SAMANTHA PART 2

by Luis Cypher © 2011 all rights reserved

Return to Samantha Part 1

Tuesday, September 13, 2218, 6:38 AM PDST

1371 Beagle St, San Ramon, CA

Don’t forget Fineas! She almost forgot him! How could she? Da had given him to her when she was only four and on her way to her first day of school. Her first day away from Mum! That was eleven years ago, and he’d been with her every day without fail ever since! How could she even begin to forget him? Fineas was, Da had told her, one of God’s special angels that would watch over her when she was away from Mam and Da, and keep her safe, and for eleven years he’d done just that! Lydia hadn’t needed one anymore. She’d thrown her Gillean away two years ago and had ridiculed her fraternal twin sister about keeping Fineas it ever since. Strange how Lydia was gone now…

Elizabeth Anne Lynch picked up the miniature pink teddy bear her Da had dubbed ‘Fineas’ and held him in her slender arms to her miniature bosom and slender form tightly. She savoured the warm feeling that rushed over her every time she did so. Her new surroundings made the comfort Fineas offered even more pronounced. It was, after all, the second time in ten months Elizabeth had found herself in a strange new home and a strange new place, Fineas being the one true constant in her newly chaotic life. Lydia was gone, and Da... was he really still Da?”

Elizabeth regarded Fineas face to face with pale blue eyes large on her heart shaped face. Her small mouth puckered pouty lips to kiss the little pink fuzzball as the pink streak in her hair fell down the left side of her face and over him.

“I’m so sorry I almost forgot ye,” she apologized.

“LIZZY!” Mam called out Elizabeth’s hated nickname. “Hurry, Luv! Ye’ll be late!”

Elizabeth pecked Fineas with another kiss and stuffed him into her oversized, book laden satchel, sling that over her shoulder and headed downstairs.

Da was there, reading the local paper, the Amador Herald. His annotated bible sat next to his morning tea and bowl of porridge.

“I had me a nice chat with Miss Emerson,” said Mum through pretty red painted lips curled into her sweet smile. Da liked red, so it was the only colour Mum wore on her lips. “She and Miss Masters are expectin’ ye early, so eat up! They have some things to tell ye about ye’re studies…”

Elizabeth nodded, and ate her porridge and drank her tomato juice as quickly as she always did, brought her dishes to the sink and kissed Mam on the cheek.

“Be sure an’ come home straight away,” Da said. “Nooo lingerin and noo covortin’ wi’ boys! Ya hear me, girlie?”

“Yes, Da,” Elizabeth told him. He was still angry over Friday’s incident and Elizabeth still felt the trauma of Sunday’s. Except for Fineas, no one had seen her cry.

“Be time to go, Lizzy!” Mum commanded. “ Off wi’ ye now. There’s a good girl.” Mam offered her cheek again and Elizabeth pecked it for a second time. Da took his on his rough stubbled cheek, and Elizabeth made her way out the front door, and their new home on Beagle Street in San Ramon in this oh so strange land called California.

She wore her conservative gray pleated skirt and blue cardigan well on her slender five foot frame. Had it not been for the skirt and the length of her hair she might have been mistaken for a twelve year old boy, something she was keenly aware of. Da only allowed her light makeup, and Elizabeth made the best use of that she could to express her femininity. The pink-purple streak in her hair was only partly that, but it was also a little rebellion. Da hated it. She credited that streak with any attention she received and lent no credence to her elfin features that tended to turn heads. Lydia had been the shapely one, and Elizabeth had enjoyed her sister’s shadow, it offered protection.

The Nouveau Art Deco brownstone that was Franklin High School’s main building loomed large only fifteen minutes into Elizabeth’s trot down the empty streets of the cats and dogs neighbourhood. She saw not one other soul.

Up the steps and through the heavy wooden doors Elizabeth found a vacant foyer with an over large trophy case devoid of sporting trophies. In their place were various awards for journalistic excellence, something Franklin High School had become known for.

But Elizabeth's chosen field was Politics. Her main goal was to gain an 'in' as a speech writer, which she could parley into a larger profile. It was her love of the zinger, as Americans called it. Those brutal one liners that cut the opposition to size were Elizabeth's speciality. Not that anyone had ever used one of her speeches, but hopefully, with Miss Emerson's help, that might change. Even so, Elizabeth could not help but be dubious about what help Miss Emerson could provide. In Tacoma it had been worse. Clinton High School was not known for its academics at all, but for its sporting prowess. Elizabeth had been forced over the course of the last semester to engage a correspondence tutor on the East Coast through email. It had been tedious, but the effort had earned Elizabeth a great deal of confidence in her work. Her grades to date were at the valedictorian level, and she had no intention of letting that slide. It would displease Da, and Elizabeth had new insight into what the depths of his displeasure could bring.

Elizabeth found the School Secretary, a handsome Eurasian woman named Lisa in the principal's outer office and introduced herself. The pretty brunette sat wide eyed for a moment, probably eyeing Elizabeth's pink hair streak... Mum was her only defender of it, Da had wished it gone months ago...

"I'm looking for Miss Emerson," Elizabeth tried to diminish her native Irish brogue, not quite succeeding.

"I'll... yes, I'm Lisa," said the woman who's name plate on her desk made that obvious. "Please to meet you, Elizabeth... uhm... you’re home room will be Miss Master's, Miss Emerson, unfortunately, has a full homeroom class. I'm sorry about that. But you'll have full access to Miss Emerson. They're both here, by the way, waiting for you in the Teacher's offices. Uhm... down the left wing third door on the right, it's marked 'teacher's offices'."

"Thank you," Elizabeth said as Lisa picked up the phone and punched a few numbers. Elizabeth made for the hall door.

"Francine? Yeah, she's here! You are not going to believe it when you see her!"

And that meant what? Elizabeth wondered what was wrong... it had to be more than her pink stripe... or was it? Was it a local fashion thing? Elizabeth made her way down the hall as if heading toward a gallows, and hesitated before knocking on the door.

The woman who opened the door was tall and thin, with little more chest than Elizabeth herself sported. She had a friendly face and kind eyes under light brown hair.

"Elizabeth Lynch? I'm Miss Masters. Come in!"

Elizabeth entered and followed the woman's lovely bottom into the classroom sized office containing several cubicles. Her lovely rear was hugged by her otherwise loose black polyester slacks. It came as high as Elizabeth's stomach, so tall she was. Elizabeth had always enjoyed bums, from when she was a young child. They had always fascinated her. Flat, bubble, wide, thin, round, square, whatever, it mattered not. It was Elizabeth's one feminine asset below her neck, and she hoped people admired hers as much as she admired everyone else's. Form hugging polyester was always nice to look at. If a bum had any bounce at all to it, it would bounce in polyester. Miss Masters had only a slight bounce, but it was a very pleasant bounce to observe. Pleated skirts were the absolute worst.

"April," Miss Masters led Elizabeth to a cubicle where a woman with a thin face, short, curly, honey blonde hair wearing horn rimmed glasses perched on an extremely pointed nose sat. "This... is Elizabeth Lynch."

"Oh..." Miss Emerson said with a surprised look, another indictment on my appearance, Elizabeth thought. But the woman's lips which started off forming an 'O' broke into a pleasant smile. Her sleepy, hooded eyes smiled as well as they signalled an absent mind, but a studious one.

"I'm Miss Emerson. I'm very pleased to finally meet you in person, Elizabeth!"

"Thank you," Elizabeth said, neither smiling nor frowning. She offered her hand and smiled when Miss Emerson took it.

"Welcome to Franklin High. Why don't you sit down..."

Elizabeth took her seat and was painfully aware that the tall woman she'd followed in crossed her arms and leaned against the short cubicle wall.

"You're academic record is spectacular. And I've been impressed with the work you've turned in over the past two weeks. If you keep this level of study up you'll not only be able to graduate early, but you'll easily surpass our best students here, boys included. And we already have some very, very good students!"

"According to the mission statement you submitted,"Miss Masters broke in. "I hope you don't mind that Miss Emerson shared it with me. You intend to break into politics as a speech writer, is that still true? And you'd like to eventually serve as a chief of staff to an elected official..."

Elizabeth nodded. She had no illusions about ever being elected to office herself. She was too short and too small breasted. Elected females were universally tall and well endowed world wide, wherever they were allowed.

"Those are very sophisticated goals," Miss Masters added, and paused for a moment as if waiting for a reaction. When she received none. "Well, I'm not sure if Miss Emerson explained to you that she and I tag team on Journalism Studies here. We think, and you may not agree, that you would benefit from some training in this area. But we believe that this would not only expose you to real politicians in the field but also provide opportunity for political analysis of politics in real time in the real world. We're in the mid-term election season. The whole focus right now is on the Congress and some Gubernatorial races, such as the California race. You'll be directly exposed to political speeches, campaign strategies and policies over the course of the next few months in a way that might be impossible next year."

"We've come up with a plan for you," Miss Emerson said. "It's a custom curriculum we've been working on and, our piece of it is that it will have the added benefit of improving our Journalism Studies program. If, that is, you're willing.... and you allow us to convince you to finish the full year, all the way through June of next year... so, what do you think?"

Elizabeth sat a little off kilter, her mind racing. Finally she found the proper question.

"I'm not sure I'm quite understanding," Elizabeth said. "Ye said I'll be working as a journalist in order to become better acquainted wi' political persons... but, is it not true tha...t, politicians often see journalists as the enemy?"

"They often do," Miss Emerson admitted.

"Soo... haw is it this... I don't understand how this can work for me... how..."

The two women went into tag team mode again, doing their best at selling their idea that Elizabeth would focus exclusively on political careers and campaigns. It was, after all, election season... the springboard that offered Elizabeth was quite clear in their minds, that was obvious. It was not so obvious to Elizabeth. An 'in' as a Journalist was not any kind of 'in' Elizabeth saw as useful. She'd be the consummate outsider, rather than a potential ally. The alternative, however, only offered the tedium of the current political science course which offered only repetition and tedium. The choice was obvious. Take the risk... April Emerson and Francine Masters were beside themselves with obvious elation when Elizabeth relented.

