are available out here.”  She paused and then exclaimed, “Whoops!  Our youngest is back to sleep.  Let me put him back to bed.”
	With that she disappeared into the other bedroom.  (By the way, what’s wrong with this picture?  Two adults and two girls share a single king sized bed, while an infant has a bedroom to himself.  Hmm.  I’ll have to think about that one.)
	In a few minutes Jean was back.  And she looked utterly exquisite.  She appeared different and even more beautiful than when she had taken Jamey back to his bed.  Even though I’m a slow learner at times, I realized that Jean had redone her makeup after putting the baby back to bed.  What a woman!
	“There’s something else, though,” I said.  “When I came out here after you called, you said, ‘It works!’ or something like it.  What did you mean?”
	She came into my arms before she replied.  “I said it because I hadn’t uttered a single word.  It’s a part of your becoming our daughters’ real father.  I can communicate with you — and you with me — mentally.  Darling, I didn’t say it, I thought it.  And it worked.  And it worked in spite of your being a very sound sleeper.”
	I was holding my wife in my arms while she was telling me this.  “Would my magnificent wife allow her husband to make love to her on the carpet?”
	With her eyes dancing, she replied, “I thought you would never ask!”
	The result?  Unbelievable!
* * *
	Early the next day I found Sandy in the bathroom with her back to the mirror looking at her bruised buns.  “And how is my lovely slave girl this morning?” I asked.
	“If you must know, dear father and master, I’m pissed!”
	“And why are you pissed?”
	“Because there won’t be another meeting of the body slaves’ union I can attend for weeks is why.”  Then with her eyes wide she added, “Boy!  Could I ever fix those no-mind little bitches with these bruises.  While they’re lording it over everyone with their whip cuts, I could brag that mine were inflicted by my loving master with his very own hand!  And by direct contact with my bottom, too!”  She touched one of her bruises and winced.
	Then her face fell as she continued, “Of course, I could be in big trouble if they asked why I was beaten in the first place.  I would have to admit that I was unable to get my loving master to cum in my cunt; that I was defeated by another slave.”  Then she brightened and added, “Of course, the other slave is my mother whom I adore.”
	Sandy looked at me and said, “Daddy master, watching you and Mom together is unreal.  You are so utterly perfect together!”
	Jean had just joined us in the bathroom, naked, as usual.  She joined the conversation, saying, “Your father is the perfect lover!”
	Sandy looked hard at Jean and then said accusingly, “He fucked you again, didn’t he?  After Susie and I were asleep!  He did, didn’t he?”
	“Of course he did, darling,” Jean said blithely.  “And it was the very best ever.”
	“But there was no one to clean up...” Sandy complained.
	“Oh?” Jean responded with a raised eyebrow.  “We were there.  Your father did a lovely job of cleaning my cunt and I think I did a more than adequate job with his prick.”
	“You didn’t...” Sandy said with her eyes wide.
	“Make him cum again in my mouth?  Is that what you’re trying to say?” Jean replied, barely able to control her grin.
	Sandy could only nod her head with her eyes wide.
	“Of course I did,” Jean replied with a self-satisfied smirk.  “And it was luscious, too!  So nice and fresh...”
	“Mommy, I would really hate you if I didn’t love you so damn... darned much.  And you and Dad are just so great together.”
	Jean ended the acting and took Sandy in her arms.  It was lovely to see the two now nearly-identical bodies merged.  “My darling daughter, your father is the finest lover alive in the world today.  And he just keeps getting better!  I almost can’t believe it.”
	“I love you, Mommy,” the girl breathed.  Then turning to me she said, “And I utterly adore my father and master!”
* * *
	At ten I was the proudest man in the universe as I escorted my wife and daughters into the headquarters of Casco Corporation.  The women were simply stunning.  All three were wearing suits — perfect for San Francisco’s weather — and Jean had even fixed their hair in a variation of a bun at the back of their necks.  The poor receptionist, who had been alerted to the identities of the expected guests, nonetheless gaped.
	“Unbelievable!” she murmured as she called Madison’s office to tell him we had arrived.  Then throwing caution to the winds she stammered, “Mrs. Dawson, could I possibly have your autograph?  You are the three most beautiful women in the world!”
	Turning to me she asked, “How does it feel to be married to a woman as gorgeous as your wife and to have fathered two such perfect girls?”
	As I started to respond, Jean had taken the paper the girl offered, asked her name and started to write.  She passed it to Sandy who wrote something and then passed it to Susan who did the same thing.
	I said, “I’m the luckiest man on the planet is the way I feel.  You see, Karen, these women focus their attention on making me the happiest man alive.  And with their natural equipment, the result is... outstanding!”  (It seemed like more things had happened as a result of becoming the girls’ real father.  I seemed to be developing the same incredible hearing they had so I heard the girl when she whispered her name, Karen Combs, to Jean.)
	Susan slid the paper back to Karen who looked at it and gasped.  Then she looked up at the girls with sheer adoration in her eyes.  “You three are utterly unreal!  Never in my life...”
	All three had written warm personal messages in their beautiful handwriting, and Sandy had even sketched Karen’s face capturing her charm in just a few lines.  And until a few short hours before, I didn’t know Sandy had any artistic ability at all.
	The girl kept studying my women and finally said, “As beautiful as you all are on the outside, it’s just a very small fraction of your beauty within.”  With a warm sigh she concluded, “You’re simply perfect!”  There was a dreamy look in her eyes as we went off to the board room.
	Tim Madison let out a soft whistle when he saw my women.  (What a feeling it is to be able to say, “my women”!)  Then he just said softly, “Unbelievable!”
	I stood in the back of the room while he introduced them.  He truly behaved like a proud father as he did.  Then they split up with each girl joining a different group of about ten Casco staffers each and began doing with them what Susan had done with Fisher’s people the day before.
	He joined me in the back with a grin on his face.
	“What’s so funny?” I asked.
	He was slowly shaking his head as he replied, “A short time ago I got a call from Carol Fisher.  What a nut!  As you may know, she and Jeff get pretty kinky.  And she knows I get a charge out of hearing what goes on.  Well, it seems that last night took the cake.  She had promised Jeff that he could do anything to her (which I already knew).  Well, he did.
	“First of all,” Tim related, “he refused to allow Carol any restraints of any kind.  No ropes, no gags, no nothing.  Then he had her on her back with her legs spread opening her cunt wide.  After 25 strokes with a whip, he fucked her that way.  Then she had to kneel on the floor while spreading her ass cheeks apart while Jeff gave her 25 strokes on her butt and asshole.  Then he fucked her there, too.
	“Finally, though, she had to tell him where and how to whip her to cause her the greatest pain.  That included her nipples and her clit.  She had to ask for each stroke and thank him after each one.  Then, with her body covered with blood from her shoulders to her legs, he took her again.”
	Tim just slowly shook his head.  “She’s so proud, you wouldn’t believe it.  And she claims she was flowing like a river, and Jeff even allowed her to cum whenever she wanted.  There were lots of those.”  With a grin he added, “But she’s certain to be at the store tomorrow when the girls are there!”
	Then we circulated among the three groups.  One after the other, every “missing” function proved not to be missing at all.  And this time the system had superior functions for all but two of the Casco requests.  When the girls finished up, the whole thing had taken less than an hour and the Casco people were shell-shocked.
	Finally one woman said, “There’s just one thing: It’s pretty small, I guess, but we’d really love to have a very slightly modified interface...”
	“Modified how?” Jean asked.  The woman told her and Jean just nodded.  She sat down at a computer and her fingers started flying over the keys.  Sandy and Susan joined her.  After a few minutes, she changed places with Sandy whose fingers moved so fast I couldn’t follow them.  At the same time, Susie would point out things to both older women.  Finally, she took Sandy’s place and again fingers flew over the keys.  I had no idea what she was doing.  After all, she was the ergonomics expert, so what was this?  Jean finished up.
	After about five minutes elapsed time Jean moved away from the computer and asked, “How’s this?”
	The woman was stunned.  “Absolutely perfect!”  Then she broke down in tears.  “I quit, boss,” she said to Tim.  “What these women did in five minutes, our whole crew couldn’t do in five months!  Furthermore, after five months the end product wouldn’t be a fraction as good as this is.”
	“Relax, Sarah,” Tim said softly.  “What you’ve just seen are the three top software designers in the world today in action.  Each is a true genius in her own right, but beyond that they seem to work together as if it’s a single brain.  Unfortunately, Callaway Industries has them signed to lifetime contracts so we have to make do with mere humans.”  He paused and then said, “You’re a golfer, aren’t you Sarah?”
	The woman appeared stunned that Tim knew that she was, but she replied softly, “Yes, sir.”
	“And you’re very good, I hear.  In fact, you’re the women’s club champion at your course, aren’t you?”
	This man was good, no question about it.  With his natural leadership ability it was little wonder that Casco was as successful as it was.  The woman could scarcely control her pride as she replied, “Yes, sir.  I am.”
	“Belated congratulations on your victory, Sarah,” Tim continued.  “Now, you’re a very good golfer.  But what if you were matched against Tiger Woods playing scratch golf?  Would you expect to win?”
	“Of course not!  I would expect to lose by 20 strokes at least — even more if he was having one of his career rounds.”
	“Well, Sarah, as good as Tiger Woods is at golf, these women are far, far better as software designers.  Now, would you feel badly if you lost that match to Tiger?”
	“No, Tim, I certainly would not.  In fact, I guess I would feel honored to have even played in a match against him.”  She paused and then continued, “I guess it was like the US Olympic Dream Team in Barcelona in 1992.  Players on the other teams were proud to have been on the same floor with them.”
	“Okay.  Now how about software?”
	Now Sarah’s eyes were bright and she smiled warmly.  “I guess I have to feel the same way, don’t I?  I got to see the very best in action.”
	“A final question: You said our entire crew would have taken more than five months to come up with the changes these women just made.  How much would that have cost us?”
	The woman did some quick calculations and then softly whistled.  “Sir, it would be north of $2.5 million in payroll alone.  Then there are fringes and support on top of that, so...”
	At that point the computer reached the timing point at which its screen saver came into action.  When it did, soft music came out from its speakers.  Whatever it was, I had never heard it before.
