Gender: Male Age: Secret Location: N/A
|Introduction: Stacey helps Linnea do what's best for her parents|
An interlude, In which I am oblivious
Jenny stared at the phone in her hand. "Well, shit," she said finally, after a moment of reflection. "If that's your girlfriend, Linnea, she's a raving bitch."
She'd felt bad about the baggie of hair because it clearly meant so much to Linnea, but that girl had just been too naive in some ways, and much too trusting. Jenny had already lost her heart to the blonde, but that didn't mean she was going to be a slut for just anybody.
Unfortunately, it sounded like her paranoia hadn't been misplaced. They'd had a good time thus far, but apparently Linnea had slipped up somehow.
Darryl shouted at her from the bar. "Jenny! Five minutes! Get your pretty little ass out here before these folks tear the place down, d'ya hear?"
Jenny tossed her phone back in her locker, and took a final gulp from her water glass. She hadn't finished her grilled chicken salad, but the call had pretty much killed her appetite. She didn't even know where Linnea lived, really, beyond her area code. That was just the first problem.
Still, the show had to go on... The brunette pulled on her white hat and headed for the arena, her excitement already growing at the thought of the spectators waiting for her.
Pierre Fontaine stared at the phone in his hand. It wasn't the first late-night call he'd received from Edward Richwell, or even that unusual. When you were an attorney for the obscenely rich (if not so famous), it was part of the job. The request was, however, unexpected -- and inconvenient.
"Why now?" he asked himself, setting the handset back on the cradle. He'd been so sure that the Richwells would never relent and reconcile with their wayward daughter, at least as long as Edward was alive.
If Pierre had been a betting man, he'd have gambled that those trusts -- now one trust, after Peter's death -- would sit, gathering dust, until the interested parties were all dead and the funds dispersed to charities. In fact, he had taken that wager and started transferring some of the money to his favorite charity -- himself.
Edward's sudden decision, just communicated, to re-establish Linnea's access to her trust fund put the attorney in an uncomfortable position. He wasn't a fool, and his tracks weren't obvious, but it suddenly was more likely that somebody curious might notice the dollars didn't add up.
Pierre thought again about the call. Edward had sounded... strange. Almost flustered. Perhaps, with a little careful urging, he'd reconsider. Yes, a return call in the morning might do the trick. Feeling better already, he returned to bed.
Xavier Norris stared at the phone in his hand. He hadn't heard from Michael in over a month, and now this. It had sounded like a cry for help, to somebody who could read between the lines.
No recovery program was easy, but the job Mind Controllers Anonymous entrusted to its sponsors was more difficult than most. A drunk could get behind the wheel and do untold damage, but a rogue adept could do far more -- and in a way that might not be discovered until the impact had spread exponentially.
Like anything else, it was impossible to help people who didn't want to be helped, and "convincing" them was morally and ethically indefensible. Nurture, yes; confine, if necessary; coerce, never. Sponsorship wasn't a job for wimps.
With a sigh, Xavier scrolled down his contacts list and made the first call of many. Whatever was going on, waiting never made things better. In addition to trying to make contact with Michael, he needed to get somebody working on tracking down everybody Michael had sponsored and making sure they were okay, too.
It was going to be a pain. Michael had been a popular guy before he'd dropped off the map. Xavier shook his head regretfully. "Hey, Kim, I think we have a problem..."
Chapter 11, In which I become stinking rich
"...and that's why I believe I would be the logical, and best, choice to manage my parents' conservatorship," I concluded the story -- and my presentation. Stacey nodded approvingly, and I fought to keep my hands properly clasped at the small of my back and not gasp at the wave of heat that raced through me.
The three-member panel assembled by the court looked less impressed. "Your contention is that, having used 'mind control' to bring about their present condition, your deep familiarity with the situation for which you are personally responsible makes you uniquely qualified to administer their personal and financial affairs?" Vasily, the grey-haired banker and chairman of the panel, sounded like he was chewing rocks as he spat out the words. I imagined he was upset at the thought of losing control of my parents' fortune.
At least he'd gotten past the whole "mind control" thing. I'd been shocked that Stacey had made me bring it up at all, and they'd been shocked that I'd made such a tasteless joke. Stacey had been forced to demonstrate, which I'd belated realized had been the point.