"Okay!" Miss Emerson said. "Your first assignment will be to visit with the Mayor of San Ramon. He's running for the Eleventh Congressional District as a Democrat against the Mayor of Livermore to replace the current occupant who is retiring. You are to write an analysis of his campaign strategy and how it connects to both his record and campaign platform. It will be published in the local paper assuming you keep to your usual level of work. He's expecting to see you Wednesday evening." She held out an eight and a half by eleven yellow card-stock assignment sheet marked "Lynch 1.A."

"Interesting," said a towering, handsome and voluptuous blond woman who's breasts threatened to burst out of her beige blouse and hips did the same to her pleated brown slacks. "Is this the other prodigy?"

'Other Prodigy?' Elizabeth repeated in her head. Behind the woman appeared another, much shorter blonde, this one obviously a student from the freshness of her lovely face and the blue and gray uniform. She had blue, blue eyes and was somehow slender and gave the impression of voluptuousness at once. Her perfectly oval face had a serene little glossy smile and otherwise wore only as much makeup as Elizabeth herself was allowed to wear. Her fair complexion needed none of it. She was just naturally lovely.

"Elizabeth, this is our Principal, Miss Farmer."

"Very nice to meet you, Miss Lynch. Miss Emerson has been raving about your work for two weeks. I was getting a little tired of hearing about it, but I suppose I'll be getting more earfuls from now on. See to it they remain positive."

"Yes, ma'am. I do try not to misbehave."

"That's good. Anyway, this is Grace Wells. She's going to see you through callisthenics and to Miss Master's home room."

"Hi," Grace Wells gave a friendly little wave and a bigger smile.

"Okay," Miss Farmer said. "You two better get your shapely little rumps in gear if you want to beat the crowd into the showers... Grace, make sure she gets a bathing suit, I don't think we've issued her one yet..."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Wait," Miss Emerson stopped them. "Elizabeth, what is in that massive bag?"

"My books and things..."

"Books? You don't have your books electronic versions on your e-pad?"

"I don't have an e-pad."

"That's interesting. April, didn't you send Mr. and Mrs. Lynch a list of required items? Anyway, I'll have Lisa send one to Miss Masters. It'll be waiting for you when you get to class. Your parents will be billed for it.... now go... git!"

Grace Wells smiled and took Elizabeth by the hand, and hurried her out of the teacher's offices and into the now bustling halls filled with students who were all, apparently, seniors.

"Where are you from?" Grace asked.

"Ireland," Elizabeth said. "But I spent the last ten months in Tacoma in Washington State."

"Wow! I've never met anyone from Ireland before! Welcome to California!"

"Thank you."

"We have to go get you a bathing suit, that'll be Miss Bauer downstairs. Don't worry, one size fits all."

"What do I need a bathing suit for?"

"Swimming laps, silly!"

Swimming? I have to swim??

"Unless you want to do laps naked, but I don't think we're allowed to do that yet. Don't worry. Miss Bauer has a big stash of suits. Is Ireland as green as they say?"

"Aye," Elizabeth said. "Not unlike the Pacific North West. 'tis not dry at all the way it is here."

"The hills are green in summer. This way."

Down a wide, dingy staircase Elizabeth followed Grace with the flow of girls into an enormous, low ceilinged locker room. Girls were already stripping down to bare skin and carrying what looked like a tiny blue rag in one hand and a swim cap in the other. Their bottoms rippled prettily as they hurried in a single direction to the sound of showers. Their faces ran from handsome, to pretty to lovely, and some were even beautiful. They came in all shapes and sizes of nubile loveliness from fit to svelte to willowy to waifish (like herself) or some combination thereof, and their bums were all beautifully formed with no two alike.

A loud crack sounded from behind Elizabeth. When she turned she saw a handsome, stocky woman almost half a head taller than Grace, and built like a body builder. In her hand she held what Elizabeth would later learn was called "Bauer's Swat."

"Miss Bauer," Grace stopped the mannish coach from bellowing whatever command she was about to hollar. Aside form her swat, she carried a clip board and an air of no nonsense. "This is Elizabeth Lynch. She's new, and she needs a bathing suit and a cap."

"Yeah, forgot we had a newbie coming..." Miss Bauer seemed nice enough in the way a crocodile might be nice. She produced a suit and a locker combination and number for Elizabeth as if by magic and sent them on their way so she could sound off with her gloriously loud voice. "Come on, ladies! We haven't got all day! You're not in a spa!"

Grace found Elizabeth's locker only a few away from her own and left Elizabeth to get undressed. The very idea of stripping off in front of all these amazing bodies sat not at all well with Elizabeth, but there was nothing for it. I have to swim? In Tacoma denuding one's self of clothing in front of other students was never required, and in Ireland, it would be unthinkable! But it was also Elizabeth's boyish form and tiny bosom that seemed completely inadequate for the company. Even as she removed her blouse, Elizabeth felt the sting of humiliation.

No help for it, though. Elizabeth finally decided to strip off and get it done with. She kept her eyes closed as she removed her brazier and kept them closed as she finally pushed down her last garment down her legs and over her feet. Then she remembered she had not shaven in two days. Two days of stubble shadowed her pubic mound whereas every other girl here had perfectly hairless and smooth skin everywhere below her neck. Could it get any worse?

"You ready?" Grace said when she returned, completely glorious in her bare skin. Her body was nothing short of spectacular. Large breasts that were round and pointed with slightly large areolae that were just noticeably puffed, and nipples that looked tasty and succulent. Her slender waist ran to flared hips that were slender, but their roundness gave her an hourglass figure. Grace's cleft resembled a baby's bottom under a lean belly and over shapely legs that were obviously strong though slender as well. She was what Elizabeth would call Fit, but tending toward Willowy.

Elizabeth's fears were enhanced when she saw Grace's eyes glance at her own crotch for only an instant. My God she must think me a pig.

"Come on," Grace said smiling again. "This way. What we do is wash off with soap, put on our suits and caps in the shower, then we go down, swim four laps and quick walk four laps. No jogging. Damages breast tissue, you know..."

"Every morning we swim?"

"Every single morning..," Grace said. "It'd be okay if it weren't for these slimy suits... but at least the pool's warm. Seniors go first, then the juniors come in. Each of the rest of the grades use the pool all day one day a week."

Every morning! We swim every morning! Elizabeth could would not ask herself what else could go wrong... she grabbed her cap and her suit and followed Grace to the shower line.

"I like your stripe!" A girl behind Elizabeth said in some variant of the famous American southern drawl.

"Stripe?" Elizabeth turned to see yet another well formed naked beauty behind her. This one had darker brown hair that seemed a bit brassy.

"The pink stripe in you're hair," she said. "I like it."

"Lee Anne, this is Elizabeth from Ireland," Grace introduced.

"Oh! Wow! I'm only from Tennessee. What brings you to California?"

"Me Da... my father works for TWA. He's a jet engine mechanic, and they sent us here."

"You shave, right?" Lee Anne asked.

"I do," Elizabeth admitted with embarrassment.

"You should try waxing. It's a lot less work. Believe me, I had to learn the hard way. Everyone in Tennessee, they don't go bare like the girls do here. Last year, I tried shaving, and all I got was razor burn and itch... waxing is sooo much better!"

"Ah don't have any at home, an' Mum... in Ireland 'tis the same as where you're from. English girls wax... well, except the Ladylings. Irish don't ever do that..."

"You can come to my house and I'll help you out with it... if you want..."

"Head's open," Grace said.

"So, Gracie," Lee Anne said. "You got rid of the florals?"

"Oh yeah."

"Why? They were so beautiful!"

"Everyone was bugging me to see them... it got old fast. And they were fading anyway form the chlorine in the pool, so I washed them off completely last night."

"What Florals?" Elizabeth asked, not truly interested, but being involved in a conversation that took the focus off her embarrassment was at least a little relief.

"Gracie had these amazing designs dyed on her skin for some wedding... you should have seen them! Who's wedding was it?"

"Jake and Ashima Tucker's."

"I don't know them," Lee Anne said. "Friends of yours?"

"My Daddy works for Jake," Grace said. "He was the best man," she added proudly.

"Did he go naked too," Lee Anne asked, grinning.

"Nooo!" Grace swatted Lee Anne.

"Gracie's dad is... haawwt!" Lee Anne said with a mock swoon. "So are her brothers!"

"You have brothers?" Elizabeth asked. Having A brother was uncommon enough, but Brothers? Plural?

"Two brothers, seven sisters. My house is always chaos when we're all together."

"See that girl over there? The redhead? That's Jenna, Gracie's sister. She's a true redhead down to her fiery nature. But she's actually a lot of fun to hang with if you can get past that."

The redhead was, in fact, a flaming redhead with skin as perfect as Grace's. Her form was more slender than Grace, but with the same small waist that gave Jenna her womanly form. She wore breasts that were... perhaps smaller than average, but still round and pointed with the same slightly puffed areolae and succulent nipples Grace sported. On Jenna's breasts, those nipples looked big.

But Elizabeth, who, in the face of all this nubile loveliness, had till now resisted the urge to stare at anyone (other than the sea of beautiful bums) had her eyes drawn elsewhere toward an emerald flash. When her eyes darted over the green flash was no longer visible. Where it had been, or had she been hallucinating...? .., was a picture Elizabeth would not soon forget.