	Hearing it, Tim spun on his heel and looked at the computer screen.  The screen saver, very conservatively done, said, “Casco Corporation” and then “Quality”, “Service”, and “Pride”, alternating on the screen.  “Can someone turn up the volume, please,” he asked softly.
	The music came up and it was the sound of pride and joy.  “What is that?” he demanded.  “Where in hell did it come from?”
	“I’m sorry, sir,” Susie said, very abashed.  “I can get rid of it in an instant...”
	“You did that?” Tim asked.
	“Yes, sir.”
	“When?”
	“A few minutes ago.  I thought it might sound nice with the screen saver Sandy designed.”
	Turning to Sandy he asked, “And the screen saver: when did you do that?”
	Sandy was nonplused.  “A few minutes ago, sir,” she replied.  “You saw the whole thing.”
	Tim Madison just slowly sank into the nearest chair and shook his head.  “I do not believe this,” he said softly.  “My God!  Not only do we get the operating software we’ve been after for years, but we also...”
	He picked up the nearest phone and made a call.  At that point I became certain I had gained some of the girls’ powers; I could hear both sides of the conversation perfectly.  As a test, I turned my back but as the girls had told me, the lock-on function worked.  I continued to hear every word.
	Tim was talking to his executive vice president — marketing.  “Gus, how much have we paid those idiots who’ve been working on music for us?”  The answer was more than a million and rising fast.  “And the slogan?”  The answer was the same.
	“Okay, Gus, kill both projects instantly, understand?  I want them dead, and I want them dead right now!  Clear?”
	Gus swallowed hard and replied, “Yes, sir!  It’s very clear.”  That was the end of the conversation.
	Turning to Susie he asked, “Is there any more to the music than what we just heard?”
	“There isn’t, sir, but there could be,” Susie replied.
	“What does that mean?”
	“It could scale up to a full symphony.”
	“And you could do that?”
	“Yes, sir.  I could write it, but...”
	“But what?” he demanded.
	“I’m really not very good at full symphonic scoring,” Susan admitted.  “I can do the strings okay, but I have problems scoring for the woodwinds and sometimes for the brass, too.”
	“And how long would this all take?” he asked.
	“A day or two...  Oh dear!” Susie exclaimed as her face fell.
	“What’s that mean?”
	“I’m sorry, Mr. Madison,” Susan said.  “I forgot that we won’t be home for almost two more weeks.  And then it would take a day or two after that.  I guess that’s really too long for you to wait, isn’t it?”
	“You’re serious?  You could deliver a full symphonic score — although not scored for all the instrumental parts — in less than three weeks?”
	“Yes, sir.”
	“Where does your musical ability come from?” Madison asked softly.
	“From her father,” Jean interjected.  “I can’t carry a tune in a basket.”
	“Do you sing too?” he asked.
	“Not very well,” Susie replied, “but Mom, Sandy and I fool around with it a bit when Daddy’s not home.”
	“Would you sing something for us now?” he asked.
	Clearly, Susan was embarrassed.  Never had she — nor either of the others — sung in public outside of church.  And they had never sung in my presence except for church.
	If she was embarrassed, I was utterly stunned when Jean asked me to join them.  I was the one who couldn’t carry a tune in a basket.  Or so I thought.
	The most startling thing of all was that we began with Shenandoah.  And I had the lead!  I had certainly heard the song often enough — it was the Callaway girls’ theme — but I didn’t know the words.  But I did!  And I amazed myself with my baritone voice.  The women came in with harmony on the theme and I guess it sounded okay.
	Then Jean took the lead with the girls singing Ave Maria.  Her voice soared!  She seemed to be able to hold high notes perfectly and endlessly.  It was utterly angelic!  And she claimed to be unable to carry a tune.
	Then we sang America, The Beautiful, followed by God Bless America, and then The Battle Hymn of the Republic.  We ended our impromptu concert with The Star Spangled Banner.  To my utter amazement, everyone rose when we began.  We even sang the fourth stanza, “And thus be it ever when freemen shall stand/ Between their beloved home and the war’s desolation!/ Blest with victory and peace, may the heav’n rescued land/ Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation./ Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,/ And this is our motto: In God is our trust./ And the star spangled banner in triumph shall wave/ O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.”  Everyone present joined in on the last chorus.
	Tim Madison just slowly sank down onto a chair with a look of stunned amazement on his face.  Finally he pulled himself together and said to his staff, “Okay, folks.  How many here think we should continue our war with Callaway?”  He looked around at the sea of faces.  Then he said, “Anyone?”
	There wasn’t a sound in the room.
	“Smart people,” he declared.  “Let’s face it: we’re so overmatched it’s pathetic!  Can you believe what we’ve experienced in the last 90 minutes or so?  We’ve had a demonstration of the finest software the world has ever seen presented by the women who wrote it.  We’ve seen three women modify it for us in fewer minutes than we would have needed months!  A fourteen-year-old girl produces a logo and slogan for us as a byproduct.  And an eight-year-old girl outlines a symphony, for heaven’s sake.  Finally, just for relaxation we hear the finest a capella singing I’ve ever heard in my life.  What a family!”
	To me Tim said, “Look, Jim, I know your systems sell for about $10,000 per installation.  We will need about 40,000, but how fast could we get the first 10,000?  And could you shade the price a bit on that quantity?”
	My God!  I was looking at nearly a half-billion dollar order!  “You can have the first 10,000 by the end of next week.  How’s that?  And I’ll let you know about the price.”
	Madison nodded and then picked up the phone.  I ignored him this time.  Instead I took my wife into my arms and we kissed.  Boy, did we ever kiss!  Then I kissed Sandy and Susan, whispering to them how incredibly proud of them I was.  The girls simply beamed with pleasure.
	A few minutes later a woman came in and gave Tim a small stack of corporate checks.  Each had been signed once, but apparently these required two signatures.  He signed them all, then gave one of them to me.  It was payable to Callaway Industries in the amount of $50 million.  “This is a down payment on our first order.  Okay?”
	“More than okay,” I replied with a grin.  Initially I thought about phoning in the order, but then I changed my mind.  Instead I asked if the computers were wired in to a network printer somewhere.  Assured by Tim that they all were, Jean sat down at the keyboard and I dictated a letter.  A few moments later, a woman brought in the three copies that Jean had made.  It was a letter from Tim to Callaway listing the initial order and the follow-up, along with his check.
	“Now,” I said, “all we need is a FedEx envelope.  I’ll charge it...”
	“You will like hell!” Tim exclaimed.  He buzzed and dispatched the letter after we both had signed it.
	“I sort of like the idea of Jack Callaway starting the day staring at a nice big check,” I said with a grin.
	Tim chuckled and said, “So do I, as a matter of fact.”  Then to Jean he said, “This is for you,” as he handed her a check.  Then he gave checks to each of the girls.
	All three looked at their checks in stunned amazement.  Jean’s was for $2.5 million, while the girls’ were for $1 million each.
	“No!” Jean screamed.  “You can’t!  I won’t!...”
	“You can and you will,” Tim insisted.  “You heard it yourself: I’m really being cheap.  We would have spent that in payroll alone, forget fringes, support and all that good stuff.  And the end product is far better than we would have come up with, besides.”  To the girls he said, “We’ve already spent over a million dollars each on a slogan and some music and have zilch to show for it.  Nothing!  Not a single thing!  And you two come up with utterly perfect material while we’re watching.  Unbelievable!”
	Then to Susan he said, “And as for you, young lady...  In about two month’s time — just about the end of our concert season — the San Francisco Symphony is going to premier Dawson’s First Symphony on a theme from Casco.  And guess who’s going to be conducting that performance?”
	Susan’s eyes were widening in fear.  Slowly she began to shake her head from side to side as Tim continued, “You are, Susan Dawson!  The composer will conduct the first public performance of what’s going to be a truly memorable work of music.  Okay?”
	“Not okay!” Susan cried.  “I can’t!  I won’t!”
	“You can and you will, darling,” Jean interjected.
	“But I know nothing about conducting...”
	“Susan?”
	“All I do is fool around sometimes...” Susie protested.
	“Yeah...  Just fooling around,” Jean said wryly.  “Sandy and I watch as you bring up the strings, call for the brass, signal percussion...  Yep.  Just fooling around.”
	When Jean realized the size of the check, I cut her off by pointing out that she would be saving Tim money if she took it.  The same was true of the girls.  Otherwise, as independent contractors to Callaway, their fees would have been roughly tripled and added to Casco’s bill.  “And, dear heart, you know damned well Merrilee wouldn’t settle for a fee of only $2.5 million, don’t you?”
	“Yes,” Jean said glumly.  “That bitch!  Those are arguments I can never win.  Whenever I’m winning on logic — which is most of the time — what does she do?  She threatens me with the heavy artillery, spelled Kate Callaway.  She knows there’s no way in hell I can ever win a battle over money with that woman.”
	At that point the meeting broke up.  Kate and the girls went off in search of their toys and other implements of personal destruction, leaving me alone with Tim.  He brought up a rather strange subject: aircraft.
	“You came out here in a private jet, didn’t you?”
	“That’s true.  So what?”
	“How was it?”
	“Absolutely great!” I replied.  “And you heard Jean bragging about being in the Mile High Club, so let’s just say it was significantly better than commercial.  But why do you ask?”
	“Because...  Let’s face it, Jim.  Commercial flying has become a nightmare.  Flights are over-booked, canceled, crowded...  You know the drill.  Hell, our businesses are similar in that we both deal in multi-million dollar orders.  Now how in hell can a representative do a decent job of presentation or negotiation if he’s still in a state of shock from his inbound flight?”
	He frowned and continued, “A number of my people are after me to buy some jets of our own.  It’s not really a matter of money.  It’s...  Oh, hell.  As you may know, I began my career — like so many other guys in our line of work — with IBM.  Its air department got so big at one point the FAA accused them of operating a scheduled airline.  They had to break off a big piece.  That’s certainly not what I want.  But is there an alternative?”
	“Yes, there is,” I replied, thinking of Janice Page.  Only then did I remember that we had forgotten to get the Page’s phone number; we didn’t even know where they were staying.  But I did have her business card with an 800 number.
	Very briefly I told Tim about Executive Aviation.  Then I asked if there was anyplace he might like to go that day.
	“As a matter of fact, there is,” he replied.  “Pendleton, Oregon.  And don’t you dare ask what were doing with a facility out in the boondocks!  Just the thought of that trip turns my stomach, but I’ve got to go.  I’ve been stalling too damned long as it is.”