The sexist bastards had been surprised and embarrassed to find themselves masturbating uncontrollably in front of us -- and each other -- but they'd already forgotten they'd agreed to give us what we wanted. As soon as the meeting was over and they'd cum, they'd forget the mind control stuff, too. I hadn't heard what Stacey had said to the court recorder, but I doubted the transcript really matched what we were saying.
Stacey had gotten so pushy. I might have used "bitchy" or "controlling", but I loved her for who she was, warts and all. Perhaps my love and support had made her less sensitive, and she'd just come a little more out of her shell. Besides, this wasn't about Stacey, or even me. It was about my parents.
"'Present condition' sounds so cold and clinical," I objected. "They need the loving care and stability of a warm family environment." And round-the-clock supervision, I thought, but everybody in the conference room already knew that.
Daddy had always been stubborn, and I think he had as much trouble getting past my relationship with Stacey as he'd had with Michael and Peter. He'd gone ahead and revised my trust, but since he'd also become a compulsive masturbator, some doubters thought he might not have been of sound mind. He certainly wasn't now; all he did was stroke himself, especially if anybody asked him about it or he saw me and Stacey together.
He often had to be restrained to keep from rubbing himself literally raw, and the doctors mumbled under their breath about priapism and tried different medications, so far without effect.
Mom had become rather a free spirit, coming late to the sexual revolution and eager to make up for it. In times of stress, she tended to proposition women -- the younger, the better. Although she'd been banned from all of the local college campuses, we'd been able to keep it out of the papers. The first time Daddy had been restrained, she'd gone downstairs and asked to be driven to the nearest high school. Luckily the driver had called me instead.
"And are you in a position to provide this care?" asked Megan, breaking my train of thought. The lone woman on the panel, she seemed more sympathetic to us, but maybe it was just my imagination.
"Yes, Ma'am," I replied confidently. "I have resigned from my job so I am available to devote all of my time and energy to supporting my parents in their time of need." Whenever Stacey didn't need me for something, of course, but I didn't see a reason to mention it.
"Resigned?" laughed the greasy weasel at the other end of the table. "That wasn't the way I heard it!" He reminded me of my worst clients. I wasn't sure why Daddy had ever retained him as the family attorney, and his cigars clashed horribly with Stacey's candles.
I wanted to walk down to Pierre and smash his face into the table, but it would be unprofessional. "Resigned," I repeated firmly. "I have copies of the relevant documents, if you would care to review them."
A resignation was still a resignation, even if it was under threat of termination for cause. Somehow Alan had talked Candi into filing a formal complaint, which was doubly unfair because Stacey wouldn't let me be with anybody any more. It was depressing to have risen so far and have to throw it all away, but the truth was that it had been getting harder and harder to balance my work and personal life, and it was a relief to be able to concentrate on Stacey.
I'd agreed to resign with a clean record, and give up the severance I didn't really need. They'd agreed to bury the investigation and forego the unwanted publicity that would have come with it. The rumors about Daddy and Mom had added an air of legitimacy to the usual "for personal reasons" excuse.
"That's unnecessary, Pierre," admonished Megan. "Don't be nasty."
"Quite," rumbled Vasily. Looking like he was having teeth pulled without anesthesia, he continued, "I believe, then, we are in agreement. Having found no basis for disqualification, and in light of your position as next-of-kin and confirmed successor trustee, this board is compelled to recommend the court grant your petition for conservatorship. However irregular," he concluded, eyes sliding sideways from me to Megan.
She was, perhaps not coincidentally, the judge who had ruled in our favor on the matter of my father's fitness to amend his arrangements. "I'd like just a few moments to examine some things with you, Linnea," she suggested.
"Of course, Ma'am," I replied, after a quick glance at Stacey. I'd gone through some rough patches before becoming "housebroken", as Stacey put it, and this would be a bad time to have an accident.
The men were already departing, probably to hurry to the restroom and relieve the erections that were tenting their trousers. The recorder's fingers kept tapping irregularly on the steno machine. Stacey rose and began collecting the candles that dotted the room, while Megan walked around the table to examine me more closely.