The girl she saw looked small and tall all at once, but she was only a very few inches taller than Elizabeth's five foot height. Her hair was dark with slightly lighter highlights that were also dark gave a cascade effect to her mane. In profile, as Elizabeth first saw her, the girls had a straight, but small nose over an equally small mouth that was not quite full... but might have been. Her brows were more straight than arched and her complexion was peaches and cream fair. In her nakedness her skin seemed to glow, outshining all around her. From her slender rib cage protruded breasts that were neither small nor large, but round and pointed, similar to Grace's, with likewise slightly puffed areolae and erect nipples. Her hips were ever so gently flared from a tiny waist framing a cleft that looked like a very young girls. Her amazing bottom was as an upside down heart and rippled ever so slightly as the girl legs that just fit her form perfectly. She was willowy, svelte and quite graceful the way she moved, even with the saddened expression she carried, and slightly hunched shoulders, as if there were some burden that weighed upon her.

Some other girl greeted her, and when she looked up there was that shock of green. Impossible emerald or aquamarine, Elizabeth could not decide which it was, looked sideways and flashed a smile that was bigger than her small mouth should have been capable of.

Then those same eyes came to meet Elizabeth's gaze, and in the shock of attention, Elizabeth was caught as a deer in headlamps for longer than she should have been until those green eyes grew large and frightened and, if possible, even more breathtaking. Elizabeth actually gasped as she tore her own eyes away.

"That's Samantha," Lee Anne said.

"Shower's open," Grace announced.

Elizabeth was thankful to be following Grace deep into the shower, away from that poor girl who's privacy she'd invaded. But she soon was overtaken with another sensation. The shower water was freezing cold, and caused her already tight nipples to harden further and her skin to go to goose flesh. Elizabeth copied Grace and took liquid soap from the dispenser and washing herself with chill induced vigour.

"What was that about Sammie?" Grace asked.

"Elizabeth and Sam had a moment," Lee Anne replied to Elizabeth's horror. "Oh, don't worry, Elizabeth. Everyone stares at Samantha at least once. It's okay. You're not the only one who's been caught in her spell."

"Spell?" Grace asked. "What are you talking about."

"Your sister, actually."

"You're talking as if she has designs on controlling everyone, or something," Grace said. "She's going through a rough time right now, so lay off!"

Lee Anne shook her head. "You're misunderstanding, Grace. She doesn't mean to be the way she is... she just is."

"Is what?"

"The most beautiful girl in School."

"She is?" Grace looked astonished. "Says who?"

"Uhm... like, Everyone!!!"

"They do?"

"Oh, come on, Gracie! Don't play coy about this! You know it as well as anyone."

"Uh... no..." Grace said. "I don't."

"She is very beautiful," Elizabeth said, and regretting it the moment the words came out.

"Well, so are you! I mean, you've got those huge eyes and heart shaped face... and Lee Anne's the classic southern belle right out of Gone With The Wind... I mean, I know Sammie's beautiful... but I'm her sister, I'm biased... you know..."

"Gracie," Lee Anne said. "Everyone thinks Sammie's the prettiest thing they've ever seen. There isn't a boy in school that doesn't want her and every last one of them is afraid to go near her! I know because they tell me so! You know Darren Maxwell? He took Jenna out only because he was going to try and get close to Samantha!"

"That's mean!"

"But it's true! He told me! You know me, Gracie! I don't gossip, and I'm only telling you!"

Grace made a face, rolled her eyes and stepped into her postage stamp sized bathing suit and pulled it up over her perfect body.

"Sammie makes every girl in school wish Lesbianism were legal," Lee Anne said to Elizabeth. "So don't fret about getting caught staring. Sammie's probably so used to it by now she's already forgotten it."

"I dare you to say that to Sloan Harding," Gracie said. "About the lesbian thing..."

"Gracie," Lee Anne replied. "Sloan tried to kiss me over the summer!"

"She did not!"

"On my honour as a southern lady! I swear!"

Elizabeth pulled up her own suit. Once it was on, she regretted it. The thing was new, clean and very very slimy against her skin. It felt perfectly grotesque.

"Sammie's got a boyfriend anyway," Grace said as the three of them padded out of the locker room and into the cavernous pool room.

Elizabeth looked down a full story to see three Olympic sized pools separated by the columns that supported the building above. Those pools filled her with dread. The girls below were already doing their laps travelling speedily in the water from one end to the other and boosting them selves out once there.

"Boyfriend? Someone actually had the guts to ask her out? Who is it?"

"Some guy named Michael... Giglioni or something..."

"He doesn't go to this school, does he?"

"I think he's older, like in his twenties... Sammie wrote it all down and let us all read about him yesterday. I haven't met him yet."

"You sure she didn't make him up?"

"Yes! Rebecca Golding knows him. She told me this morning that he's very handsome and very rich!"

"That makes sense, actually," Lee Anne said, taking the lead of the three in line as the Grace and Lee Anne continued to chat away and seemed to lose interest in little Miss Elizabeth.

Elizabeth, for her part, could only stare with a sense of impending doom at the water that took one step closer to her every time the coach’s whistle sounded and another row of girls dove in.

"That's Sloan Harding," Lee Anne pointed out a lovely girl of mixed Hispanic and Caucasian parentage. But, to Elizabeth's personal horror, it was Samantha that again caught her eye. This time it was Samantha that was regarding her, but not with awe, or anything approaching respect. In those emerald and aquamarine eyes she saw something like pity. Elizabeth wanted to cry suddenly, but the whistle sounded again and Lee Anne dove into the pool.

She was up! My God, I'm up! I can do this... the coach's whistle sounded and Elizabeth did her best dive that was as gangly and ungraceful as any ever was. But at least the water was blessedly warm, and she began to swim. Too slow, though. Grace was behind her and would probably run into her if she did not go faster. Breaths were hard to take when you're trying to go fast. She should be halfway there by now, right? But it was only a quarter of the way down the pool and there were miles to go, it seemed. I'm not going to make it... I have to make it... God... help... I can't... God please..! As Elizabeth gulped for breath she saw some graceful form race along the edge of the pool and launch into a perfect arcing dive that seemed borne on wings... her head was completely submerged when whoever it was splashed in, but she was trying to gasp for breath and swallowing too much water to care anymore. But someone had her around her waist. Her back was against another body and suddenly her face again broke the surface. She coughed out as much water as she could, and gulped air into her lungs as well as her stomach.

"I have you! You're okay! You're okay!" said whoever it was.

Hands brusquely took Elizabeth's forearms and lifted her out of the warm water. How many hands? She was suddenly lying in someone's very strong arms, coughing sporadically.

"Room!" The woman holding her bellowed. It was Miss Bauer. Had to be. She rescued me... "A little room, please!"

"Will she be alright?" asked someone in the pool below her.

"She'll be fine. Glad you were paying attention, Samantha. Why the hell didn't anyone tell me the new girl can't swim?"

Canna swim.... thought Elizabeth. She turned her head toward the pool to see those wide, worried, impossibly green eyes looking up at her. Then, Elizabeth Anne Lynch threw up her breakfast.

Wednesday, September 14, 2218, 10:18 AM

938 Sousa Drive, Walnut Creek, CA

"What do you want, Michael?" DeSilva scowled as he peered out through a crack in the door barely as wide as his face.

"May I come in?" Michael Gianni asked politely. He was dressed California Casual, as was common in the upper middle class Walnut Creek neighbourhood, in a thin turtleneck made of fancy, breathable synthetics and a Sports Jacket and pleated slacks.

Johnny stared at him for a moment, then let the door swing wide as he stood leaning on the door jam in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts.

"Fine."

Michael glided into the entrance of the flat roofed home that had as much wall space made of glass as sheet rock. Inside the effect was a well lit and airy feel, as if one was sitting outside under an arbour or an awning, but cool. Air conditioning had the inside temperature at least fifteen degrees below the mid September heat. The interior walls were entirely made of glass, giving the small, but stylish home a much bigger feel than it would otherwise have. The kitchen was completely open to the main room which was sunken in front with several four seat leather couches and a dining area behind that.

Three bedrooms, including the master bedroom were completely exposed, and revealing two naked girls making out on the master bed who stopped and pulled up pillows and sheets to cover themselves when they saw the newcomer.

"I'd have expected to find you living over the hill in Danville," Michael said.

"Too small," Johnny replied. "Too easy to find people in Danville. This town is ten times the size and with just as much money. Danville is all show and no substance. It's easier to get lost in the shuffle here. But then again, you had no trouble finding me..."

"Don't worry, Johnny. I had to go through unusual channels to locate your home... it wasn't easy."

"Good to know. Want a drink?"

"Club soda. If you have it."

"That's right, I forgot. You're a tea tottler till six...."

"That was you're rule..."

"People change..."

"No they don't..."

"People grow up."

"Maybe. But in my experience the get fat, lazy and careless as they grow older," Michael observed. "And you were the one who taught me that lesson as well. It was one of the most important lessons I ever learned, and it's proven true. You really should have been paying attention to the words coming out of your own mouth."

"I'll keep that in mind," Johnny replied. "He emptied a bottle of club soda into a tall glass and opened decanter of Charles III brandy for himself, deposited some into a large snifter, and delivered Michael his drink while swirling his own.

Johnny padded into the sunken lounge area as the two girls trying to hide their nudity looked on from the bedroom with annoyed expressions and rolled their eyes in disgust as he sat down on one of the black leather couches. Johnny liked black leather. It was his favourite colour. It made him stand out in his own environment like a shining jewel, as if he was one.

"So what made you track me down so you could spoil my otherwise bliss filled vacation?"

"Is that what it is? A vacation? I thought you lived for your club now..."

"I needed a break," Johnny said. "Getting the club up and running is a twenty four hour a day job. Now it'll run itself pretty much and I can concentrate on more important things."

"Congratulations," Michael said. "It's no small thing to own the hottest club in the Bay Area. I noticed you even upped the cover charge."

"Had to. We were attracting the wrong sort of clientèle. I need to keep the standards up if I want to keep the reputation. Keep the riff raff out..."

"Like Mr. Crack?"

Johnny's eyes narrowed for only an instant. He'd slipped, and he realized it, Michael knew, and watched Johnny as he sipped his brandy while the two regarded each other. Are you so confident of your privacy you are that easily jolted, Johnny? How the mighty have fallen... or were you ever mighty at all?

"So...." Johnny said. "Let's have it."

"I told you to lay off Samantha Wells."

"She's disrupting my client's business, and in the process, mine."

"That's not my problem, and it's not hers either. Deal with it some other way, but stay away from Samantha Wells."

"I didn't do anything..."

"You threatened her at the Tucker wedding."

"How did you...?"

"Find out? Did you think I wouldn't? Johnny, you were the one who warned Glen about underestimating me. Like I said, you should pay attention to your own advice."

Johnny snorted. "It doesn't matter, Michael. It's my business she's messing with. I've got clients who are going to get very violent when they figure out who's at the root of their problems."

"And I'm telling you now, Johnny, go near her again and it'll be terminal for you!"

Johnny's eyes went wide. "Are you threatening me, Michael? You? I'm not some pushover like Glen..."

"This is from the Professor, Johnny. Right now he's on the phone with Carmine and their discussing your viability as an asset..."

"Don't fuck with me Michael!"

"I'm telling you, Johnny. Why don't you pick up the phone and call Carmine and ask him. The professor would rather not put you at the wrong end of a job, but he will if you mess with his business!"

The effect was instant, Johnny's normally healthy complexion went pale.

"You can't be serious..."

"You think I'm joking? Call Carmine, Johnny. By now, he knows what the score is."

"He's not going to be happy with this at all," Johnny said.

"And that's my problem how? How is that the professor's problem? It's time for your fat and lazy clients to learn how to do business properly, and not rely on temporary circumstances."

"The lesbian prohibition was never a temporary circumstance..."

"It was always temporary, Johnny!"

"It's stood for almost a century!"

"So? People like having the notion of being free, Johnny. It's an illusion, but it keeps them happy. Your clients haven't helped the matter at all with their pushing the limits. The information we provided was never intended to become a full fledged industry. It has limits. You trap too many in power and eventually they'll rebel and change the rules. It's within their power to do, Johnny. And you're not blameless. You've oversold the product. In the information business, if you've only got one product to sell, you're risking going out of business. You have no clue what I'm talking about, do you...?"

"You're fantasizing, Michael. We've got nearly two thirds of congress in the bag. I don't know what you have to sell, but I ain't buying it, Michael!"

"I'm telling you the power you have is going away, and you better diversify or get out of the business."

"You're writing my death warrant. So I can do one of two things. I can face your one contract, or face half a dozen. Which would you pick?"

"You'll be far wealthier and far more popular with your clients if Carmen Sanchez gets her way."

"How?"

"Fraud, Bribery, Theft of Government files, you name it! How do you think these guys managed to pay your clients off? The level of corruption is so many layers deep now you could have nine tenths of congress over two thirds. You could have more power over your clients than you ever dreamed possible."

"That only accounts for those who are currently under our control..."

"Johnny, we're in the information business. We have enough leverage to control anyone in government, except for those naive enough to believe they can fight back. But they'll serve as an example to others. But, if you want to keep trying to do business the old fashioned way..."

"There still a lot of homosexual sons," Johnny observed.

"And you better not push your luck in that area, Johnny. That can go away just as easily."

"So it's a done deal? Sanchez and Jackson are pushing it through?"

"It is. Maybe not this year, or even the next. Within ten, is the professor's opinion. It's time to build a new set of products. Or, it may pass right away. Your clients will fight it, of course. But all they can do is delay the inevitable."

"Carmine's talking with the professor?"

"He either is, or already has."

"He can't have liked it. He'll be reminding the Professor how much he owes us."

"Carmine is smart enough not to play that card. If he's not, the professor will teach him to get smarter..."

"But in the meantime, I've got problems!" Johnny stood, and began to pace. "I've got La Familia, La Cosa Nostra, the Joshua brigade, the Russians and the Yakuza who aren't going to sit this out! Like I said, Michael, I'm facing a lot of contracts if I don't deal with your little girlfriend. I'm going to need something to work with if you want me to let this slide."

"Alright," Michael said, thinking fast.

"Okay," Johnny said. "Let's have it."

"You'll have to give me a few days."

"I don't know that I have a few days. I may not even have one day! If the Russians or the Japanese find out about this, they won't be looking for an explanation. They'll be out for blood. I need something now!"

Michael sighed. He had no clue what to give Johnny except for something about Senator Garvey, who was set to retire from the Senate. It was the very same seat Marcus Jackson was after. Garvey had been funnelling money to a hidden Canadian account for years to escape with both his surviving daughters and his son's families for years. From there, the plan was to find their way to an estate they'd purchased in Sierra Leon. The number of people who would be hurt by the scandal would be legion, so much money had greased palms after having been laundered.

It would make Samantha's name, if he were to pass it through her. The question was, what would the professor say about giving up Garvey?

"Alright," Michael said. "I'll meet you at your club in one hour."

Johnny had anger and worry on his face as he slammed the door behind Michael, but no matter. Michael returned to his car and headed toward Highway 24.

"Good Morning, Boy," said the Professor on the phone. "To what do I owe your condescension to call me?"

"Professor, I have a problem."

"And that is?"

"Johnny DeSilva is ready to put a contract out on one of the Wells girls."

"And what are you doing to convince him not to?"

"Lying through my teeth."

"Oh?"

Michael explained the entire situation.

"You should not have exposed us like this, boy. I was not ready to bring Carmine DeSilva aboard with the plan. You're forcing me to do otherwise, unless I want to cut you off..."

"That is always an option, sir."

"Of course it is. You should be less careless with the plan, boy. Tell me how you intend to make the most of it."

"I'd like to give him Senator Garvey."

"A senator, hmm? Interesting. And how, exactly, do you plan on feeding him what we have on the good Senator?"

Michael took a breath, the pause, he knew, was causing the professor's eyes to squint and his lips to purse. Right now, he was very likely out by the pool enjoying the sight of a nubile young form from whom he intended to take a pelt for his collection of fine leather. The professor truly enjoyed his afternoons this way, and he did not like business to intrude upon them.

"I believe the source should be the media," Michael said. "An unlikely source. One we have full control over."

"Who would that be?"

"Samantha Wells."

"Interesting. And how would a pretty young Highschool student come across such information?"

"Well," Michael said. "Yesterday a new student arrived. She's studying political science and the teachers at Franklin High have altered the curriculum to accommodate her. They'll be focussing more on political campaigns. This new girl is going to be exposed to her chosen field through the two top journalism students with whom she'll be working closely, one of which is Samantha Wells. She will be analizing agenda and policy and any other documents she can get her hands on. I did some checking on her last night, and she's very thorough. The faculty have not underestimated her abilities at all, they seem to know what they have in her."

"Who is this little Irish girl?"

"Her name is Elizabeth Lynch. She's the daughter of a very conservative Irishman named Brian Lynch, who is also an aspiring protestant minister. He'll encourage her to run with anything she finds out that's illegal and feed it to her team. Samantha will, of course, take the lead on writing the copy, and before the scandal breaks, we inform Johnny, who informs his clients..."

"So it's Samantha,now. Not Miss Wells?"

Michael opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out.

"You should be more discrete with your little romance, boy. I have a mind to have you bring her in. But that would bring too much attention if we simply stole her out from under the Playpen Entertainment Group. Any opportunity there has already been lost."

"Excuse me, Sir? I don't understand."

"You will," said the Professor. "Continue."

"Yes, sir," Michael said as he felt the sweat build up on his forehead. "When the scandal breaks, Johnny's clients will be expecting something to break. The fallout will be widespread, affecting as many as a hundred families. Husbands will face jail and the culling of their families, women face the same if they have daughters. It will be in everyone's face for several weeks as the fallout continues. What's important to us is that it will give the DeSilva's leverage to sell our product far and wide, perhaps faster than we planned."

"Perhaps," said the professor. "Very well. You've managed to redeem yourself for now. However, I strongly suggest you limit your contact with Miss Wells to... none. You may feed your information through this Elizabeth Lynch, and I expect a dossier on her and her family delivered within seventy two hours. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly, sir."

"Very good. Senator Garvey may be our little present to Johnny. I will make my call to Carmine, and explain things to him."

"Thank you, sir."

"Michael, there will be no next time. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly, sir."

The phone line clicked dead and Michael stopped at a Seven Eleven and had a slurpee while he composed his pitch to Johnny and Johnny's pitch to his clients, distracted mainly by the professor's words: "out from under the Playpen Entrainment Group."

Martha Carrington had mentioned Bernard Foss's name in connection with the Wells parents. And Ashima Tucker-Khan was involved with Playpen as a Playmate. Samantha Wells was now going to be her assistant editor. Was Samantha officially property of P.E.G. now? He'd seen no evidence of that at all, but the circumstantial evidence pointed to exactly that. How could he have been so blind! Michael turned into the Tropicana Blue parking lot at exactly fifty five minutes after he'd left Johnny's home with a smile on his face as the pieces fell into place in his mind. Samantha was so spectacularly beautiful and talented, how could Playpen, knowing about her, not want her? It stood to reason.

Samantha Marie Wells would become a Playpen Playmate, with all the protections and privileges that offered... The question was: how soon?

That thought gave Michael Gianni a sense of loss and joy he'd never fully understand. The whole weekend he'd been clinging to hope that he could resolve this... situation... That was now decided for him. How the Professor knew, Michael might never know. Was it simply his ability to read people? Michael thought not. There had to be something else. Perhaps Johnny had told someone who told the Professor. It did not matter at all. Michael's desire to have something with Samantha... that kiss... some kind of contact...

He'd put Samantha on the trail immediately, he decided, then back it up through Elizabeth Lynch. Before he left his car, he dialled Glen Carrington's number, spoke a few words, sent a document, then made his way in to reassure and comfort the despairing Johnny DeSilva.

Wednesday, September 14, 2218, 5pm

1967 Chestnut St. Brentwood, CA

Glen Carrington slapped down the folder he had brought onto the small table next to the Mother's favourite lounge chair and sipped the tall glass of iced tea Esmaralda, mother's servant girl, had just poured him. He stood over Mother like the perfect geek demigod in pleated shorts and a polo shirt.

“You have a very frustrated look on your face,” said Martha Carrington. Glen's mother lounged next to him in her favourite red bikini and wearing a thick sheen of tan guard lotion over her still svelte form “working on perfecting her tanlines” she told him, so that her body would be properly presentable when she stripped off at the Jackson fund raiser next month. Marcus Jackson meant the world to Glen's mother. The promise he'd made to decriminalize “feminine intimacy” and allow it to come out from the shadows had been her entire mission in life for the past year since that promise had been made.

“That's for you,” he said. It was the only reason he'd come here. He certainly was not planning on being here this evening, of all evenings. It was Wednesday, and if memory served, Mother would be spending the evening in her beloved gallery with close, very intimate friends here, tonight.

“What's this?” Mother picked up the mysterious folder and opened it. “Why are you giving me this? Kenneth Garvey?”

“It's a gift from a mutual friend,” Glen said. “He said you might take it to your people, have them check it for legitimacy and feed it to someone in the media... someone you trust.”

“A mutual friend?”

“That's right.”

“You won't tell me who?”

“No.”

“What kind of trouble will this bring, Glen? Have you read this?”

“Three times. Even I can't believe it. But if it's true, Mother, it'll break Garvey's hand selected candidate.”

“A secret estate in... Sierra Leon? That's in Africa!” Mother sat up suddenly, an expression of astonishment on her face.

“Yep. I don't buy it, Mother. I really do not. But I accepted it on the off chance there might be some substance there. I know how much this means to you.”

“Did you just print this up? Why...”

“Because I didn't want it traced back to me,” Glen said. “And I strongly suggest you keep it off the internet.” That was almost a verbatim quote from Michael. Delete the emails after printing the documents. Do not forward any to anyone. Delete them and forget them after you've given it to your mother. By the time it's traced back to her, she'll have already had her fund raiser, and won't be available to disclose her source.

“And who are you suggesting I give this to once it's confirmed?”

“Oh, I don't know... how about your little friend Samantha Wells? The one you keep talking about.” Glen mused. Mother had spoken of her. Incessantly. She was the daughter of Mother's good friend Jessica Wells, who frequented Mother's little Wednesday Night Adventures. Glen had never actually met them, but Mother would speak of them frequently enough. Dad wouldn't, but Mother? She was nothing if not a creature of gossip.

“My friends Matthew and Jessica are coming early for dinner this evening. Won't you join us?”

“I don't think so, Mother. I'm really not interested in your sexual conquests.”

“Jessica is not simply a sexual conquest to me, my love. Once a week she's utterly mine, a gift from her own husband.”

“Do you tie her up and whip her?” Glen asked. He had never witnessed his mother's sexual dominance over her submissives. She, herself, was quite submissive when she was with a man, Glen knew quite well. He had not wanted to witness that world of hers for a variety of reasons. Not the least of which being that it could land him in jail.

“Sometimes,” Mother said. “But I have other reasons for wanting you to stay... I want you to meet someone.”

“Who?”

“Kelly Rotterdam.”

“Who's that?”

“A very nice girl,” Mother said. “She'd make you an excellent wife.”

“I'm not interested in getting married, Mother.”

“You're depriving me of the one pleasure in life I looked forward to for years... being at your wedding...”

“I have three concubines, Mother. I don't need a wife.”

“Still, won't you meet her? Esmaralda's making us a nice rump roast for dinner, and I know how you love her cooking. She's very offended you don't come around so often anymore.”

“I'll make it up to her.”

“Why not do so tonight, my love? It would mean the world to me, you know. I'm not long for this world and the idea that I annoy you so much hurts terribly.”

Glen thought about it. Mother had always got her way with him, it was just who she was. Of course, she was incredibly beautiful to everyone, including him. She wore her sexuality on her sleeve and had with both himself and with Astrid. If it had been legal at the time, she would have had him pose with her and Astrid in the Playmates Revisited feature done when he was just eleven years old. Astrid had been four. She was a promising young thing at the time and Mother had high hopes that Astrid would follow Mother's lead and become a raving beauty Playpen Magazine would beat down the door to feature. But no such luck. Astrid's self indulgent nature had seen her become less than personable and less attractive than any other girl Glen had ever met. At this very moment, he was certain, she was up in her room, masturbating with one of her many toys over pictures in some magazine. It's all she ever did anymore, ever since the boy who'd deigned to date her left for greener pastures. At least the girl had not ballooned into a fat, ugly mass of lard. That would have been horrific. Glen was certain Astrid would be culled immediately following the fund raiser and Dad would look to marry his favourite concubine, Paula? Polina? What was her name again? Mother hated the woman, so Glen had only met her once. On evenings when Dad was not home it was highly likely he could be found with 'That Woman' as Mother called her.

“So who's this girl?” Glen said.

“The one I want you to meet? She's a very sweet thing,” Mother said. “She loves her family very much and is very, very loyal. She's fifteen, a highschool senior in Livermore. You know Harry and Zoe Rotterdam, don't you?”

“The ones who make Rotterdam Private Reserve Wine?” Glen said. “Of course. Since I was... God, I can't remember that far back.”

“Zoe's only thirty four, Glen. So it could not have been long. She had her daughters two by two and produced one son for her husband. Poor Kelly is alone because she's the only one of her first four sisters to make it to twelfth grade. They kept getting caught, you see.”

“Caught?”

“Kissing other girls. Kelly alone had enough sense not to engage in such silliness. Tonight she's coming here to enjoy privacy she can count on.”

“With her mother.”

“With her mother Zoe, yes. And, Kramer, her father,” Mother said. She stood up and checked the ties on her bikini. “You've met Kramer and Zoe, you do remember them, don't you?”

“Yeah. They're always bringing bottles of their private reserve.”

“I should take a shower and ready myself for tonight. Why don't you go in and keep Esmaralda company for a little while. When Matthew and Jessica Wells arrive, entertain them for me so that I may make a grand entrance.”

“Where's Dad?”

“Your father is with That Woman right now,” Mother snorted. “Please don't speak of it. I'd like to have some dignity tonight with my friends. We'll tell them he's on a short business trip. You can be my escort tonight, and make me very, very happy.”

Glen smirked. God, why did I come here? Oh yeah, to do something nice for Mother... I keep forgetting... and why is it I feel like I'm being punished every time I try this? Mother... I've found you completely annoying ever since I was ten... when we first fucked... And you'll probably expect sex from me tonight since Dad's with 'That Woman...'

Glen looked at the pool, the one he lived in all year during his years growing up, even in the dead of winter. It was hot. Typical California Central Valley fall... it was Fall now, wasn't it? No, not yet. One more week.

Glen stood, discarding the notion of stripping off and having a quick dip. Screw it. Instead, he did as Mother suggested, and moseyed into the kitchen where Esmaralda's very pregnant self bustled about working on dinner. Mother would be lost without her little Mexican import, and Dad, well, Dad liked her as well, and Mother didn't seemed to mind the nights he spent with the short, stocky, busty Azteca.

“Hola, Don Glen,” Esmaralda greeted him with a big smile on her brown face. As was her habit, she wore an empire cut sun dress with nothing underneath to support the weight of her impressive chest. The skirt hung from just below her breasts and made more than enough room for her heavy belly, which, he was told, carried three girls. Her second litter.

“Como esta tu hermana?” How is your sister? Glen asked.

“Esta bien,” Esmaralda replied. “Llevo a las ninas a la casa de mi padre en Guadalupe por una semana. Jamas las ha visto. No puede sacar visa para venir a California.” She's okay, she took our the girls to our father's home in Guadalupe. He can't get a visa to come to California.

“Quando llegaran estas tres?” Glen said, indicating her belly: When do these three arrive?

“Quando sea. Dentro de dos semanas, pienso.” Whenever. Within two weeks, I think.

“So,” Glen said, sicking with Spanish. “What are you making?”

“Frijoles,” Esmaralda said. “So that your Mother's friends will have enough gas to fill their little room with the smell of good food.” Esmaralda laughed, and Glen laughed with her. They both knew that Mother did not like passing gas, and went to great pains to avoid suffering from it. She was constantly researching remedies so that Esmaralda's cooking would have less of an effect upon her. “Mrs. Wells is a vegetarian,” Esmaralda added. “And I promise I am not so cruel to her. She is a very nice lady. She has always been kind to me.”

“Really! You don't say that about many of my mother's friends.”

“I never say that about your mother's friends, Don Glen. Mrs. Wells is not so much your mother's friend as she is her slave, at least when she is here, she acts as if she is a servant to your mother.”

“That's interesting. My mother seems to think the world of her.”

“She does? She doesn't treat Mrs. Wells as if she does. She beats her.”

“Ah...” Glen said. “That's part of their play, I'm sure.”

“Are you staying for dinner tonight?”

“I think I was tricked into agreeing to by Mother, so yes.”

“You are a good son.”

“I try to be.”

“And when are you getting married? Have you not found a girlfriend yet?”

“Now you sound like my mother.”

“Hah!” Esmaralda giggled. “I should be so lucky. Perhaps Señor Carrington will give me a son someday, or perhaps you will.”

“I might,” Glen said. “All you have to do is ask. I'm your friend, so I would be very happy to help you.”

“It would be nice to have a son,” Esmaralda said. “A child no one is going to make into frijoles con carne.”

“Yes. I know that's always hard to see your daughters taken away.”

“I will see that someday,” Esmaralda said. “But so long as I am not in Mexico, they will be well treated.”

“You told me about your sister.”

“My sister was raped till she died. Then they ate her. A very bad man bought her, and gave her to his men to use for their pleasure. This does not happen here so often. My girls will be well treated when it is their time.”

“That's good,” Glen said. “How have my parents been getting along?”

“They argue sometimes,” Esmaralda said. “But Don Sylvestre is always very kind to her. She, I think, makes him crazy.” She pronounced Sylvester's name “Silvestray” as she always did. “But he loves her very much and would do anything for her. I think he will be relieved after she is made into a meal for her friend the Senator.”

“That is the most important thing in her life. Does my father ever speak with you of his concubines?”

“Yes. He speaks of Doña Paula and how he thinks I will like working for her when she comes. He tells me she is looking forward to serving me in the kitchen! Serving me! How strange for a white woman to serve an immigrant. Do you think this is correct?”

“If he says it, it might be. I don't know this woman. All I know is that Mother hates her.”

“She spits when she speaks of her.”

“And does she speak to you of Johnny DeSilva?”

“The man who is partnered to Don Silvestre? The one who owns a fancy club?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, yes. Very often. Why?”

“What does she say of him?”

“That he is her confidant. She can speak with him of anything and he holds her secrets close. She is very enamoured of Don Johnny, I think. Perhaps she has an affair with him. She very certainly speaks of him as if he is her lover.”

Glen gritted his teeth. If Esmaralda thought something to be true, it often was. In spite of everything, he still wanted Johnny out of their lives, especially Mother's. That would, of course, be impossible now that her end was scheduled. There had to be some way... but there was not. His only choice would be to continue courting an alliance with Johnny, no matter how much they hated each other. Eventually, he'd get the goods that Michael could not deliver. He owed Michael, too, for his deception. That was a debt he'd not soon forget.

“What time is it?” Glen looked at the clock. “Almost six. I wonder when...” The front doorbell rang as if on queue. The Mr. and Mrs. Wells, he presumed, correctly, he found when he opened the front door.

“Oh!” Said Mrs. Wells, who was as beautiful a woman as Glen had ever seen. She was small. 5'3” if his ability to judge height was still good, and it was. Dark hair with eyes that were somewhere between turquoise and sapphire blue with fair skin that had a natural blush on her cheeks. What was more, her sun dress was cut low enough around her chest to make it clear that her perfect, if small, breasts were unsupported by an under garment. Glen instantly wanted her, his erection already strained his pleated shorts. If she bent over, he might get a nice view. He must have been staring, because Mr. Wells cleared his throat.

“Hi!” Glen said. “I'm Glen! Martha's my mother. Come in! You're Mr. and Mrs. Wells, am I right?”

“Matthew,” said the man, whose forced smile and grit teeth under tight lips seemed to suit his ruggedly handsome face. He was strongly built, but wiry, slender. He was a man built for both endurance and speed. Strong arms as well. Dunno about the legs under those slacks, but probably good Quarter Back material at six foot one inch. About one eighty, no more. He could sprint, but he could also jog for miles. When he offered his hand Glen took it in his own powerful paw and forced himself not to squeeze hard. But the man could probably have endured it. The hand in his was calloused and strong with fingers suited for fine work or piano playing. “This is my wife, Jessica.”

“My mother talks about you both quite a bit,” Glen said. “It's nice to finally meet you.”

“I'm surprised we haven't met before now,” Matthew said.

“Well,” Glen said. “When I was young I was never allowed to be bother my mother's Wednesday night guests. And then I went to school...”

“You were a professional in the NFL, right?” Matthew asked. And that got the two started on sports talk about Matthew's favourite team: the Oakland Raiders and Glen's assessment of their worse than pathetic prospects for the year. Glen was somewhat proud of the fact that he made his denunciation of the local team as politically palletable as possible. His success was visible in the way Matthew seemed to take all Glen's opinions with equal politeness.

“There's always next year,” Matthew said. “Maybe we can get out from under that idiotic contract they gave to Josh Macon.”

“That was pretty stupid on their part,” Glen said. “The guy can only throw if he's got no pressure. He's useless in a tight pocket, not to mention a blitz! I don't know how they didn't see that before. It was pretty obvious to anyone who paid attention.”

“First Round pick... five million Euros a year... it sucks.”

Jessica, who had remained silent and very comfortably under the protective arm over her shoulder simply smiled and made sure she was paying attention to which ever of the two men was flapping his lips. The woman was obviously in love with her husband. She was the one Mother had tried to convince to join her on the menu at Tropicana Blue, Glen suddenly remembered. She looked far too young to even consider it. She could not be more than thirty years old. He decided to change the subject in that direction.

“I can see why Mother wanted you with her next month,” Glen said. “But I have to appologize for her. She lets her exhuberance for whatever cause get away from her sometimes.”

“Well,” Jessica said. “I'm very fond of her... but...”

“We had other plans,” Matthew said.

“I'm sure. You're way too young, anyway.”

“You're so sweet!” Jessica giggled. “But, actually, I'm not. I'm thirty two.”

“Really! I would have thought you were still in your twenties!”

“I have a son that's in College Prep. He's seventeen.”

“Congratulations.”

“We're very proud of him,” Jessica said. “He's already an inventor, with our other son.”

“You have two sons?” Glen said, surprised. “If you had the normal eight girls... that's ten kids! You look like you've never had one!”

“Yes!” Matthew said, grinning. “I know exactly what you mean! Sometimes I have to pinch myself about it!”

“About what?” Jessica asked, a genuinely oblivious expression on her amazing face.

“Wow!” Glen marvelled out loud. She has no clue how beautiful she is. No clue at all.

“I know!” Matthew was smiling broadly.

“What?” Jessica was smiling at her husband but had leaned forward and obviously annoyed at his and Glen's private joke.

“Matthew! Jessica! You're early!” Mother arrived barefoot in the flimsiest silk robe that barely came past her bottom. All else she wore was a towel around her head. She was probably hoping the robe would fall off and Matthew would be inspired to ravish her right on the coffee table.

Matthew and Jessica stood as Mother approached, and Glen followed suit as if it were normal for him to pay Mother that kind of respect. Who were these people? Dad had helped them out, he remembered, and Mother had pleaded their case to him.

“It's so good of you to come,” Mother kissed both her guests on the cheek, a hand feeling up Jessica's breast as she did so. With Matthew she was far more paltonic. Jessica slipped back into Matthew's protective embrace as everyone retook their seats.

“Esmaralda will have dinner served shortly. Where was it you usually dine on Wednesday?”

“At the Patio,” Jessica said. “It's a little bistro in Danville.”

“Oh,” Mother said. “I'll have to try it. Have you ever been there, Glen?”

“Once, I think,” Glen said, trying not to be sarcastic at Mother's little deception. “It's good food.”

“They have good Spanish Rioja,” Matthew said. “Duero, too, but we can't afford it.”

“Duero! Ah! I'll rember that,” Mother said. “So, how is young Samantha doing?”

Matthew snorted. “She's having a hard time sitting down today.”

“But why? Is she ill?” Mother asked.

“Matthew had to give her a spanking,” Jessica said softly, as if she wished it weren't true. “For what happened on Friday.”

“Friday? I saw her Friday.”

“Yeah,” Matthew said. “She didn't bother to tell us about it. I just found out.”

“Matt doesn't tollerate our girls running around like that,” Jessica said. “It's dangerous.”

“That is true, my love,” Mother said. “But she was perfectly safe, I promise you. Johnny DeSilva is a perfect gentleman and would never allow a guest to come to harm.”

“She's hoping to get some word from Senator Jackson,” Jessica said. “I promised to ask you about that.”

“Yes,” Mother said mysteriously. “He received her message. Everything is fine. Oh, did I tell you? Zoe and Kramer are bringing their eldest with them tonight.”

“You mean Kelly? Isn't she... how old is she, again?” Jessica said.

“She's fifteen, why?” Mother said and responded to the look on Jessica's face. “Why should that be a problem?”

“Well...” Jessica repeated. “She's only fifteen!”

“She's quite old enough,” Mother said. “She's at the age when she can sign away her own life, I think she should be allowed to make certain choices about who she is, don't you think?”

“I...”

“It would be so very nice if you could follow her example, Jessica,” Mother said. “I'm sure Samantha would find our little gatherings very enjoyable.”

“I'm not... I really don't think that's a good idea, Martha,” Jessica said.

“Truly, Matthew, don't you agree with me on that note?”

“My wife is protective of our girls,” Matthew said as he squeezed Jessica's shoulder protectively. “And I've always supported that. She's never been wrong, so I don't argue.”

“Such a shame,” Mother said. “Still, I'd love to introduce her to Glen. You know he's still single!”

“Mother!” Glen protested. “Jesus!”

“She's beautiful!” Mother said. “She could be Jessica's twin! Except she has these eyes that are so green you'd think you were looking into some lush tropical jungle.”

“All my girls have beautiful eyes,” Jessica said. “Gracie and Jenna both have the same colour eyes as mine.”

“Yes, they do! It's astonishing how one family could be so blessed with so many strikingly beautiful children. Even James is beautiful.”

“Eric takes after his father,” Jessica said. “Ruggedly handsome and with a personality to match.” She had taken Matthew's hand and kissed his palm. “Oh, where's Sylvester?”

“Oh,” Mother snorted. “He's out tonight. Glen will be my date for the evening.”

“Your son?” Jessica asked with raised brow. She obviously did not know Mother as well as she might have thought. Glen wondered at that. The Wells' had been coming to these gatherings for years, and had no idea of Mother's hyper sexuality. What else were they oblivious to? A lot, probably.

“Well, I can't very well be here by myself with all those wanton women coming to visit, now, can I? You never show up without Matthew, after all!” Mother said with the most ridiculous logic Glen had ever heard. But then, that was Mother. Non Sequiters were her forte.

“Doña Marta,” Esmaralda made her presence known. “Supper is served.”

“Thank you, Esmaralda,” Mother said. “Shall we? I believe we have Duero to sip tonight...”

Dinner, which turned out to be stew and dumplings rather than frijoles, was mostly pleasant with Mother bantering about this and that to the very gracious Mrs. Wells. Matthew contented himself with telling Glen about his sons and the new roasting cradle that Tucker-Kline now had a contract to mass produce. The boys were set for life, according to Matthew. Glen told him of his own job with the United States Olympic Team.

“I already did visit Franklin High,” Glen said. “We placed a new swim coach there. Ever heard of Jane Bettencourt?”

“Yeah! Olympic Medallist in the last games, bronzed in the 100 meter crawl, I think,” Matthew said.

“She's your girl's new coach at Franklin.”

“You're kidding! Nobody told me!”

“It probably won't affect your girls,” Glen said. “She told me the prospects she's got her eye on are in the sixth and seventh grade. Not so much at the high school level. But she's really enjoying her job. She says the senior girls are the most fun she's had since before she started her Olympic training.”

“How old was she when she started that?”

“Nine, I think,” Glen said. “Sports is gruelling, Matt,” he added to Matt's surprised look. “You put everything into it, and one little injury ends your career. Been there, done that!”

“Does it still bother you that you had to turn away from it?”

“Every damn day,” Glen admitted.

Mother had, as promised, procured a case of Duero wine from Spain. Both Matthew and Jessica savoured it as if it were liquid heaven and showered Glen's beaming mother with appreciation. For his part, Glen could take wine or leave it. Beer was his drink as was his father's. Esmaralda was kind enough to bring him a cold bottle of his father's Henry Weinhardt's before he had to ask her. Yes, he'd fuck her just because of that favour.

But he kept looking at Jessica. The woman made every other woman look ugly just by being herself. In the arms of her husband, however, gave Glen something he'd not experienced before. It was desire that had a wall in front of it. It hurt. He was envious of the man. Was this jealousy? Fucking A, it sucked. It sucked!

“Anyway,” Glen said, after stealing another glance at Jessica. “I think it'll be Greenbay and Denver at the Superbowl. That's where my money is.”

“You usually right?”

“I have been three years in a row,” Glen bragged. “Season's just two weeks in. Eighteen Game season, thirty four teams. Those two are the only two with the stamina to last that long.”

“Okay,” Matthew said. “I'll have to put some money on it. Know a good bookie?”

“As a matter of fact, I do!” Glen said. “I'll hook you up.”'

“You see, my love,” Mother was saying to Jessica. “The men are such a bore. Instead of paying attention to us, they have to talk about rough and tumble sports. I wonder what it was like before women were abundant and men actually had to work for a woman's affection...”

Jessica laughed. “I'll bet it was amazing,” she put a smile that was all big with sunshine.

“Of course it was, my sweet. It's such a shame we can't live in so romantic a time... but our lot is what it is...”

“I'm pretty happy with what I have,” Jessica said, glancing toward her husband.

“So you're not ready to go yet?” Martha asked.

“I've planned for thanksgiving,” Jessica said. “That cradle, the one that Eric and Jimmy designed, they did it for me! Samantha tested it!”

“She did?” Mother asked, suddenly flushed. “My God! I wish I could have seen that!”

“She lost her virginity to it,” Jessica said, her own cheeks flushing noticeably, but with an expression of sadness on her face. “I was shocked. We all were. I was surprised she was actually a virgin! I mean, I'd never seen her with a boy, of course, but that doesn't mean she didn't have one... and apparently, she's never so much as been asked out on a date.”

“Except for Michael Gianni,” Mother said, and Glen felt his brows raise.

“Michael?” Glen asked. “You're kidding, right?”

“No, love,” Mother said. “Michael brought Samantha to the club with Johnny that night. It was quite the experience. I actually saw them kiss on the dance floor. I must say, I was quite happy for him. Samantha is... to say she is beautiful is to understate the case. She's simply breathtaking!”

“Even more than Jessica?” Glen blurted, regretting it instantly.

“Samantha and Jessica could be twin sisters,” Mother said. “I thought innitially that it was, in fact, Jessica when I first saw her. Forgive me, Jessica, please. I was completely shocked to see you dancing with Michael Gianni, and then kissing him with the passion of a schoolgirl! Little did I know it was actually Samantha! I did not realize it till I saw her green eyes... Did she tell you I delivered her to your home?”

“She did,” Jessica said. “And I'm very grateful, Martha. Thank you so much for taking care of her!”

“I do what I can. Astrid made an ever loving fool of herself, and embarrassed me to no end, but what else is new? You should bring Samantha out on a Wednesday sometime before I go...”

“Bring her here?” Matthew and Jessica chorussed.

“Of course,” Mother said. “Why not?”

“She's just a baby!” Jessica said.

“She's fifteen, Jessica!” Mother said. “And she wants you as much as you want her... oh, don't look at me like that, Jessica. I watched how you looked at her at that little dinner party we had, and how she looked at you. Don't tell me you didn't know this, Matthew. Samantha is as in lust with Jessica as I am. If I had a daughter as lovely as she, I'd never let her out of my bed...”

“I'm not you, Martha,” Jessica's cheeks flushed with more than annoyance. There was anger there. “And Samantha is not me. We're not the same person, as much as we may look alike.”

“I daresay you're not!” Mother said. “She's a lot more adventurous, I think. I wouldn't be at all surprised if she beds you at some point. If I were you, I'd make sure it was under the right circumstances.”

“Moving on,” Matthew said. “Who's coming tonight?”

Glen brooded through the exchange and thought about Michael and this girl, Samantha. Samantha Wells. Wells, the family Michael was so very interested in. Why? Was this the crack Glen needed to get back at Michael? And was it one that would give him a shot at Johnny? Glen decided at that moment that he would meet little Miss Samantha Wells. He'd visit Franklin High and check in on Jane Bettencourt. Samantha was a budding reporter... maybe, just maybe, he'd give her some juice to swallow.

At eight the rest of tonight's guests began to arrive.

First came the Marches. Oliver, typical of the husbands in the group, was nearly sixty and with his second wife with graying hair that had severely receded and a very well tailored suit over his unfit form. Betty, by contrast, was a fleshy faced woman of thirty seven who's equally fleshy body would have got any highschool girl culled. She was not fat so much as plump in all the right places but with a rounding belly that might have been in her first trimester of pregnancy if Glen didn't know better.

Will and Stevie Sutton arrived shortly thereafter. He, like Oliver March, was near sixty but taller and less fat with the thin face of a nerdy collegiate. She, like him, was tall and slender brunette with a build that was nicely proportional to her height. Thirty nine years old, and by the way Betty took charge of her, Glen knew instinctively that Betty was the dominant, and Stevie the submissive.

Eric and Erica Brill were an odd pair. She was tall, not quite as tall as Stevie Sutton, but tall, with blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin and the perky breasts of a runway model. He, by contrast, was short, stocky and would be the eldest one here at sixty six. She was only twenty five and Eric Brill's third wife.

While all waited for the promised arrival of Harry, Zoe and Kelly Rotterdam, the party moved to the gallery.

The Gallery was what Dad had named it. Eight easy chairs, each with it's own side table were lined up along an arcing black papered wall with very low lighting and separated from the rest of the room by a short wall, two and a half feet tall that arced with the main wall and was carpetted black on one inside, and had green marble facing out. Looking in from the other side of the room, those sitting there would be mostly unrecognizable in the gloom. Air flow allowed those sitting there to smoke cigars or cigarettes and not bother the women in the room, who's place was opposite that wall of chairs.

The main part of the room, the main gallery, was quite a contrast in that it was very well lit. Green Marble floor tiles reached a third of the way up the walls giving way to off white paint. A semi-circular couch uppolstered in waterproof, but soft and comfortable dark green fabric was the main feature. It could have easily accomodated twelve, or perhaps more, women comfortably. Above it was the stage whose floor was at the same level as the top of the couch's backrest with steps leading up to it on either side. Four pillars, painted green, which happened to be Mother's favourite colour, rose to the ceiling apparently for ornament. What differed were the stainless steel eyes screwed into each of them, four on each side, two high, two low. On the walls themselves were gray tone drawings of various bondage rites collected by Mother over the years.

“We are at Erica's next week, are we not?” asked Betty March as the four guests led their husbands in. “I do so love that wonderful hottub...”

“Yes,” Erica said in her cold manner. “Everything will be ready. Jessica, did you ever get on that cradle your boys made?”

“No,” Jessica said. “Not yet. I'm not supposed to know about it at all... it was supposed to be a surprise. But they used it at the Tucker wedding.”

“You should invite your Indian friend, Jessica,” Betty said. “The one you told us about. What was her name?”

“Fatima. She's actually Egyptian...”

“I thought you said she was from India.”

“She is, her husband is Indian, and that's where they live. But she was born in Egypt.”

“My,” Erica said icily. “Aren't we getting worldly...”

“She had no friends here,” Jessica replied in ernest. “When my daughter went to work for her daughter, we sort of hit it off...”

“You should invite her,” Betty repeated. “I'd love to meet her. It's always fun to meet people from other cultures. But don't do it next week. I won't be here.”

“Where are you going?” Erica asked.

“We're going back to Boston for a week. My niece is being sacrificed to Gaia at the New World Henge. We were thinking of donating one of our daughters...”

“Are you and Will going along, Stevie?” asked Mother.

“We're talking about it. Betty's been trying to get us into the whole Natural Temple of Gaia for a while now... I'm not sure I could surrender a daughter to sacrifice, however...”

“You can always sacrifice your son at the solstice, Strevie,” Betty informed.

“I doubt William would appreciate that. A daughter is one thing...” Stevie said.

Glen retrieved his father's box of Cuban Cigars from the humidore and offered them out to the five husbands as they took their seats. Each man took one, as well as a glass of the same Duero that Esmaralda had served for dinner.