	“Can you go right now?”
	“Sure can, but how?”
	“That’s what I’m about to find out,” I replied.
	Picking up the phone, I called the 800 number, identified myself, and asked to speak to Bill or Janice Page.  There was music-on-hold for a while and then I heard the passion-filled voice of Janice.  “Hello?” she gasped.
	“Hi, Janice.  It’s Jim Dawson.  What are you doing, anyway?”
	“What you and your gorgeous wife were doing most of yesterday morning if you must know,” she gasped.  I could almost see her grin.  “But what’s up?”
	“How do we go about getting an Executive Aviation jet to go up to Pendleton, Oregon,” I asked.
	“You tell me you want to go to Pendleton is how,” she replied.  “And you just did that.  We’ll be ready to go in about an hour, if that’s all right.”
	“What is this deal, anyway?” I asked.  “And where are you staying?  I forgot to ask yesterday.”
	She and Bill were staying in the same hotel we were, and had a junior suite.  “It’s simply fabulous, Mr. Dawson,” she said.  “I guess I mentioned that this trip was shaping up to be really great, but neither Bill nor I realized just how great.  First of all, this whole arrangement is out of the ordinary for our company.  This isn’t a series of trips; it’s a 15-day charter.  Beyond that, though, what’s really different is that Tiffany’s is providing us with super-deluxe accommodations, and that’s really different!  We’re under orders to take you and your family wherever you want to go, regardless.”
	“You mean... Melbourne, Australia?” I asked.
	“For that we would have to whistle up a second crew and that would take a couple of hours.  But yes, if you wanted to go to Melbourne, we would take you today.”
	“Good grief,” I murmured.  “There are two bits of information for you, okey?”
	“Yes, sir.  What two things?”
	“First, you’re taking the chairman and CEO of Casco Industries, so have lots of brochures and business cards handy.  Okay?”
	“Yes, sir!” she exclaimed brightly.  “And the second?”
	“The name is Jim!  I don’t answer to Mr. Dawson all that well.  I usually think of my father, but he’s dead.”
	“Well... it would really be letting down the bars.  I mean... I’ve only been a spectator while you were fucking your wife, and then she entertains me bare-assed.  But if you insist, I guess Bill and I could call you Jim.”
	A Casco limousine drove us out to SFO’s executive air terminal.  There we found our G-5 on the ramp with its starboard engine turning over slowly.  We went up the boarding stairs and were greeted by Janice.  She retracted the stairs, locked the door and returned to the cockpit for takeoff.  Tim and I took our seats and off we went.  Since by then it was just after noon — not the most popular travel time — we received immediate clearance for takeoff.
	I was amazed at how fast and nimble the aircraft was.  It almost jumped into the air, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we were several thousand feet in the air by the time we reached the airport’s boundary marker.  In no time we were at cruising altitude and Janice came back to serve lunch.  A real lunch, by the way, not the usual cardboard the airlines serve, if you get even that.  That girl really uses her head!  On the way north I told Tim about the G-5 and the G-4, along with the super-range G-6.  For his part, he just enjoyed the relaxation of what otherwise would have been a very painful trip.  Then I moved on to a discussion of Executive Aviation and how it offered Casco complete flexibility without tying up capital or the myriad problems of operating an airline.  He was very interested.
	In no time flat, we were in final approach at Pendleton.  After landing we were met by the local general manager and driven to the Casco facility.  In less than an hour, Tim concluded his face-to-face business and we were on our way back to the airport.  I had called as we were leaving the plant, and again the engine was turning over as we boarded the aircraft.
	“Now that was a good trip!” Tim exclaimed.
	No sooner were we back at our cruising altitude, than Janice was back to serve drinks.  And they were real ones; no miniature bottles.  We sipped Cardhu and nibbled on some lovely hors d’oeuvres Janice had gotten from heaven-knows-where in Pendleton. 
	“Is this typical of the service these people provide?” Tim asked.  “It’s the finest I’ve ever seen.”
	“Let’s ask.”  I called Janice back and asked her to take a seat.  She buzzed Bill on the intercom to let him know she wasn’t lost, then turned her attention to us.
	She explained how the service worked.  There were approved caterers in every major city in the world, and for small places like Pendleton, they called headquarters where there was an enormous database of just such facilities.  “It’s really not hard to do,” she concluded.
	“Who’s vice president of sales in your organization?” Tim asked.  Janice told him and then he said, “Executive Aviation is also a sales agent for Gulfstream, isn’t it?”
	“Yes, sir.  We love their aircraft.  They just do not crash.  Ever!  And they’re built as strong as anything in the air, and far stronger than most.  This looks like a plane, but it’s really a tank with wings,” she said with a grin.
	“There’s a phone on board, I assume,” Tim said.
	“Of course, sir.  There’s one at every executive seat.”

	“Neat!”  Tim found the phone and called Executive Aviation’s vice president of sales, Roy Neill.  He identified himself to the operator and — no surprise — was put right through.
	Tim introduced himself and said, “Roy, I’m in one of your birds right now.  And in addition to having one of the world’s most beautiful women as copilot, she’s also a great saleswoman.  Because of her, I would like to order two Gulfstreams for Casco Industries, a G-4 and a G-5.  In addition, I would like to sign a contract with you people to transport mine.  I don’t know exactly all the options are that you offer, but I’m thinking about the biggest standard package you have to start.  How does that sound?”  He paused and said, “Further, I’m assuming that any sales commission would go to Mrs. Page.  Right?”
	Using my new-found hearing ability, it was clear the man was stunned.  This was more than $50 million in business that had fallen into his lap.  He asked to speak to Mrs. Page.
	Janice was so stunned herself, she was in a state of near shock.  It took a couple of moments for her to regain enough composure to talk, but then she took the call.  I could still hear both sides.
	“Yes, sir,” she said.  “I’m certain he is Timothy Madison, chairman and CEO of Casco Industries.  He was introduced by our client, Mr. Dawson, of Callaway.  It’s the Dawson charter that Bill and I are flying.”
	She was silent for a few minutes as the sales VP first collected his thoughts and then gushed, “Janice Page, this is the most outstanding piece of work by a flight crew in the company’s history.  Aside from the standard sales commission — which on a sale of this size is just going to give you and Bill major-league tax problems — there will be a huge bonus for each of you.  And incidentally, there’s no split on the commission.  The salesman in the territory has never been able even to see a person in the Casco organization.  He’s never been able to make a sales call.
	“Anyway, I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve just done.  And keep up the great work!”  He paused and then said, “May I speak to Mr. Madison again?”
	Tim took back the call while Janice just glowed with joy.  I realized she was a truly beautiful woman.  Meanwhile, Tim was concluding the call with the promise to have a company check for $20 million FedEx’d that day.  After hanging up, he called his office and did just that.
	“I would ask you to join us, Mrs. Page...”
	“Janice, please, sir!” she begged.  “After what you’ve just done for our company and for Bill and me personally...”
	“The name is Tim, Janice.  That’s how I’m known by everyone in my company.  But anyway, as I started to say, I would ask you to join us, but you’re helping to fly this bird so I guess that’s not allowed, is it?”  Janice shook her head, no.  “In that case, why don’t I buy you and your husband dinner?”
	With that he took out a business card, wrote on the back and passed it over.  It said, “Dinner for the Pages and guests.  Bill me at Casco.”  Tim had signed it.  He said, “This is accepted at any establishment in the Bay Area, so take your choice.  But for heaven’s sake, pick a good one... a real good one.  Okay?”
	Then Tim grinned and added, “My wife, Gwen, will be thrilled.  So much so, in fact, she might be as... welcoming... as she was last night.”  Then he explained, “When I’m faced with a trip to a place like Pendleton, I become as warm and friendly as a wounded grizzly.  When Gwen learns I’ve already made the trip...  Hmm!”  With that he grinned lewdly provoking a wickedly sexy laugh from Janice.
	It was really a wonderful trip back to San Francisco.
	When we landed, I exchanged suite numbers with Janice and was pleased to find that their suite was on the same floor as our’s.  Interesting.
	I left Bill and Janice to attend to the aircraft while Tim and I returned in the company limo.  He had the driver take me to our hotel.  As we were parting, he shook hands and said, “Thank you, Jim Dawson.  This has been about the best day in my entire business career.  And it’s been a lot of fun, too, thanks to you and the magnificent women in your life.”
	With that I returned to our suite and found that the girls had returned.  They were bubbling over with what they had bought, but of course refused to tell me any of it.  Moreover, I learned that some of what they bought — heavy items, I’m sure — had been sent directly out to the airport to be stowed on our plane.  Interesting.
	The girls were utterly ecstatic with happiness.  Not only were they having a great time, but they were making money for themselves and much greater amounts for Callaway.  Then I told them about Janice Page and the sale of two jets and a massive contract with Casco.
	“You did it all, didn’t you, darling?” Jean asked, arching her brow.
	“I helped a little,” I admitted.
	“Oh, dear!” she exclaimed with the warmest smile I’d ever seen on her face.  “They’ve caught you with the charity gene, too.”  Then she very daintily stuck out her tongue.  She thought for a moment and then said, “Darling, we will have to have dinner with the Pages tonight... and stuff.”
	“Dinner I understand,” I replied.  “But what’s ‘stuff’?”
	“Just... stuff,” she replied with a truly lecherous grin.
	An interesting evening was in prospect.
* * *
	A short time later the phone rang and Jean picked it up.  It was Janice Page, and she was bubbling over with excitement.  My new power was neat.  I could hear everything said without even trying.  It seemed she had just received a call from Roy Neill, the vice president — sales.  Being more cautious than is common among salesmen — a typically optimistic lot — he had called Casco’s headquarters.  He spoke with Tim’s secretary who confirmed that a company check for $20 million had already been picked up by a FedEx courier and was on its way to Executive Aviation.
	“Anyway,” Janice continued, “it appears that the reality has finally registered on Mr. Neill.  He’s FedEx’d material to Bill and me on sales commissions and all that good stuff.  He did tell me what the commissions so far look like, and the number blew my mind!
	“So anyway, would you folks consider having dinner with Bill and me?  We really do want to celebrate... unless you’re planning on flying somewhere in the morning.”
	There then followed a good-natured argument between the women as to who would pay.  I think that Jean finally won that one on the basis that she and the girls had picked up $4.5 million.  It was agreed that Bill and Janice would join us in our suite for cocktails in an hour.
	As soon as the Pages appeared, Jean and the girls hustled Janice off to our bedroom leaving Bill and me alone.  It was the first chance I had had to talk with him.  He was a thoroughly delightful guy about my own age and — no surprise — an Air Force veteran.
	Bill was almost embarrassingly effusive in his thanks for what I had done in signing up Casco.  “It’s unreal,” he said.  “Janice and I worked out the money and it turns out we’ll be able to pay off our mortgage and buy a larger house that will be debt-free.”  He grinned wryly and added, “Now if only I can convince her to start filling it with children...”
	Just then Janice reappeared.  She looked utterly exquisite!  She was wearing a yellow sleeveless dress and from the appearance of her nipples poking at the fabric, no bra.  Clearly Jean and the girls had done a number on her face and her hairdo.  She was gorgeously feminine.  Jean and the girls followed wearing light blue dresses that complimented their eyes.
	At Jean’s instigation, I had ordered Dom Pérignon.  The hotel knew its stuff: instead of sending up the far-more-common champagne glasses — wide and quite shallow — they sent up flutes.  Perfect.  Now that the women had joined us I opened the first bottle and served.
	“I guess this is to celebrate our great day, isn’t it?” Bill said.
	“It is, darling, but there’s more than that.  I have good news and bad news.  Which do you want first?” Janice replied.
	“How about the good news?”
	“Darling, we’re going to have a baby.  And because of Jean Dawson, it’s going to be an odd pregnancy.  And that’s part of the bad news.”
	Bill was utterly stunned.  He was in a state of shock.  Then slowly he rose from his chair, went to his wife and kissed her passionately.  Janice returned his kiss with at least as much enthusiasm.  He eased away but remained at her side on the sofa.  “Now what’s the bad news.”
	With her eyes wide, Janice said, “I’m sorry to disappoint you, my darling, but...”
	“But what?” Bill exclaimed, obviously starting to worry.
	“You’re going to miss all the fun of pregnancy,” Janice said softly.  “The joys of cleaning up after your wife vomits all over the place with morning sickness, watching my ankles get puffy, seeing me stagger around trying to balance a beach-ball belly...”
	“What?” Bill exclaimed.  “What are you saying?”
	“And... and... you’re not even going to see my nipples turn brown, either,” Janice concluded with her face glum but with her eyes glistening with humor.
	“Why not?” Bill demanded.
	“Because Jean has a different way of getting pregnant is why, and she gave it to me... along with the hairdo thing that you love.  There will be only two things you’ll see:  First, my nipples will get a little larger.  Second, after I deliver my belly will be pretty concave for a week or so,” Janice said.  “Oh!  And there won’t be those lovely abdominal stress lines, either.  Now aren’t you sad?”
	The two locked in another embrace, so I picked up on something Janice had said.  Indeed, she was correct about Jean’s nipples.  They were still the same lovely pink they had always been.  But I asked, “I thought a woman didn’t get pregnant when she was nursing an infant.  But you sure did.  How come?”
	“I certainly don’t know,” Jean replied, “but I have a theory: Most women go through all sorts of internal changes as a byproduct of childbirth, but we don’t seem to.  So... since there aren’t any significant changes other than lactation, we’re back in action much faster.  And besides,” she said with a sniff, “since I’ve decided to become a baby factory, this is more efficient.  It won’t even have to be a year between children.  Ten months seems to be about right.”
	By this time Janice and Bill had eased apart.  Bill asked, “The bad news?  Aside from missing the joys of cleaning up your vomit, that is...?”
	“Are you ready?” Janice asked.  “You had better really brace yourself, darling.”
	Bill was 99% certain Janice was jerking his chain, but there was the remaining 1%.  He just looked at her and waited.
	“I’ll give you the lesser one first,” Janice said.  Then she took a deep breath and looking very sad announced, “You won’t be able to have a brandy Alexander warm and fresh from my tit.”  Her eyes were wide and there were even tears at the corners of her eyes.  “You’ll have to have it in a glass.  Isn’t that just awful?”
	“I can live with that,” Bill announced judiciously.  “Yes, it’s a high price to pay but I suppose I can make do.”  He looked at her and added, “But from the look on your face, there’s more to it than that.”
	“That’s true,” Janice conceded.  “It seems that our infant and my tits become sealed off from the rest of me somehow.  That’s why I could drink a gallon of brandy, but there would be no trace of it in my milk.  Similarly, regardless of what I eat or drink, our infant develops in splendid isolation.  So that means...”  Her voice tailed off.
	“Means what?” Bill asked impatiently.
	“I’m so sorry, darling!” Janice apologized.  “It means you’ll still have to ply me with liquor to get me into your bed.  After all,” she said with her nose in the air, “that’s about the only way you ever get between my thighs...”
	“Yeah...  Sure it is!” Bill said, rolling his eyes.  Then, while scarcely able to control his grin he continued, “You said there were two things.  What’s the other?”
	“The very worst!... for you,” Janice said.  “You’ll get no time off.  None at all.  You’ll have to keep fucking me right up to the day I deliver.  Now what do you think about that?”
	“Oh, shit!” Bill exclaimed.  “You mean...  You mean I don’t get three or four months off?”
	“No, my darling.  And I’m truly sorry, too,” Janice replied with her eyes dancing.  Then she continued, “Jim had Jean in about an hour-long orgasm — can you believe it? — only about two hours before she delivered.”  Then with a grin she added, “She knew it was time, and she almost delivered at the same time Jim withdrew.  Wouldn’t that have been a hoot?  The father’s cock withdraws and the infant follows it out.”
	“Janice Page!” Jean almost screamed.  “You promised!”
	“Oops!  I did, didn’t I?  Sorry about that.”
	“And what did Janice promise?” I asked Jean with my eyebrow raised.
	“Not to mention what she just did,” Jean replied.  “I think it’s a neat idea, and I’m going to try it... sometime.”  Then with a grin she added, “It might be with our second... or third... or fourth...”
	At that Janice said, “Incidentally, Bill, since Jean is pregnant again now, too, there are two upcoming births we can celebrate tonight.”
	And celebrate we did.  The six of us had another incredibly fine dinner on Fisherman’s Wharf and then returned to the hotel.  Although it was ten o’clock, our bodies were still essentially operating on Central time so it felt much earlier.
	We returned to our suite where Jean announced, “Now we get to the ‘stuff’.  We’re going to teach Bill how to fuck a pregnant woman.”  Then turning she said, “Girls?”
	With lovely smiles the girls first stripped off their clothes and then undressed Jean.  Janice was sitting on the sofa, while Bill and I were still standing.  He was agape at the revealed beauty.  (Since the girls were facing him, he hadn’t noticed their brands.)  With my women now revealed in their nakedness, Susie came to Bill while Sandy went to Janice.
	As soon as Sandy’s back was to him, Bill gasped.  “My God!  What’s that?”
	“Oh, that’s one of Sandy’s brands,” Susie replied while still stripping him.  “She has two, while I only have one.  See?” she said, as she turned sideways.
	The man was utterly shocked.  Quickly Susie explained their captivity and what had happened.  She concluded by saying, “My sister offered her life to save mine...”  Then with a small sob she added, “‘Greater love hath no man than he who lays down his life for a friend.’  That’s what my beautiful sister did.  She sacrificed herself for me.”
	Bill, now almost completely stripped except for his jockeys and loafers, took Susie in his arms and hugged her.  With tears in her eyes she added, “Maybe I helped her — at least a little bit — by branding myself and taking a long time to do it...”
	“Can you imagine such a thing?” Sandy demanded with tears in her eyes as she turned away from Janice.  “I was close to death when Susie branded herself.  She stalled to give me time to recover.  But a tiny seven-year-old branding herself?  That’s what my sister did for me!”
	“Close to death?” Bill gasped.  “How?”
	“I had been pussy whipped to the point that my whole crotch was bleeding and then raped by about a dozen men in a row.  I really don’t know how many.  I was pretty out of it after the first six or so...  But they just kept coming until Susie did what she did.”
	Then she forced a smile and said, “But that’s not what we’re here for.  Susan, what are you doing?  You’re taking forever!”
	“I’m just admiring the scenery,” Susie replied blithely as she lowered Bill’s jockey’s revealing his cock in full erection.  “Mmm... and it’s lovely scenery, too.”
	Janice had slid forward on the sofa so that her butt was on the edge.  Her legs were spread wide to welcome her husband.
	“What in hell are you doing?” Jean demanded.
	“The idea is for me to get fucked,” Janice replied.  “What the hell do you think I’m doing?”
	“You’re going to do it right, damn it!” Jean retorted.  “Now, Bill, get over here and sit on the sofa beside your wife.”
	“Yes, ma’am!  Right away, ma’am,” he replied with a grin as he sat beside his wife.  Only then did he look down and see that Janice’s pussy had been shaved in a fashion similar to the way my women had plucked their pubic hair.  “What did you do?” he asked as he gently stroked her now-bare slit.
	“I... I... Sandy shaved me,” Janice choked out.  “It’ll grow back in no time, my darling...”
	“My wife has a gorgeous cunt!” Bill whispered.  “And this is the first time I’ve ever really seen it.”
	“You... You like it?” Janice stammered.
	“Utterly perfect!” Bill exclaimed.
	Janice relaxed and just beamed with pleasure.  Then he took her in his arms and melted his lips to hers.
	Jean then proceeded to direct the proceedings.  First she had Bill kiss Janice’s face, nibble on her ear lobes, kiss her neck and move down to her tits.  She had a beautiful pair of breasts, larger than Jean’s or the girls’ — probably a C-cup or larger.  Jean continued, instructing him to nibble on one nipple while gently fondling the other breast and pulling on its nipple.
	By this time Janice was writhing on the sofa.  “It’s time, Bill,” she gasped.  “Now fuck me!”
	“Don’t you dare!” Jean exclaimed.  “Janice isn’t nearly ready yet.”
	“Not ready?  Not ready?” she nearly screamed.  “I’m about to start a flood in the damned hotel!  What do you mean, I’m not ready?”
	“Patience, dear Janice,” Jean explained, sticking out the tip of her tongue.  “It will only get better...”  Then she cocked her head and appeared pensive.  Then she added, “...or worse, depending on one’s point of view.”
	Finally, Jean conceded that Bill had done enough on Janice’s upper body.  “Now kneel on the floor, Bill, between your wife’s legs.  It’s time you learned how to eat a woman’s cunt.”
	While he moved into position, Jean motioned to the girls.  Their rôle was two-fold I later learned.  First, they were to keep Janice good and hot, but second, they were there to keep her in position while Bill worked on her cunt.  Sandy kissed her and worked on her face while Susie worked on her luscious tits.
	Jean told Bill how to put his wife’s legs in position over his shoulders bringing her cunt to his face.  Then he began to lick.  “Umm!  Good!” he exclaimed as he first tasted his wife’s juices.  Then he was told to run his tongue up the length of Janice’s slit and over her now-aroused clitoris.  When he did, she was taken by her first orgasm.  Bill held her legs tightly as her pelvis convulsed, then resumed his eating, now tasting his wife’s cum.
	Following Jean’s instructions he brought her to a second, then a third, and then a fourth orgasm, each coming faster than the last.  Janice’s arousal was so great by this time that Susan delighted in triggering an orgasm merely by lightly teasing the woman’s erect nipple.  Janice’s nipples were now as hard as pencil erasers and were sticking out half-an-inch or more.
	She had been screaming for Bill to fuck her, but that had changed to, “Eat me! Eat me!...”  The words had finally dissolved into inchoate screams of passion, but as the number of orgasms continued to mount, it was as if her joints were becoming disconnected as her body began to flop loosely, only being held in position by the girls.
	Finally, Jean conceded that Janice was fully warmed up and ready to be fucked.  She waited a few minutes to give both a chance to recover and then had Bill reposition Janice’s legs so her cunt was lined up with his raging cock.  Normally, Janice was very tight and his entry was usually painful for her, but not then.  He easily slid all the way in to his root and began slowly stroking, following Jean’s instructions.
	This time, he quickly took Janice to her crest but kept her there in response to Jean’s instructions.  After minutes at her crest, but unable to go over or go back, Janice was screaming, “Take me over, Bill Page!  Let me cum this instant!”  When he just held her where she was, the poor girl began to cry.  “Please, Bill!  I’m begging you!  Let me cum!  I’ll do anything for you if you do.  You can do anything to me, but please...”
	Bill had learned that the changes in tempo enabled him to keep from shooting off, but there was a limit.  Finally he yelled, “Cum with me, Jan!  Cum with me!”
	He went off and Janice went like a rocket.  I am certain she never in her life had an orgasm like that one.  Finally everything shorted out and she lost consciousness, her head just falling back against the sofa, while Bill fell forward on top of her.
	Finally he rolled off her and was about to be seated on the sofa when I reminded him, “You’re not finished yet.”
	“Huh?” he said.  (See?  I’m not the only one.  And I hope you’ve noticed that I haven’t said ‘huh’ nearly as often as I used to.)
	“Bill,” I said as if explaining the obvious to a small boy, ‘this is the era of recycling.  ‘Waste not, want not,’ they say.  Now there’s lots of nice cum still nice and warm in Janice’s cunt for you to recycle...”
	“Oh,”he mumbled.  Getting down on his knees, he moved between Janice’s still sprawled-out thighs, and put her legs on his shoulders the way he had done earlier.  He began to lick and suck and an expression of pleased surprise appeared on his face.  “Hey!  This is really good!”
	When he had licked and sucked all he could, he moved to the sofa and kissed Janice who had regained consciousness by then, although she still wasn’t completely with it.  But her eyes widened, too, as she realized that Bill’s mouth was full of their mixed cum.  They just kissed and caressed each other lovingly.  It was really beautiful.
	When they finally parted, Jean tapped Janice on the shoulder and said, “You’re not finished, either.  There’s a cleaning job for you to do, too.”
	Then Jean proceeded to give Janice the advanced course in cocksucking.  It was easy at the beginning because Bill was still pretty soft.  But he didn’t remain that way for long.  Jean even provided tips on overcoming the gag reflex, enabling Janice to take Bill in to the root even when he regained his full erection.
	Janice did to Bill what he had been doing to her while eating her cunt.  She brought him to his crest, but wouldn’t allow him to go over.  He was screaming and pounding on the sofa with both fists, crying for relief.  Finally the forces of nature overcame Janice’s new-found skill.  He exploded.  But just before he did, Jean told her to pull his cock out so only the tip was in her mouth.  It made it easier to swallow and permitted her to enjoy the taste.  Which she sure did!
	When it was finally over, she sat beside him on the sofa and gave him back some of his cum from her mouth.  Again the two just kissed, caressed and sighed lovingly.  Finally they both sank back against the cushions, utterly satiated and exhausted.
	“And that’s how you make love to a pregnant woman, Bill,” Jean declared.  “Isn’t it fun?”
	The two didn’t even have the strength left even to stick out their tongues.  But they tried.  They also spent the night in our second bedroom.  I think Jamey could have screamed loud enough to wake the dead that night — he didn’t cry at all; he never does — but it wouldn’t have awakened them if he had.
* * *
	The next day the girls were going to spend the day at the local Tiffany’s.  I had managed to arrange a couple of more sales calls in the morning, so I said I would meet Jean at Tiffany’s in the afternoon.
	My still-developing hearing — now being joined, apparently, with something approximating the girls’ fantastic data-base memory — proved to be invaluable.  The result was I closed two more sales for Callaway, each worth more than $10 million.  I felt I had earned my pay for the day.
	It was two o’clock when I reached Tiffany’s and I couldn’t believe my eyes.  There was a mob scene on the sidewalk in front that was so large I couldn’t even see the store.  Rather than trying to fight my way through, I remembered Jean telling me of an employees’ entrance on the side.  I went around to it, opened the door and found myself facing two armed security guards.
	I identified myself, and one of the guards called for the store manager who came running.  The guy really looked frazzled.
	“What’s wrong?” I asked.
	“This whole thing is utterly incredible!” John Tompkins, the manager, replied.  “Before today, I was really concerned.  Never have we had the inventory levels we had this morning.  But we’ve already received two emergency air shipments; it’s only two o’clock, and I’m afraid we may not have anything to sell by five!  Anything at all!”
	He took my hand and said, “Mr. Dawson, you’ll just have to see for yourself what your wife and daughters are doing to me!”
	He led me out on the sales floor and my jaw dropped.  There were my three girls split evenly around the U-shaped counter — Jean was in the middle, with Sandy to her left and Susie to her right — conducting a seminar in jewelry sales for the store’s staff.  It was utterly hilarious!  There appeared to be three store salespeople with each of them.  One was full-time scurrying back and forth to the vault while the other two were handling the paperwork.  If this were still the old days of ringing cash registers, the ringing would never have stopped.
	I shifted my eyes to Sandy.  The girl was incredible.  She greeted each customer in line with a warm handshake, studied the woman carefully, then whispered a product code in the ear of the gofer.  In moments, back would come the gofer with the item which Sandy presented in all its splendor on white velvet.  Then she would hook it around the woman’s neck and produce a mirror.  Inevitably, the result was the same: “It’s perfect!” the woman would scream, and one of the other salespeople would write up the sale.
	There were two more emergency deliveries before the store closed its doors at five.  At that point, it took another hour to satisfy the customers that were already in the store, and police to handle the disgruntled potential customers who had been unable to make it into the store in time.
	When the last customer was let out of the store, the Tiffany’s employees collapsed on the floor and just sat there.  My girls?  They were utterly ecstatic!
	“Jim, I’ve never had so much fun in my life!” Jean enthused.  “It was just so neat!  And it’s so easy to sell fine jewelry and giftware, too!”
	At that comment, the Tiffany’s people just glared at her.  But I don’t think she noticed.
* * *
	That evening we flew down to Los Angeles, then to Dallas, then...  But you really don’t care, do you?  Anyway, we ended up in Atlanta and on the last night we were scheduled to have dinner at a fine restaurant with Jack Thompson.
	The day — a selling day — was like all the others: a madhouse.  But, as usual, my girls loved every minute.  To our surprise, Jack had engaged a private room for our party of only five.
	His first words took the girls aback: “Why do you hate us so?”
	“Huh?” Jean stammered.  (See?  I’m not the only one.  Even my gorgeous wife does it sometimes.)
	“Let’s sit down and I’ll explain,” Jack replied.
	The girls looked fearful, but I knew better.  In fact, I had an idea what was coming, and I wasn’t disappointed.
	The room was really lovely.  In addition to the table set slightly to the side, it was furnished with a sofa, two lounge chairs and a couple of side chairs with a coffee table in the center of the arrangement.  My girls sat side by side on the sofa, Jack took a lounge chair, and I took the one facing him.
	“Let’s ignore the devastation you’ve created over the last two weeks in six of my very best stores,” he began.  “Instead, let’s go back to last fall when you spent a day in our New York store.”  He reached into his attaché case and brought out a thick stack of paper.
	Looking at Jean he asked, “Are these yours?”  He handed her a stack of copies of letters, some of which were handwritten while others had come from a laser printer.
	Jean quickly skimmed through them and then, with her head high, but with tears forming in the corner of her eyes, replied, “Yes, I wrote them.”
	“Do you know how I happen to have these copies?” Jack asked.
	“No, sir.”
	“Because the individuals to whom you sent them had them in their hands when they came in to buy the items you recommended, is how!” Jack nearly screamed.  “Good grief, woman!  Have you no conscience?  Do you realize the trouble you created for our staff?  I mean...  Really!  You did include our item number of course, but they had to find the item all by themselves!  It’s... it’s inhuman is what it is.”
	“Oh,” Jean said dejectedly.  Then she asked, “Did you keep a count?  How many people with letters came in?”
	Jack looked through some other papers he had and then replied, “Six-hundred sixty-nine.”
	“Gee...  Isn’t that a pretty good response?” Jean asked.  “I only mailed 1,000.”
	“Young lady,” Jack replied, “in direct mail, six percent — six percent! — is considered outstanding.  Seventy percent is unheard of.  Does that answer your question?”
	“Do you have the breakdown between handwritten and computer produced?” Jean continued.
	“Yeah.  It was about even.”
	“Wonderful!” Jean exclaimed.  “That means it doesn’t make a difference.  Boy!  Will that ever be a time-saver.”
	Jack just shook his head, but there was a warm grin on his face.  Then he turned to Susie and said, “As for you, young lady!...”
	“What did I do...? sir?” she asked fearfully.
	“Did you send a little boy a Steiff teddy bear?”
	“Yes, sir,” Susie admitted.
	“Why?”
	“Because his grandmother said he was sick,” Susan replied with her head high as she glared at Thompson.  “I thought it might cheer him up.”
	“Yeah...  Thanks,” Jack replied sarcastically.  “That woman came back to the store along with her grandson — clutching his teddy bear for dear life, I might add — and spent almost $100,000 on jewelry and gifts.”  Glaring at Susan he said, “We examined your expense account carefully and couldn’t find a Steiff teddy bear.  Where is it?”
	“It’s my money!” Susie responded, glaring right back.  “I’ll spend it any way I darn well feel like!”
	Jack just held out his arms and Susie jumped up and ran to him.  He enfolded her and just kissed her gently.  But that wasn’t what Susie had in mind at all.  She really turned up the power and put Thompson out, but easily held him up as she gently set his head back against the chair.
	When he recovered consciousness, Jack shook his head a couple of times to clear it and then muttered, “Wow!”  Susie was still standing before him as he said, “People are so damned concerned about firearms.  Susan Dawson, your lips should be registered as lethal weapons!”
	Then he grinned and added, “Susie, you’re just the greatest girl alive in the world today.  And that grandmother is hoping that someday you might be interested in her grandson.  He’s a very good-looking young man, I should add.”  He paused for a moment and then continued, “As far as Tiffany & Company is concerned, for that kind of return, you can send out thousands of those teddy bears.”
	Susie just grinned and returned to her seat beside her mother.
	Thompson then turned to Sandy and said, “As for you...  Young lady, do you know what you’ve done?”
	Sandy was sitting up ramrod-straight on the sofa and looked directly into Thompson’s eyes.  “No, sir.  What have I done?”
	Jack reached back into his attaché case and pulled out another thick stack of papers.  Passing them over to Sandy he asked, “Did you do these?”
	Each was a sketch of a woman — a different woman each time — along with a piece of jewelry, usually around her neck.  For each one, there was a second: a detailed rendering of the item.
	Sandy thumbed through the stack and replied, “Yes, sir.  I did these.”
	“Have you had any training in jewelry design?  What can be done, and what can’t be?”
	“No, sir.”
	“Well... neither did George Westinghouse when he designed the railroad airbrake.  Because he didn’t know enough to know it couldn’t be done, he did it.  And so did you!” Thompson said with a grin.
	“What did I do?” Sandy asked.
	“In one of your detailed sketches you solved a problem considered to be unsolvable  by design professionals for years... if not for centuries.  That’s what you’ve done, young lady.”  Then he changed tacks.  “How many of these sketches did you send out?”
	“About 200.”
	“About?”
	“Two-hundred and five.”
	“Damn!” Thompson exclaimed.  “Only 190 came back as orders.  That’s not even a 95% return on your work, Sandy.”
	“But it’s better than Mom’s, isn’t it?” she asked with a grin.
	Jack Thompson didn’t respond directly.  Instead he asked, “How much are we paying you girls for this... assignment?”
	“One-hundred thousand dollars,” Jean replied.  “But it’s much too much...”
	She was interrupted by Jack Thompson’s gales of laughter.  Finally he regained control and exclaimed, “Too much!  My dear woman, it’s not nearly enough!
	“Do you know what you’ve done?  All three of you?  Let’s go backwards, starting with Sandy.  The hottest thing in jewelry today is ‘A Dawson Design’.  That’s you, Sandy.  The finest craftspeople we employ vie with one another to be able to do a Dawson Design.  They look at your detailed sketches and drool.  Drool!  Can you believe it? Overtime?  Forget-about-it!  They love your work so much, they would work for nothing!”
	Then Jack took a blank sheet of paper from his case and put it in front of Sandy.  “You sometimes use a special pen to write calligraphy, don’t you?”
	“Yes, sir.”
	“Do you have it with you?”
	Sandy produced it from her purse and just looked at him, puzzled.
	“How many letters did you send out in total again, Sandy?”
	“There were 205,” Sandy replied with a wry smile.  “I know because it was a punishment assignment from my mother.”
	“Punishment?” Jack asked.  “For what?”
	“For becoming sloppy with my handwriting,” Sandy admitted.  “And Mom was right, of course.  I was.  I guess it really taught me a lesson, though.  She carefully examined every single letter.  And if one wasn’t absolutely perfect, I had to do the whole thing over.  And when I say perfect, I mean perfect!  If a word was misspelled or a comma misplaced, I had to do it over.”
	Jack just grinned and slowly shook his head.  Then he said, “Would you please use your magic pen and write ‘A Dawson Design’?  Do it three times, please.”
	Sandy looked at him strangely but did as he asked.  Then she slid the paper over to him.
	He looked at it, nodded his head once and very carefully slipped it into a large envelope that already contained cardboard to prevent bending.
	Sandy was really puzzled by his behavior; we all were.  “What’s that for?” she finally asked.
	With a broad smile he replied, “That’s our new logo for A Dawson Design.  What else could it be?  And the logo, like everything else, was created by Sandra Dawson.”
	Then he looked at Jean and said, “As for you, Jean Dawson, it’s all your fault.  You’re the mother.  You should know better.  And we’re paying you $100,000 plus expenses.  Is that right?”
	“Yes, sir,” Jean replied fearfully.
	“That deal’s dead,” Jack announced.
	Jean was crestfallen.
	“The new deal is $1 million, plus 10% of Tiffany & Company.  The board of directors unanimously approved the issuance of new stock this afternoon.  Congratulations, girls.  You are now Tiffany’s largest shareholders, and as such, Jean Dawson, you’ve been elected a director of the corporation.”
	Jean sat there for a moment, utterly stunned.  Then with fire in her eyes, she screamed, “No!  You can’t do that!  You just can’t.  We... we did it for fun...”
	“You may have done it for fun, but Tiffany & Company sure as hell did not!  We did it for the money, and you’re minting it for us.  So that subject is closed.
	“New subject.”  He glared at Jean and said, “It has come to my attention that Jean Dawson is not registered at Tiffany & Company.  Why not?”
	“Registered?  For what?” Jean responded, utterly baffled.
	“My dear woman!” Thompson chided.  “For your china pattern, flatware, stemware... all that good stuff.  I repeat: Why not?”
	“Because... because we got married rather quickly.  And... and with school for Susan, the baby...  We’ve been using our everyday stuff.”
	Thompson turned to Sandy and asked, “Did you bring the computer?”
	I guess notebook computers really have been shrinking.  Indeed, Sandy had brought one that she carried with her purse.  I hadn’t noticed it.
	“Have you given any thought to patterns for your family, young lady?”
	“Yes, sir,” she replied diffidently.  Then she straightened up and looked Jack straight in the eye.  “I don’t really think anything you’re carrying is quite right for our family.”
	“What would be right?” he asked.
	“I hope you realize you’re being very unfair, sir,” Sandy declared.  “I’ve never shown these to anyone — not even to Susie.  And she knows absolutely everything I do.”
	“May I see them?” Jack persisted.
	What followed was the most stunning presentation I’ve ever seen in my life.  Not only did Sandy have designs for china, flatware and stemware, behind each piece were the manufacturing specifications and engineering drawings.  The china used gold and cobalt-blue on the rim along with a center pattern in gold on each piece.  No two were the same, yet they were all geometrically related.  She even had a very complex set of equations that would produce endless variations, yet every piece would remain in the family.  Astounding!
	The same was true of the flatware.  The stemware was even carefully sized and shaped to conform to loading requirements of a standard automatic dishwasher.
	“It’s utterly beautiful, sweetie,” Jean declared.  “And it’s perfect!  It’s absolutely perfect for us and our family.”  She paused and asked, “Who makes it?  Where can I buy it?  And how much does it cost?”
	“That’s the problem, Mommy,” Sandy said, crestfallen.  “Nobody makes it.  And until this minute, no one has ever seen it except me.”
	“That’s not completely true, either,” Thompson said.  “The china is manufactured by Copeland/Spode, the flatware by Tiffany & Company, and the stemware by Baccarat.  The pattern — all of the patterns — carries the name, Dawson’s Own.  And it’s available exclusively from Tiffany & Company, all branches.  Or will be within a month or two.  And of course the Dawson family will have the very first complete set.”
	He shook his head and continued, “I really have to pat myself on the back.  I thought that you three women would be fabulous models for our company’s advertising... and you certainly have been.  But as a byproduct, what do we get?  We get a free course in how to sell fine jewelry and giftware.  Is that all?  From the Dawsons?  Hah!  Now we get the first truly new designs in jewelry in centuries, and utterly perfect classic designs for our china, flatware, and so forth.  You’ve taken us kicking and screaming into the 21st century!”
	Turning to Sandy he said, “And you, young lady, get a 10% royalty on every piece of A Dawson Design we sell!”  With a broad grin he added, “And it’s really such a shame, too, that the only places in the world that can sell Dawson Designs have Tiffany & Company on their storefronts.”
	Then he smiled warmly at Sandy and added, “I know you’re a wealthy young lady already.  Well, we’re going to make you far wealthier.  And you know what else?  It couldn’t happen to a finer person.”
* * *
	Our trip to San Francisco for the premier performance of Dawson’s First Symphony was extended a bit.  Again we went out in the same Executive Aviation G-5 with the Pages again at the controls.  But this time when we boarded, the engines weren’t running and the Pages were both standing at the top of the stairs locked in a passionate embrace.  Janice looked simply gorgeous!
	When Bill squeezed one of her buns, she just wriggled her body even closer to his and said, “I thought I took good care of you less than two hours ago?”
	“But, darling,” Bill protested, “I’m only doing my homework.  Jean says I have to keep practicing making love to a pregnant woman.”
	When they moved apart to greet us, they both looked simply marvelous.  Janice was glowing with beauty.  Pretending to glare at Jean she said, “I hope you’re satisfied!  This is all your fault, you know.  Before meeting you people, I only had to tolerate an assault on my womanhood a couple of times a month.  But now?  Good grief!  It’s two or three times a day, every day!  There’s... there’s just no let up!”
	“You poor thing!” Jean said sympathetically but with her eyes dancing.  “It’s easy to see how beat up and abused you are, too.”  Then she grinned and added, “Now why don’t we get this show on the road?  I’ve got to get my Mile High Club ticket punched again.”
	Oh, yeah.  I guess I forgot to mention something.  That night in Atlanta ended with a big argument between Jack Thompson and me over who would pay for the expenses of our trip, Tiffany or Callaway.  He insisted that it was Tiffany’s trip, but I pointed out that I had generated hundreds of millions in sales for Callaway.  The argument ended in no decision that night, but was settled in a phone call from Jack a few days later.
	He glumly reported that the answer was neither of us were paying; Executive Aviation refused to submit a bill.  They claimed that the trip resulted in them selling four Gulfstreams and six huge transportation contracts.  (Yeah, I guess there were a few more little executive side trips that I didn’t mention either.)
	Not only would there be no bill, but the Dawsons had free lifetime passes with the company.  We whistle and a jet appears.
	Anyway, we were again off to the Left Coast.  And Jean used me as a demonstration vehicle for the advanced course in fucking a pregnant woman.  Janice Page watched it in awe.
* * *
	We flew out to San Francisco two days before the concert.  Tim and Gwen Madison were at the airport to greet us.  We had learned that both were on the symphony’s board of directors, and Gwen was president.  (She looked stunning, by the way, having lost over 30 pounds in the meantime.)  A limousine took us all to Symphony Hall where Gwen and Tim proudly introduced Susan to Michael Tilson Thomas, the symphony’s music director, who in turn introduced her to the orchestra.  They had been rehearsing the symphony, but this was their first meeting with the composer-conductor.
	Susie was utterly adorable.  She was wearing Levi short-shorts and one of those ratty shirts that Jean loved so much with the sleeves torn off and the shirttails tied under where someday her tits would be.  But my little girl was stunningly beautiful.  There was a large box on the podium for her to stand on.
	Thomas handed her a baton and she tapped it on her music stand.  Instantly the orchestra took their starting positions.  Her arms came up and the symphony began.
	Led by Thomas, the rest of us had taken seats several rows back in the hall to listen.  I confess, I was astounded.  There was my little girl controlling a world-class symphony orchestra.  Not that I knew — or know — a damned thing about conducting, but she certainly seemed to.  Everything seemed to work perfectly.  But what do I know?
	I know that when the first full performance ended, Susie just stood there and, while turning the pages of her conductor’s score, reviewed every mistake any member of the orchestra had made.  When she got to percussion, she noted that the drummer was about a quarter-beat behind the orchestra.  Taking her score, she jumped down from her box and went to him.  She found what she had expected to find: about three-quarters of the way into the score, the printer had fouled up.  The rest of the drummer’s score was behind the orchestra.  He was dismayed, but she pointed out with a warm smile that it certainly wasn’t his fault; he played the score as it appeared to him.
	She returned to her box and completed her review.  At its conclusion the concertmaster rose from his chair and said, “Maestro, on behalf of the entire orchestra, I want to congratulate you.  That was the best first performance I have ever witnessed and the most thorough critique.  You may be very young and inexperienced, but I can assure you, you are one of the very best in the world right now!”  The orchestra members tapped on their instruments applauding the concertmaster’s words.
	I glanced over at Michael Thomas who was sitting next to me.  Tears were rolling down his cheeks as he murmured, “Such incredible talent and ability!  I’ve been rehearsing the orchestra for over a week now and have been doing this for years, but I only picked up about 10% of the errors Susan did.  That girl is unreal!  And so beautiful, too.”  Regarding her critique he said, “And the way she did it!  She’s utterly perfect.  Never does she put down a performer.  She merely points out how to make the next performance better.  Magnificent!”
* * *
	The night of the performance, Susan appeared before me looking nervous.  Knowing her, it was her appearance she was concerned about not the performance.  She was wearing a man-tailored dinner jacket that ended at her waist with a pleated shirt with a wing collar and a white bow tie.  She wore a full-length straight black skirt with black ballet slippers.  Her mother had worked on her face and her hair and she looked exquisite.  I told her so.  She beamed and rushed into my arms.
	“My lovely daughter,” I whispered.  “I love you so, Susan.  Your whole family does!”  With that I melted my lips to hers.
	Later we were all seated in the president’s box at the symphony when Michael Thomas came out to introduce the featured work of the evening.  He took great pride in introducing Susan to the audience, and the entire orchestra was on their feet to greet her as she went to the podium.
	The performance was utterly devastating.  I thought the first run-through had been good but the performance was simply perfect.  Susan was dazzling.  Sandy, sitting beside me whispered, “Dad, she’s simply wonderful!  Aren’t you happy for her?”  I assured her that I certainly was.
	The first movement was in a minor key, filled with sadness, misery and foreboding.  The second introduced a note of hope that grew as the movement developed.  The third, in a major key, developed the hope into the sounds of unrestrained joy.  Utterly magnificent!
	As the last notes died away, Susie turned on the podium to face the audience to the sound of... silence.  I could see her eyes widen and then pandemonium broke loose.  The audience had been in stunned amazement and it had taken a few moments for them to recover.  The orchestra rose from their seats to continue the ovation.  Thomas came out carrying a bouquet of two dozen long-stemmed red roses that he presented to her, to even greater applause.  Susie took her bows and then scampered offstage.
	But the pandemonium continued.  She came back for a second bow, and then a third.  The orchestra members were still on their feet.  Finally, she returned to the podium and said, “Thank you all so very much.  As many of you know, I really don’t know very much about music.  But I have heard that if an audience really applauds, the conductor is supposed to give them something more.  This is a little piece I’m calling ‘Variations on Themes from Childhood.’  I hope you like it.”
	I noticed that the musicians looked somewhat puzzled as they positioned the music on their stands.
	What Susie had done was to take children’s music — Three Blind Mice, London Bridge, and a number of others, and merge, then develop them.  It opened with the strings playing a simple background while various groups of instruments introduced each of the children’s songs.  As the piece developed, Susan wove the various songs together in truly beguiling and increasingly complex patterns.  It closed in full symphonic form.  Again there was silence followed by screams — and I really mean screams — from the audience.  This wasn’t applause, it was wild cheering.  And they were all cheering my adorable little girl.
	Moreover, the members of the orchestra were on their feet, first applauding and then literally cheering their conductor.  Unreal!
	“What was that incredible piece Susie just performed?” Tim asked.
	“I have no idea,” I replied.  “I was hearing it for the first time, too.  But it’s pretty neat, isn’t it?”
	“Neat isn’t the word for your daughter’s ability.  The only person who comes to mind is Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.  But Susan is better than he was at the same age, and he had already had years of professional training.  Jim, you have a true musical genius on your hands.”
	At that point Michael Thomas came out on the stage again, went to a microphone and held up both hands for silence.  As he did he was slowly shaking his head in — I learned later — utter disbelief.  Finally the audience quieted and sat down again.  Still shaking his head, Thomas said, “Ladies and gentlemen, what you have just heard is without precedent as far as I know.  Not only was this the first public performance of ‘Variations on Themes from Childhood’, it was the first performance... ever!  If you had been looking closely, you might have seen some of our orchestra members looking puzzled.  They were.
	“Why?  Because none of them had ever seen the music before, is why.  I learned just a few minutes ago that Miss Dawson came in this evening with stacks of scores and placed them herself on all the appropriate stands.”
	Thomas then moved his microphone over to the podium where Susie was still standing.  “Why, Susan?” he asked.  “Why did you do it?”
	“Well, sir,” she said slowly, “I’ve always thought that a composer should also be an arranger, and I wasn’t able to do the full arrangement on my own symphony.  This was sort of an experiment.”
	“But there was no rehearsal...  None of the orchestra had ever even seen the score!”
	“Mr. Thomas, over the last few days I’ve learned what marvelous musicians you’ve assembled here in the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra.  I was certain they would have no trouble with it, and they didn’t.”  Turning to the orchestra she said, “Thank you for a wonderful performance.”
	Again the orchestra members rose to their feet and gave her a standing ovation.  Then one of the male members yelled, “Three cheers for Susan!  Hip, hip...”
	“Hooray!” screamed the members.
	That was followed by two more as Susie just stood there blushing as red as a beet with embarrassment.
	Michael Thomas continued, “Folks, this young woman is unbelievable!  At an age — she’s only eight years old — when children her age are singing these songs, she’s weaving them into an increasingly complex arrangement yet with each component song maintaining its identity.  I really don’t know how she managed, but she certainly did.”
	He paused for a moment and then continued, “This girl has tonight made a significant addition to Western culture.  And she will rank, I believe, as possibly the greatest American composer of all time, certainly ranking with John Phillip Sousa.”
	At that point Susan whispered in Thomas’s ear.  My hearing hadn’t yet developed the necessary range for me to hear what she was whispering.  But he grinned, nodded and raced off the stage.  In a matter of minutes, backstage personnel were distributing music scores to all the racks, finally putting a score on Susie’s podium.
	To the audience she said, “With a bow to the Boston Pops, I would like to conclude tonight’s program with John Phillip Sousa’s greatest composition, ‘Stars & Stripes Forever’!”
	What a conductor!  She had the entire brass section standing as the trumpets blared out.  Then she motioned to the piccolo player to move to the soloist’s spot where she played the marvelous high trills that soared over the entire orchestra.  But through it all, not only did she have the whole orchestra under perfect control, she was having fun!
	Finally it ended and the audience cheered.  And I mean cheered!  It wasn’t applause, it was as if the Forty-niner’s had won another Super Bowl.  The whole concert hall rocked.
	It ended with Susie standing holding the hand of the piccolo player.  She said, “I think this is a perfect ending.  Standing beside me is the symphony’s piccolo player, Mai Lin, whose perfect notes soared out over the entire orchestra.  I think that piece had particular meaning for her.  You see, just this week, Mai Lin, a native of Shanghai, was naturalized as an American citizen.”  Turning to the girl, she said, “Thank you for your magnificent performance.”
	Tears of happiness were streaming down the girl’s cheeks as she took Susie in her arms and melted her with a kiss.  Then to the audience she said, “On behalf of my fellow orchestra members, I would like to thank Miss Dawson for selecting us as the orchestra to debut her musical genius.  And on a personal level, I can’t thank her enough.  You see, we’ve only known Susan for a couple of days, but we’ve all come to love her... and respect her.  She’s the finest conductor we’ve ever been privileged to work with.  But then for me to be able to play ‘Stars & Stripes Forever’ this week...”  She could say no more, but fled back to her seat.
* * *
	Following the performance, there was a private reception.  Tim pointed out that the music critics of the two San Francisco papers were present which meant their reviews, prepared after their having attended the dress rehearsal, would be favorable.
	Susie was standing beside me when they came up and introduced themselves.  They asked about the origin of the symphony.
	“The work is dedicated to my parents, Jean and Jim Dawson, and to my sister, Sandy.  Without my parents I wouldn’t be here; without Sandy, I would be dead,” Susie said softly.  On a strict off-the-record basis I explained what Susan had meant.  Susie asked Sandy who was wearing the same black-silk gown slit to the hip on both sides to show the critics her brands.  “I can’t with this skirt, sis,” Susie explained.
	When Sandy exposed her flank, Susan said quietly, “That’s one of a pair; I have only one.  Anyway, that’s the first movement.  The second movement is when we rediscover our parents.”
	“There are undertones of fear and sadness there, too,” the Herald-Examiner critic said.  “Can you explain?”
	With a small smile Susie replied, “That was during Mom’s stubborn period.  She almost ruined it all for everyone.”  With a little smile she added, “That’s all I’m going to say about that.”
	“And the last movement?” the Chronicle critic asked.
	“That’s right now,” Susie replied.  “There’s no way I could be happier than I am.  I’m a member of the finest family on the face of the earth.  My parents are the best who have ever lived.  What can I say?  I have it all and want the whole world to know how joyful I feel.”
	“Have you given any thought to adding a fourth movement?” Herald-Examiner asked.
	“Like ‘Ode to Joy’, the fourth movement of Beethoven’s Ninth?” she asked with a grin.
	“Exactly!” he replied.  “Do you sing, by the way?”
	Susie swallowed hard and replied, “A very little.  But only with my family.”
	“Could you sing for us tonight?” Chronicle asked.
	The result was a replay of our impromptu concert at Casco, but with a significant difference.  Virtually the entire orchestra membership was attending the reception and many had their priceless instruments with them.  One after another took out his or her instrument, found a seat beside where we were standing and picked up the music.  By the time we finished, all we were missing was full percussion, but it was a lot of fun.
	Ave Maria was utterly enchanting.  I couldn’t believe the notes my women so easily reached and maintained with perfect clarity and purity of sound.  By the time we reached The Battle Hymn of the Republic, Susan was in front conducting the impromptu orchestra and doing it with authority and skill.  The last stanza just thundered out.  I thought it sounded wonderful.  We concluded with The Star Spangled Banner.  When it was over, I looked at the two critics and saw tears running down both sets of cheeks.
	What a strange reaction, I thought.
	While Susan, Jean and Sandy were thanking the orchestra members, I rejoined the critics.  “Is it true that Susan has had no music training of any kind, formal or otherwise?” Chronicle asked.
	“That’s true,” I replied.  “My wife home-schools her, and I really don’t know all they do, but I do know my wife has never had formal music training, either.  However, I understand there’s a pretty strong link between mathematical ability and musical ability.  Susan’s math ability is phenomenal.  Less than six months ago she did a complete break-even analysis of a $200 million piece of business in her head.  Her mental answer was within a couple of dollars of the computer’s solution later.”  With a grin I added, “And I think it took the computer longer to solve the problem than Susie did.”
	At that point someone appeared with stacks of copies of the first editions of both papers.  The reviews — no surprise — were raves.  “Not since Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart...” Chronicle raved.  “A return to the greats: Mozart, Bach, Brahms, and Beethoven,”  Herald-Examiner wrote.  “In its technical perfection, Dawson’s First ranks with — and is conceivably superior to — Beethoven’s Fifth, the symphony so perfect in its form it virtually destroyed the form itself.  No one could compete... until Susan Dawson, age eight!”
	Chronicle pretended to be annoyed.  “That’s what I get for writing a review ahead of the performance.  There’s no mention of ‘Variations.’” He shook his head and continued, “I really want to see the score for that one!  What your daughter did truly blows the mind.  How many songs did she use?  Six?  Eight?  Ten?  I didn’t count, but I guess I should have.  Somehow she managed to weave them all together while still maintaining the identity of each one.”
	Herald-Examiner chimed in, “I think Michael Tilson Thomas is absolutely right: Susan Dawson is already a composer ranking with the greatest of all time.  And you heard the Chinese girl.  I really don’t think she was just being nice.  Susan has perfect control of that whole orchestra.  She’s hearing every instrument individually.  What a future!”
	A messenger came in with stacks of telegrams which he gave to Michael Tilson Thomas.  “Susan,” he announced, “you’ve made the big time.  Included in this stack are invitations for you to perform your symphony with the Chicago Symphony, the Boston Symphony, the New York Philharmonic and the Philadelphia Symphony.  And this is only a start.  What do you say?”
	“What can I say?” my lovely girl replied.  “I’m utterly overwhelmed.  As I explained to the gentlemen of the press, I wrote this to try to express my gratitude to my parents, Jean and James Dawson, and particularly to my sister, Sandy.  What Sandy did for me, I will never forget, nor can I ever repay.  All I can say is that she offered her life to save mine.”
	At that Susie broke down in tears and ran to her big sister.  The kiss those two exchanged right then would have powered California for a year and ended its energy crisis on the spot.
	Oh, yes... Susie did add a fourth chorale movement.  Magnificent!
* * *
	Susan’s concert was on Saturday night.  We stayed over, and on Sunday to her surprise — but not to mine — the orchestra and Susie assembled in a recording studio rented on an emergency basis by Columbia Records.  They recorded her symphony and her Variations, along with the Dawson family singing.  This time we had the full orchestral backup... and I learned that Jean and I could both play the guitar, which we did when we all sang “Shenandoah.”
	Monday we drove down to the Big Sur country in a BMW supplied by the local dealer under orders from the company.  The day was perfect, and we had a marvelous time.  By then even tiny Jamey was beginning to take an interest in his new world; he was discovering there was more to life than sleeping and nursing at his mother’s luscious tit.  I couldn’t even begin to catalog his assortment of happy sounds.  He was in the center of the back seat with his sisters on each side playing with him.  Wonderful!
	We were late returning to the hotel and found first editions of Monday’s papers at our door.  Suspecting — knowing! — that their appearance wasn’t an accident, we started to go through them.
	First, we found a full-page ad from Columbia Records announcing the release of not one, but two Dawson CD albums.  The first was Susan’s symphony while the second had Variations and our songs.  The only surprising element was the listing, along with all the major local record stores, of Tiffany & Company as a dealer.
	On the next page was a Tiffany ad like no other I’ve ever seen.  It was headlined, “A tribute to a truly remarkable family...”  At the top was a family photo — all five of us — that had been taken only about a week earlier.  I could not have been more proud of my beautiful family.
	But running down the left side of the page were five photos.  The first was me.  I don’t know who took it, when, or where, but there I was making a presentation of some kind to someone.  And I was even wearing a suit and tie.  How about that?  It identified me as executive vice president of Callaway Industries and the designer of the most powerful computer operating system in the world.
	Below me was a beauty shot of Jean wearing a white bikini.  (I don’t know if they managed to get her into one or if they created it with an airbrush on her normally nude body.)  The opening statement by her name was, “Possibly the most beautiful woman in the world...”  I certainly wouldn’t argue with that line.  It went on to describe her as the creator of the finest computer front-end in existence and the mother of two of the most talented young women in the world.
	The next picture was one of Sandy.  She was wearing her brand-new cheerleader’s uniform (although finishing the 9th grade, she had been selected as a member of the cheerleaders’ squad for the following year.)  It showed her with one arm straight up with her feet well up off the ground.  Her skirt was up and her blue bikini — following in the wake of Samantha Callaway and her sister, Stephanie — showed perfectly as did her perfect legs.  I think they probably airbrushed out her golden pubic hair that was certainly showing over the top of the bikini.  (How do I know?  Because her mother worked on it very carefully to make certain that it did.)  Her picture was captioned, “The creator of A Dawson Design...”  It went on to mention that she was only 14 years old and going into the 10th grade.  It also had thumbnail pictures of one of her jewelry pieces and A Dawson Design dinner plate.
	Susan’s photo showed her taking a bow after the premier performance of her symphony.  Its caption began, “America’s Mozart?”  The caption stressed the fact that she was only 8 years old.  It incorporated some of the purple prose from the reviews and featured a statement that Susan may have revived — rescued? — classical music.
	Finally, there was an adorable picture of Jamey waving one hand in the air and smiling happily.  Its caption read only, “James Russell Dawson, Jr.”  It went on to point out that even though he was nearly three months old, he hadn’t done anything of note.  He hadn’t even composed a simple sonata.  “But,” it went on, “he is the most handsome, happiest baby we’ve ever seen.  So maybe he can get by on his looks.”
	Jean howled with laughter at that one.
	The next day was again spent at Tiffany’s.  Again, I made some calls, seeing Tim Madison at Casco to fill out their order, and then went to the store.  In spite of all sorts of advance precautions — what seemed to be a battalion of police out front — it was an utter madhouse.
	I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I found Jack Thompson there.  He was just shaking his head in amazement.  (He informed me that that was about all he’d been doing from the time the store first opened and the mob descended.)  “My people have been telling me about the store scenes when your women are present,” he said, “but it’s not the same thing as actually seeing it in person.  Nothing close!”
	He told me that Sandy had been engaged to develop three more complete giftware lines.  “That girl is unreal!” he whispered.  “Everything she does has so much class, it reeks!  And, needless to say, there’s no way we can produce the original Dawson Design items fast enough.”
	Susan was utterly mobbed.  She was busily autographing copies of her CD for buyers who couldn’t wait to pay $50 for a signed copy.  Only then did I realize that her music — and ours — was playing on the store’s sound system.
	Jean?  She was just being Jean.  The woman just exudes grace and charm.  And class.  “To the manor born” says it all.  That’s Jean Dawson, my wife and my lover.  And no man in history ever had a better one.
	(Oh, yes.  The “goodies” the girls bought on our first trip to San Francisco?  That’s material for another story.)
The End
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