"That's quite a becoming look, Linnea," she complemented me, and I swelled with pleasure. When we'd met at Daddy's competency hearing, I'd still been wearing diapers, which had limited my wardrobe options. Since I didn't wear much at the apartment, this really was the first chance I'd had to get dressed up in nice clothes since I'd resigned.
The knit dress was my favorite shade of red, the liberated woman's equivalent of a power tie. It was short and tight, precluding any possibility of sitting modestly, but I hadn't planned on sitting much, and I wasn't very modest. The front was cut so low it covered only the sides of my breasts, but that was what the equally red lace bra was there for. Because it was a business meeting, I'd left the ruffles along the top turned up so they covered my nipples, mostly.
I'd learned to keep my hair the way Stacey liked it, and I knew my makeup was perfect, because it was permanent -- except for the lashes, which were reapplied each month. Matching white lilies inset with diamonds adorned my ears, the black choker circling my neck, and the stays of my garters. It was all expensive, but Stacey always reminded me it wasn't fair to get things just for her on our shopping trips.
I'd chosen to continue the lily motif, so a daylily pattern threaded through the expensive silk stockings attached to my garters. I didn't have to walk much, meaning higher heels weren't a problem. I'd literally orgasmed just from the look in Stacey's eyes when I'd presented myself to her that morning.
So I knew I was pretty hot that day. Nevertheless, I was sure Megan was commenting on my bell; the tip hung a little below the hem of the dress if I didn't remember to keep it tugged down, and I'd seen her staring at it during the meeting.
It was silver, in the shape of an elongated flower with the stamen forming the clapper, and exquisitely tuned. A fine chain attached it permanently to the ring resting beneath my clit. It swung gently with every movement I made, generating a pleasing sound. In my more whimsical moments, I imagined it sounded like Stacey whispering, "Mine." It always made me wet to think of it, which meant I was wet all the time now.
The bell alerted Stacey anytime I tried to touch myself. Mom said it was "excessive," the once she'd seen it, but she didn't really understand the depths of Stacey's insecurity and how much my affair with -- that other girl -- had hurt her.
Playing around because Stacey wanted me to was another thing entirely. I wished Megan would bend me over the table and work me, but my experience was that she was an investigator rather than a doer. I settled for pulling up the hem of my dress so I was completely exposed.
Sure enough, she pushed gently at the bell, listening to it ring, and ran a finger up the chain to my clit. I trembled but kept my hands clasped behind me, knowing my poise would please Stacey.
"You're so precious," Megan told me. "Dewdrops and all." I'd been leaking down the chain, and a few droplets of my desire had beaded on the bell like a flower collecting dew in the early morning. Not a single drop of it was urine, at least so far.
I watched Megan nervously. At our last meeting, she'd attached binder clips to my nipples and played with them, seeing how far she could stretch my breasts and watching my expression as she finally pulled hard enough to pop them off. Obviously I'd do anything for Stacey, but I wasn't looking forward to it.
Worse, Megan hadn't looked above my waist since the meeting broke up. As I silently looked on, she slid a binder clip off the file that had been sitting on the table in front of her chair and flexed it experimentally.
"I think we'll need to do a little more research," she decided, slowly licking her lips. I cringed inside but maintained my poise as she reached towards my bare crotch and defenseless clitoris. I ruthlessly crushed the urge to pull away, even without a warning twinge from my bladder.
Stacey finished blowing out the last of the candles, momentarily enveloping us in dissipating smoke. "I'm afraid Linnea and I have other engagements," she remarked regretfully. "I hope you can continue your investigation on your own, for the time being."
"Such a shame," the judge commented, holding her hand in place. "Other people have been doing interesting research, too. I was hoping to have time to share some of it with you." Her tone of voice was suggestive.
"Really?" Stacey looked up from the dazed-looking court recorder, and walked over to join us. "Perhaps we can spare a little more time to discuss research, after all." She aimed a stern look at me, and then stared at the older woman.
Megan's lips parted slightly and she leaned forward to study me more closely as her hand resumed its forward motion. She suddenly sighed with satisfaction and relaxed, but the burst of pain I'd braced myself for didn't come.
I looked down and saw the clip was attached to the ring piercing the hood of my clit. Astonished, I looked up at Stacey, who gave me a slow wink. My heart threatened to burst; I should have trusted her to look out for me!