“Mr. March,” Glen asked in the appropriate whisper. Mother had made it clear, earlier, that it would be impolite for the men to interrupt the 'girl's night.' “What's New World Henge?”

“It's basically a replica of what Stone Henge in England had been,” said Oliver March. “It was built as a temple for worship to Gaia about ten years ago. It's still the only one in the country, but they're planning to build one outside Boulder in Colorado hopefully before Betty's forty fourth birthday...”

“She keeps residency in Massachusetts?”

“We both do, actually. Same with Will and Stevie.”

“You know each other from there?”

“No, we met here, actually. Stevie was Will's concubine before they married, and Betty was mine. They lived in the same appartment together with our first sets of children.”

“To be fair,” said Matthew, “Zoe was also Harry's concubine before they were married and the same is true of Eric and Erica. That seems to be a pattern in this group.”

“It is,” Oliver said. “But that's neither here, nor there. How many concubines do you have, Matthew?”

“One,” Matthew said. “Only one. Can't afford more.”

“Matthew is the poor man of the group,” Oliver told Glen. “Funny, he's the only one who's managed to raise eight girls without a single cull as yet. All the rest of us have seen two or more in each of our marriages.”

“What about with your concubines?” Glen asked.

“Who counts those?” Oliver asked. “I don't. I have ten concubines I support. Eric has more than that. They're nothing more than a tax write off once they get to their four girl quota. Didn't you tell me, Matthew that you have a son by you're concubine?”

“Yeah,” Matthew said. “Fraternal twins with Julia's first pregnancy. Sean and Lucille. They're both hoping to become chefs some day.”

“Only you would bother paying that kind of attention, Matthew,” Eric Brill noted. “I swear, why bother? Unless you intend to marry Julia, which I know you won't, what good could possibly come out of paying attention to her kids' lives?”

“They're my kids too,” Matthew said. “And Julia is Jessica's older sister.”

“There's yet another mistake,” Eric said to Glen. “Never get involved with sisters. You're asking for trouble. The kids still don't even know they're more than cousins, do they, Matt?”

Matthew's pained expression told Glen there was some truth in Mr. Brill's admonition. But the youngest husband in the room lit his cigar and puffed, turning his attention back to the women who's activities, verbal and physical, would become tonight's entertainment.

“We get pretty quiet in here,” Oliver said in the room's customary low voice. “This is the place where our wives forget we're here and speak very freely. You'd be amazed what kind of things we've found out over the years.”

“Like what?”

“Well, there was one incident where one of the wives began talking about her illicit lover... she just forgot herself. Her husband wasn't the forgiving type, however. He drove her to Safeway the very next morning.”

“That was Jennifer Capriotta,” said Oliver. “Funny thing about it, my wife had an affair with the same guy...”

“She did?” Eric asked.

“Yeah,” Oliver said. “She told me about it right after Vern took Jennifer to Safeway. She was pretty scared.”

“And you let her get away withi it?”

“Sure,” Oliver said. “She knows what'll happen if she ever goes there again. She'll watch all our daughters go with her.”

“Oh,” said Eric. “That's harsh!”

“Is it?” Oliver asked. “I don't think so. They catch her here, and all our girls get culled. Look at Matthew! If you turn any whiter, you'll be a ghost!”

“Oh,” Eric said. “Don't tease Matt. He's in love with his wife and he really loves his girls. God help him.”

“Hear that, Matt?” said Harry Rotterdam with a grin. “They think you're the only one in love with his wife... funny how they all get weepy when they send one off...”

“We know otherwise,” said Matt, solumnly.

Matthew, to Glen's eyes, looked a little queezy, as if the whole discussion were making him ill. Glen would have mocked him had Matthew been a close friend. Falling in love with women, he knew from his time in the NFL, was tantamount to surrendering one's testicles. You simply did not do it. You fucked and forgot until you needed to fuck again.

But Matthew's attention was now completely on the scene before the five of men. Jessica was dancing nude for her four friends and the Zoe Rotterdam's young daughter. The look on Kelly Rotterdam's face was of wonder and lust as Jessica's luminous skin seemed to glow. She danced with her captivating eyes closed or nearly so apparently completely lost in the simple flute and drums playing over the speakers. There was nothing overtly sexual about Jessica's understated motion motion or presentation of her nude form save that she was nude. But as the music played, Mother joined her, and slipped a collar around Jessica's neck to which she secured Jessica's wrists. Jessica continued to dance with her wrists fastened to her neck and her elbos pointed forward. From a ring on the front of the thick leather collar hung a leash which Mother held in her hand and occasionally tugged on it making Jessica whirl and Mother would expertly ripple the leash so it would travelle over Jessica's head as she did so.

The mistress and slave relationship brought Glen's manhood to attention. Jessica seemed the lamb and Mother the executioner. Jessica was the toy, and Mother the child at Christmas. Jessica's face was one of utter serenity, and Mother's one of joyous lust.

Glen glanced over to see Matthew, who's eyes were locked on his wife. He sat unrelaxed, coiled like a tight spring or a cheetah, ready to burst into full speed. What was his was in peril. Glen took his sweet time to realize he felt the same. Jessica was Matthews. But when Glen looked upon the naked woman, he saw a jewel he wanted, something he might pay a very high price to have.

Jessica was soon cuddled helpless in Mother's arms as the rest of the women undressed Kelly Rotterdam. The girl was pretty enough, certainly. But next to Jessica she looked plain. Her still forming breasts held no promise of beauty and her boyish hips moved without grace as she tried to dance. She seemed even less attractive than his sister Astrid, if that were possible. Kelly took the collar with a look of utter terror as her mother put her in she same type of collar Jessica wore.

For her part, Jessica, cradled in Mother's arms, accepted Mother's caresses with the same grace she'd displayed dancing. Glen could see why his Mother enjoyed this time so much, the bliss filled smile on Mother's face said everything that needed to be said. Glen's desire burned. His jealousy smouldered. When Mother's fingers stroked Jessica's exposed sex and Jessica reacted as if it were a tender kiss, he very nearly climaxed in his own shorts.

But the night was not over. Jessica served as the model for Kelly's fate. Between the columns Mother bound her plaything by wrist and ankle. Erica Brill sat below Jessica's spread legs with her hand completely embedded inside Jessica as Mother whipped her and Erica, with her free hand, fiddled mercielessly with Jessica's clitoris. The cat o nine tails mother slapped Jessica's thighs, buttocks and back with left angry welts on her fair skin and drew a river of tears down Jessica's face as she whimpered breathily with each blow. By this time, mother had divested herself of her own garments and touched herself as she whipped her prize. When Jessica was finally allowed to climax, she hung her bonds like death might claim her. Mother released her, and with Erica, brought her back down to the couch below, lay Jessica on her belly, and soothed Jessica's welts with wash cloths dipped in ice water. It was Kelly's turn.

The girl was hysterical. She'd sat on the sidelines whimpering as Jessica was whipped. It took all three of the other women to secure Kelly, her mother, Zoe, would man the whip while Stevie Sutton and Betty March fondled and teased the front of the girl's body. Her screams were so overwhelming Kelly's mother gagged the girl after the third slap of the cat-o-nine-tails. She endured not a third of the abuse Jessica had, but was as languid and spent as Jessica after so short a time.

In the mean time, Erica and Mother had impaled themselves on glass phalluses which penetrated both anally and vaginally, securing a long, thick glass phallus which protruded form between their legs as if there naturally. Jessica endured penetration fore from Erica and rear from Mother, accepting it like a rag doll, completely submissive. Mother and Erica grunted and groaned as their hips gyrated while any sound Jessica made was drown out by her abusers.

The evening seemed interminable. Glen agonized over every minute. Sex was not a spectator sport. Like football, it was meant to be played. He felt as he did every time he watched Football on television, useless and crippled. His erection strained at his shorts as he longed to plunge it into one of Jessica's orifaces. But it was not to be. By one in the morning, all had left. The women had had their fun, and the men took their wives home, undoubtedly to take their restrained pleasure with them. Mother was insatiable as she enthusastically accepted Glen's penis in her mouth, her rosebud and her vagina. Five times he spent himself and five times he instantly came back and needed more.

Glen thrusted his hips, impaling his mother for the last time, climaxing painfully till he was completely spent. His sweat coated body fell back into the plush pillow next to Mother panting as if he'd been chased seventy yards to the in-zone by a fast line backer. Mother panted next to him, coated in a sheen of her own oily sweat.

“Oh, God!” Mother had squealed. “Oh God,” she panted now. “Oh... God, Glen! I've never... you've never had me like that before!”

No, Glen thought. I haven't. I was never this hard before... well, maybe the first time I fucked Astrid, but not since. The fat little fuck couldn't turn on a Russian Royal Mastiff if she tried she'd become so lumpy.

“What came over you?”

Glen had no intention of spilling his thoughts, but he did anyway.

“Tell me about Jessica Wells...”

“Oh! Of course..,” Mother mused, proping herself up on her side on her elbo. “I should have known. Pity you missed your opportunity with Samantha.”

“Who?”

“Jessica's daughter, silly boy!” Mother said. “She's Jessica's twin. But your friend Michael got her first! Sorry, Glen. What did you think of Kelly?”

“Not much,” Glen said.

“Yes,” Mother said. “Oh, well. I had hopes. Pity she proved to be such a dissapointment. Forget I said anything.”

“Michael,” Glen spat.

“I thought he was your friend?”

“Friend? He's his own friend.”

“Is that so,” Mother smiled. “So you have no reservation about competing for something that's ostensibly his?”

“No.”

“Good!” Mother said. “I'll see you meet her. I suppose I should have introduced you to Samantha... are you free this weekend?”

Glen smiled. If Samantha was anything like her mother, that was one thing. But it was the thought of taking something away from Michael that pleased him even more.

TO BE CONTINUED!

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