"Exquisite," said the judge. "I really don't understand how you do it, Stacey." She brushed the clip with her finger, watching it wobble, and glanced at my face. "She's so stoic." Megan looked a little disappointed.
"Practice," Stacey said shortly. "Now, about that other matter?"
"They've been asking about your friend, Michael. A warrant to search his apartment for 'contraband' crossed my desk this morning."
"Is he okay?" I asked before I could think. I hadn't seen him for weeks. Stacey shot me an annoyed look and the weight of her displeasure squeezed a tiny burst of piss from me.
"Which apartment?" Stacey asked, which seemed weird since we had only the one, and Michael had lived there for years; we were the relative newcomers.
"The one on Fourth," replied Megan, and both of them smiled.
I couldn't stay silent, not if it involved Michael. "That's crazy!" I objected. "He doesn't live over on Fourth; he lives with us, on Fourth." It didn't sound right. "8310 Fourth Avenue." I added the clarification firmly, but felt suddenly uncertain. I'd lived with Michael for years and knew our address like I knew my name -- and it was... 8310 Fourth Avenue?
Stacey smiled at me, clearly amused. "Good; I expect we'll be out of the place on Washington before they realize their mistake. And it's in his name only, anyway; right, Linnea?"
I nodded, feeling a glow of accomplishment at my contribution. "That's it, Fourth; I feel so stupid! Yeah, Michael never changed the lease after Peter died. He is okay, isn't he?"
"He's fine, Linnea," Stacey answered, looking and sounding bored. "He went back to his buddies in the program, and they probably put him in rehab." She redirected the conversation to Megan. "Anything else?"
There was a faint tugging, and I realized the judge was pulling on the binder clip. She'd also produced a straight pin from somewhere. "Just one more probe?" she asked hungrily.
"Oh, be quick. We have a lot to do today."
I watched nervously as Megan unconsciously bit on her tongue and pulled a little more on the clip. Her hand whipped in, stabbing the pin deeply into one of her fingers holding the clip rather than me. "Oh, yes," she cried, "look how beautifully she moves!"
Megan twisted the pin in her finger and pulled harder on the clip, staring at me with undisguised lust. I leaned back slightly, bracing myself, and the clip eventually slid off the ring and snapped free.
Stacey silently opened her mouth, and I finally got the hint. "Ooooooo," I moaned in my best slut voice. "Oh, my clitty!" I still couldn't figure out if I was supposed to be aroused or in pain or what, but apparently it was enough.
"Linnea, I could just eat you up," Megan panted, devouring me with her eyes. I was increasingly less certain that she was seeing the real me standing there. "You have to let me see you again, alone."
Had she forgotten Stacey was standing right there? I looked at my lover, trying to understand what she wanted me to do. "I'm really busy," I prevaricated, "but you make me hot, too. Let me call you?"
"Don't make me wait too long, or I'll find you in contempt," she husked, pulling the pin free. She was trying for sultry, but all I got was "scary."
I made a beeline for the coat rack before something else could happen.
"Very nicely done," Stacey told me as I was helping her into her fur. My legs almost buckled. Creaming myself like crazy, I hurried to put on my own leather coat and follow her.
"We're moving?" I asked while we waited for the elevator.
"Of course, silly! We'll live with your parents; how else will we look after them?"
Apparently Megan had shaken me more than I'd realized -- I'd completely forgotten the point of the hearing! "Oh, Stacey, I love you so much," I told her, my heart swelling. "Thank you from the bottom of my heart for helping; I know you don't have to."
"It's my pleasure, really," she said, smiling back at me.
The driver had just handed us into the car when I had another thought. "You wouldn't really make me see Megan again, would you?"
Stacey barked out a laugh. "Her? No, I'll find her somebody else." She paused a beat and added, "At least as long as you still love me!"
I was pretty sure she meant it as a joke, but I was stung at the thought she could ever doubt my love for her. Luckily, I knew just how to prove it. I slid off the seat and worked my way around between Stacey's legs; she smiled at me and exposed herself.
My tongue darted out to taste her. If I did a good enough job, she might let me cum, too. In the meantime, there was no place in the world I would rather have been.
Read 1617 times | Rated 50 (12 votes)
Vote list (Close) :
Please rate this text: